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sorry,” she whispered, forcing herself to ease away. “I don’t know why I did that. I’m not usually a hugger.”
    “Nor am I.” Damon’s head was cocked, and he stared at her as if he was a scientist studying something he couldn’t understand. “Would you like to stay here for a while, or do you want to go back to my house?”
    “You would stay here if I wanted to?”
    Damon dipped his chin once.
    “Mason said the Gray Backs work for you.”
    “A shifter like me can’t afford to have friends, Ms. Sutterfield, but if I did, the Gray Backs would be some of them. I don’t mind spending more time here if that is what you desire.”
    “Desire, huh? So do dragons give wishes like genies?”
    A slow smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparked. “What kind of wish do you need granted?”
    “I desire for you to shotgun a beer with me.”
    Both of his dark eyebrows jacked up this time. “Shotgun a beer?”
    “Yeah, you know. Poke a hole in the bottom of a beer can, pop the top, and chug it like the super un-boring dragon you are. I can rub you like a genie if you want,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows.
    Damon’s eyes narrowed in the soft glow of the firelight. “Minx.”
    “Wish granted?”
    “Creed,” Damon called at normal volume over his shoulder. “Do you have cans of beer, and can you teach me the art of shotgunning?”
    The Gray Backs went dead quiet for an instant before their chatter picked up at double volume.
    “Hell yes,” Creed crowed.
    Damon stepped out of her path and gestured toward the fire, palm up as he bowed. “After you.”
    Okay, so Clara hadn’t really thought he would say yes. She was teasing, thinking an immortal would’ve lost their sense of adventure along the eons, but Damon was apparently up for playing. He’d shocked her to her bones, and damn, it had been a long time since someone had surprised her.
    The Gray Backs, as it turned out, were all down to shotgun beers, and so they gathered around the fire pit, Bud Lights in hand, as Creed explained the technical side to poking a hole in the bottom. This was Willa, Georgia, and Aviana’s first shotgun, too, so Damon was in good company. Clara watched him relax and laugh with the Gray Backs as he prepared his beer, and in that moment, everything faded away. The background became blurry and dull while Damon drew up into focus. His muscular shoulders pressed against the crisp white material of his shirt, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed and prepared to pop the top of his beverage.
    “One!” Willa said with the happiest grin on her face.
    From the way the Gray Backs acted, Damon didn’t cut loose with them often.
    “Two!”
    Clara jammed her finger under the top of her can. Her breath halted as Damon turned that demon-black gaze on her and mouthed, Are you ready? Heart-stopping smile. Heart. Stopping.
    “Three!”
    With a giggle, she popped the top of her drink and chugged her beer from the hole near the bottom. She spilled everywhere, but most of it got into her. She leaned over, cracking up as she wiped her mouth. Damon didn’t spill a drop. Of course, he was good at shotgunning. She’d bet he was good at everything he tried.
    He took her empty can like a true gentleman and disposed of it, then returned with a proud smile. He nodded his head magnanimously and drew her hand to his lips, then murmured, “Wish granted.” Lifting a hungry gaze to hers, he whispered, “And you didn’t even have to rub me.”
    Clara’s breath froze in her throat. The naughty man wasn’t as cold as she’d supposed. He knew how to tease her back. And as he dropped her hand and turned to say something low to Creed, who was clapping him on the back, Clara blinked slowly and had to focus on staying upright. Her legs had turned to noodles when he had brushed his lips across her knuckles. It was an old fashioned kiss, yes, but a kiss just the same, and now her stomach dipped as if she were falling.
    But for the life of