Wildfire Sea Dragon (Fire & Rescue Shifters: Wildfire Crew Book 3) Page 3

  “Don’t do that,” he said sharply.

  Her blush deepened. “My sincerest apologies. I meant no disrespect.” With the grace of a trained warrior, she sank to both knees in a posture of formal submission. Silver honor-charms braided into her hair flashed as she bowed her head. “Crown Prince of Atlantis, Heir to the Pearl-”

  “No!” He grimaced, gesturing at her to stand back up. “Look, it’s Joe, okay? Just Joe.”

  From her expression, he might as well have demanded that she address him as ‘bro’. “I…do not think that would be appropriate, Your Highness.”

  He winced at the hated honorific. “Gah. Considering I’m over a foot taller than you, that just makes me feel like you’re making fun of me. Try again.”

  She bit her lip. “My prince?”

  Oh, he was. Hers, now and always, forever…

  “That’ll have to do.” He tried to look casual, draping his arms across the back of his chair. “And what shall I call you?”

  He already knew the answer, of course. But he found himself desperate for any excuse to stretch the conversation as long as possible.

  Because if all went well, these few precious, shining minutes were all he’d ever have with his mate.

  Her armored shoulders relaxed a little. Clearly the return to formality comforted her. “I am the Seventh Novice of the Order of the First Water, Squire to the honored Lord Azure.”

  “Not your sea dragon name.” He waved a hand dismissively, trying not to show how his heart was hammering against his ribs. “You must have an air name, surely? A human name?”

  Her posture stiffened. Somehow he’d struck a nerve, though he’d no idea how. “I am Seventh Novice, my prince. Some people call me Seven.”

  “Well, Seven.” He treated her to his laziest, most infuriating grin. “I shall call you Sexy.”

  If looks could kill, he would have been floating belly-up on the waves. “As it pleases you, Your Highness.”

  Sea, he loved her.

  Seven drew in a deep breath, expression smoothing out again into blank courtesy. “My prince, on behalf of your noble mother, the Pearl Empress, I have been tasked with—”

  “Hold it.” He raised a hand, stopping her. “Before you report, there’s something you need to do first.”

  Alarm flashed across her grey eyes. “I am sorry, my prince. I am unaccustomed to the honor of addressing a member of the royal family. If there is some aspect of formal etiquette I have neglected, I sincerely apologize.”

  “No, you haven’t done anything wrong.” He stood up, moving to one side. He gestured at the seat he’d just vacated. “Sit down.”

  She eyed the chaise lounge as though it was upholstered in bear traps.

  “I’m waiting.” He leaned against a wall, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his pants. “We can’t continue this conversation until you sit down.”

  Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the chair, making the minimum possible contact with the golden velvet.

  “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He tilted his head in the direction of the minibar. “Do you want a drink?”

  “I am on duty, my prince.” Seven ploughed on without a pause, as though worried what else he might offer her if she let him get a word in edgeways. “As I was saying, I am here to-”

  “Fifty bucks,” he interrupted her.

  Her mouth hung ajar. “What? I mean, I’m sorry, my prince?”

  “There’s a minimum charge for a private room.” He held out his hand. “You’ll have to give me fifty dollars.”

  A muscle ticked in Seven’s jaw. “With all due respect, I am not the one with access to the Imperial treasury. My prince.”

  “No, but you’re the one who wants to talk.” He raised his eyebrows at her, then realized that she wouldn’t be able to see that over his sunglasses. He shrugged instead. “Fifty dollars. Take it or leave it.”

  Seven’s mouth thinned. She pulled a thin wad of bills from her belt pouch, counting off five tens. From what he could see, it was more than half of her funds. She thrust the money at him as though wishing it was a dagger.

  “Great.” He took it from her. With his other hand, he palmed a discrete control panel set into the wall. “Then we can begin.”

  Soft, pulsating music began to play over the hidden speakers. Seven started as the lights dimmed. Her hand closed over the hilt of a short pearl-inlaid baton that hung at her side.

  “What the—” She stopped, clearing her throat. “My prince, the mood lighting is unnecessary. And I do not require a soundtrack.”

  “No, but I do.” He stepped onto the low stage. He tossed the bills into the air, grinning at her through the fluttering green rain. “And you, Sexy, just bought yourself a pole dance.”

  Oh sweet heaven, he’s actually serious.

  Seven’s jaw dropped as the Prince grabbed hold of the pole. He swung himself round with easy, languid grace, grinning at her the whole time.

  Her assumptions whirled like the fluttering bills, falling into a new, even more appalling configuration. “You work here?”

  His free hand caressed his own torso, fingers sliding underneath one of his suspender straps. “My father gave me an ultimatum last year. Return to Atlantis and take up my royal duties at last, or…” He snapped the strap at her. “Become a firefighter. So here I am.”

  She had been vaguely perplexed by his outfit, which was hardly club wear—sturdy yellow work pants held up with wide suspenders, a tight white t-shirt clinging to his chest, bare feet.

  Now she realized…it was a costume.

  “B-but,” she stuttered. “You joined a hotshot crew. You did. A real one.”

  “Yep. And you wouldn’t believe the tips I get when women find out I was a real, live firefighter.” He spun around the pole again. “Turns out it was worth spending a summer choking on smoke and eating mystery meat out of self-heating packets.”

  Was a firefighter?

  Before she could ask what he meant by that, the Prince’s arms flexed. His feet lifted from the ground.

  Seven had never given much thought to pole dancing before, but if she had she would have assumed it was something that only appealed to men. A scantily clad woman grinding her crotch against a long, hard shaft…the symbolism was hardly subtle.

  There was absolutely nothing feminine about what the Prince was doing now.

  He spiraled smoothly up the pole, barely seeming to touch it. He swam through thin air, body arching in a sinuous curve, legs swinging out behind him. His white t-shirt clung to his back like a second skin, revealing every flexing muscle.

  She wrenched her gaze away, fixing her eyes on the opposite wall. “My prince—”

  “Hey.” He snapped his fingers. “I’m up here.”

  He’d taken one hand off the pole.

  Everyone knew the Prince was a soft, spoiled man-child with no honor or discipline, who did nothing except drink and indulge his base desires. And yet here he was, supporting himself on a single rigid, flexed arm, upside-down, body straight as a sword. If he hadn’t been doing it right in front of her eyes, she would have said it was impossible even for a shifter.

  “That’s better.” Only the slightest edge to his tone, a bare hint of strain, betrayed how much strength it was taking to pose like that. “If we’re going to talk, you can at least look at me. What were you saying?”

  “I—I—” She unstuck her tongue from the roof of her mouth. “I’m supposed to take you back to your hotshot crew. I’ve been assigned as your bodyguard.”

  “Lucky me.” The Prince wrapped his ankles around the pole, dangling six feet off the ground. He stretched languidly, arcing his spine. “Though now I’m wondering who you pissed off, to get stuck with this duty. Was it my dad? Please say it was my dad.”

  “No! I mean, I wanted this assignment. It’s an honor.” His t-shirt had come untucked, falling loose to display a sliver of chiseled abs. With a heroic effort, she kept her eyes fixed on his face. “My prince, would you please come down from there?”

  “Hey, you were the one who bought a dance.” He ran a thumb underneath one suspender, pulling it off his shoulder. “Honor demands that I fully satisfy you.”

  Her voice shot up an octave. “What are you doing?”

  He shrugged out of the other suspender. “Stripping. What did you think people pay me to do here?”

  “No, don’t-!”

  Too late.

  His hands fisted in his t-shirt. With a sharp jerk, he ripped the material in half. The dark planes of his chest gleamed, washed in shades of blue and green from the ever-shifting lights.

  Her thoughts scattered like startled fish. She could only stare, mouth dry, as he rolled upright, muscles moving smoothly. His smirk had faded. His hidden eyes held hers.

  For the first time, he looked utterly serious.

  He braced himself on the pole with both hands, letting his body swing free again. His hips flexed in time to the throbbing music. Warmth pulsed between her own legs in answer. She found herself leaning forward, her entire being yearning towards his…

  What was she doing? She shot to her feet, horrified by her body’s treacherous response. “Stop! Please stop!”

  He responded instantly, dropping from the pole so fast that she instinctively lunged forward to break his fall. Her hands smacked onto smooth, oiled skin, velvet over steel.

  Heat roared through her. Her knees gave way. She’d intended to catch him, yet he ended up supporting her, her palms pressed against his hard torso.

  He stared down at her, his mouth only inches away from hers. His sunglasses were still in place somehow. The mirrored lenses showed Seven nothing but her own pale reflection.

  She tore herself free, stumbling backward off the low stage surrounding the pole.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I, I thought you had slipped. Fallen.”

  “I have.” His bare chest heaved. She couldn’t look away from the pulse leaping in the hollow of his throat. “I mean—uh, never mind. Thank you.”

  The memory of the Prince’s hot skin was seared into her palms. She’d felt his heartbeat, pounding as hard as her own…

  She took refuge in formality, offering him a deep bow. “I apologize sincerely for my breach of etiquette, my prince. It won’t happen again.”

  “Well.” He seemed to have regained his breath. He leaned back against the pole, his mouth stretching in that cocky grin once more. “Yeah. Pole dances are strictly hands-off. Now, if you wanted to tip me another twenty for a lap dance…?”

  “No!” she yelped, trying to ignore the way her body was screaming yes! “Um, that is, thank you for the offer, my prince. But we should really be going.”

  He tipped his head to one side. “Where?”

  “Montana, of course, my prince. We must leave straight away, if we are to rejoin your crew in time for fire season.” A droplet of sweat was slowly rolling down the center of his chest. She tried very hard not to look at it. “Er, do you perhaps have a spare shirt?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, which did very distracting things to the way his firefighter pants hung from his lean hips. “I’m not going to Montana.”

  “But…everyone is expecting you. Your father, the Imperial Champion, said that you had sworn to him that you would return to your crew.”

  He rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug. “You’ve seen my sweet set-up here. Women throw themselves and money at me, every night. Who’d want to abandon all this for hard labor at the ass-end of nowhere?”

  “You gave your word!” She couldn’t stop her voice from rising. Her chance, her one and only chance at knighthood, and it was slipping through her grasp… “Does honor mean nothing to you?”

  “Oh, it does,” the Prince said cheerfully. “It means that my dad can’t do a single thing to stop me. He said I had to be a firefighter. He didn’t specify anything more than that. So if he tries to drag me away from here, he’s the one who’ll be breaking his honor.”

  Outraged choked her. It was just as well, given that what she wanted to say to him would have landed her in serious trouble with Lord Azure.

  Lord Azure. A bolt of pure horror went through her, chilling her body’s ardor at last. When Lord Azure heard about this, she would be expelled from the Order so fast, small fish would be sucked into the riptide.

  She wasn’t just going to lose her chance at knighthood.

  She was going to lose everything.

  “Hey.” The Prince’s voice softened, as though he’d somehow detected her distress. “It’s okay. I promise, no one will ever know what went on in this room. Your honor is safe with me. Just go back to your lord and tell him I’m a terrible, cowardly waste of space who refused to go with you. Everyone knows that I’m impossible. No one will blame you for not being able to drag me back to my duty.”

  She closed her hand around the hilt of her stunsword, clinging desperately to hope amidst the roaring in her ears. “Even, even if you aren’t returning to the crew, I could still be your bodyguard.”

  He made a scoffing sound. “Oh, come on. The worst that can happen to me here is a hen party getting a little handsy. Even my parents will have to admit that I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  He paused, then flashed a wicked grin at her. “Unless, of course, you’d like to watch me strip off every night?”

  If she stayed, she’d be a laughingstock. She’d be the squire who chose to be assigned to a strip club. No one would ever take her seriously.

  “Seven.” The Prince’s grin faded. He moved forward, looking oddly intent. “You don’t want to be stuck here with me. Go back to Atlantis. It’s for the best. I promise.”

  His salt-sea scent wrapped around her, rooting her to the spot. His hands closed on her shoulders. She found herself unable to move away, unable to even breathe, as he bent to press a soft, chaste kiss to her forehead.

  “Everything will be fine,” he whispered. He released her, pushing her toward the door. “Goodbye, Seven.”

  Chapter 4

  Joe collapsed against the closed door, letting out his breath. He shoved his sunglasses to the top of his head with a shaking hand. Every muscle in his body burned, and not just from the effort of pole dancing. His dragon writhed beneath his skin, roaring to get out.

  His mate. His mate.

  When a sea dragon met his mate, he danced for her. In the cradling currents of the ocean, sinuous and strong. Coils twining, scales caressing, every movement a seduction and a promise.

  He’d danced for her. Started the mating ritual. Offered her his heart.

  And she would never know.

  He heard the clack of high heels coming down the hallway, then a knock on his door. “Hey, Joe?” Carole called. “You free now?”

  “Y-yeah.” He moved aside to let her in. “What’s up, bro?”

  “It’s that creepy woman out front. She is really not taking no for an—” She cut herself off as she took in the state of him. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost.” Joe attempted to force his face into something resembling a smile. “Just the love of my life.”

  Carole’s eyebrows winged upward. “The woman in the World of Warcraft get-up? Got to say I wouldn’t have pegged her as your type. Who was she, anyway? Ex-girlfriend?”

  “Not exactly.” Joe rubbed his forehead, wishing he had a glass of water so he could check the future. “Is she gone?”

  “Yeah, she stormed past me looking pissed enough to boil your bunny. I don’t think she’ll be back.” Carole cocked her head at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “Good,” he said firmly, trying to drown out the bereft cries of his inner dragon. “It’s very good. What were you saying about a creepy woman?”

  “It’s the patron I told you about earlier. She’s asking for you by name, and I can’t persuade her to go for any of the other dancers instead.” Carole blew out her breath. “She looks like she’s made of money, but something about her gives me the heebie-jeebies. Want me to bounce her?”

  It was tempting, but Joe shook his head. “No. I could do with a distraction. Send her in.”

  “If you’re sure.” Carole cast a significant look at his groin as she left. “I’ll give you a moment to calm down, though.”

  Underneath his firefighter pants, his banana hammock was indeed suffering a significant wardrobe malfunction. Seven had been considerably more stimulating than his usual clientele. He was thankful that she hadn’t paid for him for a lap dance.

  He adjusted himself as best he could. His t-shirt was beyond salvaging, but they never lasted longer than a single set anyway. He stripped off the last shreds, dropping them in the trash, then grabbed a fresh shirt from a hidden cupboard in the corner.

  He’d barely finished resetting his costume when the door opened again, this time without warning. He hastily pulled his firefighter suspenders back up as a woman entered the room.

  “Hi.” He pasted his professional sexy smile onto his face. “I’m Joe. I’ll be your entertainment this evening.”

  The woman glided forward, letting the door swing shut behind her. Without saying a word, she reached out to him, with the casual arrogance of someone who’d never seen anything they couldn’t have.

  A jolt went through him as her hand stroked up his bare arm. There was nothing objectively unpleasant about her touch, yet it felt…wrong.

  Because it’s not her touch, his dragon roared. We belong to our mate! No one else!

  Joe jerked involuntarily. The woman tightened her grip, crimson nails digging into his skin. Light brown eyes gleamed up at him beneath her scarlet headband, predatory and triumphant.

  Yesterday—hell, half an hour ago—he would have found her wildly attractive. Now it was all he could do not to scream and shove her away.

  “Um,” he said as she circled him like a wolf eying up an injured deer “Look, it’s nothing personal, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands to yourself. Club rules, I’m afraid.”

  She laid a finger against his lips. “Shhh.” Her finger ran down to caress his chin, making him flinch. “Rules are for other people.”