Mrs. P leaned out of her chair at a perilous angle, the better to speak to the now-startled man at the next table. “You look like you have lots of energy. Limber, too.”

“Er…” the man said, glancing around as if for help, but the other few people in the dining room were focused on their own affairs.

“Everyone lies at some point or other,” Rowan told Sophea. He wasn’t sure what to believe about her now. Either she was a very good actress or she was as innocent as she professed. But even if she was the latter, would she stay that way for very long once she knew the truth about what Mrs. P had in her possession?

“I don’t,” Sophea insisted.

“Not even a white lie to keep from hurting someone’s feelings?”

“Not even then. I’d find some other way to get around being hurtful.”

Mrs. P leaned so far out of her chair that Sophea had to grab her to keep her from toppling to the floor. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Edvard,” the man said in a pronounced Scandinavian accent. He scooted his chair a little farther away from Mrs. P and tried to focus on his meal.

“So you’re telling me in all honesty—because you never prevaricate—that you are not a red dragon?” Rowan asked, the twisting conversation making him feel like he was a dog chasing its own tail.

“Edvard is a nice name. I bet a handsome, limber fellow like you would like to make a crisp, new American dollar, hmm?”

“Of course I’m not—” Mrs. P’s words must have registered with Sophea because she suddenly stopped speaking and gave an outraged, “Mrs. P! You are not to solicit others. I thought we had that clear earlier at the L.A. airport when you tried to sit on that young man’s lap.”

“My beau does not mind, if that is what you are thinking,” Mrs. P said, and pulled a dollar bill from her pocket, which she waggled at the unfortunate Edvard. “He only cares about his world, not this one. I will be faithful to him there, but here, anything goes.”

Rowan couldn’t help but admire the old woman’s moxie as she waggled two tufted white cotton ball eyebrows at the unwary diner.

“Please, behave yourself,” Sophea said, pulling Mrs. P’s chair a bit closer to her. “If you harass that poor man, we’ll have to have dinner in our room. It’s much nicer to have it here with Rowan, even if he did call me a big fat liar.”

“I said nothing of the sort,” Rowan protested. “I did not call you a big fat anything—for the record, I happen to like women with curves, and in fact, think you are quite attractive—and I didn’t call you a liar. I simply asked Mrs. P if she thought you were… er…”

“Telling the truth,” Sophea finished triumphantly. “Which is another way of saying a liar. Well, I’m not, as I said. So you can just move on, and Mrs. P, so help me, if I catch you trying to seduce anyone else, I will march straight upstairs and take everything out of your luggage and give the stuff back to their rightful owners.”

Mrs. P stopped blowing kisses to Edvard and gave Sophea a sour look. “You have no sense of fun. I hope your man takes care of your needs so that you aren’t so cranky all the time.”

Sophea gaped at her for a few seconds before transferring her astounded expression to Rowan.

He gave her a smile, and without realizing it, said, “Let me know if you need cheering up.”

“I… you…” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you just proposition me?”

He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Apparently I did. Or rather, my mouth did. Wholly without permission, I should add. I’m desperately tired, you see, and I think I’m at that stage where my brain has given up the ghost and is allowing me to say whatever I want without consideration of whether it’s appropriate or not. I humbly apologize, and hope you will forgive a sleep-deprived man for a careless thought.”

Sophea, to his surprise, did not continue glaring at him, nor did she read him the riot act that he deserved. Instead, a curious expression crossed her face, part amusement and part a wistful something that suddenly made him want to be heroic. “Apology accepted. I’m a bit jet-laggy, myself, and I know how it can be when your mouth runs off with you. And actually, you didn’t say anything offensive. At least, that part wasn’t offensive. The whole thing about me lying is another point.”

“You really don’t know that you’re a dragon’s mate?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“How can I be a dragon’s mate when my husband wasn’t a dragon?” Sophea asked with another little shake of her head. She gestured toward herself. “He was perfectly human-shaped. As am I. I know I’m not any great shakes so far as looks go—thank you for the compliment, by the way—but do I look like a giant scaly she-beast?”

He was silent for a moment, trying to prod his almost-numb brain into working. If she was telling the truth, and she didn’t know… He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “There is a test.”

“A test to see if I’m a scaly beast or not?” she asked, looking skeptical.

“Yes.” He took up the paper check that would allow them to sign for the meal, and dipped one corner of it into the candle in the center of the table.

“Really?” Sophea eyed the burning paper with evident worry. “It’s not going to be a Spanish Inquisition sort of—aiiieee!”

She screamed when he dropped the paper onto the palm of the hand he held, prepared to dash water over her hand if he was wrong.

The second the burning sheet hit her hand, there was a flash of red in her eyes, and instantly, the flames were extinguished.

“Great Caesar’s ghost!” Sophea said with an audible gasp.

Rowan released her hand and watched with tired satisfaction as she examined first the paper, then her hand, rubbing her thumb over her palm before looking up to him. “What just happened?”

“You are a dragon’s mate. That more or less makes you a dragon. Think of it as dragon lite. One of your abilities is to control fire. If you were not who you are, the fire might have burned your hand, although I did have my glass of water at the ready.”

“I can’t be a dragon,” she said, still rubbing her palm. “Or… what do you call it… a dragon’s mate.”