Page 19 of The Dragon 1 (Tokyo Empire #1)

Chapter thirteen

The Fire Beneath the Skin

Nyomi

Kenji came to a stop just a few feet from me.

Towering.

Beautiful.

Dangerous.

The air itself tightened.

Gravity bent to him.

Now that he was closer, I could see that I had been incorrect earlier. I thought that he had been watching me like I was the reason the moon had risen tonight.

But actually. . .he was looking at me more like I was his next breath and he hadn’t decided whether to inhale or devour every inch of me.

I didn’t know what to say.

What did one say to a dragon that wanted to eat you?

A second later, his gaze slid away from my eyes.

First, to the two gifts on the table.

Then down the line of my body—from the supple curve of my breasts down to the hem of my dress and even to the arch of my heel.

When he slipped his gaze up to my legs, he let it linger just long enough to make my skin warm.

Then he lifted his gaze to my face.

“Nyomi,” his voice came out deep yet laced with that velvet-soft Japanese accent. “Last night, you haunted my mind. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to.”

My pulse throbbed in places I didn’t want to name.

“I kept trying to remember you exactly . Your mouth. Your laugh. The way those jeans hugged your ass,” he licked his lips so smoothly and hot that I got a little wet. “Now, I realize memory did me no kindness. It softened you. Made you appear safe in my head.”

I blinked.

His voice dipped lower. “You’re not safe. You’re devastating.”

Heat bloomed across my chest.

“Addictive.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “Designed to undo men like me.”

My breath caught.

I wanted to say something clever. Something flirtatious, smart, or cool. But my tongue forgot the choreography.

My mind stalled.

He stepped closer.

Close enough that I could smell that scent that made my lungs ache in his office— smoked sandalwood and candied ginger.

I shivered.

Goddamn it.

He raised a hand.

And even though every instinct screamed to brace myself or rush away, I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

His fingers brushed a cherry blossom petal from my hair.

Just that.

A whisper of contact.

It burned right through my entire body.

My skin sang.

My knees softened.

And there was all of this other stuff drumming inside of me that whispered words. . .

Touch.

Power.

Worship.

Fire.

Girl!! Calm the fuck down.

I gritted my teeth.

“Tora.” His voice vibrated through my body.

I shivered and somehow, I was able to speak. “Good evening. . .Kenji.”

A wicked grin spread across his sexy face. “I read your letter several times today. Your message that you gave the runner. It was very interesting.”

Suddenly, he walked to my side and then he got behind me as if he wanted to know what my ass looked like in that dress.

Stunned, I continued to face forward. “I’m glad you read my response.”

“I apologize for the unwanted groping last night.”

“Thank you.”

“I like to touch my woman.”

I blinked again.

“We’ll need to figure out a compromise like you said.”

I turned to face him. “Wait a minute. I think we have a misunderstanding.”

He smirked. “Do we?”

“In the letter, I didn’t say I wanted a compromise on the touching. No, I wanted to compromise on researching your district and—”

“Doesn’t matter. We should compromise on the touching too,” pure hot sex filled those damn eyes.

I swallowed. “I disagree.”

“Why?”

My jaw went slack for a beat. “Because. . .we just met. There’s no touching that should even happen.”

“That’s not your reason.”

“How would you know my reason?”

“Because I can tell from looking in your eyes that you want me to touch you. Badly.”

“That’s not. . .why. . .” I smoothed the fabric of my dress, needing something to do with my hands.

“Are you afraid of what you might feel if I touched you?”

I blushed. “I know what I would feel.”

“What?”

“Pleasure.”

A dark chuckle left him, “Pleasure? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“It wouldn’t just be pleasure, Tora.”

“No?”

“When I touch you the way I want to, I will be trying to enter your bloodstream like ink in water. Rewrite your cravings. Wreck your soul like you’re already ruining mine.”

I clenched my thighs.

“Right now. . .” He studied me. “You’re breathing like you're afraid I might kiss you.”

I parted my lips.

“You should be afraid of that. I desperately want to.”

It was in that moment that I knew I should not have said yes to the date because Kenji was the very essence of fuck around and find out . . .just the hot, sexy Yakuza edition.

I was finding that my panties were wet, and my nipples were stiffening. . .and the damned door to get away was absolutely closed. . .in fact. . .there was no door.

I stepped forward.

That wicked smirk widened. “It’s too late to play it safe now.”

I narrowed my eyes, breath still shaky, but my mind finally catching up. “Are you saying I’m trapped?”

He tilted his head slightly. “You may have already stepped into the cage.”

“I don’t see one. I see a beautiful garden and I’m enjoying the garden and. . .you, but. . .”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I feel like I’m your prey right now.”

“Prey runs. You walked right to me. You’re my reckoning.”

I didn’t even have time to decipher what that meant. “You know what I think about tonight? The ride here. . .your men. . .this beautiful garden and music. . .”

“What do you think, Tora?”

“I think that you wanted to show me your world,” I glanced at the cherry blossoms and then put my view back on him. “Am I right?”

“You are.”

“Then, show me, but also show me your discipline and restraint too.”

This time it was his turn to blink in surprise and I felt so much satisfaction. “I need more than your being horny and ready. Impress me with more than just the fire you’re holding under your skin.”

He stared at me, eyes dark and dilated, as if he hadn’t been spoken to like that in a long time.

Maybe ever.

But. . .I swear on everything. . .I think he liked it.

Immediately that book hit my head and the vision of the mysterious woman shooting up ice magic and slamming it into the dragon in the sky.

I cleared my throat. “I’m not asking you to dim the fire, I’m just asking you to pace yourself. Let me. . .breathe inside this world you’ve built. Let me. . .adjust. . .find my footing. . .then maybe. . .we can compromise on touching. . .”

His gaze flickered across my face—searching, maybe deciding. Then, that grin faded into something more serious. Hungrier but quieter. “I respect the kind of woman who can hold a dragon back.”

Heat prickled down my spine.

“I’m not always a gentleman, but for you, I’ll wear the skin of one. At least for tonight.”

I almost smiled. “That’s probably the sexiest threat I’ve ever heard.”

“You haven’t heard my others.”

I was not ready for this man. . . but my body didn’t get the memo.

“I told you yesterday that you should always know who you’re meeting with, before you greet them.” He tilted his head to the side. “Do you know who I am now?”

I’d done a whole lot of research for sure.

Kenji was the second son of the man who led the Yamaguchi-gumi—the largest Yakuza syndicate in Japan, with over seventy thousand members nationally and more across the world.

Some even lived in New York, California, and Hawaii.

That alone should’ve made me cancel the date.

I’d also discovered that the Yakuza weren’t like the Italian mafia. Supposedly, they operated more like a business—gangsters in tailored suits who upheld old customs and served their communities.

There were good stories. After the 2011 tsunami in Japan, the Yakuza were among the first to deliver aid and supplies.

There were bad stories too. They apparently did a lot of sokaiya —their method of buying company shares, digging up dirt, and blackmailing CEOs with the threat of shame.

Apparently, in Japan, shame could destroy more than scandal.

And then there was yubitsume . Members who broke rules got parts of their fingers chopped off—starting with the tip of the pinkie. More violations triggered more mutilation.

I’d also learned that Kenji didn’t even head the Yakuza until after his surprise retirement from soccer at twenty-eight.

I was no sports girl but his stats were insane—five-time AFC Player of the Year, Olympic athlete, even played in the FIFA World Cup.

And then. . .there was the Calvin Klein ad ten years ago. Black boxer briefs. Sculpted chest. Thighs like tree trunks. That bulge? Monstrous. I’d stared at that image like a pervert for the rest of the night.

Kenji had been twenty-eight in that ad and when he retired from soccer.

That made him thirty-eight now.

Just three years older than me.

Which was wild—because somehow, he felt like a different species. Older, yes, but not in years. In experience. In danger. In how the world moved around him.

Me?

I was thirty-five. A woman who’d built her career brick by brick.

“Tora?”

I blinked, returning to the moment.

“Have you figured out who I am?”

The word Dragon sat on the tip of my tongue but Zo had forbidden me to speak it in front of Kenji.

“Yes. I did my research. I know who you are.”

“Good,” He closed the distance and then his gaze drifted over my face again, soft and ravenous. “Does my reputation scare you?”

I didn’t hesitate. I looked up into his eyes. “It terrifies me.”

“Yet you came tonight.”

“I did.”

“Naughty tiger.”

“Naughty dragon.”

Well. . .there goes that rule.

To my shock, Kenji groaned like I’d just scratched an itch buried in his soul, “careful, Tora. You told me to behave but you’re not. . .”

I grinned. “I’ll be better.”

His voice dipped low. “Do you think you’ll regret coming tonight?”

“I might.”

“No, Tora,” he leaned in and placed his mouth near my ear. “You will regret it but only in the most delicious ways.”

A shiver traced down my spine pooling hot and needy between my thighs, “you speak in dark poetic riddles.”

He stepped away and motioned to the two gifts, “why did you bring them for me?”

“You sent me gifts. I should bring you gifts too. I was told that was the custom and a way to be. . .respectful and appreciative.”

“I’m excited to see what you brought me.”

“Good, I just hope you like them.”

“I will. I like gifts but I love intentions more,” he deeply inhaled me. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll eat and enjoy a. . . special performance.”

I put my view on the stage. “Why is that hook there?”

“Oh, you saw that?”

“It was hard to miss.”

“Most would miss it.”

“Hooks freak me out,” I returned my gaze to him. “Why is it there?”

“You’ll see later.”

“During the performance?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And then maybe after we eat. . .we’ll perform too. . .”

What does that mean?

He stepped back, breaking the tension just enough for me to breathe again.

Barely.

Then, with the smoothness of ritual, he pulled out my chair. “Come. Let’s enjoy ourselves this evening.”

I glanced one last time at the hook above the stage, tried to guess what it was for, and then I sat down.

Here we go, a date with the Dragon.