Page 11 of Kidnapped Plus-Size Mate

I’ve been forced to be there every night since the first dream where the dragon flew in. Every night, my dreams continue where the last left off, like a television series with escalating episodes and cliffhangers every time I’m snapped back to reality.

This morning’s mystery was the moment the dragon landed in the pool of crystal water in front of me. I was too stunned to move, entranced by the slitted green eyes that stared at my face as if I were its next meal.

When it leaned in, I shut my eyelids and willed my consciousness to wake me from the dream.

I let out a long, drawn-out breath, just glad to be back in the comfort of my bed. Taking a few moments to be grateful that the threat only exists in my dreams, I stall a bit of time before I have to embark on my reality.

A reality that isn’t as exciting as it was a few months ago.

Those stolen glances at the handsome, mysterious stranger were enough to spice up my rather mundane life.

Ever since he disappeared, I don’t have much to look forward to at the museum. He came in like a wisp of fresh air, to breathe new life into a job I’ve only been doing to keep me surrounded by works of art I’m interested in.

When I applied to become a tour guide at the museum, I didn’t think I’d become so familiar with the paintings and sculptures that they would lose their novelty to me.

Scoffing under my breath, I push through the rotating glass door, freezing on the spot, when I notice the mop of strawberry blonde hair.

A shocked gasp escapes my lips as the only indication that I’m still alive and breathing. I don’t even need to see his face to know that the man standing at reception is none other than the handsome stranger who has plagued my thoughts ever since I saw him amongst the crowd of the afternoon group of museum tourists all those months ago.

He’s back…

I blink fervently to ensure that my dreams and whimsical fantasies aren’t bleeding into my reality when he casually leans a forearm on the desk, the side of his face becoming visible enough to confirm that it’s him. With a sharp, distinct jawline cutting toward a set of plump, cherry lips, his long, light lashes flutter with the precision of a pretty butterfly with every blink.

I quickly scamper off behind the bookshelf, close enough to hear him but far enough so he won’t see me.

What is he doing here?

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, a set of long, dexterous fingers slipping out his wallet before he speaks to Jenna.

“How much do I owe you, Miss?” he asks her. His smooth voice trickles into my eardrums as if warm honey has been poured. Soft but commanding with its depth, it sends goosebumps pebbling on my forearms.

I’m not the only one affected when I notice Jenna gawking at him with a dropped jaw.

“You-you’re really here to settle your account, S-Sir?” she stammers, reaching for the receiver on the desk.

I match her frown from my hiding place as the man nods.

“It was a matter of misunderstanding,” he explains, producing another card. “You can bill me for the week I didn’t pay.”

Jenna tersely nods as she takes the card from the man, her eyes scrutinizing the print.

“Mr. Sterling Vance…” she says, pressing the receiver to her ear. “I’m going to run this past my manager, but there—”

Sterling Vance…

So that’s his name…

Somehow, it’s not what I was expecting, though I hadn’t given much thought to guessing his name.

Up until now, he was a nameless stranger who I thought I’d never see again.

“... Please add to my bill a tour for today.”

“What timeslot would you like, Sir?” Jenna asks him.

“Whatever timeslot Ms. Torres will be guiding.”

My eyes widen with horror behind the stack of books on the shelf, prompting me to turn slowly as shock washes over me in pulsating waves.

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