Not true. I’d been obsessed with eloping since I first heard about it. Mostly because eloping seemed like some kind of legal crime.
“There had better be all sorts of fancy things happening at our wedding. Including cake.”
His eyes narrowed, and he tipped his head down. But that smile was all sin. “I think you better run, Delaney Reed. Or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”
I stood there, vibrating, knowing this was a game and the chase was on.
But instead of running, instead of making him chase me, I walked to him slowly, stood so close I could see his heartbeat through his shirt, could feel his need in waves radiating off him.
“I like the sound of action,” I said. “No accountability required.” Then I kissed him until the world faded and only we remained.
Chapter Eight
Two things happened at once:the knocking on the front door turned into pounding, and a brick wall fell on top of me.
“Ow,” I muttered, pushing at the brick wall. “Get off, bud.”
The brick wall grunted, then growled a very dragon-y growl. A soft piggy nose snuffled my palm, hot dragon breath washing over my skin.
I opened my eyes.
Dragon pig sat on my thighs, weighing roughly as much as a firehouse, wagging its tiny pink tail.
Itoinked once, and thatoinksounded very satisfied. It also smelled weirdly electric.
The pounding at the front door stopped, then started up again. This time just a knuckle rapping out the beat to a song. Sounded like the base line to “We Will Rock You.”
“Is that Queen?” Ryder’s voice was muffled by the pillow covering his head. Spud sat like a good boy on the floor but was big enough he could lick Ryder’s ears if Ryder didn’t take morning pillow position.
I pushed up on my elbows, pointed at the dragon pig. “Off please. I’ll get you breakfast after I deal with the door.”
“Thank you,” Ryder mumbled. “Coffee too?”
I leaned over and kissed my man on the bare shoulder, right by his tattoo. “I was talking to the dragon pig.”
Then I yanked the pillow off his head. He scrabbled for it.
“Too slow,” I grinned. I smacked him in the face.
He howled. I ran out of the bedroom as he hollered threats I knew he’d never actually follow through on.
I got to the door before he’d even launched out of bed, and when he skidded into the living room, I held up a warning finger. “Someone’s at the door.”
He was wearing boxer briefs and nothing else, his hair sticking up on one side. He crossed those gorgeous arms over his hard chest and leaned his shoulder against the wall.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll wait.”
I tucked my hair behind my ears and made sure Ryder’s T-shirt, which I’d thrown on last night, covered my underwear.
Good enough.
I looked through the peephole and groaned.
Crow waggled his fingers at me and kept knocking.
I threw the chains and locks and opened the door. “What?” I asked. “I haven’t had coffee yet. You should know I have killed men for trying to talk to me before I am caffeinated.”
“Bunny-boo,” Crow said. “This is your Uncle Crow. You know I’ll take care of you.” He lifted his other hand which held a coffee carrier and three large, lidded cups of coffee.
