Something was wrong.

Pyro couldn’t put his finger on it, so he proceeded with his plan. He clothed Amy in the stunning threads he’d collected just for her, fitting her so perfectly she gazed at her reflection in awe. The teal augmented the green undertones in her eyes and strengthened the warmth of her auburn hair.

“Is that me?” she whispered.

“It’s you.” He hooked an arm around her waist and snugged her soft derriere against his ramrod hard cock.

“I look like a model.” She rested her hands on him for balance. “I’m not even wearing makeup.”

“I can fix that.”

She glanced back at him, surprise and interest lighting her face. “You’re a stylist?”

“I have connections.” He carried her out of his “comfy” home — her word, not his — and into the classiest salon in the heart of the Bellagio, stealing a bridal party’s appointment to have Amy done.

“Not too extreme,” she requested nervously while the expert stylist fluffed her hair and talked highlights and mid tones. “Just a little lipstick is fine.”

Pyro handed the manager his black credit card. “Do your worst.”

“Yes, sir.”

And she had a whole bevy of stylists painting her nails and toes, massaging in facial toner and lotion, and adding a few lightening foils to bring out her “natural” highlights. When he collected her an hour later, she was getting her eyeshadow finished, chatting about reality TV.

“But I can’t stop watching and I hate myself for wasting my brain,” she was saying. “I’m not an idiot. I know it’s all fake.”

“It’s not all fake,” the stylist said.

“Come on. Do you really believe all those women had no idea they were marrying convicts?”

“Okay, the actual events are staged. But the emotion, the drama, the realization that reaching for your dreams involves risk? Striving means pain?” The stylist brandished his brush for emphasis. “That part’s real. Dreams are dangerous. Reaching for them hurts. And that’s why people keep watching.”

She blinked and then snorted. “And here I thought I was just wasting my life.”

“Each episode is a cautionary tale to make you feel better about vegging on your couch. It keeps you from taking the plunge and becoming … your true self.”

The stylist turned Amy to face the mirror and whipped off the gown and revealed her finished appearance.

Her expression blanked with shock. She rose slowly, wobbling in the heels.

Pyro took her hand and helped her to a small, well lit viewing dais ringed by floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Amy put a hand up to her face, stopped before touching her skin, and smoothed the teal gown at her thighs.

“What do you think?” he asked, unable to read her expression. It wasn’t delighted, but something deeper.

“I thought I looked like a model before. Now…” A smile broke through like sun cracking storm clouds. She twirled once, letting the skirt flare around her ankles. “I could almost be one of those contestants on a reality TV show.”

“I could get you on a reality TV show,” Pyro agreed.

She turned to the beaming stylist. “Thank you. You worked a miracle.”

“You have good bones,” he assured her. “Lovely structure. I’ll watch for you on TV.”

She laughed, and it was a genuine sound of natural delight. They exited the salon into the tiled portico. She smiled, excited and carefree. “Where shall we eat?”

Pyro tugged her into his arms. “I’m hungry for you.”

Her smile fled and a new, feminine scent of arousal flooded his nose. He pressed her close so his arousal ground against her softness.

She … hesitated.

He hovered over her plump mouth.

Her lips parted and her pupils dilated. Encouraging. But she didn’t close the distance. She didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t lift her chin. She just waited, smelling like hunger and acting aloof.

He paused a beat and then eased closer.

She sucked in a huge breath and held it.

What the hell? Did she feel nothing? Was her hunger all in his head?

He eased back.

She released her breath, blinked several times, and forced a smile. “I’m hungry for real food if that’s okay.”

So casual. Like nothing had passed between them. Like he hadn’t been about to kiss her. Like she wasn’t, even this moment, emitting addictive, arousing pheromones.

He couldn’t figure it out. Being around her was like stoking a roaring fire but being so numbed he couldn’t sense the heat. He wanted to stick his hands directly into the flames. Then would it burn?

“Sure.” Even though his brain battled doubts, he knotted his fingers in hers to keep her close. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can we eat anywhere?”

“Anywhere,” he said, for at least the third time that night.

“Well … I’ve always wanted to visit Paris.”

He flew her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and they strolled into a private booth — without waiting — for an intimate meal. She accepted a small sip of his champagne, marveled over the dishes, and oohed at the view. Her eyes sparkled and her laughter popped. And every time he touched her, the sparkling gemstones in her eyes seemed to freeze and she turned to him, accepting his touch. Welcoming it.

But she never returned his overtures. She never initiated, never teased back, never pulled him closer.

It made him work harder than ever to figure her out. Learn about her family, her friends, her dreams, her habits. Things he never shared with anyone. Not even his own sister.

She brought up their first “date” again. “Why did you need me to break into Sard’s warehouse? Why can’t you sue him for industrial theft?”

“Because he’s an aristocrat.” Pyro tapped the red shell of his lobster with his tined fork. “I’m a low-class bastard with no rights.”

“No one cares about dragon classes on Earth.”

“Human rules apply to humans. Dragon rules apply to dragons. Even now he’s plotting something. I’ll find out what when we meet.” He stabbed the steak. “Unless I torch his building first.”

“You should put aside your differences for the meeting.”

His brow rose. “He’s an aristocrat. Our differences can’t be ‘put aside.’”

“Start out neutral.”

“You do understand our company’s going to be destroyed? And he’s going to help?”

“Save your anger until the best moment. Start out calm. You control the conversation, not him.”

Hmm. “Interesting theory.”

“Basic classroom management.”

“Torch the building after he’s stolen another of our products or kidnapped another employee?”

“Right,” she said. “And, uh, make sure everyone’s safely out of the building first.”

It was an idea. And the first time he’d ever talked about this issue seriously with anyone. His siblings dismissed his anger and Darcy knew it was his role to help Pyro forget. Amy was supportive. Helpful. Honest.

Talking with her like they were friends first was so totally foreign it made him reconsider. He wanted to keep this. Even if the rest of their relationship didn’t work. He wanted her on his side believing in him.

She licked her lips, seemingly unconscious of how luscious it made her look. “You talk about torching others’ things a great deal. But I wonder if you’re not most dangerous to yourself.”

“How so?”

“You have a different woman every night. You destroy the things you care about before they can betray you. You break off before you can get hurt.” She pointed her dessert spoon at him. “You can’t commit.”

Like hell. He could commit. And he had committed.

But they were never talking about that.

He snorted. “Did you figure out this mystery because I joked about your board game?”

“And your pinball machine.”

He shook his head. She had no idea.

“The way you talk about your family’s company. How you’d rather see it destroyed than taken away from you. And how you keep everyone away from you, even your own siblings, rather than risk getting too close. You’re afraid of losing them and so you’d rather push them away with jokes and flames. You won’t commit.”

This was no longer funny.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, short and clear, and hardened against what was certain to be tearful fallout. “You think you’ve figured it out? You don’t know me.”

She cocked her head, not offended or even put off. “You’re right. I don’t know you. Why did you propose? Of all the women in the world, why am I the one sitting across from you right now? It’s a total mystery and I will figure it out.”

No tears. She’d surprised him again.

And the surprise interrupted his anger. She was strangely good at short-circuiting his destructive tendencies.

“Why are you the one sitting across from me?” Amusement eased into his chest, loosening the tight knot. “It’s not a mystery to anyone else in this restaurant.”

“They saw us walk in together,” she said, completely missing his point.

He drove it home. “You’re gorgeous. Sexy. Completely irresistible.”

She blinked rapidly. Her sweet lips parted in shock and then adorable embarrassment washed over her in a pink blush. She accidentally nudged her fork off the table, and then, while leaning down to pick it up, brushed her napkin off the other side and upset her water.

“I don’t — I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, finally, brushing imaginary crumbs off her heaving, full-bodied, delicious bosom. “This isn’t me. I’m just wearing unusual clothes.”

He grinned, enjoying this. “The clothes are a nice bow on top but the stunning package is all you.”

And she didn’t seem to know what to say.

He could get used to this.

After dinner, when he asked her if she wanted to head back to his home, her expression turned pleading. “Can we walk? Down the Strip? There’s so much I want to see and I might never be here again.”

“If you married me, you’d live here.”

She bit her lip.

He knew that gesture. He stopped her and gripped her bare shoulders. It took all his will not to demand the truth right now.

Was he never going to be enough for her? He could make any meager human fantasies come true. He had money, connections, and charm. Wasn’t she interested in that? Like the rest of the females?

Had she seen deeper, felt the missing pieces of his damaged heart, and realized he would always be a low caste, no good bastard no matter how much he accumulated to disguise it?

She suddenly gasped and pointed at something behind him. “Look! It’s a man painting. On the street!”

“What?” he said gruffly because it was so far away from his thoughts that he could barely comprehend her.

She grabbed his forearm and dragged him over to an airbrush artist’s booth. “See?”

Mirrors reflected the artist’s movements. He selected a fresh sheet, covered it with pinks, blacks, yellows, and blues until the Strip emerged beneath a huge pink moon. He hung it on an easel to dry. A friend solicited the small crowd for tips and one of the viewers purchased the final print.

“He’s so talented.” She sighed and pulled Pyro on. “My art certificate portfolio is due soon and I would not have the guts to perform in front of strangers. Oh, over there! It’s a magic show!”

Her enthusiasm was strangely infectious. Pyro forgot they were supposed to be moving back to his lair for sex and instead found himself looking at sights he normally flew past at blurring speeds. Pausing, she made him observe everyday occurrences with new eyes.

They passed the New York, New York.

“I want to play the Coney Island games,” she announced.

He obliged, leading her inside and then rising to fly over the crowds to the stairs.

“Put me down,” she insisted. “I can see unpainted planks. I’m sure the casino is supposed to be experienced from walking.”

He let her down. “But you know it’s fake.”

“But the emotion is real,” she said, repeating part of the conversation with her stylist.

And, as she gazed upon the alleyways and musicians and miniature restaurants re-inventing the boroughs of that distant city, her smile glowed.

He wanted her smile directed at him. That wonder, that innocence, that sweetness. For the first time in a long, long time, he ached for a female’s attention. Not just any female. This one. Amy.

That’s why he allowed her to talk him into playing the arcade games.

“I have these at my home,” he complained, putting in his credit card and cupping his hands for the mounds of quarters.

“Not this one.” She pointed at an “electric chair” ride. “Who electrocutes themselves for fun? Seriously.”

He poured the quarters into her surprised hands, fed money into the electric chair, and gripped the handles. Electricity tingled and then jolted into his body, sharp and painful, while the machine made a screeching noise and belched steam.

She watched in horrified fascination. “Is that actually fun?”

“No.” When it was over, he released the handles and strutted out. “You want a turn?”

She shook her head violently but a small part of her looked impressed. They continued around the arcade. She squeaked and raced to a game with holes and mallets.

“Now that you’re softened up, I challenge you to a game of Whack-a-Mole. And I have to warn you I was the champion at the Halloween Games.”

“Let me guess.” He picked up the soft, fabric-covered hammer. “You were playing against kids decades younger.”

“Well, now I’m playing against you.” She grinned and gripped her own mallet, excited.

And it was fun. It was.

They toured the rest of the arcade feeding quarters into every machine until they were spent out and she wanted to do something else. This time, when he lifted her into his arms, she didn’t protest. Her feet were starting to hurt in the tall shoes — she didn’t say it, but he could tell by the way she walked and winced — and anyway, he felt a weird need for an excuse to hold her.

Even if tonight didn’t end in sex.

Even if this moment, right now, was all they had.

He skimmed close to the ground so she could experience the casino as it was intended. Just before the exits, she suddenly gasped and pointed.

“A bar that serves chocolate cocktails! You have to stop.”

He let her down. It was such a popular bar there were no chairs, so they stood at the polished wood. She perused the menu and then he raised his hand and ordered.

“It has alcohol,” he noted, watching the busy bartender mix five types of liquor, including Lady Godiva spirits and white chocolate vodka, and pour it into a syrup-swirled martini glass sanded with glistening crystals of sugar.

“I know.” She cupped the martini glass, inhaled, and sighed. “This is my final rebellion. Tomorrow, I’ll go back to boring old responsible Amy. Don’t let me do anything I’ll regret.”

Her trust both reassured him and opened new questions.

He lifted his own drink — a thick mudslide — and leaned an elbow against the bar. “What would you count as a regret?”

“Mmm.” She closed her eyes with bliss and savored her sip. “Oh, wow. This will definitely be a regret. But so worth it.”

Her bliss, her moan, her pink tongue teasing the rim made his cock harden.

She didn’t answer his question.

He waited for her to work through half the drink, when her complexion changed and her eyes glistened. “Is sex a regret?”

“I don’t know.” She set the martini down and stole a newly available seat, propping herself on the bar and settling in to speak with him with her usual candor. “I think I’ll enjoy it. I hope so. I’ve never had it.”

“Never?” She was the first female he’d met who didn’t take sex whenever desired. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “I haven’t met the right guy. The ones I liked weren’t interested in me or vice versa. And I heard it’s painful the first time.”

“Painful?”

She nodded. “If it’s painful, I want to go through it with someone who cares. Not a nameless dude I meet in a bar.”

He lifted a brow. “You met me in a bar.”

She glanced at him from the side. A clever smile curved her lips, and she sipped the drink, savoring it, before replying. “I knew your name.”

His cock flooded again. These were the signals to move forward.

But her revelation also gave him a surprise. “I’ve never heard of sex being painful.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” She patted him on the chest. Her palm glanced off his pectoral as though she’d mis-aimed. “I’m not your usual type, right? You prefer women with experience.”

“Experience which is never painful.”

“Don’t make a buzzed teacher launch into sex ed.” She cradled her mostly empty drink; her pink tongue slurped up the sugar crystals, and it was hard to tell which was making her more loopy, the alcohol or the sugar. “Google ‘painful first time’ and you’ll learn. But keep Safe Search on. Trust me.”

He did as she suggested while she finished her drink just because he was curious.

Most dragon females had sex in dragon form. They sprayed their chosen males with lust hormones, driving them insane until the act was complete. Sex in human form was exotic and therefore unnecessary.

Since coming to Earth, he’d enjoyed sex in human form. He possessed greater sensation and control. Human females were more interested in exploring sexuality than utilitarian dragon efficiency.

Why would Amy deny herself such pleasure?

He thought about it as, at her request, he took her back to his lair and closed her in. Pulling her into his arms, she went willingly, tasting of chocolate and need. But she still didn’t respond.

“Do you want me?” he finally demanded. It was a question he’d never asked in his entire time on this planet. Never once. And yet, with Amy, he asked it. “For sex?”

Her answer, if it was the wrong one, might just break him.

She wiped her lips. Her eyes were wide, dilated, and she nodded. “You must know you’re desirable.”

A little of the tension eased. “You don’t react.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I kiss you. You don’t pull me close or kiss me back.”

“I don’t?” She seemed genuinely surprised. A slow smile broke over her face. She covered half of the smile. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Why does that amuse you?”

“Two reasons. Well, one. Okay, two.”

He pulled back. “They are?”

“First, this isn’t me.” She indicated the teal dress, the new hairstyle, the makeup. “The stylist had it backward. I’m not myself right now. I’m wearing this ‘gorgeous person’ costume and this ‘cover model’ mask. Who knows what I’d do? You can only trust the real me.”

Okay. He’d bite. “Who is the real you?”

She grew nervous. Her fingers twined behind her back. “You want to know?”

Yes. He wanted to reveal this mystery.

“I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into his bathroom. Water ran and splashed. She was taking a shower, and he wasn’t invited.

In any other night, he would have invited himself.

But this time, he cracked a soda and put on a movie. He was curious. Anticipation heightened his interest.

Sometime later, the closet door closed and reopened. She emerged with her hair down, the ends wet. The makeup was scrubbed off again. She’d found a pair of gray and green flannel pajamas that softened her curves.

He paused the movie and rose to his knees on the bed.

She linked her hands behind her. “This is the real me.”

“I don’t see a difference.”

She frowned and pointed at her beautiful, nude face and enticing, flannel-wrapped curves. “I’m completely different.”

But she was still an earnest, sweet, heartfelt woman with curves that made his mouth water and his dragon roar. “Come up here.”

She hesitated and then obeyed, clambering onto the mattress and crawling across it to him. She sat back on her ankles. Shyness suggested the alcohol had worn off, but the glow in her cheeks meant it hadn’t entirely gone.

“I look different,” she said.

“You look sexy.”

She glanced away. “No.”

He pressed her to the mattress so his hardness nudged her hip.

She made a surprised noise.

His mouth sought hers, silencing any hint of protest and consuming her, using his vast technique to promise she would only experience pleasure, never the feared pain.

She, predictably, held her breath.

He lifted up, resting his weight on his forearms. “You don’t want me?”

She blinked as though coming out of a dream. “What?”

He nuzzled her. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin. Inviting him. Seducing him.

Confusing him.

He nipped her lips, trying to tease a reaction from her. “You’re lying here. No reactions.”

Her lashes fluttered. “Oh. Sorry.”

Sorry?

He pushed up onto one hand, putting real space between them. “You’re sorry.”

“Yes. I … it’s my fault.” She rose and one hand covered her face. “It’s embarrassing, but, you kiss me and I sort of lose my senses. I want to remember everything. I get stuck.”

“No experience with kisses?”

Her embarrassment deepened. “I told you. I was busy in college. It’s not an excuse, but … okay, it is an excuse. I thought true love would happen later, so I wasn’t looking, and it never came my way. Until now. This is all new. I want to experience everything.”

He didn’t know how to proceed. “You want me to stop.”

“No. But you are moving kind of fast. It’s overwhelming.”

He was overwhelming her.

Can you really please a woman? His sister’s snort of disbelief returned to him like an accusation.

He tucked Amy into the crook of his elbow.

“You’re stopping?” Disappointment threaded her tone.

He nuzzled her. “I’m going at your pace.”

She looked up in confusion.

“This is new to you. Right? Lying next to a guy, watching a movie.”

She nodded.

“Then, when you’re ready, you kiss me.”

“I kiss you?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Her gaze turned to the screen. “You’ll miss the movie.”

“I’ve seen it a hundred times. I won’t miss a thing, I guarantee it.”

Her heart rate spiked. He could hear it thundering out of control in her chest.

He felt a matching excitement.

Had he ever laid back and received a woman’s kiss? He’d been surprised by kisses before, but as soon as they were initiated, he took over and performed.

Being the recipient, enjoying the touch of a female, was a pleasure he’d overlooked before. With Amy, he would have this new experience.

With her, he’d have every new experience.

She trailed a hand over his bicep and forearm. “You’re toned. You must work out.”

“Low body fat and high dragon metabolism.”

Her interested gaze trailed up his body to his lips. Enticing him like a magnet, willing him to take over the seduction. Take control. Make her the passive recipient.

He stuck a hand behind his head to reinforce that he would lie back and wait.

She slowly, with determination, lowered her head.

Their lips touched.

Her lips were soft, sweet, and they trembled. He was aware, for the first time, of the full sensation of her plump mouth. Her forearms rested on his chest. Her delicate breath ghosted his cheek.

Each sensation was new. Distinct.

Pleasurable.

She nibbled on his lips, hesitant, like she was exploring and trying to duplicate the movements he had so mindlessly used on her.

His arousal increased like she’d reached her hand around his cock and squeezed. He groaned.

She lifted her head. Surprise shone in her eyes. Then, pride.

Pride was right. She’d gotten him hot from bare contact. Mostly anticipation.

She lowered her head again and, with a little more confidence, explored his mouth.

A kiss had never tasted so full, so sensual. So exquisite and yet oddly satisfying.

Normally he wouldn’t think of stopping until his partner was thoroughly sated and so was he. But for the first time, he felt something purer than a physical connection. Something deeper than destiny. Passion this intense couldn’t be explored in a single hour. Maybe not even a single night.

He would go at her pace. He would become a male she could rely on. He would … he would commit. Just because committing had cost him once didn’t mean he was afraid. He feared nothing. He would make love to Amy with total faith.

And when his guard was down, she could grab his heart in both hands and destroy him.