Better Than Chocolate (3 page)

What she really needed was eight hours of pure, uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. She'd been exhausted before, but her dream lover had always allowed her a few hours of rest before morning. Last night, she hadn't been able to fall asleep after waking up screaming his name.

Silvana cradled her burnt hand in front of her as she locked up the shop. Damn her human disguise and its stupid failings. In dragon form, she had natural heat resistance. In this fleshy, pudgy body, she was a walking disaster.

She tugged on the lock, making sure it was secured properly around the bars, then turned her head in time to see the éclair jerk and two uniformed policemen heading in his direction.

The guy pointed at her, and the cops took off at a sprint.

Silvana swore under her breath and broke into a run in the opposite direction. The subway station was just two blocks away. She could make it.

She elbowed her way through early-morning New York street traffic, nearly stumbling over a stroller a woman shoved in her path, then picked up the pace as she turned the corner toward the underground station. It wasn't until she'd swiped her Metrocard at the turnstile and stood on the platform, watching the train barreling toward her, that she allowed herself to relax a fraction.

By the time she climbed onto a subway car, found a seat at the back, and watched the doors hiss closed, her heart rate had managed to return to normal.

That bit of comfort lasted for about two point four seconds, right up until she tore her gaze from the doors and the platform beyond and glanced to the row of seats across from her.

There, reading the morning's edition of the New York Times like it was the most natural thing in the world, sat the man who was at least partly to blame for what had turned out to be a very bad day.

Silvana stood, wobbling slightly on shaky legs as the train lurched into high speed, and grabbed a nearby handrail.

"Rafael!” she shouted, loud enough for her sister in Montana to hear. “You son of a bitch."

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Rafael Tavarez was good at pissing off women. At least that's what his mother, six sisters, and ex-wife had all told him at one time or another.

Most of the time, though, he knew what he'd done to earn a tongue-lashing or a flying plate directed at his head. This morning, he had no clue.

To make matters worse, his head pounded like some part of his brain wanted to break through his skull and crawl to safety. His eyes felt swollen, tender, and judging by the dark shadows he'd glimpsed in the bathroom mirror when he'd briefly considered shaving before deciding he'd probably slit his throat in the process, his sleep had been anything but restful.

Again.

All that despite hitting the pillow at nine p.m. and snoozing right through the alarm. Now he was late for work.

Again.

The dreams, nightmares or blackouts—whatever they were—had gotten worse. These days, he sported a permanent, painful hard-on, and his body showed signs of having been ... used. Over the past three weeks, he'd woken up with bruises and tiny welts he could only describe as love bites. Last night, he'd been gifted with a lovely split lip.

He'd have passed out the moment the train had pulled away from the station if he hadn't been afraid of doing ... well, whatever it was he did at night. So he'd focused on today's crossword, until the angry woman across the way decided to scream at him and worsen the pounding in his head.

"Listen, lady,” he said, not looking up. “I don't know who you think I am or what you figure I've done to you, but—"

"But nothing! I want you to stay away from me, y'hear?"

Rafael sighed and raised an eyebrow at the man sitting beside him, who chuckled.

"Women, right?” the guy said.

Rafael grimaced. “Yeah. Right.” Ever since peaceful slumber became a thing of the past, women had been the last thing on his mind. All right, so that wasn't entirely true. His cock—and the rest of his body—craved release, but he'd had no time or inclination to approach anyone. Much less crazy women on trains.

His gaze darted back to the crossword puzzle.
Five letter word for bizarre. My life? No. That's six letters
. He had a brief glimpse of long legs encased in tight jeans coming straight for him before a slender, feminine hand yanked the paper off his lap.

The woman bunched up the newspaper, and tossed it on the floor of the train before stabbing the tip of a finger into Rafael's chest. “I bet you think this is funny, don't you? Some colossal cosmic joke."

Such a lovely hand. Smooth, porcelain-pale skin, neatly trimmed nails. If not for the bandage wrapped around the heel of the palm, he'd have thought it flawless.

He could think of all kinds of uses for that hand. It would feel wonderful stroking his cock, fingers dipping beneath his balls to tickle the sensitive skin while she flicked her fingernails along the taut strip of flesh leading to his ass.

A wave of dizziness slammed into his head as his cock jerked forward in sudden agreement. God, what was wrong with him? His thoughts never ran off on tangents about unknown women with beautiful hands, especially if those women also happened to be yelling at him at the time.

It had to be the lack of quality sleep that was messing with his good sense. This had gone on long enough. He'd take the day off work and go see a doctor, one who'd prescribe medication. A handful of pills would knock him right out, and keep him from doing whatever crazy things he did when he should have been asleep, like normal people.

At the end of his rope, last night he'd even cuffed himself to the headboard of his bed. In the morning he'd felt like a fool, his arms had ached, yet he still didn't feel any more rested than he had before hitting the sack. Obviously, sleepwalking wasn't his problem. So what was?

"I think you have me confused with someone else,” he said at last. With the paper gone, he couldn't formulate another good reason to keep from looking at her.

Which meant he had to pull his scattered, horny thoughts together long enough to carry through a conversation. One that would, hopefully, not end up with her sexy little fingernails scraping skin off his face.

Rafael pasted the most sincere smile he could summon onto his features and looked up. “I assure you, this is all a big misunder—"

He didn't get a chance to finish the sentence because the moment their eyes met, recognition slammed a fist into his gut. He gaped like a fish out of water. Someone had sucked all the air out of the train.

Images flashed across his field of vision, each more erotic than the last. This woman, on her back, knees splayed open while he feasted on her ripe, dewy pussy. Her again, braced against a wall while his cock slid in and out of her and a long line of men waited their turn. The pictures came in rapid succession now. In one, she knelt before him. In another, she hung over the edge of a giant Jacuzzi, holding her ass cheeks open for his intimate inspection.

And finally, he saw her strapped to a table before a flood of harsh neon light, hot tears spilling down her cheeks as her body quaked under the strain of sudden release.

Rafael's heart squeezed. He sucked in a painful breath between clenched teeth as raw need pounded through his veins. He remembered watching her, wishing he could be the only one to touch, taste, and delight in her delectable body. He could vividly recall the way her eyes glistened, moist with tears. He'd kissed her then, and she'd ... she'd—

His hand flew to his aching lip. “It was you.” He bolted upright and grabbed her upper arms, pulling her to him. “What's happening to me? What did you do?"

The moment he touched her, he knew he'd made a mistake. The imprint of her feminine shape against his body filled him with raw lust so hot it bordered on incendiary. His nostrils flared at the scent of her. Cinnamon and fresh baked bread. His cock juiced at the first whiff, swelled to near bursting and pressed against his zipper.

Rafael gritted his teeth. God, if he'd known the aroma of baked goods would have made him harder than a steel rod, he'd have spent more time in pastry shops.

But no, it wasn't just the smell of bread. It was the woman herself, the combination of innocent red curls and full cheeks contrasted against breasts to die for and wide, sexy hips. The woman was a walking contradiction. A smoldering vixen in disguise.

He leaned closer, powerless to stop the rush of heat tightening his groin. He desperately wanted to kiss her again, to bring a vague memory into sumptuous reality.

"Let me go,” she whispered.

"Never,” he murmured, and at that moment he knew he meant that simple word more than he'd ever meant anything in his entire life.

With his lips mere inches away from hers, the woman's light blue eyes widened. Heat rushed into her heart-shaped face, painting twin streaks of deep red blush across both cheeks. The skin of her arms started to burn like he'd dipped his hands in a blazing flame.

Rafael gritted his teeth against the sudden, sharp pain, but held on. Ripples of sensation he couldn't name—a mix between raw pleasure and sheer agony—flared in his palms.

Something sparked in her gaze. As he watched, her round eyes elongated slightly, dimming to a brilliant silver color. Her face took on a decidedly greenish hue.

She tried to take a step back and ended up slipping out of his grasp when the train ground to an abrupt stop. The doors behind her hissed open.

The moment he released her, his palms stopped tingling. The otherworldly features he'd glimpsed just moments earlier disappeared from her striking face. She looked as wholesome, normal, and stunningly beautiful as ever, her pale skin a sharp contrast to her wild red curls, pink pout, and pale blue eyes.

Her bottom lip quivered when she glanced at him through lowered lashes. “Stay away from me,” she repeated. “I-I mean it."

"But I don't—"

She'd bolted through the doors and onto the station platform before the words were out of his mouth.

Rafael swore and tore after her. It took him a few moments to orient himself in the throng of people piling in and out the train, but when he caught a glimpse of fiery curls, he wasted no time contemplating a course of action.

He never remembered anything about what happened during the night. Until now. This woman was the key to regaining his nights, his peaceful sleep, his fucking life!

She wove her way through the crowd with fluid grace. Rafael stumbled in pursuit, bumping into people and muttering halfhearted apologies as his elbows connected with bags, ribs, and stomachs.

His mystery woman was already halfway across the block by the time he spotted her. Elbowing his way past a teenager with dreadlocks as thick as his wrist and murmuring a quick apology, Rafael quickened his step to a jog.

Getting to work no longer mattered. Even the desperate longing for restful sleep dimmed a little as he ran. Only the frustrated desire awakened by holding her persisted in tightening his body. He thought only of catching her.

He had no plan, no brilliant line prepared to utter when he finally stopped her, but it didn't matter. She had to tell him what had been happening to him. She was the only one who knew.

She veered down a side street, and Rafael followed, closing the distance between them with each step. A row of uniform brownstones dominated both sides of the street. A large, outdoor parking area took up the only free lot space about midway to the next block.

She came to a grinding halt in front of the mostly-empty lot. At peak capacity, it could probably accommodate a hundred vehicles. Now, Rafael could only make out perhaps ten or so, mostly sedan-type, family cars.

The woman stood approximately thirty feet away from him. He pumped his arms, ran faster.

Twenty feet.

She turned her head and stared at him, a wrinkle appearing above her pert little nose.

Ten feet.

She lifted her arm, gripped some invisible item with her right hand, and pulled it back toward her. Then she took a step forward onto the lot. And vanished into thin air just as Rafael's hand shot out to grab her arm.

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The inside of Madam Periwinkle's Erotic Delights shop was even more posh, provocative, and purple than its glittering storefront indicated. Gleaming black shelves draped with violet-colored cloth lined both sides of the small room. On the long, narrow surfaces, Silvana could make out a variety of sex toys, lubricants, lingerie, and other erotic paraphernalia. Overhead, a purple disco ball scattered fragmented, diamond-sharp light over the enticing inventory.

Silvana's inner walls gave a quick, bursting flutter of wanton need, but when her mind veered sharply to the vivid dreams she'd been having, she sucked in a breath and plucked away the unwanted thoughts. She was running away from Rafael for a reason. As much as she wanted him out of her nights, having him mess up her days was infinitely worse.

A tiny bell gave a silvery tinkle as the door closed behind her. Silvana's heart hammered against her ribcage. She twirled on her toes and directed an anxious glance at the sidewalk. She didn't doubt that Rafael would follow her in here.

She'd been both surprised and relieved to see the erotic shop nestled between two brownstones when she'd turned the corner onto West 35th Street. She didn't know this area of the city very well, and she wasn't sure where she'd end up when she started running.

Luckily, the erotic store offered unexpected refuge from the intensity of the man chasing her. If things got dicey, she could probably count on the store manager or other customers to intervene.

She held her breath as Rafael paused outside the store. Any second now, he'd push the door open. Then she'd have to talk to him again. Worse, he might touch her once more.

She'd never experienced dragon shift without either willing it, or having it happen of its own frustrating accord at the moment of orgasm. That is, until Rafael had gripped her arms and pulled her to him. Her body had given an instinctive lurch of recognition and at that moment, her libido caught fire. Every nerve ending felt like it burned from the inside out, causing a massive inferno to settle deep in her core and flare in her cunt.