Tempting The Dragon. Karen Whiddon
smiled. “Do you need any help?” she asked. Auntie Em never did, but simply asking was enough to earn a bit of whatever treat she’d made.
This time was no exception. Beaming, her aunt handed her a slice of fresh-baked bread with a dot of creamy butter. After giving her thanks, Jade carried her prize from the warm kitchen and out to the front porch, where she could enjoy it in peace.
She sat down on the wooden swing—her favorite place to sit and watch the world pass by, and took a bite of bread. Soft and fragrant, the white bread contained hints of cheese, onion and herbs and melted on her tongue. She chewed slowly, wanting to savor every single bite. She might even have let out a quiet moan of pleasure.
“You eat that like you’re making love to it,” a dry, masculine voice drawled.
Instantly, she froze, even though every nerve ending flared to life as his voice and words resonated with her. Him. Just like that, her entire body felt energized and taut. Making love. An ache seized her as she dared to let herself imagine—for a second—what it would be like to make love with him.
Damn.
Refusing to let him see how much he rattled her, she concentrated on her bread and took another bite while she tried to do her best to pretend he hadn’t startled her. She chewed deliberately, ignoring him until she’d swallowed.
Slowly, she let her gaze come up to meet his. Again, she felt the sting of desire, a sharp tug of attraction, immediate and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, but she let herself study him, aware she needed to size him up unclouded by memories of those dreams.
And what dreams they had been. Her blood heated as she remembered the sensual and provocative images.
Mouth curling in amusement, he stood there while she let her gaze slowly drift over him, up and down, from the top of his dark and shaggy hair to his worn, faded sneakers. His insolent gray eyes gleamed with amusement, and maybe a hint of desire. He had a craggy, handsome face, rugged and masculine. Muscles rippled under his flannel shirt, making her mouth grow dry. The confidence he wore like a shield gave him a powerful, nonchalant appearance. Despite his quiet manner, he radiated sensuality, making her feel a bit like a helpless moth drawn toward a flame. Even so, she sensed an air of isolation around him.
“Are you done?” he drawled. “Because now it’s my turn.”
Instantly, her face heated. She pretended a sudden interest in taking another bite of bread, chewing and managing to swallow even though she felt his gaze like a whisper-touch on her skin.
Normal, she reminded herself. She had to appear normal.
“You didn’t come up the front path,” she commented once she’d swallowed, her voice overly bright. “There’s no way you could have or I would have seen you.”
“I did, but after I knocked on the front door and got no answer, I went around to the back. The lady baking bread in the kitchen directed me back up front here to find you. And yes, she did let me try a taste of her bread.”
Surprised, she glanced up. As she did, he smiled at her. The masculine power of his smile made her entire body tingle. This struck her momentarily speechless and all she could do was stare.
Luckily, she had a little left of her slice of bread to focus on. She took another bite, a big one, the last one, intending to savor it. Instead, the soft bread stuck to the roof of her mouth when she swallowed and she nearly choked. Still, she managed to get it down.
He quietly watched while she coughed and wiped her eyes.
“Are you all right?” he finally asked, the husky drawl in his voice making her think of the overwhelming heat of Texas summers.
She continued to cough, trying not to snort or hack too much, until she could catch her breath. All she could do was wave her hand at him to wait. Finally, she had herself back under control. Gathering what was left of her shredded dignity around her, she stood and met his gaze. “I swallowed wrong. You can be a bit overwhelming.”
He grinned, making her regret her admission. “Coming from a woman who looks like you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Her own lips curled up in the beginning of a smile. “Touché. Now tell me, why are you here?”
“Because you invited me,” he replied.
“Only to keep you from peppering us with questions at lunch,” she countered. She should have been annoyed, but wasn’t. And he knew it, she could tell. The glint in his gray eyes told her he was accustomed to using his charm to get his own way.
“My apologies.” That Southern drawl had a way of reaching inside her and curling around her entire being. “Speaking of lunch, what exactly did you do to make me move?”
Briefly, she considered batting her own eyelashes. Instead, she went for a steady gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do realize I’m a photojournalist, right? I told you that earlier, didn’t I?”
She nodded.
“Well, when a journalist has questions and everyone stonewalls him, that only intrigues him even more.”
He had a point. Disconcerted, she swallowed. “All right. You said you had questions. What exactly do you need to know?”
“First, start by telling me how you made me move outside of the restaurant. It felt sort of like being pushed by an invisible hand.”
For some reason, she found this amusing. From the intent way he watched her, he’d see if she tried to hide a smile, so she didn’t bother. “Around town, they call me a witch. Maybe now you can understand why.”
“I’ve heard that. Are you? A witch, I mean?”
To his credit, he didn’t sound at all disconcerted.
“Not really,” she finally admitted. “But you know how people talk. I have a few...abilities. Occasionally. Not many, and they’re unreliable, so I can’t really count on them.”
As a shape-shifter, he shouldn’t be surprised. He knew magic existed—otherwise every shape-shifter would be in trouble. But he’d never met a real life witch before.
“I can tell from your aura that you’re a shape-shifter,” she began.
“Ditto.” He narrowed his eyes. “Look, I’ll cut to the chase. I’m here because I’m doing a report on lake monsters. You know, like the Loch Ness monster, but in North America. There have been several reported around the United States and Canada. The one in Forestwood Lake came up several times, so I took a chance and traveled here to find out what I could learn.”
Monsters. Libby despised that word. And for good reason. Resisting the urge to defend her charge, Jade tilted her head, wishing she had one more bit of bread left. She felt confident no one in town would have told him anything. They were all united in protecting Libby. “And what did you find out?”
“Nothing, nada, zip. Like I mentioned at lunch, no one will talk to me. The only response I got was to ask the Burnetts. Which would be you, right?”
“That would be me,” she agreed, flashing her sweetest smile and feeling a swift stab of pleasure in his quick intake of breath. Might as well fight fire with fire. She knew how to use charm, too. “Honestly, though. If I did know anything—and I’m not saying I do—what makes you think I would confide in a total stranger?”
He shook his head, appearing unimpressed. “Honey, answering a question with another question isn’t going to make me forget I asked. If you won’t tell me about your lake monster, can you please point me to one of your relatives who will?”
Ignoring the thrill at his no doubt unintentional endearment—with a Southern accent like that, he probably called everyone honey or sugar or something—she shifted uneasily in her seat. While there wasn’t some kind of rule forbidding talk about Libby, her family also had a kind of tacit understanding the topic