That was incredibly stupid, Maximus lectured himself, driving away from Poet’s flat in Wheatley. He was still staying in Ansel’s townhouse in Chelsea, but he needed to find closer lodging so he could keep a better eye on his target.

He had not intended to make his presence known again when he returned to survey the girl. He was sure that she had figured out he was lying when he claimed he was from the King’s Guard in the lecture hall earlier, but at that time, he had not expected to see her again.

I am not a good spy, he thought, slightly pounding the steering wheel as he drove. I don’t want to do this.

Following her into the Cloak and Clock, his only plan had been to keep an eye on her and ensure she did not return to Misty Woods. A formal plan was still in the making, and as he sipped on his pint at the bar, he watched Poet try to escape the obviously uncomfortable situation. Before he could stop himself, he had put down his pint and addressed the table.

And that was incredibly stupid, Maximus reminded himself again, pressing on the gas to distance himself from the bad move he had made.

He didn’t know why he was so surprised that Poet was onto him in seconds. She was a graduate student. She was clearly intelligent. It had been difficult to maintain his composure under her blunt questioning and even harder to refuse her invitation into her apartment.

Yes, she was beautiful. And yes, she was smart. But no, she had no place in Maximus’ life. Keeping her close would only result in more problems for everyone involved.

He wondered if she would alert the real King’s Guard to his presence, and he wondered what they would do.

I must be more careful, he told himself firmly. I can’t afford to bring any more attention to us than Poet already has.

Still, as he drove through the slowly lessening rain, he could not submerge the bright beauty of Poet’s crystalline eyes, staring at him with bemusement. Even with his dark sunglasses on, he’d felt like she had been peering into his soul.

Maximus pulled into Ansel’s driveway and parked, his mind still whirling as he removed the sunglasses and tossed them onto the passenger seat where Poet had sat. He didn’t move for a few minutes, trying to get his thoughts collected before opening the door and climbing out into the grey day.

It wasn’t raining in London, but the sky remained overcast as he let himself into his brother’s stylish house.

“Oh!” he said, startled. “You’re home.”

Ansel raised his head from his laptop, his grey eyes fixated on his brother.

“I do live here,” he reminded Max sarcastically. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Maximus sighed and flopped unceremoniously onto the sofa, leaning forward on his forearms to study Ansel’s face.

“Probably,” he replied cheekily. “But I’ll make do.”

“What’s up your arse today?” Ansel asked, setting aside his laptop. “Girl problems?”

Maximus groaned. “What the hell am I supposed to do about this?” he asked. “Father is asking me to do the impossible.”

“What else is new?” Ansel chuckled. “I say just wait it out until the old bat finds something else to go off about.”

“He’s fixated on this girl,” Maximus moaned. “She should never have come to the castle. Now I have to do something with her.”

“What does she know, though? I mean, what can she possibly know?”

Maximus shrugged helplessly. “I haven’t a clue,” he confessed. “She is very intelligent. You can see it in her eyes, wise beyond her years, even. She just radiates this special quality. I can’t put my finger on it, but—” He noticed the smirk on his brother’s mouth and stopped abruptly. “What? Why are you leering at me?”

Ansel raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to shag her then?”

“Ansel, have some class!” Maximus snapped with uncharacteristic defensiveness. “I am trying to figure out what to do with her!”

“The answer seems rather obvious, old boy,” Ansel retorted, sitting back and folding his arms over his chest.

“Then please spell it out for me,” Maximus said, “because I must be daft. And if you say kill her—”

“I am not Father,” Ansel snapped, running his hand through his own mane of dark hair. “Murder is not constantly on my mind.”

“Says the bloke who punches people within an inch of their lives for income.”

“Boxing is a sport!” Ansel protested.

“It’s barbaric,” Maximus replied flatly.

“Do you want my advice or would you prefer to simply bash me?”

“Yes, I want your advice,” he said quickly, checking himself. Ansel was the only sounding board he had. He didn’t want to lose him.

“You have to gain her trust and find out what she knows,” Ansel said.

“Yes, obviously,” Maximus grumbled, rising to pace the living room. “I am currently posing as her security, but I think she’s already seen through that.”

“No, you fool!” Ansel interjected. “She will not tell her security detail anything. You must get closer than that. You must become her lover.”

Maximus’ jaw dropped at the blunt suggestion, a pink blush tinging his cheeks.

For hundreds of years, he had been charged with the task of caring for King Rui. Romance had always gone on the backburner, and while there had been women, of course, the art of seduction was not something with which Maximus could identify. His relationships had mostly been manufactured by Rui or simple trysts in remote towns to satisfy his lust.

I will have to speak to Marcus about the art of romance, he thought wryly. He stopped himself from entertaining the idea, even in jest.

“That is cruel,” Maximus snapped, pushing his brother’s idea aside. “I will not gain her trust and betray her heart.”

Ansel shrugged. “Do you have a better idea? This woman could be holding our demise in the palm of her hand, and you’re worried about breaking her heart? No offense, Brother, but I think she will get over you. We, on the other hand, will not get over a dragon-mortal war. The damage could be irrevocable. Our businesses, our lives, all of it ruined because of some stupid girl with a big mouth.”

“She is not a stupid girl!” Maximus roared, and Ansel’s eyes widened in shock at his outburst.

“Well, that is up to you to find out,” his brother replied quietly. “But I pray for all our sakes that she is a stupid girl who inadvertently stumbled across this information and can easily be silenced.”

Maximus was silent for a long moment, the blood draining from his face as he realized the position he was in. If Poet was as smart as he thought she was, she knew more than she should, and he would have no choice but to kill her. She would be deemed a threat to their existence, and that would give Maximus a just cause.

He glanced up at his brother, and their gazes locked.

“I think you know what you need to do,” Ansel told him, and Maximus swallowed the lump in his throat. Ansel arched an eyebrow at his hesitance. “What’s the problem? You and I know we have both done way worse at Father’s request. This is not a big deal, Brother.”

But Maximus didn’t know how to explain to his brother that it was a big deal—that Poet Mueller was not like other women, that there was something about her…

Ansel spoke again. “Perhaps you should ask Titus to—”

“No!” The exclamation made Ansel gape at him in surprise. “I have been asked to do this by Father, and I will take care of it,” Max continued quickly. “I don’t need anyone else taking on my task.”

“All right,” Ansel said, throwing his hands up. “It was only a suggestion because you seem so reluctant.”

Maximus tried to steady his nerves and compose himself. “I can do it. There is no need to drag anyone else into this.”

Ansel nodded slowly, but Maximus could read the doubt in his brother’s eyes.

He doesn’t have faith in me, he thought, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He wasn’t sure he had faith in himself, either, given the effect Poet seemed to have on him already. I can do this, he told himself with new resolve. I have to do this. What’s the worst that can happen?

He hated himself for asking the question because he had a terrible feeling he knew exactly what could go wrong.

Poet opened the door, and she was clearly startled to see him there.

“Max!” she cried, looking past him like she was expecting someone else to be there.

“I changed my mind about the cuppa,” Maximus explained, and her blue eyes seemed to light up with relief.

“Yeah?” she replied. “Maybe I changed my mind about having you in for one.” He was taken aback by her response, but the twinkle in her irises told him she was joking. “Come in!” she laughed, parting the door further to allow him inside.

A sharp bark met Maximus’ ears, and he looked down at a pouty-faced Cocker Spaniel baring his teeth in disgust.

“You have a dog!” he cried with more enthusiasm than he intended. He loved dogs. In Misty Woods, they were the only companionship he had most of the time, joining him on endless treks through the thick woods.

“This is Chauncey,” Poet introduced him, turning away from him as Chauncey continued to growl in suspicion. Most animals had the same reaction to him; partially wanting to trust him, sensing the animal instinct he possessed, but simultaneously not trusting his scent because they did not recognize it.

“Hello, Chauncey,” Maximus said conversationally, leaning down to let the uncertain canine sniff his hand.

“He might bite you,” Poet warned from the kitchen, where she put on a kettle for tea. “Don’t take it personally.”

“You won’t bite me, will you, Chauncey?” he asked.

The dog barked and whined, backing up as if debating the idea.

“Those are some famous last words,” Poet sang, and Maximus wondered if she enjoyed the idea of her dog taking a chunk out of his hand. He waited, not making eye contact with the spaniel, and his patience was inevitably rewarded when the mutt cautiously stepped toward him to sniff his hand.

“That’s a good boy,” Maximus said in a low voice. “Come here.” He slowly turned his vibrant eyes on the dog, meeting his gaze. Maximus smiled warmly at the dog.

Without warning, Chauncey snarled at him and latched onto his hand.

Maximus yelped, drawing his hand back, and Poet rushed out from the kitchen at the sound.

“Dammit, Chauncey!” she howled. “Get on your pillow! Bad dog! Bad, bad dog!” She hurried toward Maximus, grabbing his hand. “Why didn’t you listen?” she groaned, looking at the gash. “You’re going to need stitches now.”

“No,” Maximus assured her. “Just find me a plaster and some alcohol. It will be fine.”

“It’s too deep—”

“Trust me,” he told her. “Just a plaster and some alcohol. I can handle the rest.”

Poet eyed him for a moment before releasing his hand and sprinting toward the bathroom, still scolding her pet.

“It’s all right, Poet,” Maximus called, glaring at the dog. “It was my own fault for not listening.”

“Oh, it’s Poet now, is it?” she yelled back. “No more ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Princess’?”

Maximus felt a hot flush rise to his cheeks. Nothing gets by this one, he thought grimly, unsure if he was amused or worried. Mostly, he was confused.

He studied the cut on his hand, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw it was already healing.

“Here,” Poet said, hurrying back to the entranceway with the bandages and rubbing alcohol. “Come into the kitchen and—”

The piercing whistle of the kettle screeched into the air, and Poet whirled to deal with it as Maximus took the supplies from her hands.

I have to cover this before she notices the cut closing, he thought, watching her movements out of the corner of his eye as he quickly wrapped his hand.

“Don’t worry about your shoes!” Poet told him, pulling the kettle off the stove. “Come and rinse off your hand before you wrap it. Chauncey has all his shots, so you don’t need to worry about a tetanus needle or anything.”

Maximus swallowed a smile and cinched the bandage around his palm. I would be more concerned about what happens to your mutt, he thought, slowly making his way into the kitchen to join her.

“Oh, no, you can’t just wrap it like that!” Poet scolded him, reaching for his hand hastily but Max instinctively pulled it back.

“It was just a scratch,” he told her, but she was insistent, yanking his arm toward her.

“It looked worse than a scratch,” she insisted, holding his arm tightly in her hand.

As she went to remove the wrapping, Maximus knew he had no choice but to act. Without thinking, he wrenched his arm away. Using his unhurt palm, he pulled Poet in and dropped his mouth to hers, locking her into a deep kiss. He could see her eyes widening in shock, but then she was returning his kiss, her mouth parting eagerly beneath his.

Oh, what am I doing? Maximus asked himself. He didn’t stop, though, pressing his body closer to hers as their embrace intensified.

A soft sigh escaped Poet’s lips, and the hotness of her breath caused an immediate stirring inside his loins. Her hands snaked around to ensnare his head, her tongue meeting his.

Any resolve Maximus had was gone, and he pressed Poet back toward the fridge, both hands sliding against her hips, driving Poet’s pelvis closer to his so she could feel the rising bulge in his groin. Their gazes still holding, Maximus slightly pulled away to stare at her, his pulse racing.

“Why are you stopping?” she demanded, grabbing his waistband and yanking her toward him. He needed no further encouragement. Maximus scooped her up in his muscular arms, lips meshing once more as he lay her on the couch.

A low growl of protest emanated from Chauncey’s mouth.

“Get in the bedroom!” Poet yelled.

“Me or the dog?” Maximus rasped, his mouth against the lines of her chin, fingers fumbling against the buttons of her shirt.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Poet ordered.

Maximus did not need to be told twice, his nose against the hot flesh of her chest.

In unison, they stripped off their clothes. Shirts, socks, and pants landed in various areas of the tastefully done living room until they were both a naked pile of arms and legs, entwined in one another.

Poet’s hands fell onto Maximus’ head, his mouth falling across the luscious fullness of her breasts, his mouth sucking on her erect nipples. Poet moaned softly, pulling her thighs up to his shoulders, gently forcing him lower across her stomach.

The need to taste her was bringing Maximus to heights he had never known.

He could not understand how this woman he did not know—a woman who could potentially create havoc for him and his family—had such an incredible hold over him.

He didn’t want to question it, to be concerned that whatever attraction he felt toward Poet would be fleeting. Or worse, that she might be disappointed.

As Maximus slipped his open hands across the concave of her smooth belly, his fingers digging into her creamy hips, he shoved every single thought from his mind and focused on the movements of his tongue against Poet’s center.