“The gall of the man.” She revved the Mustang and screeched out of Jack’s yard. Gripping the steering wheel hard, she wished her fingers were on his neck. He’d started the kissing and manhandling. She hadn’t asked for any of that. The two kisses they’d shared —her lips tingled as warmth hummed somewhere between her breasts at the memories.
A montage of his reactions tumbled through her thoughts—fear, revulsion, relief. No room for doubt. Damn dragon senses. Jack seemed to make every nerve ending in her body come alive, every sense leap to new heights. A tremor danced through her. She’d heard his thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them inside her head. She’d smelled his emotions — the sour tang of fear; the cool, wet scent of relief— as if she’d had her nose pressed to his warm, naked skin.
She almost ran the car off the road. Her hands shook as she pulled to the side and parked underneath a golden-leafed pecan tree.
Every little breeze created a shower of leaves. Every little thought set off a flutter of feelings. Obaa-chan had once said if two dragons were emotionally close —really close— the connection could be amazing, like being one. Her breath stuck in her throat –a painful, pregnant pause. Close. When had she become close to Jack? She didn’t want to be close. She knew better.
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