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A strangled groan forced its way past his thinned lips. “I don’t need anyone.”
I clucked my tongue, shaking my head. “That’s not the tune you’ve been singing since I arrived last night.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining,” he muttered under his breath.
He had me there, but what woman in her right mind wouldn’t have been bowled over by a man as attractive as Bastian showering her with attention? “You need me,” I repeated, emphasizing my words by jabbing my finger on the table. “The Shifter Council wants me to look over your books and decide where the money is to be spent.”
That shut him up, the low rumbly growl cutting off in an instant. Though his eyes were still flashing with heat. “What money?”
“The money Astrid is giving back to the clan from her inheritance. You didn’t know?”
A fraction of a pause, then, “I forgot.” His face hardened, all traces of warmth wiped away.
Sure you did. Taking a sip of my now nearly cold coffee, I forced a smile, trying to ignore the disappointment welling up inside me as any chance of a little extracurricular booty call vanished.
“What exactly do you mean by you’ll decide?” he snapped.
Ah … how to phrase this. Throwing caution to the wind I laid it all on the table. “I’ve been named temporary treasurer for the Jewelcrest Clan.” And I was pretty sure that was the highest insult one could give a dragon, after all, they were very protective and secretive about their hoard of treasure, even in this day and age. I’d heard the stories—the Council had made sure I understood exactly what I’d be getting into—though they’d left out a few pertinent details, in my mind, anyway. Like the dragon shifter in question being the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on!
“Why you, Faye?”
Not sweetheart, anymore. I bit back the sigh, convincing myself that I should be grateful he hadn’t spewed flames at me over the kitchen table, or locked me up in his lair until I conceded to his every whim. This time the sigh escaped, and it was dosed with a good amount of longing.
His eyebrow arched, and he leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “You’re human,” he stated. “Why you … sweetheart?” He dragged out the endearment, drawling the word as if it were a loving caress in itself—a whisper between lovers amongst tangled sheets and slick skin.
A tremor worked its way down my spine, coiling in my stomach, fluttering and hot. “I have years of experience.”
He snorted, a puff of steam shooting out of his nostrils as he shook his head. “Years? You barely look like you’ve started your twenties.”
“I’m older than I look. I have good genes.” I sounded defensive, dammit. I couldn’t help it if I didn’t look my age, or that I wasn’t smooth or sophisticated or polished. He should count himself lucky that I had pulled a brush through my hair this morning and shaved my legs.
“Yes. You do.” He had a speculative gleam in his eyes, as though he had read my inner thoughts and found them amusing.
“I am more than qualified to do this.”
Righting the fallen chair, he lowered himself down, smoothing his hands across the table. He cocked his head, as though listening to an unheard voice. Then, “Would you mind if I asked you a couple of questions?”
He sounded completely reasonable. Calm. Too calm. So I sat. “Sure. You want to interview me?” Not that it would make any difference; he couldn’t make me leave, not unless he wanted to leave too. A twinge inside my stomach had me shuffling on my seat.
His first few questions were routine, enquires about education and experience, something I could field with my eyes closed since I hadn’t been lying. I was more than capable of doing what I’d come here to do. My gaze flickered to the table, where his fingers were drawing circles on the scored wood, round and round, twining back and forth in a hypnotic dance.
He had elegant hands. Long fingers with blunt, neat nails. Strong and capable I mused, taking in the hard calluses revealed with every turn.
“Faye?”
“Huh? Yes?”
A low chuckle, then, “How long are you going to be staying here, with me?” His already deep voice dropped to an even lower, huskier tone on the last word, his fingers pausing on their winding journey as if to add their emphasis.
The air thickened, every sucked in breath thick with his scent. A smoky smell, bitter yet sweet all at the same time. Utterly masculine. “As long as it takes.”
His fingers resumed their caress, because that’s what it was, a slow, loving caress on the wood. Gentle and calm, yet poised to attack. “As what takes?”
I was starting to wish I’d accepted the job in California instead. A bit of sun would have done me some good, but, no, my curiosity had landed me smack bang in the middle of something I was starting to think I didn’t stand a chance of winning. “For you to pass my test.”
“What test?”
I folded my arms over my chest as an armor against his persuasive grin. Two can play his game of half answers and misdirection. “If you knew, then it wouldn’t really be fair, would it?”
