Page 34 of Purple Scales & Coffee Tales

“Good morning, Taran,” Stuart greeted me when I entered. “Did you have a good time at the party yesterday?”

“I did, thank you.” I went over to the coffee machine to pour myself a cup out of habit, not because I needed it to wake my spirits.

“Would you like me to prepare the breakfast for you and Miss Maeve, or do you want to do it?” he asked me in an offhand voice

“Oh, uh, yeah it would be nice if you could…”Did he hear us? Last night?

“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “I went for a long walk and then fell into a deep sleep. You could have carried me away, I guess. Pancakes?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Stuart.”

“Anytime, Master Taran. Once I’ve finished, I will take a cab into the city to pick up the Helix. I daresay you didn’t carry the car, either?”

I met his eyes and saw mischief sparkling in them.

“No, I didn’t,” I huffed. “It’s in the parking lot at the venue. The address should be on the invitation. Do you still have that?”

“I do. I’ll bring your breakfast up in a few minutes.”

I added milk to a second cup of coffee and took both back upstairs to my bedroom.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Maeve

Iwoke up in Taran’s bedroom, surrounded by curved walls made from rough exposed stone. The room would have given me medieval vibes if it hadn’t been for the subtle high-end tech scattered around it.

Where is he?

The deep purple satin sheets felt too real on my skin for all of it to have been only a dream. They were cool and sleek and whispered with every one of my movements.

I got up to have a closer look at the gorgeous paintings hanging at intervals on the walls, not caring for now that I was naked.

You’re alone and Taran seeing you like this might give him ideas on how to fill the time.

It was the weekend. With the grand re-opening about a week away, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do for the next two days.Except for him.

The painting on the far left showed a terrifyingly beautiful Minotaur whose hard stare made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up even though I knew it was just a piece of art.

The one in the middle was of a naked woman lounging on a diwan and a Satyr plying her with grapes, his goat’s legs spread and a pointed bright red cock poking out from the middle of his fur.

Okay.

It was the third painting that drew me out of bed. It somehow looked even more realistic than the other two.

The enormous canvas barely contained a hulking black Dragon rearing on its hind legs and roaring, maw stretched wide.

It stood in stark relief against the full moon behind it, black scales glittering silver in the cold light.

“Wow,” I breathed and stretched out a hand as if to touch it.

“I’m glad you like it,” a quiet voice said from behind me and I spun on the spot.

Taran leaned against the rough stone doorframe, two cups of coffee in his clawed hands.

Nope, this is the most magnificent piece of art here.

He wore a casual shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the top three buttons undone, exposing his chest covered in scales the same colour as the ones of the dragon in the painting.

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