“I do apologize for the confusion and any inconvenience you may have suffered…” Adrienne’s subdued voice drifted off as she and one of the flight attendants escorted the man back to his seat, located several rows forward.

“He looked like he was attacking her,” I explained to the remaining flight attendant and the handsome man. “He was leaning across me to get to her. What would you have thought if that had been you?”

“I would have asked the gentleman,” the flight attendant said gently, then with a little purse of his lips she returned to the coach section of the plane.

I turned to the remaining man, about to thank him for the assistance that it turned out I didn’t need, but simply watched in silent amazement when he plucked the bracelet from my hand, saying with an unreadable look, “I’ll take that. I’m sure there’s some sort of nasty binding spell on it, and we wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?”

He walked away without another word, leaving me staring in disbelief. Binding spell? I opened and closed my mouth a couple of times, tempted to accost him, but decided I’d better not. Perhaps I’d misheard him, or perhaps he was not quite all there… either way, since I didn’t have the slightest belief in the strange narrow-pupiled man’s story that he was returning Mrs. P’s bracelet—one that she hadn’t been wearing—I decided that I’d just let it go and forget about the whole episode.

I didn’t, of course, and when Claudia returned from her visit to the toilet, I told her in a near whisper of the happenings. She agreed that it was most startling to be woken up in such a manner, but didn’t seem to think anything odd was going on.

“You said you were certain the bracelet didn’t belong to Mrs. Papadopolous, so does it matter if the other man took it? Perhaps it was his to begin with, and the other man was mistaken in attributing it to your employer.”

“But then why didn’t he say that? And what was that business with a binding spell?”

“You must have misheard him.” She pulled out her book again. “Perhaps he was trying to save you from any further embarrassment.”

That shut me up on the subject, and pretty much for the rest of the trip. I sat vigilant the remaining hours of the flight, too embarrassed about raising a fuss over nothing to relax, and yet at the same time, oddly suspicious. What was that man doing leaning over me? Why had Mr. Handsome walked off with the bracelet without so much as a “do you mind?” And was it just paranoia to wonder if Claudia had disappeared into the bathroom at the ideal moment for an attempted attack on Mrs. P?

Too far, my mental sage warned. You’ll start seeing conspiracies everywhere if you go down that path.

Fortunately for my peace of mind—what was left of it—Mrs. P slept the rest of the way to Munich.

You just have to get her through a change of planes, and then onto a ship in Cairo, my sage pointed out. How hard could that be? Do that one little thing, and you’ll pocket a cool two grand, which will give you a start to fighting your way out of a dreary future, frustrating talks with the unemployment office, and an all-around loveless existence.

Unbidden, my gaze traveled along the rows of seats until it settled on the head crowned with short auburn curls.

My so-called savior was dressed casually in clothing that wasn’t in the least bit flashy, but still gave that off that subtle whiff of money. A navy blue blazer covered up a shirt in a lighter shade of blue, which was tucked into a pair of black chinos. Sharply creased chinos. This was a man who exuded quiet self-confidence, and absolute comfort in his own skin.

Even the fact that he wore lace-up dark gray, somewhat scarred boots rather than shoes didn’t ruin that impression. I was musing on what sort of man he was that he was so with it and together, yet marched around an airport wearing a pair of boots that would be more comfortable striding across a moor, when he must have felt my unabashed scrutiny, because his head turned and he glanced back at me.

Our gazes met in a way that left me breathless. My first impression of him had been one of chilly disinterest, but as I held his gaze, something kindled in the depths of those stormy green eyes, a brief flash of amusement that had me feeling strangely warm. One side of his mouth twitched, and he tipped his head a fraction of an inch in acknowledgment of… what? Awareness that I was clearly staring at him? Or perhaps it had something to do with our interaction with the nasty hissy man?

He turned back to the book he held, leaving me feeling oddly bereft.

The blush I had been working on faded as I stared at the back of his head, admitting that it was just too bad I wasn’t going to see Mr. Bracelet Thief again. Those cool gray-green eyes combined with an air of mystery left my mind wandering down all sorts of paths, and not all of them were rated PG.

Two

There were red dragons everywhere.

“Just what I need—competition,” Rowan said under his breath.

His gaze moved along the two lines of people queued up to go through passport control, counting no fewer than three red dragons, including the woman named Sophea.

Not red dragons, he mentally corrected himself. They were red dragon–demon hybrids. His sister, Bee, informed him that there were only a handful of non-demonic red dragons left alive, of whom Sophea was clearly one. His gaze paused on her as she assisted her elderly charge into sitting down on a walking stick that converted into a tri-legged seat. If he didn’t know why Sophea was helping the old lady, he’d have been fooled into thinking she was exactly what she appeared: a thoughtful, helpful caretaker assisting a woman in need.

She looked every bit her part—of mixed Asian descent, she had shoulder-length glossy black hair, cut in wispy layers that seemed to catch every light breeze. The long strands would occasionally caress the soft pink of her cheeks, making his fingers itch with the need to brush the hair back where it belonged. It looked smooth as silk, that hair, and he wondered what it would feel like trailing across his bare chest.

He frowned at the sudden erotic image. Where had that come from? Certainly it was true that Sophea was a pretty woman—with warm brown eyes that made him think of the dark, hidden depths in a pond; a heart-shaped face; and curves that would drive a saint mad with desire—who would no doubt attract admiration wherever she went, and yet, that did not mean he had to watch her so diligently.