Poet’s legs clamped around Max’s ears, the first feeling of his tongue against her center causing shivers of heat through her body, like a thousand volts of electricity.

“Oh, yes!” she purred. “Yes!”

Max seemed to take her encouragement easily, his movements growing bolder, his fingers meeting the crack of her cheeks to explore her even further.

What am I doing? Poet asked herself, awe and pleasure overcoming her senses.

She had never had a one-night stand. Allowing a stranger into her home was odd enough. Stripping off her clothes and allowing him to lick her raw was unlike anything she had ever done in her life. But, as hot pleasure flowed from her to meet Max’s eager tongue, she couldn’t help thinking it felt so right.

From the moment Poet had seen him in class, there had just been something about him, something magnetic, something—

“Oh!” she cried out again, her hips bucking upward, her center meshing against his mouth as Max teased her throbbing button. “I’m—I’m—!”

His mouth sucked harder around her, one finger sliding across the crack of her ass cheeks before slipping inside her, bringing forth her climax. It was all Poet could take, an orgasm erupting through her as her body tensed and quivered, her hands squeezing his head in sync with her legs.

All caution was thrown to the wind. Her desire to have Max inside her overtook anything else she could feel in that moment.

With shaking fingers, Poet pulled on him roughly, their eyes meeting.

“You are so beautiful,” Max murmured, his voice sending shivers of pleasure through her body. Never had Poet felt more wanted, his eyes glittering with sincerity as he slithered up her body, his toned abs sliding against her belly, his chest pressing against her swollen breasts.

It wasn’t until she felt the tip of his member sweep across the cleft in her legs that she realized how big he was, and Poet gasped, her pupils constricting as Max’s hands encircled her rear, spreading her further apart to prod against her slick opening.

“Take me,” she exhaled.

Max plunged inside her, his fingertips still playing with the crack of her ass as her ankles locked against his neck. He raised her higher, bringing her body almost perpendicular against him as his movements grew harder and faster, each stroke seeming to reach her more deeply than the last.

Poet cried out, the heart of their passion only growing as each thrust drove harder inside her. Her lips parted, and Max took it as an invitation to crush his mouth to hers.

Her climax built inside of her again, and locking her gaze to Max’s again was all it took. Her body trembled against him, his palms splayed against her ass, and Max grunted, his sack tensing to slap her center with each push.

Poet’s breath caught in her throat before releasing a high, shrill cry. Her arousal spilled against his rigid shaft, his unit growing thicker inside the walls of her core as his orgasm grew inside his loins. His thrusts became hard and fast as Poet’s legs extended higher over Max’s head, his shaft pushing into her middle.

Poet stared in disbelief at the frenzied desire in his face. His jaw locked, Max released a low, guttural groan, and Poet was filled with his heated seed. Again, his mouth latched onto hers, their kisses as wet and deep as Max’s heated member.

With one final thrust, Max dropped his head to her neck, his muscled form quivering slightly as Poet clung to his sweaty, heavy-breathing back.

They were silent, Poet trying to collect both her thoughts and her composure, her heart refusing to steady. From her awkward position beneath Max’s solid form, she could feel his pulse having the same issue, but she did not move, relishing the feeling of his body pressed against her.

After a moment, they both became aware of Chauncey eyeing them from his pillow in the corner, exposing his canine teeth.

“Is it just me he hates, or is it all your boyfriends?” Max asked lightly, very slowly moving back to lower Poet’s over-stretched thighs. She stifled a sigh of disappointment, the walls of her center squeezing around him as if trying to keep him close. He smiled at her, effortlessly sliding out of her.

Poet scowled at him. “I don’t usually do things like this,” she murmured, a hot flush reaching her already hot cheeks. “And I don’t have a boyfriend.”

To her surprise, Max’s smile widened.

“How lucky for me, then,” he replied, sitting up on the sofa.

Poet’s indignation turned soft as she studied his handsome profile. She knew she should feel some sort of weird or uncomfortable vibe after what they had just done, but there was none of that, as if she had known Max forever and their act had been inevitable for centuries. It was a ridiculous thought, most likely originating from the heat of the moment. Poet didn’t even try to understand it, slowly rising to a sitting position next to Max.

“Can I take you out for dinner?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence, and Poet realized she was starving. She nodded, her gaze still fixated on his face.

“That would be good,” she agreed. “Anywhere but the Cloak and Clock.”

“I agree,” Max snickered, reaching for his discarded pants. “I have a better place in mind.”

Poet watched him through her peripheral vision, waiting for embarrassment to overcome her. However, she felt nothing but affection toward him, and Poet almost felt alarmed at how natural this affection seemed to her.

“Who are you, really, Max?” she asked as they dressed.

Max glanced at her, his blue eyes clouding over. For a moment, it made Poet wish she could take back the question. She felt as if she had ruined the idyllic feeling between them with her inquiry, but she had to know how this stranger had ended up on her doorstep and what he wanted from her.

“I told you,” he started to say. “I’m—”

“You’re going to have to drop the act that you’re my security,” she sighed, cutting him off. “Because you’re going to come face-to-face with my real detail eventually, and then you’re going to have to explain who you are.”

Max paused, his expression nearly a blank slate that betrayed nothing. After a silent minute, he sighed deeply.

“I saw you on campus, okay?” he confessed. “And I always thought you were so beautiful, so I found out who you were and thought I could—”

“Lie to me?” Poet bluntly interrupted him. Despite the butterflies fluttering in her gut, her tone was harsh and sharp.

“I know,” Max said. “It sounds a wee stalkerish now, doesn’t it? But that wasn’t my intention. I only wanted to know who you were.”

Poet spun and looked at him, dropping her hands from the buttons on her shirt as she cupped his face.

“Next time you want to meet a girl, maybe you should just try walking up to her and introducing yourself,” she suggested, her tone teasing. “I hear saying hello is a great icebreaker. Also, it doesn’t require stalking.”

His full mouth parted, as if he wanted to say something else, but he ended up grinning instead.

“Where’s the mystery in that?” he joked back. “And if all goes well, there won’t be another woman I will ever feel the need to introduce myself to in this way.”

Poet laughed nervously, seeing the genuine emotion in his eyes, and dropped her hands. What was happening? Could such a strong attraction between two people happen this fast? It seemed like that only happened in books and movies, and yet…

Her palm brushed his bandaged hand, and she suddenly remembered his injury.

“Ah, bollocks,” she cursed. “How is your hand?”

Max pulled it back, slipping his t-shirt over his broad chest.

“All better,” he answered, glancing over at Chauncey, who continued to glower at him. “Your mutt will have to do better than that next time.”

“He won’t do anything like that again, will you, Chauncey?” The Cocker Spaniel growled in response, sullenly turning his head away.

“Come on,” Max said, taking her hand. “I’m bloody famished.”

Poet accepted the grip of his unwrapped palm and smiled, her heart thumping slightly as she tried to remember the last time she had held hands with someone in a romantic way.

Is this romance? she asked herself as she secured her apartment with a stern warning for Chauncey to behave himself. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to question it—at least not for the time being. She deserved to feel like a normal girl for once.

Maybe, just for tonight, she could simply be Poet Mueller, not Princess of Luxe.

But as she stole into the elevator with Max, she silently hoped that it would be more than just one day.

They were ushered toward a table at the back of the restaurant as per Max’s request.

“Your security has been following us,” he told her, and Poet looked at him in surprise as the maître d’ left them alone with the wine list.

“How do you know?” she asked, peering toward the entrance.

Max chuckled. “I did my homework,” he replied. “I needed to know my competition.”

Poet thought back to his confession of having stalked her, and she was mildly offended. She was also, however, amused and begrudgingly impressed.

“They aren’t supposed to follow me indoors,” she said. “It’s how I initially knew you didn’t belong in my detail.”

Max smiled sheepishly.

“I guess I didn’t do my research all that well,” he said, sitting back to study her face. “But how else does one manage to catch the attention of a beautiful princess?”

“As I said earlier, a simple hello would have sufficed,” Poet laughed. “How come I don’t recall seeing you around campus?”

“Would you really have remembered me if you had?” he asked, and Poet’s mouth gaped slightly.

Does he really not see how attractive he is? she wondered, blinking. Or is he merely fishing for compliments? Oddly, she didn’t believe he was looking for his ego to be stroked. She nervously cleared her throat to keep their conversation going.

“What do you study?” Poet asked, hoping he would not notice the crimson of her cheeks in the dim French restaurant.

“Sociology,” Max answered, but Poet detected a falsehood in his voice. Before she could call him out on it, he leaned forward across the table and stared into her eyes. “And you are an archeology and anthropology major,” he said. “A double masters from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. That speaks volumes about you.”

“You truly have done your homework,” she admitted, impressed he had taken the time to learn so much about her. Other men had tried to woo her by talking about who they knew, as if their political or business connections would impress her because of her father’s standing in the world.

Never had she been with a man who wanted to speak about her accomplishments.

It’s almost as if he doesn’t care that I’m of royal blood, she thought, the idea foreign to her. At the same time, Poet knew she was smitten with the idea that Max was invested in her as a person, not as a princess.

“Both subjects are passions of mine,” she continued, her eyes fixing on his. When their gazes met, she was once more consumed with what felt like electricity. It was as though Max could look into her soul. Where had he come from?

“Can I offer you something from the bar?”

The server appeared, interrupting Poet’s thoughts, and she reluctantly pulled her eyes toward the waitress primly dressed in a crisp, white shirt.

“I will just have water,” she replied, and Max scoffed.

“This is a celebration,” he declared. “Champagne. Something French and expensive. Surprise us.”

“Very well, sir,” the girl replied, turning away, but not before Poet caught a slight glimmer of envy in her eyes.

I am sitting here with a huge catch, she thought. A gorgeous, intelligent man who is treating me to champagne for no reason in particular.

“A celebration?” Poet chuckled. “That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

“No,” Max responded, catching her hands in his. “I have never in my life spent an evening with a woman as beautiful and smart as you. I feel like I should commemorate this event with stupidly expensive sparkling wine.”

He was really laying it on thick, wasn’t he? Still, Poet couldn’t help being flattered by the attention.

“So, tell me, Poet,” Max went on, “what are you doing your thesis on?”

Poet’s instinct when someone asked was to clam up about the subject, and Professor Kincaid’s reaction to hearing about it flashed in her mind.

So many questions about my thesis today, she thought, fiddling with the napkin on the table before her.

“Is this a touchy subject?” Max asked. “Most grad students I know are eager to talk about their papers.”

Kincaid’s words reverberated in her mind. Then again, how well could Kincaid be trusted in his old age? Her other professors would be eager to learn about the existence of dragons among them. Poet knew they obviously had nothing to fear, or the dragons would have taken over them by now. They meant no harm to humans like her.

“If it’s too personal, forget I asked,” Max said, and Poet’s head jerked up to look at him in surprise.

“My thesis is on dragons,” she replied.

“Dragons?” Max chuckled. “Sounds positively science fiction. Or do you mean the komodo type dragons?”

Poet’s eyes narrowed, despising the mocking tone of his voice. “Never mind,” she snapped hotly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“No, wait, I’m—” Max shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun of it. I want to understand!”

Poet glared at him for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction for sincerity.

“This is why I don’t tell anyone about my research,” she muttered, and Max’s face grew contrite.

“I wasn’t trying to discount your field of study, truly,” he mumbled softly. “I am just perplexed. Dragons don’t exist.”

“They do!” Poet exploded, and several patrons paused their meals to stare at her disapprovingly. “Sorry,” she apologized, casting her face downward in embarrassment. “I just hate not being taken seriously.”

“I’m taking you very seriously,” Max replied, slipping toward the end of his chair to show he was hanging off her every word. “Tell me what you’ve learned.”

Poet took a deep, shaky breath and exhaled, realizing that he genuinely wanted to hear what she had found.

“Since the beginning of recorded time,” she started, “there have been allusions to dragons among us. From Hindu mythology to ancient Mesopotamia, there are stories of serpent-like creatures who evolved from the waters and sprouted wings. In eastern culture, they are revered as sage beings,” Poet explained in a low voice. “It always made me wonder how cultures spread so far apart in those times could have such similar depictions and tales about such beasts.”

“In those days, people had little other than their imagination to keep them entertained,” Max offered, but Poet barely heard him.

“There had to be a common link, something at least some of these ancient civilizations had come across, and I wanted to learn more about it,” she continued. “So, I began to research them, how they could exist, what they could be, if there was even a possible genetic mutation on the evolutionary scale for such a phenomenon.”

Even though Max remained silent, Poet could see he was taking in her words carefully.

“Almost three years ago, scientists uncovered a fifty-foot ‘dragon’ dinosaur in Hong Kong, which they believed walked about 160-million years ago.”

“Don’t you mean ‘flew’?” Max quipped.

Poet offered him a wry smile. “Yes,” she agreed. “I do.”

The server reappeared with their drinks and poured the champagne for them in goblets while they silently watched.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked. “I can go over the specialties tonight if—”

“We just need a few more minutes,” Max interjected. “Please.”

“Of course.” The waitress disappeared through the maze of tables, and Max turned his attention back to her.

“How does all of this pertain to your thesis? You are trying to determine the existence of dragons a hundred million years ago?”

Poet shook her head, leaning in closer to him, her blue eyes huge. “No, no,” she whispered. “I have followed the evolution of dragons from sea serpents to winged beasts and back down to earth again.”

“You think they live off in caves somewhere in the alps?” Max asked, and Poet could hear the skepticism in his voice.

“No,” she answered quietly. “They have evolved in their environment.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that dragons literally walk among us every day with the ability to shift back and forth from reptile to human.”

Max’s mouth dropped open. “How can that be, Poet?” he gasped, his face growing pale. “That’s scientifically impossible.”

“No,” Poet protested. “It’s not. I have spoken with people who can attest to these beings.”

“Credible sources?” Max demanded. “I don’t mean to sound like a doubting Thomas, but there are also people who believe in UFOs.”

“I know where I can find proof!” Poet replied excitedly. “In the north, there is an abandoned kingdom, the castle still kept by an old man and his wife. All of my research tells me that they are sitting on a mountain of evidence that I need to publish my findings.”

Max stared at her, his lips pursing.

“Where is this place?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Well up in the middle of nowhere, really,” she said, “I’ve only been there once.”

“What is it called, Poet?” Max questioned, his voice sharp.

Poet stared at him curiously.

“Misty Woods,” she replied, and she watched as his face crumpled before her eyes. “Do you know it?”

Max lifted his head. “No,” he said flatly. “I don’t believe I do.”