My Wild Irish Dragon (24 page)

For more Ashlyn Chase
check out the Flirting with Fangs series

How to Date a Dragon

On sale now

Keep reading for an excerpt of

from Ashlyn Chase's Flirting with Fangs series!

“I'm never attending a destination wedding again.”

Bliss Russo dragged her garment bag and carry-on up the ramp to her Boston apartment building. Her purse had fallen off her shoulder ten minutes ago and dangled from her wrist. She needed the other hand to hold her cell phone to her ear so she could bitch to her friend Claudia.

“Oh, poor you. Someone made you go to Hawaii.” Claudia chuckled. “The bastards.”

“Seriously… do you know how long the flight is? Or I should say flights. First there's the leg from Boston to L.A., then L.A. to Honolulu, and finally Honolulu to Maui. Two days later, I go from Maui to Honolulu. Then Honolulu to L.A. Then L.A. to Boston. Plus I had to follow Hawaiian wedding tradition—at least what the bride's parents assured us was the tradition—and party all night. I haven't slept for days.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“No, I'm not. Unless you count the five-minute nap I took at LAX. I was so exhausted, I woke up on the chair next to me when the guy I had apparently fallen asleep on got up and left.”

“Sorry. Okay, you're right. It was a lousy, miserable thing to make you do. So where are you now?”

“Almost home. In fact, I'll probably lose you in the elevator. Give me a few days to sleep and I'll call you back.”

“Call by Thursday if you can, and let me know if you want to go out Saturday night.”

Bliss jostled the door open, and one of the residents held it while she maneuvered her luggage through. “I shouldn't. I worked a little harder and got a few days ahead so I could go to this damn wedding in the first place, but I really can't afford to take any more time off. The competition will crush me.”

“That's what you get for landing in the finals of your dream reality show. What is it? America's Next Great Greeting Card Designer?”

“It's not called America's Next… oh, forget it. I'm at the elevator now and I'm too tired to care. I'll call you.”

“Okay, sugar. Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks.” Bliss hung up and dropped her phone into the bowels of her purse. She yanked and stuffed her luggage into the tiny elevator, which she rode to the second floor. Eventually, she dragged everything to her door, rattled the key in her lock, and brought it all into her bedroom. Passing out on top of her bed fully dressed seemed like the only good idea she was capable of having, so she donned a sleep mask, did a face-plant, and stayed that way.

* * *

Hours later—or maybe days—Bliss awoke to a deafening blare. Still disoriented, she had no idea what the hell the noise was or, for that matter, if it was night or day. She tore off the sleep mask and still couldn't tell what was going on. But what was that smell?

Oh. My. God. Smoke! That ear-piercing screech is the friggin' fire alarm.

Bliss tried to remember what to do.
Oh
yeah, crouch down low and get the fuck out of Dodge.
Thank the good Lord she lived on the second floor, because she couldn't use the stupid elevator.

Bliss remembered just in time to put her hand to the door before opening it. It didn't feel as though there were an inferno on the other side. Staying low, she opened the door. The smoke was so thick she could barely see. She held her breath and charged toward the end of the hall.

Suddenly, her head hit something firm and she fell backward. “Oomph.” The sharp intake of breath resulted in a coughing fit.

Looking up to see what she had hit, she realized she had just head-butted a firefighter's ass.

He swiveled and mumbled through his mask. “Really? I'm here to save you, and you spank me?”

Despite her earlier panic, Bliss felt a whole lot safer and started to giggle.
Oh
no. My computer!
“Wait, I have to go back…”

“No. You need to get out of here, now.” The firefighter lifted her like she weighed nothing—an amazing feat in itself—then carried her the wrong way down the rest of the hallway, through the fire door, and down the stairs.

“Wait!” She grasped him around the neck and tried to see his face through watering eyes.

His mask, helmet, and shield covered almost his whole head, but she caught a glimpse of gold eyes and a shock of hair, wheat-colored with yellow streaks, angled across his forehead. She thought it odd that the city would let firefighters dye their hair like rock musicians.

As soon as they'd made it to the street, she could see better and noticed his eyes were actually green and almond shaped. She must have imagined the gold color. He set her down near the waiting ambulance and pulled off his mask.

What
a
hottie! But I don't have time for that now.
She staggered slightly as she tried to head back toward the door.

He grabbed her arm to steady her. “Hey,” he shouted to one of the paramedics. “Give her some oxygen.”

“No, I'm fine. I don't need any medical attention.”
Thanks
to
the
gorgeous
hunk
with
the
weird
hair.

“Please… let them check you out.”

“I'd rather let
you
check me out.” She covered her mouth and grinned. “Sorry. It must be the smoke inhalation.

He laughed. “Seriously? First you grab my ass, and now you're hitting on me?”

“I didn't ‘grab your ass.' For your information, I ran face-first into your… behind.”

“Oh. Well, pardon me for being in the way.”

His smile almost stopped her heart—or was it the lack of oxygen? Regardless, she
had
to
rip herself away from him and get her computer out of the building before it melted. No matter how hard she pulled, he didn't budge.

“You need to go back in there for my computer. Apartment twenty-five, halfway down the hall.”

He took off his gloves. “Look, I'm sorry, miss, but if I went back in there now, my chief would have my hide.”

“But my whole life is on that computer. I'm in the finale of a huge TV competition.”

He didn't seem impressed, so she tried again.

“It's my greeting card business and all my newest designs are there. This show would pay for a whole ad campaign and give me fifty grand if I win.” Realizing she sounded like a babbling idiot, she pressed on. “I've worked so hard to make it this far. If I lose my work, I'll never catch up. I'll wind up presenting a half-assed portfolio, and not only can I forget about winning, but it could ruin me!”

* * *

Drake couldn't believe what he was hearing. His weakness might be beautiful brunettes, but did she honestly expect him to risk his life for an object that could be replaced? Could she not see smoke pouring out of the building? Sure, he could probably manage it, being fireproof and all, but after the chewing out he got the last time…

“Don't you keep a backup file online?”

“No. I don't trust the Internet,” she said with the saddest expression in her beautiful brown eyes. “There are too many hackers out there, and this greeting card competition is outrageously competitive. Pleeeease!”

All
this
hoopla
for
a
piece
of
paper
that
reads, “Roses are red. Violets are blue?”
The brunette didn't appear to be insane, no matter how stupid this reality show sounded. There were crazier things on TV.

His chief had already warned Drake about risking his neck and told him to knock off taking stupid chances. He'd lucked out the last time. The mayor, a big dog lover, heard that Drake had gone back into a two-alarm blaze to rescue a greyhound. Then Mr. Mayor made the chief disregard any thought of suspending Drake by giving him a medal. But that sort of luck wouldn't hold, especially if this insubordination was about an inanimate object.

Drake reached out and physically turned the woman around so she could see the inferno behind her. The feel of her soft, warm skin sent an unexpected jolt of awareness through him.

Her hands flew to cover her mouth, and the same sad, desperate sound all fire victims made as they witnessed the destruction and loss of something precious eked out. The tears forming in her eyes did him in.

If he weren't fireproof, running back into that building would toast him like a marshmallow, but being a dragon, he knew he could do it.

“Ah, hell.” Before anyone could stop him, he dashed in the side entrance. He could always say he thought he heard a call for help.

“Stop. Oh crap,” was what he really heard. Apparently the brunette had changed her mind, but he was committed now.

Second
floor, halfway down the hall
, he repeated to himself until he found it. She had left her door open. Fortunate for him, not so much for her apartment. Smoke and flames were everywhere. He felt the familiar tingle just under his skin that signaled an impending shift.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Skin became scales. Fingers became claws. His neck elongated, and out popped his tail, creating an unsightly bulge in the back of his loose coveralls. His wings were cramped and folded up under his jacket, but it couldn't be helped.

His sight was greatly improved in his alternate form, and he spotted the Mac on her glass tabletop. The flames hadn't reached it yet, so he did his best to grab it with his eagle-like talons and carry it against his chest.

Lumbering down the hall, he wondered where, and if, he'd be able to shift back before anyone saw him.
Maybe
it's cooler in the basement—but what if I get trapped down there?

Instead of heading down another level, he opened the emergency door just enough to toss the laptop onto the grass outside. The outside air was so much cooler that he thought he might be able to shift back right there.

Concentrating on his human form, he inhaled the fresh air and sensed his head and body shrinking and compacting. He glanced down and saw his human hands again. His back felt enormously better without squished wings digging into it.

Ah… I made it undetected.

Or had he? The brunette was standing a few feet away, wide-eyed and open mouthed—hugging her computer.

For more Ashlyn Chase
check out the Flirting with Fangs series

How to Date a Dragon

On sale now

Major thanks go to Susan Vallera, a Massachusetts firefighter, who let me interview her, gave me a tour of the fire station, and made me a cup of real firefighter coffee. (It wasn't that bad…with lots of cream.)

Also to another Massachusetts firefighter, Tom Madigan, who beta reads all my firefighting scenes and wipes the potential egg off my face.

Thanks, of course, to my wonderful critique partner, Mia Marlowe, a.k.a. Lexie Eddings, who keeps improving my first drafts, and to my editor, Cat Clyne. She “gets” my sense of humor and has one of her own—thank goodness! When many travels derailed my writing, she gave me a deadline extension and just said, “Make it exactly how you want it.” She's awesome.

Big love to my agent, Nicole. Without her in my corner I'd be a lot less successful with contracts and such. By the way, she just landed me a five-book contract to tell the Fierro brothers' stories! Stay tuned for news of this new series!

Ashlyn Chase describes herself as an Almond Joy bar: a little nutty, a little flaky, but basically sweet, wanting only to give her readers a satisfying experience.

She holds a degree in behavioral sciences, worked as a psychiatric RN for fifteen years, and spent a few more years working for the American Red Cross. She credits her sense of humor to her former careers since comedy helped preserve whatever was left of her sanity. She is a multi-published, award-winning author of humorous erotic and paranormal romances, represented by the Seymour Agency.

Ashlyn lives in beautiful New Hampshire with her true-life hero husband who looks like Hugh Jackman with a salt-and-pepper dye job, and they're owned by a spoiled brat cat.

Ashlyn loves to hear from readers!

Visit
www.ashlynchase.com
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.