Page 22 of Fated for his Flame

“There’s no way I’m that difficult of a project,” she said.

“That all depends on what type of dragon lady we go for,” I pointed out. “If we try to appease my father, that means turning you into the meek, submissive little thing that he thinks is correct behavior.”

Chloe looked at me. Really looked at me. At that moment, I was being judged. I stood there and bore it, waiting for her to come to the right conclusion.

“Good,” she said, nodding sharply. “I’m glad you don’t believe that.”

“Of course, I don’t subscribe to that,” I said, gathering up some of the empty serving plates—there were no leftovers. I’d seen to that while she’d watched in what I hoped was awe, not disgust—and dumping them in the sink before grabbing soap and a sponge. “That’s boring. I want a partner, not a slave.”

“Agreed. So, what next?”

I shrugged. “Not sure, actually. I’ve never had to do this before, so I’m making it up as I go along.”

She stood there and waited. I washed dishes aimlessly—she grabbed the towel and started drying without asking or being asked. I thought about telling her not to but decided against it. I liked her attitude.—all the while thinking about what to do. Eventually, my eyes settled on her, running up and down.

“You know I can see you checking me out, right?” she said dryly.

I blinked, having been lost deep in thought. “Huh?”

“You’ve been checking me out for the past two minutes,” she said.

“I have? Oh. I was thinking,” I said, shutting off the tap. “Looks are important. Appearances. We should start there.”

“Meaning what?”

“New clothing, for sure. You stick out like a sore thumb. You’re confident and strong-willed, which will serve you well from a distance if you have the right clothing and blend in that way. There’s nothing we can do about your smell, though.”

Her face scrunched up. “Excuse me? I don’t stink. I showered this morning!”

I briefly pictured her soapy body, her own hands running over its lines and curves, and my mouth went dry.

“Not what I meant,” I said, struggling to focus again. This is ridiculous. You are stronger than a human! Act it. “It’s your scent. Humans and dragons don’t smell the same. People will know immediately. But if we can limit the interest from distances, that’s a start.”

“Okay. New clothing. I don’t mind a shopping trip,” she said with a shrug. “But I’m broke.”

I just looked at her.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Was that embarrassment? I wasn’t sure. “You’re welcome,” I said, waving it off. “Clothing will be good. Scent, perhaps some perfume to help mask it, so in passing, others may not notice. Not much we can do about the strength, though.”

“I put a lot of effort into working out,” she pouted. “I’m not weak.”

“Chloe, even the youngest dragon woman could tie your body into a pretzel without breaking a sweat. It’s not an insult. Remember, we look alike, but we aren’t the same. You must not grow complacent that way. I could snap a human’s neck with a strong enough flick of my finger.”

That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but not by a lot. Nor did she have to know. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt—or die—because she grew overconfident that looking alike meant being alike. Losing her would be no fun.

I glanced over her once more. “We could perhaps dye your hair as well. There’s a bit too much red in it for dragons.”

“I always thought it was fairly brown,” she said, pulling some of her locks in front of her eyes.

“It is,” I agreed, “but the auburn-ness of it isn’t a dragon thing. It’s probably fine, but if you keep attracting attention, we’ll consider it.”

“So, you want to give me a makeover, in other words,” she said with a hint of defensiveness.

“You volunteered to come here,” I pointed out. “You can’t honestly think you would just be able to stay the exact same, could you?”

Her silence told me she had.

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