Page 54 of Princess Seeks Dragon

Chapter Seventeen: Princess

“If I buy you things, I get the final say on some of them. Just some. Say ten of them?”

Angela squints at me. “That’s controlling red flag number one. I’m dressing how I want.”

“No, no.” I turn the truck into a parking spot and look at the bustling mall entrance, currently filled with high schoolers who just got out of school. “I mean, since I’m buying, I get to pick out ten things I want you to wear, in addition to the things you want.”

“I... I just need some jeans, shorts, and shirts. Okay, and underwear. And pajamas. Shoes.”

“Don’t need pajamas,” I mutter. “Okay, five things.”

“Three.”

“Only you would talk meoutof getting you more gifts.” I roll my eyes and fight down my urges to pull her into the backseat of this double cab monstrosity and ravish her. “Stubbornness is very attractive in a dragon,” I finally confess as Angela looks at me, one dark brow arched and lips pursed.

“Oh, then honey... You’re going to want to invest in another cup of coffee because I can stubborn all night long,” Angela teases.

Suddenly I have the vision of me teasing my curvy mate, keeping her on the edge of peaking, giving her pleasure, then stopping cold—to see how long her stubbornness lasts. And maybe when she sees the three things I have in mind for her, that will be the plan for the night. Maybe every night for a week. Or a month...

***

SHOES. SNEAKERS ANDflats. Leggings and jeans. Plain cotton shirts. I keep a running tab in my head. I have to pay him back someday. I could use the cash in my wallet, but I have a feeling Graham will growl and maybe even blow smoke out of his nose if I try.

He follows behind me. “This is pretty.” A black cocktail dress. “I like this!” A cute blue sundress. “You didn’t get a purse. Don’t women need handbags to match dresses?” Graham follows me like a puppy with a shopping fetish, tripling the cost with everything he picks up, and I can’t even tell him to leave because he’s technically my bodyguard. Speaking of which...

“Anything from Ardy Walsh?”

“Nope. But he says that’s a good thing. It means no big showdowns have occurred or anything like that. No one has spotted any unusual newcomers in town. The Country Pines Motel is vacant—and that’s normal, apparently.”

I nod and get lost in my own thoughts as I let Graham tug me where he wants to go in the small mall that looks like a holdover from the early 1990s. Just as I’m wondering if the greater Pine Ridge area has pockets of time warp, Graham’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

“Which one would you pick?”

“Which what would I—oh. Oh!” My eyes focus on rows and rows of glittering jewels. Rings. “I don’t want a ring,” I stammer.

“It’s one of my three things. I want you to have a ring.”

“Graham! No.”

Graham comes behind me, his arms full of shopping bags, and whispers in my ear. “You promised. I’m paying.”

“I don’t want a ring,” I repeat.

“Because you don’t want me? Or you don’t want it now? Or something else?” he hisses.

“I’m not ready. I... I don’t deserve this.” The words spring out and catch me unawares. I want love! I want a man who supports my dreams—as I try to figure out what the hell they look like in reality. “I shouldn’t act like some spoiled little rich girl. I played along for my mom’s sake, got to the point where I kind of believed, and then it all blew up in my face. Princesses don’t seem to actually be very happy people, do they? Not in the real world.”

Graham accepts that with a sad inclination of his head.

“Look, I love the idea. I do. But good things don’t just fall into my lap like this. If they do, they come with bad things, too,” I explain more gently.

Graham nods slowly and moves me along the display cases until he stops in front of one bright amethyst in an opal shape. It doesn’t scream engagement ring, but we both stare at it.

“It matches you,” I say, voice quivering. I suddenly want that thing on my finger more than I want my next breath.

“If I give this to you—I will take all the bad that comes wi’ it. I promise ye,” Graham hisses, voice low and accent thick.

“Graham...”

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