Page 64 of Dragon’s Rogue

The dream scene faded and she was six years old, dozing on the couch with her head in her mother’s lap, and she felt warm and safe and loved.

Arms slid around her from behind. A voice whispered, “It’s okay. You’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you.”

The song was all around her now, a wordless lullaby that soothed her to sleep.

When she woke up, light was streaming through the big windows that lined one wall of the room. The heavy blue velvet curtains were open, swaying in the fresh breeze.

The room was enormous, and looked like it had been originally decorated sometime in the 1800s. Brocade wallpaper, heavy mahogany furniture, and more velvet hangings everywhere, including on the huge four-poster bed she was sleeping in. You could actually close the curtains and be cocooned inside.

Added to that was a comfy-looking overstuffed couch and chair grouped around a coffee table and a huge flat screen TV, somehow managing not to look out of place.

And there was gold. Statuettes, candlesticks—even the chandelier seemed to be made of gold. One of Zane’s pieces—it was similar in style to the one she’d seen the night before. Along the dresser sat a row of torso-shaped display racks like you’d see in jewelry stores, each one with an ornate gold necklace around its neck, some of them inlaid with jewels, some plain.

Like the one she was wearing, Blaze realized. She had on a cobalt blue, v-neck nightgown of silk and lace, and around her neck was a gold collar necklace with delicate linked filigree that came to a point just above her breastbone, lying comfortably on her chest and filling the neckline perfectly.

It should have felt too heavy, but it felt wonderful, like the comforting hand of a friend. Blaze almost thought she heard a faint, faraway hint of music when she touched it.

She sat up and her stomach growled. She was starving. How long had she been asleep? There was no clock, and her phone was still at her house.

God, her house. She had to get over there and see what the damage was. Make sure the balcony doors were boarded up, straighten up the workroom, make sure the magical wards were still working.

But first she needed more food.

She threw back the covers and slid down off the bed, wondering how a person found a zefir to bring food. Or a kitchen. For a second the fatigue hit her again, and she grabbed onto the bed, but in a moment it passed.

Must be hunger. She spied a tiny fridge set into a cabinet under the television and made her way over, but it held only beverages—water, soda, beer.

She grabbed a water and stood up just as the door opened and Zane walked in, a plate of cake in one hand and a fork in the other.

He was barefoot, hair tousled, wearing nothing but faded jeans riding low on his hips. His broad, muscled chest and eight-pack abs looked every bit as incredible in sunlight as they did by moonlight. The sun coming through the window caught the strip of fine gold hairs that ran from his chest down his belly, like an arrow pointing to his impressive package.

Blaze’s stomach growled again.

Zane stopped in his tracks, head swiveling toward her, fork halfway to his mouth. “You’re up,” he said. His vivid blue gaze locked on to her, raking over her from head to toe, lingering on her cleavage before moving back to her face.

Blaze raised her hand self-consciously to her hair, which was wild with bedhead. “Yeah. I’m a mess, too.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, sounding totally sincere. “Are you hungry?”

Hell, yeah. She could dive into Zane Greystone right now and eat every bite. If only things were less complicated between them.

“You could say that.”

Her eyes wandered south again without her permission. The bulge in his pants had gotten bigger; maybe he really did think she looked beautiful in the morning. When she jerked her gaze back to his face, a slow smile was curving his lips.

He walked over, his movement fluid and graceful, and leaned up against the cabinet, inches away from her. He smelled good enough to eat, like warm sugar cookies with cinnamon. Damn, she was wanting to curl up next to him again. “You eat cake for breakfast?” she asked.

“Technically, it’s a late lunch,” he said. “It’s after two. And yes. Cake is appropriate for any meal. This is red velvet cake, with cream cheese frosting. It’s one of my favorites. Try some.”

He held the fork out to her, and after a moment’s hesitation she took the bite of cake. He pulled the fork slowly back, holding her gaze as she licked her lips.

It was amazing. “Oh my god,” she murmured, mouth full.

He handed the fork over and she demolished the rest of the cake. Having him so close, watching her eat, was giving her little flutters in her stomach, but she couldn’t seem to move away.

When she finished he took the plate and examined it. “I think you missed some frosting,” he said. “Here.”

He scooped it up on his finger and held it out to her, his eyes daring her to take it.