Dragon Fever (3 page)

“Esme, you never sent us a picture of your dress,” Anjali said.

Piper resisted the urge to roll her eyes. So much for finding an ally in her other friend. She’d just have to launch Project Wreck-A-Wedding herself.

Esme reached for her purse then paused. “No phone.” She turned toward Anj. “Can I borrow yours? I should text Lars—”

Piper drummed her burnt fingers on the table to distract them. “Lars is probably having his bachelor party. That’s why he was so eager to get us out of Salt Lake City.”

Esme lifted her dark gaze. Compared to her pale hair, the deep bronze of her eyes had always been a little exotic, but now, in her winter-white sheath dress with her skin almost translucent, she looked sort of…scary. “Lars wouldn’t do that.”

“
We’re
doing that,” Piper reminded her. “That’s what a bachelorette party is. Having some fun. Burning off that last chance at a crazy night. Checking to make sure you really are meant to be together and that there’s no one else—like, really,
anyone
else you’d rather be with…” She gave Esme a long, slow, meaningful blink.

She winced again when Anj’s toe connected with her shin. Luckily, her friend was wearing those silly ballet slippers with no follow-through.

“Speaking of burning things down…” Anjali gave Piper a meaningful look. “That whole idea of ‘meant to be’ is just a lot of bullshit.”

Piper gaped. “Your uncle’s shop sells self-help tea leaves that tell people who they should marry.”

Anjali cranked her jaw obstinately to one side. “That’s how I know it’s all bullshit.”

Esme stared down at her drink. Although she’d lifted the glass to her mouth at the toast, the level of liquor was still the same. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Piper and Anjali both eyed her warily. “What doesn’t matter?” Anj asked.

“Whether it’s meant to be, or if there’s someone else, or if it’s all bullshit,” Esme said flatly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Piper reached across the table to touch Esme’s wrist, ignoring the ache in her hand. “Oh, honey. It
does
matter. That’s what I’m telling you.”

Ez lifted her eerie gaze. “It doesn’t matter
anymore
,” she clarified. “I agreed to Lars.”

Agree to
him. Not
love
him. Or even
want
him.

Piper wanted to shake the blond highlights right off her head, but the thready rush of the pulse in Esme’s too-delicate wrist made her afraid she might break her friend into a million pieces. “But why?” She couldn’t help the plaintive whine in her voice. She had a PowerPoint on the computer back in their rooms with a mindmap she’d worked up the night after Lar’s last text to review everything they’d dreamed about, the three of them, who they wanted to be. But she didn’t think she was going to have a chance to remind Ez of everything she’d apparently forgotten. “Don’t you remember swiping right on all those social workers and elementary school teachers? Remember that cute juggler? Why Lars?”

Esme lifted her chin, and for the first time, Piper saw Ez’s blue blood in the haughty tilt. The flat line of her lips held nothing of the girl who’d delayed her holiday break European ski vacation by a day to string popcorn strands for their apartment Christmas tree. “It’s not something that someone like you could understand.”

Piper recoiled, and even Anj looked taken aback.

If she noticed their consternation, Esme didn’t seem to care. She pushed from her seat, towering like an icy queen in her high-heeled booties. “I’m tired. I’m going back to the room. Anj, you can have the second bedroom in the suite.” Without glancing at Piper, she added, “You can take the other room. Good night.” She stalked away.

After a moment of shocked silence, Anjali sighed. “Nice going, Pipsqueak.”

Piper sank back in her chair at the angry word that had once been an affectionate nickname. “You can’t believe she wants to marry that creep.”

“And you think this is how you’re going to stop it?”

Sinking lower, Piper admitted, “I have a PowerPoint too. There might be a flow chart.”

“Lord save me from the natural science majors.” Anj rubbed her temple. “Not everything fits into tidy little boxes.”

“It’s called the periodic table of elements,” Piper said. “And yes, all the known elements of our universe
are
on there.”

Anjali’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Isn’t one of the tenets of good science to face the facts? You heard Ez. She agreed to his proposal.”

“Then she can just say no,” Piper shot back. “She can try again.”

“The world doesn’t always work like that.”

“You changed your major five times in three semesters. You changed boyfriends more often than that.”

“And had to drop out.” Anjali shoved to her feet. “While all of them dropped me. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Anj, wait.” Piper stood.

But her friend just held out one hand to stop her. “It’s late. We’re all tired. We’ll have brunch tomorrow and everything will be fine.” To Piper, she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. But her glance was sharp. “It’ll be fine if you get ahold of that envy.”

Piper stiffened. “Envy? That’s not—”

“It wasn’t Esme’s fault that guy ditched you for her.”

“He wasn’t ‘that guy’. He was the faculty advisor on my independent studies, trying to sleep his way through me to Ez. And I was
delighted
to ditch
him
before I got too deep with my dissertation if that’s the kind of help he was. I’m trying to save Ez from the same mistake.”

“Maybe some mistakes you just have to live with.”

Piper sank back into her seat, staring at her friend, her heart aching more than her reddened fingertips. “Anj, what’s happened to you? You’re the one who told me I could be whoever I wanted to be. You made me believe it.”

Anjali’s upper lip twisted just a little. “Who would’ve guessed I’d be so good at selling tea leaves?”

This time Piper didn’t stop her when she stalked after Esme.

The three drinks, nearly untouched, looked so pathetic sitting there that Piper finished them all, one right after the other, until her burnt fingertips and her broken heart were equally numb.

Chapter 3

Piper stared morosely at the trio of empties in front of her, having waved off the waitress twice already. Geez, she’d fucked up big time. She’d just wanted to make things better, like they used to be. Now her two best friends hated her. And she was alone in a very expensive Vegas bar with an open tab and a bad mood. Not. Good.

Was
she just jealous of Esme’s fairy tale wedding to a handsome prince? Actually, Lars was rich enough to be a king. Was she jealous of Anj’s lack of responsibilities when she herself was hunkered down in the important and steady but decidedly
not
glamorous career of water quality testing?

She wished the glasses in front of her would magically refill with all those calories so she wouldn’t feel so woozy. No, she wished her friends were magically the way they’d been just a few years ago, when everything seemed possible. But probably her only hope was to close out the tab and go back to her empty room in this strange place she didn’t want to be before she put a big dent in her savings.

A presence loomed at her shoulder, and anger flared in her like those damn turned-out-they-were-real-flames sconces. “I really don’t need anything else.” Then, despite her aggravation since she’d worked for tip money before and knew it was tough, she added, “Thank you, though.”

“Yes, seems like you’ve had entirely enough,” replied a deep, smooth voice.

Piper jerked up straight. That voice… It flowed through her like the scotch she and her friends had tried when Esme turned twenty-one: silky and cool at first, but turning to fire inside.

She swiveled to face the intruder, and her heart thumping an unsteady beat, driving those inner flames out along every nerve.

He was tall; despite the raised bar seat she had to tilt her head up to look at him. He didn’t try to make it any easier for her either, standing just a little too close for comfort with his hand on the back of her chair, not touching but making her acutely aware of the way her lifted chin exposed her throat.

The vee neck of her sweater suddenly seemed much too low, as if the sturdy cotton knit in burnt orange was showing off too much flesh in the valley between her breasts when not half an hour ago she’d been fretting that she looked like a schoolmarm compared to her friends.

She swallowed, tasting the sweet heat of the alcohol still burning on her tongue. She was by herself in this strange place. She needed to tell him to go away. “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough, thanks anyway.”

Whoops. That sounded less like a blow-off and more like an invitation.

His lips—the lower one fuller than the top—curled. “You don’t have to say thank you until someone gives you something you’ve asked for.” His tone deepened another degree, like when she sank her sample collector into the water, watching it descend out of sight. “Something you want.”

Something you want…
“I was being polite.”

“This is the Keep,” he said, as if it explained everything. “That’s what we play for here.”

She couldn’t stop her sudden grin. “Playing for keeps. So that’s where it got the name. I wondered.”

She knew she shouldn’t stare, but she’d never been approached by such a gorgeous man. No, gorgeous wasn’t quite right. On some other man those sharp cheekbones and taut jaw would be gorgeous, the tousled cocoa-brown hair would be modish. On this man…

It was like the covalent bonds of carbon: in one incarnation, carbon bonds made graphite, soft and black, but one small shift in the bonds created diamond, hard and glittering and crystal clear.

Something about the gleam in his pale blue-gray eyes took him out of the realm of all the men she’d ever known into another place. A wild, dangerous place. Her pulse raced, fast and out of control as a desert brushfire.

Or maybe that was the third drink talking.

Piper found herself leaning toward the man, the side of her breast almost brushing the backs of his knuckles gripping her chair. He smelled like the wind coming down from the mountains: wintry and resinous. From this close, she felt a little dazzled by the subtle gleam of metallic threads in his tailored dress shirt that outlined the powerful body underneath. He could easily pick her up, despite her extra few pounds, and throw her over that broad shoulder, and then he’d take her away someplace where she could see what was inside those dark dyed, slightly faded jeans…

Wait, what? Since when did she let fantasies run away with reality? Sure, he
could
pick her up, but why
would
he? Chubby chemists—hey, she needed those pounds to pad her ass from the long days sitting at her microscope—kept their fantasies to themselves. And she hadn’t been interested in anything long-term anyway, not when she’d been trying to establish herself in her field. She’d always been practical, not passionate.

She forced herself to blink, to break the odd bond she felt winding between them.

“What happened to your friends?”

His abrupt question snapped her out of the haze, and she angled one elbow onto the table, listing away from him. “What friends?”

He directed his gaze toward the empties. “Nobody orders a daiquiri, a martini,
and
rum. Those don’t go together at all.”

“They do when their night is like mine,” she muttered. With a sigh, she admitted, “My friends knocked off early. I really should join them.” She grasped the corner of her chair to pull herself upright, her hand nearly brushing his.

He took a half step back, but his grip didn’t leave her chair, his hand so close she swore the heat of his fingers sank into her skin. “Stay,” he said softly. “One more drink. But not alone this time.”

She’d gotten used to being by herself. Too smart-aleck for her hardworking parents. Two years too young for her college classmates. Too focused on getting through, getting out, getting on with her life. Until she’d met Anjali and Esme in her junior year. They’d taught her how to have fun, how to embrace the pleasures life offered. But now…

“Stay,” he said again. A yearning note vibrated in his voice.

She hesitated, half out of her seat. But something pulled her back. Not gravity; gravity was actually a very weak force in the universe. Some other irresistible attraction kept her there.

Him
.

And her even weaker knees, apparently.

His lips curled again, a sensuous expression that made her insides twist a little in response. “Thank you,” he said with just enough emphasis that she wondered if, by staying, she was giving him more than she realized.

He angled around to Esme’s abandoned seat, raising his head to stare past Piper. In an instant, the server was back.

“What can I get for you, Mr. Dorado?” She smiled wide, including Piper in the same smile. “There’s a South American Carmenère that just came in. Some people are saying it’s a little dark, a little too smoky, but it’s intriguing, for sure.”

He leaned back in his chair, hooking his elbow over the back. “You angling for the sommelier opening?”

She dipped her head. “Need to be more women in the field, sir. Why not me?”

He studied her a moment, his expression cool, then nodded. “Bring it on.”

“Yes sir!” The server hustled away.

Piper stared at her new tablemate. “You work here.”

“You can help me decide whether to recommend her for the position.”

That wasn’t quite an answer, but Piper decided it was a yes, and she studied him again with a fresh, uneasy view as if she was leaning out over a deep chasm to take one of her samples. He wasn’t just some high-stakes gambler. No, he was the one sitting
above
the high-stakes gamblers, taking them for all they were worth. Which was apparently
a lot
.

So what was he doing sitting with her?

At her silence, dark lashes half shuttered his unnervingly pale eyes. “Guest servicing is part of my task list.”

The way he emphasized
servicing
sent a little tremor down her spine. “I’m not really a guest. My friend Esme is the one who rolls like this.” Piper waved her hand vaguely at their luxe surroundings. “I’m just…staying here.”