Mal bit back a yelp of surprise and forced himself not to fling the little monster; it was clearly young and just as clearly playing; once he’d gotten past the shock of the attack he recognized that it hadn’t caused any real pain, even when it kicked out with its rear feet.
Ah, his dragon said. Our mate is raising it as a guardian.
Mal was pretty sure she didn’t need one.
“Hsst, Tyrant,” Scarlet said, sounding amused. “She’s only playing,” she explained to Mal.
Tyrant—fittingly named—gave Mal one final gnaw and then let go. Ears back against her head, she leapt for the floor, raced under the desk, and streaked out into the courtyard, nearly crashing into the door frame as her paws scrabbled on the hard tile.
“She’s a feisty thing,” Mal observed.
“You were going to explain why my resort is in terrible peril,” Scarlet reminded him. “And I was going to decide if I should believe you.”
Mal came around the desk so that he was standing close to her, breathing in the green scent of her, enraptured by the marble perfection of her pale skin and the fiery strands of her gleaming hair. Her eyelashes were coal black over her endless eyes.
“Scarlet Stanson,” he said after a moment. “Aaric Lyons’ secretary.”
“That was a long time ago,” Scarlet said coldly.
“Do you know, there was a while I suspected you were an impersonator. I thought you’d hacked the Lyons’ account, found the lease contract, and decided it would be convenient to pretend to be the only person with the power to re-open the resort. For a short time, I even thought you might be working with Alistair Beehag, to supply him with rare shifters for his zoo.”
Her cool mask cracked to hot fury. “I would never—”
“I know,” Mal said swiftly. “That theory didn’t last much longer than the others that I had. But it was a surprise to find out you weren’t a shifter,” he said softly. “It raised so many questions.”
“Alice might have been lying,” Scarlet suggested, confirming that she knew about Alice’s deal with Mal. “Or maybe she just got the wrong information. Perhaps even on purpose...”
Mal laughed. Her misdirection was convincing, but: “I know you’re not a shifter.”
“How can you be so sure?” Scarlet asked.
“If you were a shifter, you would have recognized me as your mate when we met.”
Her entire face changed, melting into astonishment and wonder as her lips parted in shock. “Your... mate?” Her voice was full of longing, and she seemed to hear herself and drew back a step. “I don’t know what kind of joke this is...”
“That’s not something I would joke about,” he told her. He closed the distance between them with a decisive step. “Scarlet...”
She tipped her face up to gaze at him in confusion and desire and didn’t pull back as he cupped her jaw and bent to kiss her.
For a moment, she was stone against his lips, then he tasted a wistful sigh and she was opening her mouth to kiss him back.
Her arms slipped up around him and he pulled her close against him, twining fingers into her upswept hair. He didn’t feel any pins, but he must have dislodged them, because her hair was suddenly alive around them.
She was all the wildness and strength she promised, all the untamed passion he’d known lurked behind her icy control. She was desperate and hungry and she was his.
She was his.
Mal had never felt such joy and satisfaction and aching need. She would come safely away from the island with him and he would worship her for the rest of their long lives.
He would never be alone again...
He lifted her to the top of her desk, hands at her waist, and a pile of papers tilted and slipped off the back of the desk.
Scarlet didn’t seem to care.
She was pushing his shirt off his shoulders, hands caressing down his arms as she bared them. The cuffs were buttoned too tight to slip from his wrists so she was thwarted above his elbows, but she was busy using her fingers to explore, wandering across his chest as they kissed again, desperately and deeply.
He had one hand up under her skirt exploring the plane of her thigh, one at her neck, and her skin was every bit as silky as he’d imagined it must be. He needed her, like he’d never needed anything, and triumph rose in his chest because finally, finally... The months they’d sparred, the phone calls, the letters... it was like the longest foreplay in the world.