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Damn it, yes, by gods, he would fly home. Ignore the rules for once.
He called his chauffeur and told him not to wait, then stripped off his shirt and jacket and strode over to the windows of his office. Sliding open a panel of the floor to ceiling glass windows, he stepped onto the narrow ledge.
He was twenty five floors up, and the feeling was exhilarating.
Ethan took a deep breath and, for the first time in ages, spread his wings and took off. And soared over the Motham rush hour traffic toward home.
Toward Min.
Min had not had the best few days.
After the honeymoon period in the grand Blade mansion, having fully explored the gardens, frankly, she was bored. With Ethan at work for hours, she felt lonely and out of place in all this grandeur.
The fact that she barely had to think of something she wanted before a servant was at her side, ready to take her request, was a novelty that soon wore off.
She nearly snapped at one poor snake girl that she could get her own damn glass of water, thank you very much.
She missed her simple life, her little shop, her garden, Gingerbread curled up asleep by her side. And worse, she felt like she was moping around waiting for Ethan to light up her day. It only made it worse, knowing he was sleeping in the dressing room, while she was alone in his big bed.
Even so, there were things to keep her busy.
The highlight had been Cressida showing her round her cave room, which was actually a whole interconnected system of rooms, with domed ceilings decorated to look like there were stalactites everywhere. Though it wasn’t exactly to Min’s taste, she found it fascinating. And Cressida’s jewelry stash was, by any standards, completely staggering.
The lowlight had been the arrival of a rather officious woman from the Council of Towns firing nasty personal questions at her. Luckily, she and Ethan had gone over their stories several times, so she was pretty sure she’d got the details right. The woman’s mouth had puckered as she told Min to sign on the dotted line, and then she’d left in a hurry, as though being in a dragon mansion was akin to spending time in a sewer.
Such a snob.
That evening over dinner, Ethan had commiserated with her over the document signing, then politely excused himself, citing work commitments. As usual since they’d been sharing a room, he was impeccably polite and distant.
Except Min didn’t want this dragon. She wanted the dragon she’d seen glimpses of, the little jokes and quirky comments he made, the twinkle in his bright blue eyes when he looked at her, his deep resonant laugh and the way it made his throat bob.
She wanted—oh goddess above—to catch him naked in the shower.
Minerva Westwind. Really!
Not that she’d tried to, of course.
She’d kept to the rule of checking before she entered. Not that it was ever a problem. He was never in there. He’d come to bed really late, tiptoeing through the bedroom so as not to wake her. (She was of course, wide awake.) She’d hear the soft pad of his feet in his dressing room, and in the morning he would creep out of the room before she was awake. What woke her were the sweet strains of his piano floating down the corridor.
And each morning she’d get out of bed, open the bedroom door a crack and listen, enthralled.
He’d lied to her. He wasn’t an amateur.
This guy could play piano like a pro.
She’d stood transfixed, almost wanting to weep from the melodies, longing to tiptoe along the corridor to his music room, but not daring. And when she heard him stop playing, she’d run back to bed and listen to his footsteps, hearing him pause briefly at the bedroom door before striding off down the corridor.
It was a really strange existence, but she kept reminding herself that at the end of all this, she would be able to buy her bookshop freehold. That it was worth it, even if her heart was filled with a longing she couldn’t quite put words to.
But right now, as she decided she’d wear the beautiful silver dress hanging in her wardrobe, she was filled with excitement.
Because today they were going to kiss. Really kiss. No more tantalizing grazing of lips. No more pecks on the cheek for the camera.
Would he use his tongue? She’d seen the forked tip from time to time, when he was concentrating, and she wondered what it would feel like tangling with hers.
Wriggling into the dress, she was just about to add some jewelry Cressida had insisted on loaning her when a shadow passed by the window. She ran to the balcony to see a winged silhouette against the sunset.
Beau? Headed out for a night on the town, maybe.
