10

"Does Kristal make pancakes, too?" Kristal was the club's cook and made sure that the guests always got little things in their stomachs. By this time, she was usually already preparing everything for the evening business or clearing the kitchen of the temporary clutter. Kilian shrugged.

"Your extension is seven. Just ask her, she won't do more than chase you to hell." In addition, she was extremely irritable, liked to do exactly what she had been strictly forbidden to do and repeatedly emphasized that she was nobody's fairy godmother when it came to food. Nevertheless, Sam wiped the tears from her cheeks, took a deep breath and reached for Killian's cell phone that was on the dessert table.

"Don't bother me, or I'll put rat poison in his next meal for you!" came her dark, grumpy and definitely annoyed voice on the other end. Sam was so perplexed that she forgot that she was calling on her brother's cell phone.

"Hey, Crystal. It's Sam, do you have breakfast for me?" Samantha asked politely, the old cook snorted derisively.

"I didn't know you were eating at all. What would the princess like, a salad? I still have two leaves and a handful of nuts or is that too much for you?" Samantha didn't respond to her provocation. Kristal was firmly convinced that Samantha lived on air and love because she was said to be far too thin. Actually, she felt old cook considered all the women who worked at the club to be far too skinny, and since Sam would not let himself be fattened, the two women kept fighting.

"No, I'd like pancakes if it's not too much work." Another snort. "With clarified butter and maple syrup? That's a lot of calories. You could gain weight from it." Now it was Samatha who was panting and otherwise had no nerves for it. She could already feel the tears welling up, although she hadn't even thought she could cry anymore.

"Not Kristal today, please." On the other side, there was a brief silence.

"What did that pig do to you?" Kristal asked attentively. Sam wiped the tears from her face. All of her other wrong assumptions aside, the chef was a big believer in the "Killian-makes-his-sister-do-naughty-things" theory, and almost threw a fit whenever Killian so much as touched her.

"He didn't do anything. He's my damn brother. He would never hurt me. It's just...I'm just hungry." The cook let out a murmur of agreement and hung up without saying goodbye, which was fine with Samantha.

Killian came back from the bathroom. Naked. Well, not completely naked. He had wrapped a towel around his waist and was drying his hair with a second towel when he took a graceful, purposeful stride towards the closet. Samantha knew it should have left her cold, or at least given her the decency to avert her face, but she just couldn't help but follow the subtle play of his muscles as he moved.

No wonder all women were so desirous of their brother. Not only did he have that badboy aura that supposedly attracted women like moths to a flame, but he was incredibly sexy. He had the tall, powerful frame of a martial artist in which every part of his muscle was defined and powerful to perfection. His shoulders were broad and his abs so tight you could have washed clothes on them. But what intrigued her most was the huge tattoo that stretched from his upper back all the way down his right thigh. It was a dragon breathing fire and perched on a rock where a smaller dragon pressed against it for protection. It was the first time she'd seen so much of this image, and the first time she'd noticed the smaller dragon.

"That's me," Sam whispered more to himself, but Killian heard it and turned to her questioningly. She pointedly looked at his tattoo.

"The little dragon, that's me." The whole motif was emblematic of their history together. He was the dragon, breathing fire for her where she couldn't. And it was beautiful. A true work of art. Killian shrugged his shoulders, his glorious muscles moving gracefully as he did so, and Sam briefly licked her dry lips.

“I have no influence on the motive already forgotten? And it's not finished yet." Sam, of course, knew of Killian's deal with the creator of this artwork. He wasn't tattooing simple images; he was tattooing stories. It was a wonderful idea and while Killian shrugged it off, he also had to feel otherwise he wouldn't get it pierced.

"What else is there?" Sam asked curiously and gratefully on the subject. At that moment, Killian dropped the towel and Sam felt her cheeks flush as she looked down. Her brother's butt was definitely not bad either... but she wouldn't think of the other.

"A knight with a lance," Killian answered the question, apparently not noticing her reaction. Sam only looked up again when she heard the clatter of a belt buckle and knew that he was already wearing trousers.

"Will he die? I mean the knight." Killian moved towards the bed on which Sam was still sitting and now staring spellbound at his still bare chest. He held out his hand and Sam put his hand in it trustingly. His smile was something between cruelty and glee, she slid off the bed as he pulled her to her feet, allowing him to cup her face in both hands and look deep into her eyes.

"Any would-be knight will be roasted alive for approaching the little dragon, Sam. It's the nature of dragons."

"Indeed? And I always thought they hoard treasure and eat maidens," Sam joked, and Killian chuckled involuntarily. He then planted a kiss on her forehead and pulled her back into his arms. Samantha rested her hands on his bare shoulders, feeling himself his muscles tensing and relishing the sensation as the tip of his nose swept over her temples. He continued to ruffle her hair, brushing it back from the back of her neck, exposing the delicate skin of her throat. The shiver that ran through her as he lowered his head so much that she could feel his breath in the crook of her neck, she couldn't help it.

"He might actually eat another damsel if he loses his temper and she doesn't stop tempting him," he replied hoarsely, and the lump in her throat tightened as she pulled away from him and at the meaning of his words. She was sure that the intensity of his gaze should tell her, but she didn't understand it - or rather, she didn't want to understand it.