Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

T he fire crackled between them, sparks dancing toward the star-filled sky. Quinn tried to focus on her notes, but the warmth of Kai’s presence kept drawing her attention. He’d shed his outer layer, revealing a black thermal shirt that did nothing to hide his impressive physique.

Not that she noticed. Because she definitely wasn’t noticing things like that.

“Your heart rate increases when you look at me,” he said casually, not looking up from stoking the fire.

Quinn spluttered. “I—what? Are you seriously listening to my heartbeat?”

“Dragon hearing.” He glanced up, eyes glinting with amusement. “It’s particularly noticeable when you think I’m not paying attention.”

“That’s...” She searched for words. “That’s incredibly invasive. And creepy. And?—”

“And accurate?” His lips curved into that infuriating half-smile that did things to her stomach. “Your pulse just jumped again.”

“Because you’re annoying me.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

She threw her pencil at him. He caught it easily, his chuckle sending warmth curling through her chest.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“So you keep saying.” He rose, moving to sit beside her with a grace that should have been illegal for someone his size. “And yet, you haven’t moved away.”

He had a point. They sat close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and Quinn found herself leaning toward him despite her best intentions. He radiated heat like a living furnace, tempting in the mountain cold.

“It’s purely practical,” she said. “You’re warm. The mountain is cold. Basic survival instincts.”

“Of course.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Nothing to do with attraction at all.”

“Nope.” She popped the p , trying to maintain her composure even as her heart raced. “Pure science. Conservation of body heat. Very clinical.”

“Clinical.” He turned to face her fully, and suddenly the air felt charged with electricity. “Is that why you keep watching my mouth when I speak?”

Quinn’s breath caught. Had she been that obvious? “I don’t?—”

“Or why you lean into my touch, even when you’re pretending to be annoyed?” He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered against her cheek, burning like brands. “Tell me, scientist. What’s your clinical explanation for that?”

“I...” Her mind went blank as he leaned closer, his scent enveloping her. Pine and smoke and male dragon, a combination that made her head spin. “That’s not... I mean...”

“Yes?” His other hand settled on her waist, and she realized she’d shifted toward him without conscious thought. “I’m very interested in your scientific analysis.”

“You’re trying to distract me,” she managed, even as her hands came to rest on his chest. For balance, obviously. Nothing to do with how solid he felt beneath her palms.

“Is it working?”

Yes. God yes. But she couldn’t admit that out loud. Instead, she said, “You’re very sure of yourself for someone who can’t tell basalt from granite.”

He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into her hands. “There’s my fierce little scientist. Always ready with a sharp tongue.”

“Don’t call me little.”

“No?” His eyes shifted to molten gold, and her stomach did a slow flip. “What should I call you then? Beautiful? Brilliant? Mine?”

The possessive growl in that last word sent heat pooling low in her belly. “I’m not yours.”

“Not yet.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, and her brain short-circuited. “But you want to be.”

“That’s...” Her voice emerged breathy, embarrassingly affected. “That’s a very bold assumption.”

“Is it?” He leaned closer until barely an inch separated them. “Tell me to stop, then. Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do.”

She should. She absolutely should. This was a terrible idea—mixing business with pleasure, getting involved with someone who clearly wanted more than she could give. She’d been down this road before, and it had ended in professional and personal disaster.

But Kai wasn’t Jason. He wasn’t trying to diminish her or control her. He supported her work, respected her boundaries (mostly), and looked at her like she hung the moons in the sky.

“Quinn.” His voice roughened with need. “Tell me.”

Instead of answering, she fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down to her level. Their lips met in a crash of heat and hunger, and every rational thought fled her mind.

He kissed like he did everything else—with absolute focus and devastating skill. One hand tangled in her hair while the other splayed across her back, pulling her closer until she straddled his lap. She gasped at the new position, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she melted against him.

It should have frightened her, how quickly she lost control. How natural it felt to press closer, to let him take her weight, to trust him to hold her steady. But his touch made her feel simultaneously safer and more alive than she’d ever been, and fear was the last thing on her mind.

When they finally broke apart, they were both breathing hard. Kai’s eyes blazed gold, and his hands flexed against her like he was fighting the urge to never let go.

“Well,” she managed, her voice embarrassingly unsteady. “That was...”

“Perfect.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re perfect.”

Reality crashed back in, and Quinn scrambled off his lap. “This is a bad idea.”

“Why?” He didn’t try to grab her, but his eyes tracked her movement like a predator. “Because you’re afraid of feeling something real?”

“Because I’m here to work!” She ran a shaking hand through her hair. “Because getting involved with colleagues never ends well. Because you’re literally a king, and I’m just?—”

“Just what?” He stood, all coiled power and intensity. “Just brilliant? Just fierce? Just everything I’ve spent centuries waiting for?”

“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Stop saying things like that. This isn’t some fairy tale romance. I’m not your magical solution to all your problems.”

“No,” he agreed, surprising her. “You’re not magical at all. You’re real, and stubborn, and completely infuriating. And that’s exactly why I want you.”

“Kai...”

“I’m not asking for forever.” He took a step closer, and she had to force herself not to back away. “Not yet. I’m just asking for a chance. Let me show you that not everyone will try to clip your wings.”

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache. “I can’t—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t promise you anything.”

“I’m not asking for promises.” Another step. “Just honesty. Tell me you didn’t feel something in that kiss. Tell me you don’t want to see where this could go.”

She couldn’t. Because that kiss had rocked her world off its axis, and the thought of never experiencing it again made her physically ache. But admitting that meant admitting vulnerability, and vulnerability led to heartbreak.

As night deepened, the temperature plummeted. Kai activated their shelter—a piece of Nova Auroran technology that still amazed Quinn. The small disc expanded into a dome of shimmering energy, protecting them from the bitter mountain winds while remaining transparent enough to see the stars wheeling overhead.

“The barrier adapts to external conditions,” Kai explained as he adjusted the settings on the control panel. “Temperature regulation, atmospheric pressure, even gravity stabilization for steep terrain.”

“The applications for extreme environment research would be incredible.” Quinn ran her hand along the dome’s surface, feeling it hum with energy. “This would have saved my butt multiple times in Iceland.”

“You’ve had many close calls?” His tone aimed for casual, but she caught the tension underneath.

“Occupational hazard.” She settled onto her sleeping pad—another technological marvel that adjusted to body temperature and pressure points. “My father used to say I got my reckless streak from him. We’d spend weeks camping on active volcanoes, studying lava flows up close.”

“ Used to say?” Kai’s voice gentled.

Quinn’s throat tightened. “He died three years ago. Brain aneurysm. One minute he was explaining crystal formations to a group of students, the next...” She swallowed hard. “At least he went doing what he loved.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with a shared understanding of loss. Then Kai moved, settling beside her on the pad.

“My father died defending our borders,” he said quietly. “A rival clan attacked during diplomatic negotiations. He pushed me out of the way of a killing blow.” His hand drifted to his side where she knew a prominent scar lay. “I became king that day, covered in his blood, barely prepared for the weight of the crown.”