Dragon's Honor (4 page)

Both women looked up from their conversation, confusion across their faces.

“What was that?” Honor asked, straightening up. As she did, she readjusted her purse strap on her shoulder, pulling the fabric across her bust taut. Baron bit back a groan as lust rolled through his body like a high speed locomotive.

“What was what?” He got it together enough to give her a blank look, and turned to glance behind him. “Nothing here but us unwanted bodyguards.”

Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. Forcing the wince down, he matched Honor look for look, ignoring Lucy snickering at her side. Damn woman couldn’t keep her mouth shut. He pitied the man who took her on. Fool would need some ear-defenders, seriously.

“Hmmm, yeah. Funny guy.” Honor wrinkled her nose and turned back to Lucy. “Right, I’m done. Ten minutes, Missy, then I want you out of here. Home. Or else.”

“Yessir...errr, ma’am!” Lucy crossed her eyes and threw a lopsided salute that made Honor laugh. It wasn’t the light, musical tinkle so often rhapsodized over in books, but a low, dirty little chuckle that hit him right in certain regions. Lord, she had a voice made for phone sex, especially with that laugh.

“I mean it. If I check the logs tomorrow and you stayed late, I’ll.... No frappe latte for a week!”

“Noooooo! That’s cruel and unusual punishment!” Lucy wailed, flopping on the desk and holding her hands to her chest like she’d been mortally wounded. Baron schooled the quirk of his lip, amusement rolling through him at her antics and dialing down the lust raging through his body until it was a background roar.

“Hmm. Well, there it is. No stayey-latey and all the frappes you want.” Triumphant in victory, Honor turned on her heel and headed for the door.

The smile faded from Lucy’s expression as she caught Baron’s gaze, a knowing look in her eyes. He tilted his head in curiosity as he levered himself out of the chair to follow Honor. Then Lucy’s gaze dropped to his crotch and he paused. How the fuck...? Lucy winked, the slight flash in the back of her eyes telling him she wasn’t entirely human. Walked, talked, and smelled like one, but no human had eyes that flashed green like that, or a sense of smell that could pick up a dragon’s arousal.

Grateful for the diversion, he launched himself across the room, his human form morphing partly into shadow. Duke yelped, almost dislodged from his position on Barons back, and dug his claws into the rapidly disintegrating skin. But before he could be thrown, Baron had surged across the floor and reformed on Lucy’s side of the desk, looming over the girl.

Shiiit, could’ve warned me. I nearly fell off, dipshit.

Baron ignored him, focusing on Lucy.

“What the fuck are you?” he demanded, his voice rough with his dragon. “You ain’t human, that’s for sure.”

“What? And you are?” Lucy squeaked, her unusual eyes widening at his sudden movement.

“Never claimed to be.” He extended his claws, the natural defenses punching out the end of his human fingers, and tapped them along the desk. “I’m fairly sure you’ve a good idea what I am, which means you know what I can do. Now talk, or else.”

Baron had never considered himself the type to threaten women, whatever the species—except maybe Medusas or Keres demons, who both seemed to be born with anger management issues—but faced with a threat to Honor, all his defensive instincts rushed to the fore. Lucy’s gaze riveted to his claws. She paled, skin going white as he watched. He felt a slight twinge of shame when she started to shake but not enough to back off. Not until he had the answers he needed.

“I-I’m a f-f-fate,” she stammered, trying to back up in her chair. His hand on the seat-back put a stop to that.

A fate? Just his fucking luck. The last thing he needed was those bitches interfering in a case. “What are you doing here?”

She was so fixated on his claws Baron was forced to lift them. Folding them out of sight, he asked again. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”

Her gaze shot back up to his face at the growled demand.

“Problems in the destiny lines,” she squeaked. “Events unfolding in the wrong way. Head office tracked it back to possibly something to do with Honor and dispatched me to check it out. They have other leads, this is just an outside bet.”

Baron blinked in surprise, matched by the sudden silence from his brother. The fates had a head office? Shit, that was unreal. He’d thought they were just busy-bodies from the same three blood-lines who just liked to stick their noses into other people’s business.

He nodded. “Okay, you’ll do. Just...you get anything, I want to know about it.”

She opened her mouth, her expression stubborn, so he extended a claw and dragged it over the desk, scoring the polished wooden surface. The sound made her jump, and nod her head. “Yes, yes. Of course.”

“Good. And one other thing. She’s not to know what I am. Understand?”

Curiosity filtered through the fear but before either of them could say anything else, Honor’s voice filtered through from the corridor.

“Mr. Smith, the point of being a bodyguard is actually being close to the body that you’re supposed to be guarding.”

Body. Close. Fuck. Duke suppressed a grimace. She was trying to kill him, he was sure of it. He headed out of the door, a last hard look telling Lucy he was going to be watching her.

*

Honor waited in the corridor, and tried not to tap her foot in annoyance. Well, annoyance wasn’t the right word. More of a strange, restless energy that filled her whenever she was around him. The door swung open to reveal the tall, broad-shouldered frame she’d spent the last couple of hours trying to get out of her head so she could do something vaguely work-like.

It hadn’t worked. Not one little bit. All her brain had wanted to focus on was what the obviously muscled frame would look like out of the slick suit, and how far up, and hopefully down, that ink she’d spotted at his wrist went.

“You summoned?” He asked, one eyebrow raised a fraction. She pressed her lips together at the slight hint of laughter in his eyes, as though he’d just been told a joke he was keeping to himself. How was it possible to be so attracted to a guy, yet pissed off by him at the same time?

“Look,” she said, her tone a little abrupt. “We got off to a bad start, which was probably my fault. Since we’re stuck with each other for the duration, how about we make the best of it?”

Holding her hand out, she waited as he studied it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, it was a hand, not a coiled snake ready to stroke...strike. Fuck, where did stroke come from? Hanging off the coat-tails of that thought, her mind presented her with several possibilities, all carnal in nature. Heat hit her cheeks like a solar flare and she started to drop her arm, ready to stammer something to get out of the awkward moment.

Before she could, her hand was enveloped in his, slender digits dwarfed by his more powerful ones. She looked up in surprise, a gasp on her lips at the spark that arced through her when his skin brushed against hers.

“That’d be real nice, Miss Croft. Ah’d like that a lot.”

She wasn’t prepared for his smile, nothing could prepare her for it, but it was the slight hint of a drawl that hit her in the ovaries. Shit, God really was trying to test her. Honor released after a quick shake and stepped back, casting a surreptitious glance in one of the floor to ceiling mirror panels by the elevator.

“Well, good.” She managed a smile, relief flooding her at her reflection. At least she hadn’t managed to drool or something else embarrassing. “Truce then.”

He inclined his head, stepping to the side as the elevator pinged its arrival. She was so taken up by watching him out of the corner of her eye—admiring the way his jacket pulled over the heavily muscled arms—that she completely missed the fact the lift was occupied.

“Honor, so good to see you.”

The nasal voice was familiar. Honor’s heart plummeted at the same moment her back stiffened and she turned to nod at the speaker. Lambert Sellers, her father’s ‘right hand man,’ although how the little weasel had managed to land that position she had no clue.

“Lambert.” She inclined her head and stepped to the side to wait for the man to vacate the elevator. Since he’d joined the company when she was in her teens, she’d always been careful never to get caught alone with him. Something about the look in his eye warned her it would be a bad idea. Over the years she’d developed many techniques for avoiding him, but by far the most successful of those was hiring Lucy. The girl seemed to have ESP where Lambert’s movements were concerned. Apart from today. Today Lambert wasn’t supposed to be in the office.

“"I’m glad I caught you.” Lambert seemed in no hurry to move, settling into his ‘relaxed pose’ with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands clasped in front of him. It reminded her of a soldier, which was no doubt the impression he wanted to give. She’d worked out long ago he did nothing by chance.

“Oh?” Despite herself, Honor took a step closer to Smith, almost as though she could draw strength from his tall, broad-shouldered form.

“Yes. A little birdie tells me that certain people have been sticking their noses where they’re not wanted. Would you know anything about that, Honor?”

Oh hell, he knew about the warehouse. The hum of the air-conditioning roared in her ears as Honor stopped her face from freezing in a rictus grin. Nothing would give her away faster. She swallowed and shook her head. “I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about, Lambert. Did you manage to look through the Julian Center file? I sent it over email last night.”

He ignored her question. “I’m talking about your little trip into town earlier. Go anywhere interesting, did we, Honor?”

“Just a visit to the nail salon. Chipped my nails this morning and you know how it is.” She shrugged. “Girl’s gotta look good. Now, about the Juli—”

Lambert’s face twisted. “I don’t give a fuck about the Julian Center. You just keep your pretty little nose out of things that don’t concern you....” He started to take a step forward to loom over her. “Or you might find it gets bloodied.”

He didn’t finish the step. Instead, Smith stepped forward, interposing himself between them to glare down at the smaller man. The much smaller man. Honor took half a step back and to the side, but the fear she’d felt because of Lambert faded into nothing at the spectacle of Smith.

He radiated anger and danger, his body coiled with leashed violence. From the fierce look on his face, it was a violence he’d be more than happy to unleash on the man in front of him.

“Do not touch her.
Never
touch her.” The rough growl of his voice was the lowest Honor had ever heard it and even though he was threatening Lambert, the deep tones shivered through her, hitting her on a very primal, female level.

“I-I....” Lambert’s mouth opened and closed like a guppy on speed. Then he snapped his teeth together and glared at Smith, retribution and hatred shining in his eyes. “I don’t think you know who you’re talking to, young man.”

Smith didn’t bat an eyelid. “Do I look like I care who you are?”

“You’d better, I’ll have your fucking job, whoever you are.”

Smith smiled. At least, his lips curved upward, but the latent amusement she’d seen earlier was gone as though it had never existed. He leaned forward, one large arm resting against the wall to the side of the elevator door.

“Threaten my tr-Miss Croft again, and I’ll rip your arms and legs off. Slowly.”

Something about the tone of the bodyguard’s voice leeched all the color out of Lambert’s skin. Since he’d been pale to begin with, it was a fascinating sight.

Smith pushed off from the wall and pressed the button. The door closed on Lambert’s stunned face as Smith turned to her. “We’ll take the next one.”

Chapter Four

The Croft house was nice. Very nice. And big.

So far it had taken Baron at least an hour to do his initial walk-through. Getting the lay of the land, so to speak. Where, and in what order, all the rooms were. The entrances and exits to each, along with the windows and other openings. As he went he made a mental map, assessing each room in turn and how defensible it was. Some rooms he planned to ban Honor from. The conservatory at the back for example, was a death trap. All glass with numerous entry points, it was a security nightmare. Any sniper with a decent scope could pick her off, and that was before they started in on spell-slingers who didn’t need a decent line of sight.

Making his way along one of the upstairs corridors, he checked the locks on each of the windows. His steps were soundless on the plush carpeting, and his expression when he caught sight of it in the window was satisfied. Whoever had had these locks fitted had known what they were looking for. Laurence Croft himself presumably, with some advice from somewhere, possibly a clued up salesman. One thing was for sure, it wasn’t anyone on the security team. He’d met them all earlier and if looks were daggers, he’d have been bleeding his lifeblood out on the marble floor.

They were the typical rent-a-cop wannabes, the sort who put on a uniform and thought they were James Bond or Rambo. One even had a wing and dagger tattoo but if the guy had ever been near the forces, Baron was a monkey’s uncle. And as messy as his genetics were, he didn’t think they were
that
fucked up.

Of the rest, one looked like he’d be happier in a Star Trek convention dressed as Spock and three could only successfully chase down a donut. At least if an assailant got in, they could sit on him and it would be all she wrote. How the fuck did humans let themselves
get
like that? Shifters and other paras ran differently body wise—hotter, faster, leaner—physiologically more efficient. He wrinkled his nose as he checked the last window. Come on though, how hard was it to hit the gym once in a while?

Honor worked out, he realized as he walked into the next room. It was a home gym, but not just any home gym. He paused two steps into the room and looked around, a green-eyed monster raising its head as he checked out the workout gear. Aerobic machines, treadmills, rowing machines, and elliptical trainers lined the wall facing the windows, while weight machines lined the other. A set of free weights, ones that looked well used, were set back in a corner.