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O n the run from an arranged marriage to a stunningly handsome, wealthy criminal or trapped by a magical necklace with a sexy, dangerous bodyguard who can turn into a dragon?

“Both sound like cheesy romance book plots. My mother would eat them up with a spoon,” I mutter, stepping into the extravagantly huge bathroom next to my temporary bedroom.

I’m sweaty and I smell like tomato plants, which is oddly grounding for me. Both of the aforementioned scenarios make no damn sense, but the earthy green smell of tomato plants and the memory of their little yellow flowers with green fruit turning red? That’s undeniably real.

I look down at the amulet as it dangles between my bare breasts, water dotting my skin.

Holy shit. Tomatoes equal reality, and that means...

Graham is really a dragon, and I’m on the run from Mr. Mafia.

I’m not stuck in one cheesy romance novel, I’m stuck in a two-for-one special.

No matter how hard I scrub (and the body wash is really nice and there’s a new loofah in a little net bag for me), I can’t wash off the growing realization that I’m stuck in some alternate dimension where magical creatures are real—and a bunch of them hang out at the local lawn and garden center.

I have to get out of this place. Away from Graham.

***

“C AN I COME IN?” GRAHAM knocks on the door of my room as I’m still in my towel, having belatedly realized that I only have two sets of clothes with me, and both are dirty. My great escape is going to have to wait until after I can do a load of laundry.

“Um. I’m not exactly dressed, but that’s not going to change.” I dump out my bag in desperation, but that’s just further proof I’m not thinking straight. I know what I packed. Aside from a spare pair of socks and panties, there’s nothing to wear. “Can I use your washing machine? I packed light. Maybe too light.”

“Surely, but in the meantime, I think you might fit into something of Vanessa’s. Hold on.”

In a few minutes, he’s back outside the door. “I have some sweatpants and one of her shirts.”

“Thanks. Come in,” I open the door, and he steps through it, invading my space. “What’s up?” I ask, voice tight.

“I imagine you’re thinking this is all some sort of dream.”

“Well, maybe a little.”

“And I’m thinking you’re wrong about what you said, even as sweet as you are, as easy to open up to as you are,” Graham says in a rush, voice almost bitter and expression angry.

“Uh...”

He seems to swell with anger, shoulders flexing. “Dragons are real, not that anyone will believe you. That’s a monster’s greatest protection these days. Most humans can’t see us unless they’re forced to by some strange chance, and once they do—who can they tell? Everyone would think they were drunk or off their heads.”

I back up and sit on the bed, nodding. “Okay.”

“But we are real, and you think we’re not scary?”

“I just meant I wouldn’t be scared of you because I know who you are,” I protest, still trying to figure out why he sounds so upset. Does he want me to think he’s scary? Did I insult his pride? Or has he been hurt by others rejecting him for how he looks?

“Because you're so sweet, Angela. So kind. But you’d never make a dragon’s mate. A dragon’s true form would repulse you. You’d hate having a husband who could turn into something like me.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What’s this about marrying a dragon? I just said I wouldn’t be scared.”

“And I’m just trying to explain why I have to marry a dragoness if I want to be able to keep my powers, my identity. The dragons who marry humans are the ones who can’t shift, or the ones who slowly stop shifting, stop being able to after years of hiding their true forms for months at a time, or never leaving their human skin. They’re weakening our kind. Ian got lucky—but I’m the smart one.”

“Not so sure about that,” I mumble as he carries on, wondering why in the world he’s telling me all this. My stomach tenses with nerves as he paces once, a short, tight line in front of the doorway. What if he’s right? I’ve never seen a dragon. I’m picturing some majestic thing with jewel-like scales, big wings, and maybe the ability to breathe fire. What if that’s the fairytale, and the truth is much uglier? Slimier? Or all teeth, claws, and bloodlust?

It’s only now that I realize Graham’s feet are bare and he’s wearing his long leather coat in the house, held shut across his waist. Is he naked underneath?

That’s unsettling, right? Him barging in, naked underneath black leather, while I’m naked underneath pale peach cotton?

So why am I not too unsettled?

“Sometimes I let myself believe that I could have what my brother has,” he says, voice a low snarl. “Better to stop fooling myself early on, don’t you think?”

I nod, not sure what to say, not sure how I’m tied up in all this.

But then Graham begins to change as he stares at me in silence.

His skin ripples as rows of purple scales form and fall into place like waves of silent dominoes. His fingers lengthen, and the knuckles become more pronounced. Talons. Claws. The face—

That handsome face turns into something almost cruelly beautiful, with little ridges of scale-covered bone forming on his cheeks and horns curling up from his dark hair.

In ten seconds, it’s over. The transformation is complete, and the coat is on the ground at his high-arched feet that end in claws.

The sight of Graham in his halfling form makes my insides squeeze and my lungs seem to stop working. Dark coils of muscle, covered in scales. Wings. Horns. A tail.

“What’s the matter, Princess?” The brogue comes out with a hiss, mocking me along with the tips of his white fangs. “Scared?”

I can’t answer, but if I could, the answer would be no. Turned on. So very, very turned on.

He bends to retrieve his coat, face closing over. When he rises, the anger is gone, and all that’s left is a sad somberness that’s plain even under the violet hue and the scales. “I’m sorry, Angela. Petty of me to prove it this way, but sometimes I’m stubborn. Sometimes I’m a fool.”

Graham turns to leave, and I bound across the room so fast my towel almost falls to the ground, sagging way down in back and only holding on because I’m clutching it in the front. I snag Graham’s arm with my hand.

He turns. Looks down at me.

Fingers tighten and tug. Don’t leave.

“Angela?”

My hand journeys up, fingers splayed to catch the texture of his scales as they seem to glimmer, iridescent in some places, dark and hinting at lost light in others. They’re smooth and hard, like a snake’s skin, an armor made of tiny purple plates that range from almost black to lightest lavender.

“Gorgeous,” I whisper.

Graham’s large hand wraps around my wrist like he intends to push me away, stop me from touching him.

I shouldn’t touch him. Not my right. He’s someone I owe, not someone I own .

“Dragon keeps the princess, not the other way around,” I whisper, fingers slowly curling into my palm. “I won’t touch you again. I’m sorry. I was rude. I just... you’re real. And so...”

“Fierce? Frightening?”

“Insanely beautiful.” I let my fingers out of their prison as he drops my wrist, one of his eyebrows arching. “You could be frightening, too, I know.”

“Wait until you see me in my true form. The full dragon,” his snarl is still there, but softer.

“O-okay. That’s okay with me. I’m not scared,” I whisper—although that’s not totally true. I’m scared that this is happening. Scared that I believe my eyes.

Scared that I’m not only okay with how he looks, but that I like it way too much.

***

I T DOESN’T HELP THAT Angela’s only wearing a towel. It doesn’t help that every time her arms move, the towel shimmies a little lower, revealing more of the deep natural tan of her skin, deepening the line of her cleavage. Doesn’t help that in this form, my senses are heightened, and I can smell that windswept, about-to-rain smell that reminds me of soaring through low-hovering clouds—and the sensual smell of her arousal under it. Just the faintest hint, but it grows when my tail moves closer to her bare ankle, the tip flicking along the curve of her calf like the thing has a mind of its own. She gasps, pupils expanding and nostrils flaring in surprise for a split second before she bites down on her lower lip.

The noise she makes is almost inaudible, but I can hear it.

“I can hear every little noise you make like this. And this hide is like armor. These wings,” I flap them wide and she tries to withdraw from my grasp, startled, her towel barely clinging to her damp body now, “could carry you high, where enemies would never reach you. Dragons have been soldiers. Mercenaries. Protectors and ravagers.”

My nostrils quiver, and my tail coils around her leg like ivy on a castle wall.

“Did you ever kidnap a princess and keep her in a tower?” she whispers, her lips glossed by her tongue.

I hold onto her so tight because my senses are reeling. I’m dizzy with wanting her, and I don’t know if I should fight the urges or beg her to share them with me.

One of her hands plants on my chest.

Maybe she already shares them.

“The only time a Kane dragon has taken a lady of noble birth to a high tower was as his bride. Mate.” The word escapes as a hiss, but that is all I will allow to escape. The intrigued light in Angela’s eyes is corkscrewing its way into my heart. The feel of her hand over my heart is like a brand. In seconds, something has changed. I want her to stay.

I tell myself it’s for her sake, too. “Say what you will about this form, but dragons make elite bodyguards. After all, a dragon guards what is precious to him. His hoard. His treasure. No one can take it from him while he breathes. And you are worth treasuring, Angela. I can tell.”

Angela launches herself up on her tiptoes, lips turned upward to find mine. I fold my wings and arms around her, feeling her towel fall as her skin slides against my scales. “You are mine now, princess,” I growl.

The way she’s kissing me, her hand sliding up my face and reaching for my horns?

I don’t think she objects.