Page 9 of His Curvy Mate

Caye snorted. “You do know I was only checking to make sure you were either dead or somehow locked away so that those who followed Apophis couldn’t find you and use you against us.”

“Destiny brought you to me.”

“Get over yourself. My original plan was to kill you if I wasn’t convinced you had been neutralized.”

“You would have killed a sleeping dragon?”

“One I thought could be used against us? Absofuckinglutely. I knew firsthand how dangerous an ancient dragon could be. I knew what it had taken to end Apophis…”

“He is dead? Are you sure?”

She smiled with what she hoped was a certain degree of malevolence. “Yep. Saw him killed, then I ripped his soul from his corpse, shredded it, and a friend of mine called down the banshees to banish him to the Shadowlands. Trust me, he won’t be an issue.”

Caye watched his face, waiting for him to be frightened or at least disgusted at what she had done and how she had no regrets. She was disappointed.

“You are even more magnificent than I first thought you to be,” he said with nothing but respect and something more—a something she didn’t want to name—on his face.

Andreas rose from where he had squatted by the fire, poking at it before removing the roasted rabbit from the spit. He had vegetables cooking in a pan beneath it so they were basted with the drippings from the meat. He carved it and prepared two plates before walking over to her. She watched him, her arms wrapped around her knees, wishing she wanted to be anywhere but where she found herself.

She wanted to hate him. Andreas was everything she hated in men—of whatever ilk. He was arrogant and thought he knew best. She hated the smug look that said he knew exactly what he was doing, even when they were in the midst of a battle. She did have to admit, he was a deadly adversary and had ensured they both got out alive. He had saved her, but that didn’t excuse everything. The fact that he seemed so calm about all of this after just awakening from a who-knows-how-long sleep made her want to scream. Caye wanted to ask why—why me, why this—but he was right, she already knew the answer, and the stubborn part of her refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was beginning to have feelings for him.

“Here,” he said, handing her a plate. “Move over.”

“Why?” she asked all too suddenly and acutely aware she was naked. Another reason to hate him—he kept getting her naked without asking. Granted, this time she’d been passed out, but still.

“Because the bed is the only comfortable place to sit.”

Taking the plate, Caye scooched over to make room, but ensured he was sitting on top of the covers and not beneath them with her. She took a tentative bite; it was damn good.

“Thanks. This is good. You learned this all from one book?”

“More of a refresher course. You keep forgetting: I was here for the gold rush.”

“Do you have a hoard of gold?” she asked teasingly.

He took a bite and nodded. “I do.”

She must have looked shocked, as Andreas laughed. “I have some buried in a hidden and safe place, and then some in a bank in Crete, and some in the Yukon territories.”

“You expected to wake?”

“I knew you would come and free me.”

“If you truly believed that; you’re a fool.”

“And yet here we sit, eating our dinner.”

He had a point.

“Now stop with the death stares,” he continued, “and cuddle up, I’ve got the fires going, but night is falling and it’s going to be a damn icebox in here soon.”

She didn’t want to admit he was right, but with the creeping chill of the cave, he was impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, she didn’t try to stop him when he slipped off his own clothes and crawled under the covers with her.

When her eyes flickered open, she realized she must have dozed off, and hours must’ve passed because the darkness was still thick around them, but the fires had dwindled to a gentle glow. Her back was pressed firmly against something solid and warm. Andreas. She went completely still as the realization hit her.

A smile played across her face—she could feel the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly as his warmth seeped into her skin. He’d curled up behind her at some point, his breath steady and even. She was supposed to loathe him, wasn’t she? Yet here she was, shivering not from the cold but from the proximity of the man who’d saved her life and cared for her while she recovered and transitioned.

Maybe it was the surreal sense of being stuck in a dream, or maybe it was the way his arm draped over her like a protective shield, but Caye found herself turning ever so slightly. His face was inches from hers, softened by sleep. Without thinking, her hand reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, rough with stubble. He didn’t stir, so she let her fingers wander down his neck, over the expanse of his muscular chest.

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