Flame (Dragon Triad Duet Book 2)

through my lashes, but he doesn’t look smug. Just exhausted. “You don’t know Bran,” I argue.
“Stop. Look at me.” He cups my chin, his grip firm but gentle. “I don’t care who the fuck he is. No one will touch you while you’re with me.”
I should counter that. I know the opposite is more than likely—at the same time, I’m too tired to say a word.
In the resulting silence, his hands find my hair again, easing me down against his thigh. Somehow, he makes the position seem far from sexual. Natural, no different from lying in his bed.
Should that insult me?
Thrill me?
“Fine,” I finally croak without deciding on an emotion to feel. “So…is this your way of asking me to stay?”
“Stay.” He leans back against the railing, stretching out his legs. The motion provides enough surface area to rest on, should I decide to.
“Don’t stay,” he adds with a shrug. “It’s your fucking choice.”
I have several reasons to question that—Branden will do whatever he can to get to me, no matter who I’m with. I shouldn’t expect so much from a virtual stranger. He’s done so much for me already…
Rather than drill him for more answers, I let my eyes drift shut.
Something tells me, given his track record with the truth, I’ll find out soon enough.
For better or for worse.

Chapter Two
I will never understand how I manage to fall asleep on literal concrete with my only excuse for a pillow being a toned thigh. In awe, I find myself flexing my fingers over what must be the curve of his knee, resting beneath my chin. It’s a marvel how solid he feels. Hard enough to put his fist through glass and pummel a gangster into a bloody pulp. And yet soft enough to comfort me.
In a sense, his body serves as the perfect comparison to his personality—as unpredictable in nature like a chameleon. Or a dragon.
And just like that, my thoughts turn to a far more dangerous topic that haunts me as I trail my hand along his thigh. Like how the contours of this very body felt when pressed against mine. The heat of his skin, slicked by a layer of sweat...
“I’m here for you and all, bunny,” a voice cuts into my dreamy haze, constricted with obvious discomfort. “But I am human, and while I can tolerate having your head close to my dick for several hours, try to keep those hands to yourself, huh?”
I wrench my eyes open to a blindingly bright stream of sunlight. It’s hot out, but my skin feels pleasantly warm. Despite being curled on my side, with my head—as stated—practically on Rafe’s lap, I feel utterly content. Which is the complete opposite of how I should be feeling.
His mere presence infects me, robbing the seriousness of the moment long enough to almost forget it all. He’s staring down on me wryly, his lips quirked upward, betraying a million observations that I suspect he’s been stewing over while I slept.
And I did sleep, deeply. A fact that unnerves me when I inspect it too much.
“How long was I out?” I demand, batting my hair from my face as I rise onto my knees.
He shrugs, turning his attention to the brilliant blue sky above. Judging from the position of the sun, it’s late morning or even early afternoon.
“About four hours,” he says.
“I’m definitely late for work now.” With a sigh, I copy his posture by positioning my back against the railing. “Mr. Zhang has a welcome back sale planned. He needs me to help out with the setup.”
But I’m not moving.
“I told you—” Rafe fingers the rim of his now empty beer bottle. “I’ll handle Zhang. You calling out sick for a few days won’t kill him.”
“I really do need the money,” I add halfheartedly, another wrinkle in the growing web that my life has become. It’s laughable how naïve I’d been to think I could extricate myself from Branden’s control so easily. “I’ll have to start looking for another apartment soon.”
An alternate option is asking my father for more money, but I can’t even consider it longer than a few seconds.
“You can work for me.”
I look over to find Rafe still eyeing the sky, his lips pursed thoughtfully. “At least until you can wear sunglasses.”
“Why are you helping me?” I’m genuinely curious—and skeptical.
Any minute, he should toss out some kind of sexual request. Anything to lessen the enormity of what he’s really proposing—helping me yet again, for seemingly nothing in return.
“Because I fucking feel like it. Come on—” He stands and inclines his head for me to follow. Once we’re back in his shop, he enters the backroom to dispose of our trash. When he returns to my position, his expression triggers a pang of alarm in my chest. I can’t decipher it.
“I mean it.” His thumb slips beneath my chin when he comes close enough, raising heat in a shiver-inducing swipe. “You can work for me. At least until you can show your face at Zhang’s. I won’t even take a cut of your pay.”
I raise an eyebrow and wind up wincing with the effort. “Why? And ‘work for you’ doing what?”
“Well…” He steps into me, and I crane my neck back just to hold his gaze. It’s strange how intimidating he can seem when he wants to. Like flipping a switch—all the warmth vanishes from those dark irises, leaving them as unfathomable as the night sky.
“What can you do for me?” He reaches out—but I’m not his target. Instead, he snatches an object from the wall behind me and promptly shoves it against my chest.
A broom.
“You work,” he says. “Unlike Zhang, I expect you to earn your fucking keep. I like the place spotless.”
“Fine.” I curl my fingers around the broom handle as an odd feeling weighs on my stomach, building with every passing second. God, I hate that he can do this to me. Meld fear and gratitude into a disarming mixture that heats my skin and upends my tried