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Once, when he actually purchased a magazine, Kristen had seen his eyes. Emerald green, or so she had thought, because when she looked again to hand him his change, they were blue. Blue like the mountaintops on a summer day. She’d blinked, and they were green again.
She usually didn’t see his eyes. Only his profile as he stood at the magazine rack, thumbing through the same editions as he had the day before. More than once Kristen wondered why he didn’t buy the darn thing and read it at home. Low on cash, maybe? Surely he got bored looking through the same magazines day after day. With the exception of Time, Newsweek, and People, she only changed the stock monthly.
Yet there he was, like clockwork.
And every day, like clockwork, Kristen sat, pretending to read. Gazing at him. His raw masculinity. His wavy dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. His chiseled jaw line that was always covered with a couple days’ growth of stubble. His perfectly formed nose. His incredible body that made her heart leap.
And the tattoo.
Always the tattoo.
He never wore his leather jacket into her shop, always left it draped over his Harley out in the street. All the better for her to stare at his tattoo, to wonder how the golden skin it covered would feel under her lips. Her tongue.
At noon he left. Right on schedule. Kristen let out a breath and wished she were the kind of woman he might notice. Might kiss.
Might take to his bed.
2
She was so hot.
Or could be, if he could get her out of her librarian wardrobe and into a leather bustier and panties. Hell, skip the panties. In fact, skip the bustier.
He wanted her naked.
She didn’t know he could see her. For his dragon’s eyes were more powerful than his human eyes would ever be. While his human eyes stared cloudily at the blurred words on the glossy magazine page, his dragon eyes penetrated the lovely woman reading.
And his dragon’s sense of smell… The spicy floral scent of yellow roses wafted from her body like a soft summer breeze. His groin tightened.
He watched her, wanted her. Imagined pulling her chestnut locks free of the constricting knot at the back of her head and then running his fingers through them. Silk, he’d bet. Silk threads against his roughened hands.
He’d remove her glasses and gaze into her amber eyes. Then her crisp high-necked blouse would go, ripped into shreds by his hands and teeth. Next, he’d tear her bra from her sumptuous breasts and roll her ruby nipples into hardened nubs. He’d kiss them, lick them, suck them, and then slowly, ever so slowly, he’d reach under her skirt into her heat.
She’d be wet for him. So wet.
Fucking hard on. He couldn’t help it, staring at her, fantasizing about her. Always the same. He couldn’t get on his Harley in this state. He closed his eyes, calmed the dragon, and willed his body into submission. A few minutes later, he left the bookshop, revved up his engine, and took off to face the rest of his day. To go through the motions of living until he could be in her presence again.
He wanted to give her time. But time had run out. He’d finally done that research that his Da—or not his Da—had mentioned all those years ago.
Tonight Aidan would claim Kristen Ross.
3
“I always knew you slept in the nude.”
The deep raspy voice penetrated the fogginess of Kristen’s mind and washed over her like a smooth red wine. She turned her head and stared at the man standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
Him.
Aidan Butler.
Scream. Yes, she should definitely be screaming. But as his gaze raked over her naked body—she hadn’t bothered with sheets in the heat—her vocal cords failed her.
“May I join you?” he asked.
“W-Why are you here?”
“For you.” He approached the bed stealthily, his eyes locked onto hers. His unbound black hair fell in sleek waves against his skin. His torso was unclothed, and he was even more beautiful than she had imagined. Broad shoulders gleamed golden in the moonlight from her bedroom window. A smattering of dark curls covered his hard chest and ripped abdomen, ending in a line that disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. Two brown nipples poked through the hair, tantalizing and kissable. When he sat down next to her, she rolled toward him as his weight sank the mattress.
“D-Do you even know who I am?”
“Of course I do”—he touched her cheek—“Kristen.”
“You know my name?”
“I always have.” He leaned down and brushed his full dusky lips across hers.
Her breath caught. Such a tender gesture, but it set her juices flowing. “W-What is it that you want?”
“I have a name.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Then use it. Please.”
“All right.” Kristen cleared her throat. “What is it that you want…Aidan?”
