Page 6

“If you dance with dragons, you must expect to burn.”

—George R. R. Martin

Ben simply soaked her in.

It was hard to do so—very hard —without coming on too strong. A part of him knew he was already crowding her.

He couldn’t help it. His body was magnetized to hers. He wanted to be skin-on-skin. Flesh against flesh. Wanted to mold his angles and planes around her slight, lovely curves. Needed to be inside her in every way.

They’d fit perfectly, he knew. She was made for him, and he was made for her.

It had always been this way between them, no matter their incarnations, no matter their forms. The push and pull between them had always been explosive.

Undeniable.

But whereas the darkness in her soul had repelled as much as it drew him in the past, there was only an inexorable pull now. For her brilliant, innate light had wrapped around that darkness and made it beautiful.

She was beautiful.

In all ways, he wanted her.

For now, he tried not to take up too much space at the small corner table he’d commandeered before he spotted her at the back of the line that snaked all the way outside of the restaurant and around the corner of the busy street.

The small, wobbly surface was barely the size of a nightstand. At six and a half feet, he had to stretch his legs straight out to avoid upsetting the delicate balance with his knees. This meant stretching them into Lizzy’s territory too.

Even as she modestly tucked her legs beneath the table, they couldn’t help but touch—

The smooth skin of her knees and shins and sometimes even one of her thighs involuntarily sliding and rubbing against his hairy legs.

It was torture.

And it was very, very , hard.

“I’m Elizabeth, by the way,” she said with a shy smile, not fully meeting his gaze, her eyes quickly alighting somewhere in the vicinity of his nose before flitting away.

“Elizabeth,” he said slowly, drawing her name out.

She shivered a little, her fingers fidgeting around the rim of her water glass.

He could swear he felt her touch on his own lips. Round and round, those small, elegant fingers smoothed around the rim, a barely-there graze.

He shifted uncomfortably. Wondered if she could see him adjust himself if he did it.

But what was the point? Nothing would ease the throbbing ache of his cock, the swollen soreness of his balls.

When one felt not even a tingle of sexual desire in thirty years, then all of a sudden one’s body went from zero to two hundred, all the tension and passion and dammed up desire pounding against his control at once…

Ben was a little shocked he hadn’t exploded yet.

He. Needed. Fucking. Release .

But his own hands weren’t enough anymore. He needed her .

“Like Elizabeth Bennet in Pride and Prejudice ?” he managed to ask.

Happily surprised, she forgot to avoid his gaze and looked directly at him for a few breath-stealing moments.

“Oh! How did you know? Dad always liked the book and the movie,” she shared with a wide, guileless smile.

“He’s old-school, if you know what I mean. I swear he never looked at another woman until he saw my mother, just like Mr. Darcy with Elizabeth. He’s not too proud or anything. He just knows what he’s looking for, you know? At least, that’s how my mother tells it, and Dad confirms it.”

“Yes,” Ben murmured, holding her gaze.

“I know.”

He must have conveyed too much with his eyes, maybe too much need, too much want, too much longing…something…because she blinked rapidly and darted her eyes away from his again.

A rash blazed across her collar bones, up her neck, and into her cheeks.

He couldn’t call it something as soft as a “blush.” It was very much a rash. It looked itchy too, for she absently scratched at the neckline of her sundress as if it bothered her.

She cleared her throat and took a few large gulps of water as if she was parched. Deftly, he switched his own full water glass with her empty one in case she needed more.

“Thanks,” she muttered, this time taking just a small sip.

Then, she licked her lips with a dart of her pink little tongue, and Ben felt utterly undone.

He was the one who needed to gulp down water now, but his glass—her glass—was empty. He gestured for the waiter to refill their glasses, and when the man brought a pitcher, he signed for him to just leave it. Even though just their libation took up the entire tiny table.

He poured himself a glass using hers, rotated it to where she took her drink, and downed the entire glass while he held her wide-eyed gaze.

Yes , his eyes communicated. I want my mouth where yours had been. I want to taste your lips and drink from them, the way I’m drinking from this glass.

He licked his own lips when he was done, still holding her now owlish eyes. A rumbling growl of satisfaction vibrated from the back of his throat involuntarily, as if his dragon wanted to voice its Beast side, a primitive, primal mating call.

Her eyes almost comically round, she clutched her own glass like a lifeline, her knuckles turning white.

Abruptly, she severed their gaze and shook her head slightly, as if trying to clear it.

Clearing her throat, she said, “You haven’t told me your name, mystery man. What do I call you?”

Yours , he almost said.

“Benjamin Larkin D’Angelo,” he replied instead.

“You can call me Ben.”

“Warrior Angel!” she chirped with delight.

“That’s what your name means, did you know that?”

“I do,” he smiled.

“Such a great name,” she complimented.

He inclined his head slightly in acceptance.

And then, her expression lit up as she thought of something.

His Lizzy was so wonderfully expressive. The total opposite of how her past incarnations were. She’d once been a goddess who was cold and unfeeling, used to hiding and disguising her emotions. Used to not having emotions at all.

Now, she was so open and forthright. All of her feelings clearly displayed on her face as she felt them.

“B.L. D’Angelo,” she whispered reverently.

“You can’t be. He’s one of my favorite historians. But he must be ancient by now. He’s been publishing works before I was even born!”

Ben scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

Her eyes helplessly tracked the bulge of his biceps as he did so.

His inner Beast purred with male satisfaction.

He was proud that his body pleased her. He wanted to strip off his clothes and please her more. Invite her to touch him all over. To use her lips and tongue as well. And maybe even teeth.

Maybe especially teeth.

Whatever she wanted, he’d give her all .

“Yes, well,” he stalled a bit.

“It’s a family tradition to inherit the same name.”

“Oh. Are you a third or a fourth B.L. D’Angelo then?”

“Something like that,” he hedged.

“Is it a family tradition to also keep working in the same profession?”

“We do love ancient history in my extended family,” he said truthfully, and let her deduce what she would from the statement.

“We have that in common,” she said with clear delight.

“I’m an archeologist myself. I’m actually presenting tonight at the conference.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do?” she seemed surprised.

But then she remembered who he was.

“Of course. We must be at the same conference.”

He gave a small nod.

The waiter came back to take their Roti basket and pitcher, and replaced it with platters of chilli crab.

“Wow. This looks so good!” she exclaimed, fanning her plate to waft the aroma toward her nose.

“When did you even order?”

“I put in the order before I saw you in line,” he told her. “It takes a while given how busy this place is. But it’s well worth the wait.”

“I can’t thank you enough for inviting me over,” she said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. Even though I bet just about every shop around here has great food.”

“And every shop with great food would also have as long a line.”

“True,” she agreed. “So, again, thanks for helping me out.”

“My pleasure, Lizzy.”

He hadn’t meant for the words to come out as a rumbling purr, but that’s how they rolled off his tongue.

She seemed stunned by the sound of it, and he could see goosebumps blooming all over her fine, pale jade skin.

“Wait,” she suddenly seemed to remember.

“How did you know my nickname is Lizzy?”

He shrugged a little, peering at her from beneath his lashes, eyes hooded.

“You just seem like a Lizzy,” he murmured softly.

Intimately.

“Oh,” she said.

The little wrinkle between her brows made him want to expound, lest she misunderstood him.

“The name conjures a lazy afternoon picnic by a lake or the beach. You’d have a book in your hand, but your other hand would be entangled with your lover’s. And you’d smile at him as you read, because you’re happy to be with him. And before long, he’d reach over to kiss your beautiful, smiling mouth because he can’t help but drink in your joy.”

“Oh,” she croaked.

“Well.”

She gulped down another glass of water and began to work on her crab.

They ate in silence for a while, during which Ben wondered if he’d gone too far. Came on too strong.

But he wasn’t a male who played games. Never had been, never would be. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was her .

She might not be ready to hear it. Might not be ready to accept him. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—hold himself back for her comfort.

The dragon in him wanted his Mate.

Right. Fucking. Now .

“You’re pretty good at flirting,” she lobbed into the pregnant quiet between them.

Ben was surprised into putting down his utensils.

“Is that what you think I’m doing?”

She didn’t look at him, continuing to diligently pick apart her crab.

“What else would you call it?” she asked with a small shrug. “You just do it a lot more compellingly than most.”

Something in her tone made him frown.

“Why do I get the sense you’re not a fan of men who ‘flirt.’”

At this, she looked up at him and blinked with some confusion.

“No, don’t get me wrong,” she rushed to say.

“There’s nothing wrong at all with flirtatious men. Or women, for that matter. It’s just… once I identify them in the opposite sex, I know how to behave around them better.”

“Such as?”

He crossed his arms, realized it looked a little defensive, and loosened them again.

Her eyes darted to his pecs and the deep groove between them when he went through the motion, before moving to rest on his chin, as if that was the safest place to land.

“Well,” she began with a wetting of her lips.

He almost groaned. His trapped cock jerked angrily in his pants.

“Given that I’m rather intimidated by flirtatiousness, I’d be better suited to treat the flirty sort of men like acquaintances or friends. You know, view them like butterflies.”

“Butterflies,” he echoed.

“Beautiful and fleeting,” she added.

“Enjoy their attention when they alight on you, but expect them to move on. Because that sort of men will always attract attention, and while you might be the center of it for a time, you wouldn’t want to deprive everyone else of their charm and beauty, would you? It’s best to let them flit away when the time comes.”

His frown grew deeper.

“And you think I’m a butterfly?”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his for a few beats.

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?” she asked.

He didn’t really care for it, if he was being honest. Because it was becoming increasingly frustrating and put a damper on all his roaring instincts to take her —take her now.

“I’m fascinated by your thought process, Lizzy,” he said with a credible semblance of calm.

“Well, then,” she said, wiping her lips with her napkin and putting it over her finished plate.

“If you insist, Benjamin.”

It sounded like she’d thrown down a gauntlet.

“I do.”

Challenge accepted.

She took a bracing breath and began.

“Here’s what I think: you might very well not be a butterfly. You might be the most steadfast man in the world. But you have a beauty that attracts the attention of anyone who looks upon you. Even now, as we sit here in this hole-in-the-wall, every single pair of eyes, woman or man, has passed over you at least twice. They can’t help it. And besides the distraction of your cover, if you will, you’re also effortlessly charming and intelligent. That’s a KO combination.”

Wow. Her thought process was certainly thorough.

“You don’t like that combination, I gather?”

She blinked, then smiled that sunny, carefree smile.

“Oh, I think it’s a brilliant combination. Just, it’s better to observe from afar and not have all that gloriousness bearing down on me like a laser beam.”

He cocked his head slightly, narrowing his eyes.

“I make you uncomfortable?”

“Oh yeah,” she said quickly. “You make me extremely uncomfortable.”

He was all but scowling now.

“But, look,” she hurried to elaborate, “it’s not you, it’s me. I’m not a woman who handles this kind of attention well. Now that I’ve determined you to be impossible for me—”

“You what?”

His voice was low, but even he could hear the implicit threat in it. The clear displeasure in her verdict.

She swallowed, eyes round.

“Impossible,” she squeaked out.

Then added in a stronger voice, “We’re clearly not in the same universe of species. I’m a nerdy archeologist daydreamer, and you’re a…a…”

She waved her hand around helplessly.

“You’re you ,” she finally said, apparently lacking better descriptors.

“Having calculated logically that we would never be…um…romantically involved, I can be more at ease with you as a potential friend. You know—my magnificent male mate.”

She smiled tentatively at him upon that pronouncement.

It took a while for Ben to speak.

“Somehow,” he growled, “I don’t think you mean ‘mate’ the way I want you to mean it.”

Her smile wobbled as if she didn’t know how to take his words. Based on her response, she clearly decided he was joking.

“Ha! You’re funny. I mean mate like a friend. You know, as the Aussies or the Brits say it.”

He couldn’t help it. A thunderous growl rumbled from his chest, his inner dragon most displeased to hear this.

She blinked at him like a baby bird, nonplussed.

“Um…”

“Lizzy,” he said firmly, “I think your calculator is broken.”

At this, her spine snapped straight.

“Well, we’ll agree to disagree.”

“So, what you’re saying is—just because I look a certain way, you’re prejudiced against the possibility that I could be your man.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just not comfortable—”

“So, I can still convince you to change your mind.”

“You’re acting as if you’re courting me or something.”

He let a beat of silence emphasize his next word:

“Yes.”

She also let a stunned beat of silence pass.

“But that’s ridiculous!” she burst out. “We don’t even really know each other.”

“Isn’t that how people get to know each other? Through courtship?”

“In my book, friendship comes first,” she stated staunchly, folding her arms.

Ben could barely contain himself. A predatory aggressiveness he’d never known was starting to rear its ugly head.

The Beast inside him wanted to club her over the head and drag her back to his cave to rut upon her until she was too weak to walk, much less run away.

To fill her belly full of his seed until she was growing his babies inside. He’d hunt for them and feed her from his own hands and lips. He’d keep her sated yet always begging for more.

More of his body, his cum, his cock, his mouth. He’d make sure she never got enough even as he gave her everything he had. He’d make her addicted to his scent, his taste, the texture, shape and sound of him. He’d make her as obsessed and as desperate for him as he was with her.

But he took a deep breath and said instead:

“I fully intend to be your friend, Lizzy, if you will give me the chance.”

She watched his face carefully, as if she’d seen something different than his calmly uttered words in his eyes.

Oh, he was certain she did.

“Of course, I—”

“But what if we are friends whose bodies, hearts and souls want more?” he pressed.

She was blinking rapidly again, as if he’d kicked dust into her eyes.

“I-I-I…”

“Will you allow for the possibility of that? Or will you fight it with logic?”

“I-I-just t-think…”

“Stop thinking, Lizzy,” he commanded.

“ Feel . Let yourself feel. Your body is humming for mine.”

She gulped, unable to look away from him. But she didn’t deny it.

“It’s a siren’s song,” he admitted it like a curse. “But I will resist the temptation to give you everything your body is asking for if you’re not ready.”

“That’s-ah-that’s considerate of you,” she rasped.

He leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose, his lips only inches from hers.

“But what if you can’t resist yourself?” he husked, his breath teasing the tendrils of hair framing her face.

“I will not play fair, Lizzy. This is the most important battle of my life. To win you. I am making clear my intentions so there’s no mistake.”

She stared cross-eyed back at him, her body quivering like the last leaf clinging onto a frail branch under the assault of a winter gust.

“Erp,” she said.

He angled his face slightly, bringing his mouth even closer to hers.

“You’re looking flushed, sweetheart. Is this too much?”

Her short, belabored breaths was her only response.

He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, fighting his baser instincts heroically.

She didn’t trust him yet. She didn’t love him yet. She might want him, but her heart and soul weren’t involved.

He released a deep, frustrated, pained breath.

“Then, I will let you have some time to cool down,” he murmured and bussed her cheek with the lightest kiss.

Her hand went slowly to touch her cheek as she stared wordlessly at him when he got up from their table. Thankfully, the tails of his loose shirt somewhat hid his raging erection.

But she wasn’t looking below the waist. She was gaping at him like he wasn’t even real. As if he’d turned dragon and was huffing smoke at her through his nostrils.

He tossed some cash onto the table and gave her a tight-lipped smile. It was all he could offer when he felt like howling instead.

“See you tonight at the event, sweetheart. Don’t keep a new friend waiting.”

It was the hardest thing for Ben to do, to walk out of the restaurant and away from his female. But it soothed the ache in him just a smidgeon to know that she stared after him until he disappeared from view.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Lizzy spent the rest of the day in a daze.

She might have walked around the city parks and seen some palaces, but she couldn’t really tell you what she saw. She didn’t even buy any souvenirs. And she loved to treasure hunt in all-things shops. It’s how she found her snow leopard and dragon statues to keep her kite of the great white tiger company at home.

Her mind was elsewhere. And maybe her body too. Still reliving the hour or so that she’d spent in Benjamin D’Angelo’s company.

And who could blame her?

Half of her thought she’d imagined it all. Just conjured him into being out of thin air, through wishful thinking.

The man wasn’t real!

And if he was, no man like that had ever…pursued her like this.

There was no other word for it but “pursuit.” She felt a little hunted. Somewhat cornered. And a whole helluva lot desired .

Jiminy Cricket! As her paternal grandfather used to say. She could barely make heads and tails of this alternate universe she was living in.

Now, she faced herself in her bathroom mirror back at the hotel, palms covering her still hot cheeks.

He’d called her sweetheart .

Why did that one word, said in his particularly deep, husky voice, mean so much to her? Made her all gooey and shivery inside? Like Jell-o pudding. Or the melted chocolate that oozed out of a lava cake.

Get a hold of yourself, Lizzy!

She recited the mantra repeatedly, took a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders.

Supernaturally charismatic men like Ben had no business being with ordinary, earthly women like her.

Not that it was anywhere near comparable, but she’d dated a Mexican man once, when she was in between college and grad school. He introduced her to the dramatic (often melodramatic), vivid, passionate Latin culture. He’d been so suave and attentive, so affectionate and seemingly sincere, that she’d fallen in…something…hook, line and sinker.

She stayed with his family for six weeks, completely immersing herself in his culture, and learning Spanish was an added bonus. Before she knew it, she’d become someone she didn’t recognize any more.

Gone was the early-bird, diligent, studious and planful Lizzy. In her place was a woman who woke up after ten in the morning, lazed around the house getting dressed and “made up,” went out for late afternoon café con leche and a light meal, lazed around again all evening, maybe visited an acquaintance or two or went shopping, until finally, her beau decided to take her out to a late supper with friends and likely dancing all night afterwards.

Of course, she’d change outfits at least twice a day, if not three times. She’d change her hair too, and accessories (which she acquired on an almost daily basis, because what was there to do besides shopping?). And she’d contentedly let a man dictate her time, her value, her life.

Because all she did was wait around for him to pay attention to her. Because she’d been that addicted to him.

Thankfully, she snapped out of it when the six weeks were over and she returned to her familiar life. When she told her mom about it, Serena just shook her head at Lizzy, her expression full of disappointment. The words “I taught you better” were left unspoken.

She confided in her father too, when they sat on the back porch swing sipping lemonade. He was more understanding.

“Lizzy, it’s okay to lose yourself once in a while,” David Winters said.

“I worry sometimes that you hold yourself too tightly.”

“You telling me I don’t know how to have fun, Dad?” she quipped with a wry smile.

“No, Lizzy mine. I worry that you don’t let yourself reach for more. Stretch out your arms toward the sun and moon and stars. Embrace the whole cosmos if you so choose. I worry that you don’t dream bigger and let yourself feel until you’re so full you want to burst.”

“Sounds painful,” she muttered with a grimace.

“Maybe. Love can be painful. But it’s also indescribably magical too.”

“Dad,” she said, pinning him with a serious stare, “I wasn’t in love with the man. At all. I was just a little charmed, a little obsessed, for a few weeks. I regret it already.”

“But why?” he asked.

“Why do you regret it?”

“Because…” she shrugged.

“I guess even when I was head over heels to some extent, a large part of me always knew he wasn’t The One. And because I knew it, it felt like a waste of time to be so lost in him during those weeks.”

“But you learned Spanish.”

“Yeah,” she huffed a laugh.

“I guess I did.”

“Not a waste,” her father said matter-of-factly.

“Okay.”

“And even if you didn’t learn Spanish, you learned what it felt like to live in a different culture. You met new people and tried new foods.”

“True.”

“I hear you brought back a lot of trinkets and pretty things. Your mother appreciated the hand-made jewelry.”

Lizzy sighed.

“I think I have way too many earrings now. And I can’t even wear them all that well; they make my lobes swell up. I have too many lacy, frilly, sequined things too. I don’t know when I’ll ever wear them again. They’re so not me.”

“That’s not a waste either,” David said. “Discovering what is not you. Sounds like you learned quite a lot on this trip.”

“I suppose so,” she admitted, “when you put it like that. But I’ll never let myself go stupid for a man like that again. It was embarrassing! Can you picture it? Me sitting around a house all day waiting for a man to pay attention to me? Ugh!”

Her wonderful father had put his arm around her shoulders then and gathered her into his side.

“Lizzy, it’s all right to let yourself fall for someone. To let them capture all of your attention, engage your mind and heart. In fact, it is my greatest hope that you meet someone worthy of you, the way I met your mother. I hope you open yourself to that possibility. When it happens, it will be far more…”

“Overwhelming? Obsessive? Addictive? Illogical and stupefying?” she supplied.

Her father chuckled.

“I get the sense you don’t look forward to falling in love, my girl.”

“No,” she said staunchly.

“Not one bit. I don’t like the feeling of losing myself.”

David was quiet for a long time.

Then, finally, he said:

“What if, when you meet the right person, you finally find yourself instead?”

Her father’s words had stayed with her. David Winters was a very wise man, Lizzy knew, so she always remembered the lessons he tried to impart to her.

But on the subject of “love,” she’d rather keep her skepticism. The love her parents shared was extremely rare statistically. Nigh impossible, actually, if one considered all the odds. She didn’t want to be distracted by a man, if most likely he turned out not to be the right one. If he didn’t last.

Which brought her back to the situation at hand.

She wouldn’t let Ben D’Angelo upset her well-established equilibrium. He’d get tired of this game in no time. Maybe she was only interesting to him because she hadn’t capitulated to the magnificence of his masculinity the moment she clapped eyes on him.

Yeah, that must be it.

But…

She did want to be his friend.

When she learned that he was her favorite historian, B. L. D’Angelo, she wanted to propose to him right there and then.

She was his biggest fan. It was his publications that got her so engrossed in archeology. His words practically leapt off the pages at her, immersing her in ancient worlds that felt so real, she didn’t ever want to leave.

For a moment, she thought maybe she could be saved from obsession by the fact that it was his father or grandfather who wrote her favorite articles. But, no. His recent works were just as good.

She searched him online the moment she returned to the hotel. Though there was never a picture of him, one recent article said that when he finished his book, The Lost Empire of Gods , he was only thirty years old. That was last year.

She loved that book. She probably read it ten times already. Not an easy feat when it was over five hundred pages long. But when one loved ancient history as much as she did, and when the writing was so incredibly engaging and vivid, she couldn’t put it down.

Finished with dressing and a dusting of very light makeup, she sat on the bed slightly deflated.

This was rather vexing—the irresistible conundrum that was Mr. D’Angelo. She wished he wasn’t so unbelievably devastating to look at.

Or so tall.

Or had such long, thick eyelashes.

Or pecs that were so thick she could see their contours quite clearly through his shirt.

Or biceps that were so hard, they bulged in the most tantalizing way.

Or an ass so high and firm and round and muscular she wanted to peel off his pants and take a bite out of it.

She’d probably break her teeth. He looked like he had buns of steel.

“Arrrgggghhhh!”

She threw herself backwards on the bed until she lay there with arms akimbo.

If he’d been average looking, average height, had an ounce of humor and wit, single, and was within twenty years of her own age, she would have gone to her knees in the fastest proposal of marriage in the history of proposals. That’s how much she adored B. L. D’Angelo.

But this version of her idol was deeply disturbing.

Obsession-inducing.

For her own sanity and self-preservation, they could only be friends. She would only admire him from the safety of a detached distance.

Thus decided, Lizzy braced herself with a deep breath and headed out to the presentation hall for the main event.