Page 145 of The Dragon 2

“So. . .let’s begin.” Nyomi smiled. “First—”

“One moment.” I stood up.

"Kenji, what are you doing?"

"This distance between us is torturing me." I carried my chair from across the table and positioned it directly beside her, tight, like we were meant to share the same air, the same skin.

I sat.

Closer than necessary.

So close our legs brushed beneath the table, and the scent of her—black amber and ripe plum—curled into my heart.

But before Nyomi could speak again, a chill slithered up my spine.

I turned my head just enough to glance back—toward the shadows near the far wall.

Hiroko stood there, still, silent, and watching.

Her hands were delicately folded in front of her kimono. Her expression said everything:You’re ruining the performance. You’re not playing your role.

And maybe I wasn’t because I knew now that she wasn’t here just to supervise.

Hiroko was here to guide Nyomi and help my Tiger tame the Dragon.

This whole night was carefully orchestrated powerplay and I was meant to be the one kneeling by the end of it.

The only problem was. . .I would never be an easy king to uncrown.

Nyomi shifted slightly beside me and crossed her legs.

The movement was casual—graceful, even—but the slit of her red leather gown parted wider as she did it, exposing a long stretch of thigh that gleamed like polished copper.

So smooth and sinful.

I stared.

Not politely.

Not discreetly.

Like a man who’d just discovered gold hidden in plain sight.

Her skin called to me, the way wine calls to the parched, or blood calls to wolves.

My breath slowed.

Unable to help myself, I moved my hand to that sexy thigh and brushed my fingertips along her warm skin.

She bit her lip.

I let my thumb stroke upward along the inner ridge of her thigh, just enough to tell her,I know what you’ve done tonight, and I plan to reward—or punish—you for it later.

She shivered. "You didn’t like your spot on the other side of the table?"

“It was too far away from you.” I began to slip my fingers further up.

A throat cleared softly across the room, and it was as sharp as a blade cloaked in lace.