she called, silently cursing herself, Morgan Le Fay and especially her former band mates, Mike and August, for busting up the group and removing her only source of income in the first place. “Mister St. George? Are you home?”
She tilted her head close to the door, trying to hear any movement at all. There was a sound from deep within the recesses of the house that sounded like a deep—very deep—sigh. The door rattled slightly, as if there’d been a strong breeze. But the air was very still out on the porch.
The hairs on Tess’s arms prickled. A thin rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts. It was only then that she realized how uncomfortably hot the silver dragon had become against her chest. Swallowing the panic that urged her to run as far away from this house as possible, Tess knocked again.
“Mister St. George,” Tess said, her voice stronger now. “I’m supposed to deliver a necklace? From Morgan Le Fay?”
She could actually feel whoever was in the house turn his full attention toward her. Everything, even the soft outside noises behind her, went silent. There was a pause, then a strange languid hiss beyond the door. Tess frowned and got closer. It sounded like something being dragged through coins or metal pieces. Something big.
Tess’s breath caught in her throat as her mind conjured a picture of an enormous dragon, a real-life version of what she wore around her neck, uncoiling itself inside this house and getting ready to open the door so it could gobble her up. It might have been ridiculous, but it froze the blood in her veins. It also froze her in place as the door swung open right in front of her.
Her first thought was that Kaden St. George wasn’t the dragon she’d feared.
Then a pair of eyes the bright gold of a candle’s flame locked with hers, and she knew she was in plenty of trouble anyway.
He looked like some dark and malevolent god banished to earth standing there in the doorway. Tousled raven hair, pieces of it gleaming what looked like deep purple, skimmed sharp cheekbones. His face was angular, with a square jaw and a regal blade of a nose, softened only by his mouth. Even set in a disapproving line, his lips looked soft, sensual.
It was exactly the wrong thought, Tess knew, struggling to center herself before she did something ridiculous. But if his face wasn’t enough, the man looked as though he’d only just thrown on the pair of black jeans he was wearing. Her eyes skimmed down his bare chest before she could stop herself, making detailed mental notes on every taut muscle, every slash and curl of the intriguing tribal tattoos that marked his golden skin, disappearing beneath pants he hadn’t bothered to button...
“Who wakes me?” he growled, in a roughened voice as dark and decadent as sin itself.
Tess opened her mouth, though she hadn’t yet decided whether to answer or scream for help.
It didn’t matter.
With a flicker of movement, Kaden St. George dragged her inside and shut the door behind them.
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