Page 49 of Kenna's Dragon

I hum appreciatively in the back of my throat. “What is this?”

Blair chuckles. “I’m not sure if it has a name. Something of my own creation with bourbon and ginger and orange bitters.”

“Well, it’s good to know that if things don’t work out for you at the Bureau, you have a pretty solid back-up career as a bartender.”

A second too late, I realize what I just said. And… shit. With the reality of what he would be facing if I decide to talk to the police or the media… what a stupid joke to make.

Blair, however, doesn’t seem offended as he chuckles again.

“Come on,” he says, picking up his own glass and gesturing to another doorway off the kitchen.

I follow him down a short hall, and into a large, high-ceilinged room. It’s not a living room, exactly, but something I might almost call a study, or maybe a library with the full wall of built-in bookcases at the back of the room.

Like the rest of the penthouse, it’s decorated with dark, rich colors and pops of gold. There’s a fireplace set into the wall across from the bookshelves, and another wall which features an expanse of windows looking out over downtown Seattle.

In the center of the space, a trio of wide, comfortable-looking sofas in rich brown leather frame the fireplace. When Blair sinks down on one I follow right behind him, sitting just an arm’s length away. He raises a brow but doesn’t comment as he takes a long sip of his drink and sets it on the wide wooden coffee table in front of us.

I do the same, pulling my legs up to tuck beneath me and resting an elbow on the back of the couch with my head in my hand like I’ve got all the time in the world.

In reality, I’m brimming with about a thousand and one questions, but he still owes me more than I owe him, so I’m more than content to wait him out.

He shifts a little closer, reaches a hand out to touch me like he can’t help himself, but I shake my head.

“Nope. You said you wanted to talk. So talk.”

I’m pinned in place for a few long moments by the weight of his heated stare, but he eventually relents.

“How was your day today?”

Snorting a laugh, I pick up my drink and take another sip before answering. “Really? That’s what you want to start with?”

Blair’s lips quirk up in a small, sardonic smile. “Why is it that every time I try to make normal conversation, you follow it up with sass?”

I open my mouth, then close it again. He’s… not wrong. And fine, if he wants to know, he can know.

“My day sucked,” I tell him, feeling no need to sugarcoat. “Pushing papers wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I took a job with the Bureau.”

He frowns. “I meant what I said. I can still talk to—”

“Don’t. It would just make things worse.”

Silence falls between us, and I swirl my drink idly, listening to the soft clink of ice cubes. I only look up when I feel Blair’s fingertips brushing lightly over my arm where I’ve still got it resting on the back of the couch.

“I know you said you didn’t want any more apologies,” he says softly. “But I really am sorry for all of this.”

“Are you?”

His golden eyes narrow a little as he nods. “For kidnapping you, and for everything you’re dealing with in the media fallout, of course I’m sorry.”

“And for the rest of it?”

The question slips out without my meaning it to, but I can’t make myself regret asking it. Especially not when a flare of heat darkens Blair’s gaze, and he leans closer.

“No. I’m not sorry for the rest of it.”

It would be so easy to close the distance between us, to forget about everything else I meant to say and the rest of the answers I meant to get tonight and just kiss him, lose myself in him, give in to the temptation.

With a remarkable amount of self-restraint, I shift a few inches back. Blair does, too, following my lead.

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