Burn: Dragon Shifter Romance

by Ava Frost

  I nodded along as he explained what he was doing. Of course it all made perfect sense when he explained it as it was being done, but I knew that it would be miracle if I remembered any of this in an hour.

  It was a surprisingly quick fix. Soon he was slamming down the hood of the car with an air of satisfaction. I fished in my purse for my wallet, but as I pulled it out he waved a hand.

  “Tell you what. I’ll waive the fee this time.”

  “Oh. Then--”

  “If you let me take you out to dinner.” He interrupted.

  I was taken aback. Noticeable so, because I could see the confidence in his face fade just slightly. In just a matter of seconds I considered a number of factors:

  1. He's actually gorgeous.

  2. He seems much less scary in the daytime

  3. He looks even...normal. When not in the company of his gang

  4. Oh yeah, he's in a gang. Probably bad news.

  5. He looks like bad news.

  6. But maybe a bad news guy is just what I need right now

  7. It could be fun

  8. It could be dangerous

  9. But it will pretty much be guaranteed to be fun.

  I inhaled deeply and smiled.

  “Sure.”

  He raised his eyebrows, as if he'd expected me to reject him. He clapped his hands once, rubbing them together.

  “Tonight?”

  “Uh..yeah. Sure.” I chuckled. “Where?”

  He barely hesitated. “Alfonzo's at 7.”

  I nodded. “Alfonzo's at 7. I'll see you there.”

  I got in the car and drove away without saying goodbye, feeling a bit cool. I was flattered, to tell the truth. It had been a few months since breaking off my engagement, and now the first man to ask me out was not only NOT someone I went to high school with, but also happened to be ruggedly, dangerously sexy. Sure, he probably wasn’t husband material, but after what happened the last time I tried to get a husband, I was more than ready to enjoy myself a bit.

  I spent the rest of the day in a state of nervous excitement. It was difficult to go about my ordinary tasks and I spent the whole time I worked on housework thinking about Cole. He was a mystery to me. A complete mystery. And while I ached to know more about him, I also let myself just enjoy the fact that he was so unknown to me. It felt exciting and fresh and totally out of character for me. I looked at this date with this wildly inappropriate match as a reprieve from my own identity and I felt refreshed and energized.

  I felt like a teenager again.

  I must have spent two hours getting ready. It took almost that long to try on nearly every outfit I owned, deciding on the perfect one. My token little black dress. The one I hardly ever wore because it was too short, too tight, and strapless. It was an impulse buy that had hung uselessly in my closet for years, totally inappropriate for the social functions I normally go to, but perfect for a date with a sexy gang member.

  It was a little tighter than I remembered, which caused a bit of anxiety, but with a slinky sweater and a casual updo and winged eyeliner, it looked better than I could have hoped. I thought to myself that I should wear black more often.

  *******

  Alfonzo's is the nearest thing we have to an authentic Italian restaurant. As soon as you walk in the door the smell of garlic and salty cheese wraps itself around you like a carb loaded hug. It was warm and homey inside, but I was still shivering when I saw Cole sitting in a quiet booth near the back. He was frowning down at the menu, his fingers tapping on the table. Was he anxious? It was hard to believe that he was as nervous as I was, but the thought that it was a possibility was flattering.

  “Cole?” I said tentatively, sliding into the booth opposite him. He looked so deep in thought that I was worried about interrupting him.

  He looked up, startled by my sudden appearance, but then broke into a lazy smile.

  “Annabeth.” He said my name like it was a secret, in an undertone.

  I felt my pulse quicken and fidgeted with the strap of my handbag. My mouth went dry when I realized that I had not even the slightest idea of what to say to him now. Seconds ticked by in agonized silence as we looked across the table at each other.

  “You look beautiful.” He said, finally.

  I laughed nervously, looking down at my dress. “Oh. Thanks. I, uh...I've had this dress forever but it never gets worn.”

  “But you wore it for me.” He stated.

  I felt myself blush, the embarrassment of visibly blushing making me blush harder. Vicious cycle of blushing. He chuckled, not unkindly, but didn't say anything.

  “You can tell a lot about a woman by what she wears when she's meeting you.” He continued.

  The waitress appeared and put tall, damp glasses of ice water in front of us. She asked what we'd like for drinks. I asked for a white wine. Cole got a dark beer.

  “And what can you tell about me from my dress?” I asked, a bit of a challenge in my tone.

  He smiled again. “You think you are not my type. And I'm not yours. But you are willing to play a character for a night to shake up the boredom of your everyday life.”

  “My life isn't boring.” I said flatly. In fact, I'd had far too much excitement lately, with a canceled wedding and a move back home. “I just thought...” I faltered, looking for a way to say that I was essentially sampling his company like an exotic fruit that's not in season long, without sounding pretentious or rude.

  “That you want to try something a little different.” He finished my sentence for me.

  “Well, I..”

  “A little walk on the wild side.” He was chuckling.

  I was blushing again and I put my elbows on the table, hiding my face in my hands.

  “Maybe a little something to scare the shit out of your mom and dad.” He laughed.

  I shook my head in my hands, laughing. He'd hit the nail on the head, honestly. Thankfully, he was a good sport about it as he, too, was laughing. He reached across the table gently touched my arm, prompting me to uncover my face.

  “Don't worry, I understand. It's the same for me, actually.”

  “Really?”

  He shrugged.

  “I'm your walk on the wild side?” I asked with a huge grin.

  “In a way. You're my walk on the sane side. It's good break.” He said, his laughter fading and his expression softening. The waitress returned with our drinks and pulled out her pad and pen.

  I realized suddenly that I had not even glanced at the menu. Observant Cole ordered first, lingering over how he wanted his food cooked, to give me a minute to look over the options. It was just standard Italian fair. I ordered Fettuccini Alfredo. Always a safe bet.

  While we waited for the food to arrive, Cole asked me questions about my life. I was hesitant to answer them at first, telling him that a part of his charm for me was that he didn't know who I was or what had happened to me. Of course, this only piqued his interest more and I found that it was actually a bit therapeutic explaining what had happened to an impartial listener.

  “So, I was literally tasting wedding cakes when he called me.” I went on.

  “Tasting wedding cakes?”

  “Yeah. At this fancy bakery. They had laid out all these different kinds of cakes to try so I could choose which one I wanted for the wedding.” I explained. “And I get this call from him. I'm thinking he's just calling to say hi on his break or whatever so I answer it. Little did I expect that he was actually planning on confessing to a multiple year long affair with another woman.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “And that's not the worst of it. He assured me that he was planning on dumping her after we got married. Because he's an honorable man, you know.” I rolled my eyes. “But he couldn't because he'd knocked her up.”

  “Oh fuck.”

  “Yeah. And I guess she's from a pretty traditional family or whatever so he's marrying her now.”

  “That's...”

  “That's my life.” I said with a def
eated shrug. “That's seriously like....indicative of everything that's ever happened to me. And, because I live in Nyssa with the other 20 people who live in Nyssa, everybody knows so anytime I see anyone it's all 'oh you poor thing.'”

  “Wait, you live in Nyssa?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No one lives in Nyssa.”

  “Hi.” I waved.

  He laughed. “And I thought I had a rough childhood.”

  Our food arrived and for a while we ate in silence. I had barely eaten all day because of how nervous I had been, but now that I was here, I felt safe, and it occurred to me that I was famished. I was grateful for the lull in conversation so I could focus on eating the slippery fettuccine. It also gave me a chance to watch Cole. He was dressed much the same as I had seen before, though it looked like he'd washed his hair and the t-shirt he wore under his leather jacket was free from any motor oil smudges. He seemed like the kind of man who only very rarely strayed from his usual uniform. T-shirt. Jeans. Jacket.

  “Did you?” I asked after a while.

  “Did I..?” He tilted his head slightly to the side.

  “Have a rough childhood.”

  He paused, taking a couple more bites of his food. I thought he might be pretending that he didn't hear me, or just really obviously avoiding the question. I didn't press it. He took his time but finally he wiped his lips with a napkin and, after taking a hearty swig of his beer, he started talking.

  “I was a ward of the state for most of my childhood. Long story short, my mom and dad weren't the parenting type. The motorcycle club is my family now, they were there for me when no one else was.”

  I waited for more but he seemed to shut down the conversation there.

  “Ah.” I said. “I'm glad you found them then.”

  He smiled. “Me too.”

  I asked him to tell me about the club. I'd heard a bit about them in general but nothing specific. I had the impression that that they were the mafia on motorcycles and told him so, which made him laugh and explain that sometimes they were, sometimes they weren't.

  “It's not quite so organized as that. We are a group, a tight-knit one, but different people do different things.”

  I nodded. Not wanting to ask what sort of criminal activity he got up to in his free time. Not really wanting to know the answer.

  Dinner ended quickly. We were both too full for dessert but neither of us wanted to be the one to call it a night. We refilled our drinks and sipped them slowly, chatting and laughing. When we couldn't put it off any longer we slowly made our way outside.

  “You ride your motorcycle in the winter?” I asked, noticing it parked in front.

  “Unless there's snow.”

  “Don't you freeze?”

  “Nah. Well. A little.” He laughed. “You want to go on a ride?”

  “On the motorcycle?”

  “No, on me.” He laughed again and I shoved him playfully. He straddled the bike and twisted to pat the spot behind him welcomingly.

  “Is it safe?” I asked.

  “Is anything safe?”

  I rolled my eyes at the non-answer.

  “I won't let you get hurt.” He said. There was something odd about his tone. It seemed...too tender for the circumstances. As if he was talking about something else entirely when he said it. His voice was lower, quieter, and a hush fell around us when the words left his mouth.

  “Do you promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Putting aside my fears, I climbed onto the motorcycle. I wrapped my arms tightly around him, clinging on with all the temerity of someone who knows for certain that she's going to fly off the back of a motorcycle and die any moment. I buried my face into his back when the bike roared to life and squealed when it took off. I could feel him laughing more than I could actually hear it, his ab muscles flexing under my hands wrapped around his torso.

  “You're going too fast!” I yelled over the sound into his ear, my lips grazing over the stubble on his neck.

  “I'm going the speed limit.” he countered.

  Cold wind whipped around my face. It seemed impossible that this was only a tame 40 miles per hour.

  By the time he pulled back around to the restaurant parking lot, my cheeks and nose were bright red and my cheeks ached from laughing. He got off first and lifted me off the seat. I was a little wobbly on my feet at first, and he held on to my for a moment to let me catch my breath. His arm wrapped around my waist was strong and comforting. Like an anchor. I smiled up at him and he hesitated, not letting go of me.

  He raised a finger to touch my frozen nose, drawing a tingling line down my cheek until his fingertip came to rest on my bottom lip. My breath caught in my throat as I gazed up at him, the heat raising between us. I knew he was going to kiss me, and we hovered for a moment in that brief space full of anticipation just before he lowered his head and caught my lips with his. His kiss was unbearably soft at first and I leaned into him. This seemed to knock him out of his hesitation because he pulled me flush against him suddenly, his other hand wrapping around the warmth at the back of my neck. He deepened the kiss, swirling his tongue against mine. He tasted like dark, bitter beer. The scent of cigarettes clung to his clothes. The unadulterated masculinity overwhelmed me and I moaned softly into his mouth. He responded with a growl, pushing me back against the side of my car. I gripped his shoulders, clinging to him for dear life for the second time in the past half hour. His hips pressed against mine and I felt lightheaded, forgetting where we were or what my name was.

  The sound of someone exiting the restaurant and walking to their nearby car startled me and I broke the kiss, gently and reluctantly pushing him a few inches away, blushing madly. He was chuckling under his breath, completely unembarrassed.

  “Cole, do you want to come to my apartment?” I asked breathlessly, my shyness having melted away under the heat of his kiss.

  “Do you want me to?” He asked.

  “Yes.”

  He nuzzled my neck and whispered “Lead the way.”

  Chapter 4

  I felt like a madwoman on the drive back to my little place with Cole following behind on his bike. My thoughts were disjointed and incoherent, leaving behind just the tumultuous waves of my swirling emotions. I was scared, nervous, excited, and deliriously happy all at once. It had been years since I'd spent the night with a man who wasn't my ex. Did I even remember how to have sex with someone who wasn't him? What if I couldn't satisfy Cole? What if I was too innocent and unimaginative? What if he couldn't satisfy me? What if he was selfish and perfunctory in bed?

  Oh, but what if he wasn't?

  If his kiss was anything to go by, I had nothing to fear there. A thrill went down my spine and a familiar, but long neglected thick heat settled low in my stomach. I squirmed in my seat and clutched the steering wheel, cursing the miles between this string of small towns.

  At long last we arrived at my apartment building and he wordlessly followed me up the steps to my door. I got the key in the lock but hadn't opened the door yet when he wrapped his arms around my waist and turned me around, claiming my mouth again as he pushed my back against the door. In the semi-privacy I let go of some of my inhibitions and when he gripped my thighs and lifted me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist, gripping tight. When his hips pushed against me now it was impossible not to notice the thick hardness growing and pressing against my pelvis. His breath grew ragged and I felt him fumble behind me, opening the door before we tumbled inside. He kicked the door closed behind me and took a few steps inside before stopping.

  “Uh...”

  “Down the hallway on the right, first door on the left.” I whispered hurriedly.

  He carried me to my bedroom and I had the briefest moment of panic, remembering that the bulk of my wardrobe had been tired on and discarded onto the floor earlier that evening. He didn't seem to mind the mess, however. Barely seemed to notice it, in fact, and he dropped me unceremoniously onto the bed which was clear for the mos
t part.

  When he lowered himself on top of me, I sighed happily. His weight and his warmth was all I cared about in that moment. The juxtaposition was striking, between this man, with all his hard edges and male heat, in the center of this room that represented all that was fragile and female about me, with the dresses and skirts and tights scattered over the floor and the twinkle lights in the window.

  His hands were cold, and he warmed them against my skin, running his hands up my thighs. The sense of urgency in his touch emboldened me and I slid my hands beneath his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders, leaving him in the clean black t-shirt. I slid my hands beneath it, sliding them up his torso, which was even more well defined and muscled than I expected.