Then—thud.
A heavy, blunt impact hit him square in the ass.
“Damn it,” he growled. The goat had connected with his left buttock with the force of a wrecking ball.
He scooped the unruly animal under one arm, more pissed about having to let go of Sylvie than the sting in his seat.
She laughed.
“I read somewhere that animals reflect their owner’s personality,” she said, “or maybe it’s the other way around.”
“I don’t go around ramming into people,” he muttered, adjusting the squirming goat.
“You’ve run into me twice now,” she countered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“The first time was technically a rescue effort,” he said flatly, his jaw tight.
He would never admit—even under dragon oath—that he might have nudged that ladder just enough to ensure she fell neatly into his arms.
“Don’t think that counts as saving me twice,” she said solemnly, without flinching.
“If you say so,” he rumbled. “Just don’t test me with faulty ladders or unruly goats.”
She smirked.
“Well, if we stand here any longer,” she said, gesturing to the goat now chewing on the hem of his unbuttoned shirt with smug determination, “you’ll be shirtless in about five minutes.”
Her eyes lingered on his shoulders, a slow, heavy look that made his blood boil, before meeting his gaze again.
“I’ll get you the eggs,” he said, his voice dropping into a rough, possessive growl. If he didn’t get her out of here soon, he was going to do something stupid—like kiss her senseless or carry her inside and never let her leave. “I’ll deliver them myself.”
“All settled, then.” Sylvie smiled as he walked her back to the car.
He watched the sway of her hips until she climbed inside, the sight a private torture. The dragon in his blood settled into a low, possessive purr, satisfied to watch what it already considered its territory.
She jerked the car into reverse as one of his chickens darted beneath the wheels.
He cursed and lunged forward, waving her off.
And as she drove away, leaving behind a faint trace ofvanilla and sugar, all he could think about was the next time she’d wreck his routine—
And how he wouldn’t mind that a goddamn bit.
Chapter 5: Sylvie
“You did not nearly climb a grumpy dragon farmer in the middle of a goat pasture.”
Sylvie muttered it to her reflection in the rearview mirror.
The woman staring back looked windswept, faintly disheveled—and entirely too pleased with herself to be trusted.
Her cheeks were still flushed.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the early-summer heat.
The narrow country road curved ahead between hedges and golden fields. The afternoon sun had settled lazily over the valley, warm and fragrant, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and distant salt.
She squinted at herself.
