Her Dragon (Book 2 of The Circle Series)

CHAPTER 8: WHO THOSE LIPS BELONG TO

VALENTINA 

I finally agree to meet up with Amadeo because I have questions he insists can’t be answered over the phone. I must have told him at least five times that this is not a date, and as a result, he refuses to tell me where we’re going other than it’s someplace casual. 

My hair is in a sleek high ponytail, and the simple long-sleeved bodysuit, skin-tight pants, and knee-high boots I’ve chosen better be good enough.

When the car he sends for me pulls up at the side of the Scotiabank Arena, I realize all my fussing was for nothing. The driver opens my door, and Amadeo is already waiting outside, wearing his devilishly handsome smile. 

My body and my mind are always at war when he’s around. Lean in or lean out? I know what I should do, which is keep my distance, but even as I say this to myself, I lean into the kisses he gives on my cheeks anticipating his pure masculine scent, and the warmth that seems to engulf me when he’s near.

“I hope you’re up for a Raptors game.” He pulls me into his side and wraps one arm lazily around my waist revealing two tickets.

“I don’t really like basketball.” 

He stops walking and his face drops. I try to keep my expression as neutral as possible, but I feel guilty. “I’m just kidding, I love basketball and the Raptors.” 

Relief sweeps over his face. “That wasn’t very nice, Valentina.” 

His English is flawless, but a hint of an accent comes out when he says my name, and I like the way it sounds rolling off his tongue. 

“That’s what you get for not telling me where we were going.” I swat at his chest playfully to tease him, and he pulls me even closer to his side, squeezing my waist. 

I suck in a small breath at the contact, and his dark eyes flash to red and back so quickly I consider I may have imagined it. Just the tiniest glimpse of his dragon has me burning up. 

Space. I need space. 

I step aside to unbutton my coat while our tickets are scanned, and he lets out a low growl announcing his displeasure at the distance I’ve put between us. I used to think the growls that werewolves made were gross and chauvinistic, and now, I can’t stop my body from responding every time Amadeo growls. I’m reminded of an expression my grandmother often used. Non sputare in cielo che in faccia ti torna. (Don’t spit in the air, it will hit you in the face). The irony isn’t lost on me.  

“So who told you I like basketball, or is it in the little notes you have on me?”

“Snacks?” He disregards my question, and I shake my head. “You sure? You can’t watch a game without snacks.” He buys nachos and drinks for the both of us, and for the first quarter of the game, he tries to get me to eat some of the food, but I’m ignoring him. I’ve placed the nachos on the floor at my feet.

“Is something wrong?” His voice is full of concern. “You’ve barely said a word since we sat down.” 

“I’m watching the game.” I keep my eyes on the court, but I can see he’s angling his body towards mine. He takes up so much space that it’s a good thing he has an aisle seat. How he even manages to fit in his chair is a mystery. 

“I thought you said you had some questions for me.” I don’t say anything for several seconds, and then he puts his hand on my leg and strokes it with his thumb, causing a sharp bolt of pleasure to shoot up my thighs straight to my core. I take a deep breath and finally turn to face him. 

“I asked you something earlier.”

Understanding fills his eyes. “I was hoping I didn’t have to reveal my sources. He smiles, but even his dimples won’t help him right now. 

He sighs heavily. “I don’t have any notes on your personal life. All I know I have learned from you or your friends.”

“Or from following me around.” He sighs again. “Was it Anessa or Giada?” I ask, turning back to the game.

“You really like basketball, eh?” 

“Basketball and soccer are my favorite sports.”

“I like fútbol (soccer) too.” 

Again, he's avoiding the question. It’s such a simple one to answer. He’s so frustrating.

“Are you a Real Madrid or Barcelona fan?” I ask, and he scoffs loudly. 

“There are other teams in La Liga.”

“Are they even worth mentioning?” He scowls, and I know exactly what will change that frown. “What’s your team, Deo?” His face softens immediately when I call him that, and it’s sweet. 

“Valencia. Black dragons have lived there for 2000 years. I will show you my city when you come to Spain.” There is no mistaking the pride in his voice for where he’s from. 

There’s also no mistaking that he’s confident I will be going, but he needs to keep answering my questions truthfully if he wants me there. 

“Sebastian,” he blurts out. “It was Sebastian. He was going to give you the tickets for helping him plan his honeymoon,” he continues. “But he thought I should use them to ask you out instead.” 

What kind of sorcery is this? Dragons possess a form of ancient magic as fairies do, but this is ridiculous. Is he the witch, or am I? Everyone is on the dragon train now—everyone except Charlie. 

“The photographer doesn’t count,” he smirks. 

“Stay out of my head.” I glare at him, and he raises his hands apologetically. 

“But I rarely know what’s going on up there.” He taps my temple. 

“That’s the way it should be.” I scoot away in my seat. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” He chuckles, but I don’t respond. “Alright. Let’s watch this game. Afterward, I’m taking you out for dinner where you can ask me all the questions you want.”

I pick up a tortilla chip from the tray I placed on the floor. 

“No cheese?” he asks. “That’s the best part.”

“That’s not real cheese,” I say, disgusted. 

“No processed cheese. I’ll be sure to write that down in my personal notes. I’m learning so much about you on this non-date. I can’t wait until dinner.”

AMADEO 

Religion, Culture, and Politics are written elegantly on the board in cursive, followed by her name and a course code. All heads face forward, giving her their full attention when I walk by. I lean up against the wall beside the door, and her voice travels confidently into the hallway. 

“If you have any questions, I’ll stick around for the next few minutes. Otherwise, you have my email address, and my office hours are on the course outline. Enjoy your day, everyone.” 

She won’t be happy to find me waiting outside. Hopefully, the coffee and chocolate chip cookie will help, not that it did last time.

I thought we were making progress. I answered all her questions the night of the game, and she opened up a bit, but that was days ago. All my efforts to see her again have been unsuccessful, and she barely answers my texts. 

Students filter out of the room, and a man who looks to be in his late forties, holding a weathered briefcase and wearing glasses walks in. 

“How did it go?” he asks.

“It’s hard to tell. It’s only the first class,” Valentina answers. 

“I’m sure you did great.” His voice changes slightly, and I hear him shuffle further away from the door. “Did you want to go over anything? I have some time now.” 

There’s no chance in hell she's spending her break with him. That’s why I’m here. 

“I have the next eight weeks planned out, but I do have some questions from yesterday’s lecture.”

“Wow! You accomplished a lot during the holidays. I don’t know why I'm surprised. You’re one of the most diligent and hardworking students I’ve ever had. Of course, that wouldn’t suddenly change now that you’re my teaching assistant.” 

It takes everything in me not to storm into the room, but this is someone she works with. I don’t want to cause problems for her here. 

“How were your holidays?” I wish I could see her face to gauge how she is with him.  

“The usual family stuff kept me busy. So, do you want to talk over lunch?”

“It’s early for me, but I could go for a coffee.”

And that’s my cue. He walks out of the room first, motioning for her to pass him and his outstretched hand almost connects with the small of her back as he checks her out. 

¡Hijo de puta! (Son of a b***h). He’s too old for her. The irony is not lost on me, but I can’t dwell on that thought because she notices me and her eyes widen slightly. 

I smile. “How was your first class?” I desperately want to reach for her. I don’t because her back is ramrod straight, and her eyes have gone cold.  

“What are you doing here?” The man raises his eyebrows at her tone and her disregard of my question.   

“I thought you could use this after your first class.” I hold up the coffee and cookie and hand them over to her.

The asshole clears his throat then, and she frowns. “Amadeo, this is Spencer Collins, my mentor. He’s the professor of the course I’m assisting. We were about to go over some of my notes.”  Her eyes bore into mine, imploring me to leave.

“This is a family friend, Amadeo Serrano.” He reaches out his hand, and I give it a firm shake, making sure to grip tightly while staring him down. He winces, and I would love nothing more than to cause permanent damage by crushing it, so he can never use it to reach for her again. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” I respond coolly. Valentina glares at me when she notices he’s opening and closing his fist a few times. 

“Can you give the two of us a moment?” she asks.

I follow her around the corner to an empty corridor.

“What do you think you’re doing here, Amadeo? I thought we talked about stalking? I thought I got through to you that this doesn’t work for me.” 

I growl at her use of my full name. I know this obsession with her is unbecoming, but I can’t walk away. I don’t want to, and I’m getting tired of the walls she has up. Why won’t she let me in? 

“You told me the name of your class and the time. I merely asked the information desk where it was to surprise you. Most women would love being surprised knowing a man is thinking of them and wants to spend time with them.” 

“I’m not most women.” 

“Believe me, I’ve noticed.” I grin and take my time purposely looking her up and down, and her cheeks go pink. “Spend your break with me.” 

“I’m working with Spencer.” 

I growl louder, and she looks around quickly, but we’re still alone. “I don’t like him.” 

She scoffs. “You don’t know him.” 

“He wants you, and he shouldn’t considering your relationship.” 

She takes a step back. “He doesn’t. He’s my mentor. Plus, he’s married and has kids.” 

“And? That doesn’t mean anything to humans. They don’t value loyalty like shifters do. You know that.”

“I’m not doing this with you, Amadeo. I need to go. Thanks for the coffee.” She mumbles the last part and lifts the coffee and cookie while turning to walk away. The way she dismisses me so easily is infuriating, 

“Giada and Sebastian have invited us over for dinner tonight. You’re coming, right?” She stops and turns back to face me. 

“I’m spending the evening at the library working on my research.”

“Take a break with us.”

“Can’t. I’m busy.” 

“I thought you would want to see her. They’ve been home for a few days now.” I realize my mistake when her honey-colored eyes darken. Like this, they remind me of citrines. 

“I will not apologize for putting time and effort into my work. It requires a lot from me. My cousin understands how important it is. This is who I am. This is what I do.” 

Take it or leave it, she’s saying. Maybe another man would leave it, but as much as my patience is thinning, I know she’s worth it. I sigh and put my hands up in surrender. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow, and I was hoping to spend some time with you.” 

Her brows pinch together. “Tomorrow?” she questions softly, and the tension finally leaves her body.  

“Yes. Something has come up back home that needs my immediate attention. When will you be done at the library?” 

“Around 9.” 

“I can pick you up or meet you at your place afterward.” Maybe giving her some choice will work better than my usual approach. 

She looks up at me with those pretty eyes and pouty lips, and I can tell she’s battling with herself. She’s not as immune to me as she wants to be. 

“I took the subway today, so a ride would be nice,” she says finally while I fix the collar of her coat. 

I glide my hands over her hips to pull her against me. Her lips always taste divine. 

Yeah, she’s definitely worth it. 

I could kiss her forever, but since I know she has to go, I settle for kissing her until she can’t breathe. When she pulls back, her lips are a bright red and swollen, her eyes glossy. 

Ella es una belleza. (She’s a beauty).

“I have to go,” she states softly, looking down at the coffee in her hand. 

I take her mouth again and meld our lips together in another searing kiss. It’s not just her taste that makes me ache; it’s her sweet scent that intensifies when she’s aroused. I can’t get enough of her. 

“Be ready at 9,” I say against her lips, and she nods. 

Her breathing is heavy when she steps back and smooths out her ponytail. The only thing making this easier is knowing her professor friend will take one look at her swollen lips and know without a doubt what we were doing. He will know who those lips belong to even if she doesn’t yet.