Page 19 of Dragon Prince of New York

“No.” I shift back into dragon form before the two of them can get any ideas. There’s only one person I want.

Unable to stop myself, I fly down to the balcony outside Finley’s new studio. Perched on the railing, I watch her. She’s facing the massive windows with an easel in front of her, looking right toward me but not seeing me.

She looks lovely, bathed in the golden light of early evening. She’s got her hair pulled up in a messy bun with loose tendrils falling to frame her face. Her tongue is between her teeth as she concentrates, and there’s a smudge of charcoal across her chin. She’s adorable like this, so focused on her art. I want to ask her a million questions about what she’s working on, what inspires her, and what her dreams are for the future.

Maybe I’ve been approaching this all wrong. We could be friends. I could use this time to woo her rather than pushing her away. It doesn’t have to lead to anythingmore yet.

She keeps reaching her hand to the back of her neck, like she’s irritated by something. Maybe the tag? Then, without warning, she pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it across the room, scowling at it. A pink lace bra is all that covers her soft skin. And it’s almost completely see-through. Her breasts aren’t what I would call large, but they’re perfect. Pert and pointy, they lift as her chest expands on a sigh. Her tight, rosy nipples poke through the lace, begging me to pinch them and pull.

My claws tighten on the balcony ledge, bending the metal. The scraping sound has her looking up, but when she doesn't see anything she shakes it off as nothing. She stretches, lengthening her soft belly and pushing out her chest.

Pulse erratic, it’s all I can do to keep from charging through the window like the beast I am and carrying her back to my den like the dragons of old. I want to hide her away, hoard her for myself, lay her out on top of everything I treasure, and ravage her until she’s thoroughly and completely mine.

Fuck! What the hell am I doing?

Deep breath in.

If I charge in there and take her now, Midas will banish me from the horde. Finley will lose her access to the goddess’s pool.

Deep breath out.

She puts her hands on her hips and stares at the painting, then out the window, right through me. I want to drop my shields so she’ll see me. Really see me. But what would that accomplish? It would just scare her.

I’m about to turn to leave when she picks up the easel and repositions at an angle so the light hits the sketch she’s working on.

No longer blocked from my view, I see exactly what she’s drawing.Me. Naked like I was the other morning. There’s none of the color, and she’s got the tattoo—which isn’t really a tattoo—slightly wrong, but it’s me.

I preen, flapping my wings, with a smile. She's thinking of me. It’s time I start showing her exactly how much she means to me. I just need to do it from a distance so I don’t fuck up and destroy our future.

Chapter 11

Finley

I’m just stepping intomy shoes when Cyrus comes barreling into the entryway. “Where are you going?”

“The art supply shop,” I say, digging through my purse to make sure I have my wallet. I always seem to misplace it and don’t want to have to come all the way back here empty-handed because I got there only to discover I didn’t have any money with me. It’s happened way too often.

“I’m coming with you.”

That gets my attention. Nope. Part of the reason I’m going is to get away from Cyrus. He’s everywhere. Every time I turn around in this apartment, he’s there. I have to keep music going in my studio or sing to myself to keep from hearing the dull murmur of his masculine voice through the walls when he’s on work calls.

Then there’s breakfast. He’s taken to making me coffee and breakfast—a truly sweet gesture—but he never stays to share it with me. I keep trying to tell myself he’s just being nice because we’re technically family now, but then he writes these sweet notes to go with whatever breakfast he’s set out, and I’m left feeling confused all over again.

This morning’s note simply said, “You have a beautiful voice. I could listen to it for eternity.”

How am I supposed to take that? And now he wants to run errands with me?

“It’s not safe for you to go alone,” he says, snapping me back to the present.

Ah, so it’s not that he wants to go with me or spend time with me, it’s that he feels responsible for me. Because of Midas. “Aren’t there bodyguards or something watching out for me?”

“Yes. I’ve got a bodyguard all set to discreetly follow you anytime you leave the house. So we don’t alert anyone that we’re suspicious, but… I just… I want…”

He doesn’t finish. I wait, but he still doesn’t finish.

The stuttering of a man like Cyrus makes me feel like I’ve brought a warrior to his knees. My face splits in a wide smirk. “Are you trying to ask me out, Cyrus?” Using an overlydramatic British accent, I add, “Can you not bear to be without me for a few hours?”

“Hours?!” He growls.

---