Kyan dropped Amy off below the steps to her apartment — beside two pallets of plastic-wrapped clothes. The camisoles packed down smaller but still required a forklift to move and would not fit in her elevator.

“You have to take these back,” she insisted.

“Dragons do not take back gifts.” Kyan flew away.

She wanted to scream invectives at him. Just to vent her frustrations. Pyro would do it. She took a deep breath.

Her building supervisor exited out the front door.

Amy let her scream die away and composed herself into the nice, quiet, friendly tenant who would never cause anyone any trouble. Ever. “Hello, Mrs. Maples.”

The older woman regarded the pallets with dismay. “These are blocking the entrance. It’s an unsightly hazard.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry. I tried to get the delivery people to take it back. This isn’t even what I ordered.”

“So long as you get it taken care of.” Mrs. Maples shook her head and continued off.

Dragons were nothing but a pain. And a hassle.

The afternoon mist congealed into a wimpy drizzle, soaking the plastic and adding weight to the clothing.

Ugh.

Amy ran up to her apartment, grabbed plastic bags and scissors, and began the process of transporting clothes up to her apartment. Two hours later, arms and legs aching and headache gone from irritation to near crying, she set the last bag inside her door and collapsed on the thread-worn couch. She should have asked for something easy to carry. Like a hundred packets of dental floss.

Oh, who was she kidding? She hadn’t asked for a hundred of anything!

Stacks of clothes mounded around the living room like snowdrifts of denim and silk. Outside her living room window, the sun touched the horizon. It was a school night, and she hadn’t done any work all weekend.

The weight of her bad choices pressed her into the couch like lead.

At that exact moment, Pyro walked in her door.

Her good girl veneer collapsed.

“Where were you?” she demanded, tears pressing against the back of her throat and anger forcing her to her feet.

She wanted him to apologize. She wanted him to open his arms, stroke her back, tell her he’d been an ass, and promise it would never, ever happen again because they were married now and she was his beautiful, hard-working, deeply treasured wife.

“Where was I?” His harsh voice stopped her in her tracks. “I was doing what you wanted, Amy. Being responsible.”

His accusation slapped her.

She crossed her arms. “So ‘responsible’ is abandoning me with your crazy relatives the day after we’re married?”

The red threads in his eyes flared. “They’re not crazy.”

“Oh, except when they dump two hundred unwanted articles of clothing on my front step as a ‘wedding gift’.”

“That’s generosity.”

“Generosity didn’t just haul fifty loads by hand up to my apartment.” She left the whine in her voice so Pyro would understand just how hurt and exhausted she was.

He shoved it back in her face. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“From who?”

“Me.”

She threw up her hands. “I don’t even have your cell phone number.”

“You never asked for it.”

“Then I couldn’t exactly ask for your help, could I?”

“You could have waited for me to arrive.”

“Except I didn’t know if you were coming. Now or ever.”

He dropped his hand. A growl entered his tone. “What are you saying?”

“You abandoned me. Again. Only this time it was on my wedding morning.”

“So I should have blown off the meeting? Irresponsibly letting my company get destroyed?”

“Maybe you should have rescheduled,” she snapped.

“You were the one who wanted to get married so fast.”

She knew it. He didn’t care about her. He hadn’t even wanted to get married. She’d pushed him.

“You don’t really like me do you?”

He stared at her like she’d grown two heads. “How’d you get that crazy idea?”

“You destroy the things you like. You refuse to commit. But we’re married.”

“So?”

“So if you really liked me, you never would have proposed.”

He shook his head.

She gestured impatiently. “You reject anyone who could hurt you.”

His gaze narrowed. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No.” This was going off track. They’d discussed it so much in Vegas but he acted like he had no idea what she was talking about. “I’m different from your other girls.”

“That’s why.”

Huh?

Her question must have shown on her face because he answered the unspoken query. “You are different. And I have, once or twice, kept my distance from things I might lose.”

“Once or twice?” she repeated dryly.

“Once or twice.” He focused on her. “The difference is I’m taking a risk. Committing, like you wanted. My commitment is to you.”

Her heart swelled.

He liked her. Deeply liked her. So deeply he was even willing to risk his greatest fears. She wanted to throw her arms around him and cover him with kisses and cry that she, too, was changing because she’d taken a risk on him. It was scary and beautiful and exciting and hopeful and new. And, if they both held on, then maybe they would both change into the people they most wanted to become.

But she’d been seriously traumatized today, and she needed his validation before she could focus. “And I got stared at while I was sleeping, then interrogated by a bunch of pushy strangers.”

“They’re my family.”

“While you were off. It’s just like before. When you abandoned me at Sard’s warehouse.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” he growled. “I told you to jump. I would have caught you. You didn’t trust me.”

“I barely knew you.”

“And you gave Sard his next product launch.” He raised his chin, betrayal reddening his cheeks. “Alex told me. Our biggest rivals. Billions of coins.”

“First of all, I had no idea that I was even in your arch rival’s warehouse until I was sitting in his office being threatened with the police. Second of all, I was terrified.”

“Dragons will never hurt humans.”

“Having the police called and reporting my crime to the school would have hurt me a lot worse than anything Sard could do.” She shook her head at Pyro. “And even if I’d known that Zentangles looked like aristocrat crests, I wouldn’t have cared. He could have my stupid charm bracelet. I hope it makes your planet happier.”

“He offered you a job.”

“So did your family.” She snorted at him. “News flash: I’m not working for either of you. We’re married. That’s what matters. I don’t owe the rest of your species anything.”

He sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. At the mention of their marriage and her refusal of Sard’s job offer, the redness left his skin and calm returned. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go home.”

She sat on the couch. “I am home.”

“This is an apartment.”

“It’s my apartment, tonight’s a school night, and I have work in the morning.”

“So?”

“Are you going fly me from Las Vegas to work on time?”

“Yes.”

“How can I trust you, Pyro?”

“Trust me because I'm your husband.”

“And that changed what, exactly?”

His jaw flexed.

“You’ve used me from the very beginning.”

“I never used you.”

“You led me to Sard’s warehouse knowing we’d get in trouble. That it was illegal. You used me to gain entry. And you’re still using me. Now it’s to avoid marriage to the Empress.”

“So what are you saying?” he demanded. “You want to end this?”

There. It was out.

They weren’t even married twenty-four hours and for the second time someone was talking about divorce.

Celebrity marriages. They never lasted.

“Do you want to?” she asked quietly.

His jaw clenched and released. He looked … not furious. Disgusted. With himself, with life. And deeply cynical.

“Be honest,” he finally said. “You were never going to introduce me to your parents. Were you?”

His tone was flat. Bitter. Angry.

Wait.

“Huh?” she said.

“I’m your dirty secret. An unsuitable male who tempted and corrupted you.”

Well, he did tempt her. A lot. But she didn’t blame him for that. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re planning to keep me from your family as long as possible and then leave me once they find out.”

“I wasn’t planning on doing that.”

“But that’s what’s going to happen,” he said. “Isn’t it? You have to make them happy. I’m irresponsible, untrustworthy, and a bastard. Just tell me. Tell me right now.”

Fine. Truth.

She patted for him to sit on the couch next to her. He hesitated a long moment, then finally sat. Elbows on his knees, poised to spring to his feet, every muscle stiffened.

She sighed. “My parents are overprotective. They have high ideals and don’t like surprises. Eloping with you over a weekend is going to be very surprising.”

“You didn’t tell them about me at all,” he accused.

“Until you visited class on Friday, there was nothing to tell. Look, I am going to tell them. I just want to ease them into the idea.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

Honestly? She had no idea.

“Do you want to meet someone less judgmental who’s still important to me? Let me introduce you to my roommate.” She went to Melody’s door and tapped lightly.

“You live here with another person?” Pyro stood too close behind her. His eyes and nostrils narrowed and his claws flexed with possessiveness.

“I could never afford rent on my salary. And my parents wouldn’t let me move in with a stranger.” She tapped again. “Melody?”

The door remained closed.

“Your roommate is not here,” Pyro decided, easing onto his heels.

“She’s always here.”

“I will force the door.” He reached past her for the hinges.

“No! No.” Amy rested both hands on his forearm, and he stopped. Thank goodness. Her security deposit was saved. “I saw Josh’s coat by the front door. I’m sure they’re playing video games with headphones.”

He still flexed his claws. “How are you so certain?”

“Because that’s what they do every weekend I’m not here.” She returned to the kitchen. As predicted, on the counter cooled a batch of chocolate-covered coconut cookies. She handed one to Pyro. “This is Melody’s. She’s amazing.”

He ate the cookie in two bites. “Sweet.”

She bit into the creamy, chocolatey, chewy goodness. It had that almost-still-warm feeling from the oven she craved in her baked goods.

“I’ll introduce you next time.” She took his hand. “And I will introduce you to my parents. Just, trust me, okay?”

His eyes remained half-lidded. But he stopped arguing and tugged her into his arms, seeming to find comfort in holding her.

Her legs shook with exhaustion. She rested against his solid strength.

He nuzzled for her kiss.

Awareness roared into her blood. Her feminine center throbbed.

This was the male who had taken her virginity. Made her a woman. Filled her with his cock.

And his musky taste was more addictive than any sweet. Hunger curled in her with a throbbing ache.

He deepened the kiss, simultaneously dropping his wide palms to her derriere and squeezing.

A sore muscle protested, and she made a muffled oomph.

He frowned and pulled back. “No?”

“Oh, I’m just a little sore.” She wiggled, and the muscles that had been worked out first with sex, then a second time hauling the bags, reminded her that she wasn’t in that good of shape. “A lot of trips. And unfamiliar activity.”

His brows lifted. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah, I had this whole fantasy about waking up, receiving a bath and a massage and another bath, and I’m still kind of upset that didn’t happen.”

“Why didn’t it?”

She was going to smack him. “Are you serious? Because you left. And that guy you had watching me sleep only gave me fifteen minutes to get out of your house.”

“You should have told him to wait.”

“Who tells that guy anything?”

Pyro seemed to reconsider and then led her out their sliding glass door onto the teeny balcony crowded with potted herb sprouts and cherry tomato starts. He closed the sliding door behind them and lifted her into the air.

Her ballet flats dangled. “Where are you taking me?”

“Amy, I vowed to make your fantasies come true.”

She wiggled unhappily. Not to get free of his arms, since she was hovering over the metropolis, but to make her feelings known. “I told you. Tonight’s a school night. I can’t go back to your house.”

“We’re not going to my house.”

“Then where are we going?”

“A bath. And a massage. And another bath.” He angled down to a building in the middle of the field.

She recognized it with dread. “This is your office.”

“We’re not going inside.” He crossed the roof to a black tarp. “I’ve got to borrow the car.”

“The car” was a small spaceship. He retracted the black tarp covering it and put her into the passenger’s seat with instructions not to touch anything. She folded her hands in her lap, squeezing her knees together to obey.

He operated the driver controls, and they rose into the air silently. The view vibrated through her window. Vancouver streaked away like it had been stretched into maple syrup. Possibly so had the entire United States.

“Where are we going?” she asked for at least the third time. “I mean, what bath are you taking me to?”

“A Turkish bath.”

She waited for a beat, and then she asked the obvious question. “In Turkey?”

“Yep.”

She twisted to face him. “Give me your cell number.”

He did, and she keyed it into her cell phone. Then she rested her phone on her lap. “I left my ID back at the apartment. And my wallet. And I don’t even own a passport.”

“No one’s going to check your ID.”

Excited nerves squinched in her stomach. She’d always wanted to travel. Experience the entire world. And Pyro handed it to her. Like a genie with infinite wishes…

Er, well, maybe in Pyro’s case, it was more like a cursed monkey paw.

No, no. She was going to be positive. And hopeful. And also positive.

He was making an effort to reverse the disaster of the morning. She needed to appreciate his effort, not nitpick his method.

They descended on a modern city straddling the lines between East and West, a skyline she’d only seen in books. Ancient minarets stood solemnly next to shiny new skyscrapers. Rivers threaded through the packed neighborhoods.

Pyro parked in a back alley and led her to enter a nondescript side door.

But he didn’t follow.

“It’s single-sex,” he said, that devilish grin plastering over his face. “And I have to run an errand.”

“What kind of errand?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Pyro…”

“This is the best bath. Give them this.” He pressed a piece of folded paper into her hands. “They’ll take care of you.”

She clutched the paper. “Where are you going?”

“To visit old friends.”

“Don’t lose track of the time.”

“If I’m not here when you get out, call...”

She clenched her cell phone. Right. She had his number.

“…this guy.” And Pyro took her phone and keyed in another number. His brother’s face scarred appeared on her screen.

Ugh. “I changed my mind. Let’s just go home.”

“You wanted a bath.”

“I usually shower on a school night.”

“Amy.” He squeezed her shoulders. Outside the alley, the foreign scents and noises of an ancient city passed them by. “Don’t be scared. Live a little.”

“But I really don’t think Kyan likes me.”

“Don’t let his appearance frighten you.”

“And I don’t want to inconvenience him a third time in one day.”

Pyro tugged her close and kissed her forehead. His words were private in her ear. “Kyan has always faced judgment. When he was young, other dragons slashed his face so he would know his place was below them. Be honest with him like you are with me. Okay?”

Bullying was so sad. She sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

“Good.” Pyro patted her shoulders. “It won’t matter because I’ll be here to pick you up.”

“But if you’re not, I should call Kyan.”

“Right.” He turned her and pushed her through the dimly lit doorway. “Have fun.”

Nerves mounting with every step, she walked down a long, silent, dingy hall. Worn carpeting did not look very inviting.

Was this the right place? Could she trust Pyro? Was she just setting herself up for another shock?

At the end of the hallway, thick beads covered a doorway. She pushed through.

A plush, brightly lit reception room greeted her. Ah. That was reassuring.

An older, unsmiling woman with spectacles summoned her to the polished wood reception desk. Amy handed the woman Pyro’s paper. The woman read it with a frown.

Flowers sprayed from huge vases and intricate stained glass shone with inner light. The whole place smelled like calming incense, which was good because Amy’s heart was about to beat out of her chest.

“Come.” The woman switched to accented English and gestured for Amy to follow her down another long hall — this one brightly lit, adorned with more stained glass and sweet-smelling flowers — and gestured for her to go into a locker room. “Leave clothes. All clothes. Go door. Okay?”

Amy clutched the hem of her shirt. “Okay.”

“After, go there,” she pointed behind her, “for tea and sweet. Understand?”

“I understand.”

The woman nodded and departed.

Amy took off her clothes, stored them in one of the lockers — straight out of any high school gym, nothing foreign about it — and stared at the only other exit from the locker room. A few women, older, passed her in both directions, some entering they mystery room and others leaving.

Was she brave enough to go in alone?

Why did every single activity with Pyro push her so far out of her comfort zone that she wasn’t sure she was going to survive the next minute, much less enjoy any of it?

Ugh. She couldn’t wait here all night. What would she tell Melody when she complained about this later?

Amy followed the next woman into a tiled bath straight out of a storybook.

Women had spread dampened towels on a heated dais in the middle of the tile. Washerwomen took them, one at a time, over to a side shower and scrubbed them with exfoliating soap. And in another area, more women rubbed the nude bodies with shiny oil, and then repeated the process all over again.

This was the best bathhouse in Turkey…

She took a small, wet towel from the stack next to the entrance and hugged it to her naked chest, then spread it on an open slot at the dais and wiggled on top of it. She was completely exposed…

…but so was everyone else. No one paid any notice. Even though her hair was red and the rest were dark brunettes or blacks.

The dais was a giant heated stone. Steam off the wet towel rose, opening her pores. She rested her aching head on the dais and baked.

Two hours later, Amy oozed out into the side alley, muscles tingling with rose-peppermint lotion and tongue still savoring creamy-smooth Turkish delights.

Pyro wasn’t there. His phone rang, unanswered.

Well, at least she had a backup plan.

Kyan appeared a short time later with the “car”. She got home after midnight. He was obviously pissed despite what Pyro had said. Because when she asked where Pyro was, Kyan snapped, “Jail.”

And when she gasped and asked why, he turned to her with a glare. “It’s your fault.”