Page 3 of Fire Dragon
“What a man,” Jane cooed.
“He is that.” Emma wouldn’t deny it. She just hated that she’d been a notch on his bedpost. She hated even more that her desire for him hadn’t dimmed even the smallest, freaking jot.
She straightened her shoulders. Well, too bad. She wasn’t the first woman to make a fool of herself for a handsome face and the body of a god.
As he shifted out of his dragon form, and landed on the pavement on two booted feet, he stumbled and almost fell. He wore his black flight uniform, something he was able to keep intact with most shifts. Sometimes, when exhausted, the suit got lost in the whirlwind of transforming from dragon to man. Not today.
The attendants went to him immediately.
One caught him under his right arm and lifted him from his kneeling position. Emma had heard the crosswinds had been a real bitch this time around. Liam had to be worn out.
When he could stand on his own, he took a towel and wiped his face and neck. She knew the smell he would carry right now, the carbon-burned odor that somehow had always pleased her. It was a cross between seawater-soaked driftwood and grilling charcoal. She loved it.
As he drank his water, Jane elbowed her. “I’ve always wanted to know…how was he, in bed I mean?”
Emma shook her head and chuckled. “Let’s see. That makes fifty-seven times you’ve asked and what do you think my answer will be?”
Jane sighed. “Take pity on me. I’ve never been with one of the magnificent seven.”
They were that, the seven great dragons that served out of Blue Lake South. Magnificent as hell.
As Liam and his team disappeared into the hangar on the ground floor, Emma took her friend by the shoulders and pivoted her in the direction of the elevators. “Just find me that cape and get me ready for my first run.”
~ ~ ~
Liam walked between the two support staff and tried to ignore the cheers of those staff that lined the hall off the hangar. He wished they wouldn’t applaud him like they did. He was just doing his job.
He was dead tired and only wanted three things. Four, really. A steak almost raw but charred just right. A bucket of beer. A woman. Then sleep for a week.
His bones rattled from the shift and from being in the air and forging a path through the crosswinds for hours on end. His eyes burned and his tailbone felt like it was seriously out of whack. He hurt.
He changed his mind. He wanted five things. The original four plus a massage, a deep gorgeous massage by the lovely and very strong Batya.
He kept his feet moving forward as he headed to the showers.
He was desperate for heat on the back of his shoulders as well as the top of his ass. The staffer on his right asked if he wanted a porterhouse rare.
“And beer.”
“Of course, sir. A bucket, as I recall from your last order.”
At that, Liam’s lips quirked. “Good man.”
They rounded a corner and more admins lined the halls, applauding another successful caravan run. He barely saw any of them, except two or three women who were wearing close to nothing. He slid his gaze over these few, then dismissed them. He knew exactly what they were offering, and it wasn’t just a roll in the hay. A woman at work wanted a husband and a family, things he couldn’t deliver. He preferred to hit the bars where the women weren’t thinking anything beyond a quick trip to heaven and back.
He’d made one mistake a year ago with a rider trainee. He’d been more than drunk when he’d followed her into her cave apartment and bedded her.
For some reason, whenever he thought of Emma Brier, he smelled lilacs. Her perfume had intoxicated him.
But she wasn’t what he needed in his life.
Just before he made his left to head to his apartment, he caught sight of a familiar, stoic, massive figure, all in black, at the end of the hall, dead on.
Shit.
Santos oversaw the dragon caravans, as well as the Arranfar Defense Force at Blue Lake South.
He had a bad feeling as Miguel slowly lifted his arm and waved him forward.
