The Dragon Marshal's Treasure (U.S. Marshal Shifters 1)

Well, it was earned satisfaction, Theo supposed. His dragon had always looked askance at his human half’s assurance that the mate bond didn’t really matter and that they could be perfectly happy without it.

All those years of formless longing had been leading to this woman and her incredibly noisy bed, so the years had been worth it. He was sure the worry of the next few hours would be worth it, too.

It occurred to him that the gentlemanly thing to do would be to go down and face Tiffani, who had undoubtedly been able to hear every last squeak and thump last night. The least he could do was make her breakfast to compensate for the awkwardness.

“I’ll make you French toast,” he said to Jillian, his voice quiet. “Or anything you like.”

He bent down and kissed her hair. She made a pleasant crooning sound before burrowing further down into the pillow.

He went downstairs to be Emily Post.

Tiffani was sitting in the kitchen, wearing a peacock silk robe over plaid flannel pajamas. The outfit clashed in a way Theo admired: a veneer of sophistication on top of very practical comfort. Human inside, dragon outside.

“Good morning, Deputy Theo.” She raised a cup of coffee to her mouth, but it didn’t hide her smile. “How did you sleep?”

“I think the better question is how you slept. I’m hoping deeply and thoroughly. And quickly.”

“Sweetheart, there wouldn’t have been enough deep and thorough and quick in the world. Coffee?”

“I’ll get it, please don’t get up.” At least fetching it let him turn away to the wall until his blush subsided. “I wanted to make breakfast for you and Jillian, if I could.”

“My kitchen is your kitchen,” Tiffani said. “Actually, as of nine AM sharp yesterday, it’s more yours than mine. Do with it as you will. I even did an early morning shopping run, since I imagine the two of you burned plenty of calories and will want a four-square breakfast.”

The blush refused to subside. He was guessing she knew it. He could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke again, even though what she was saying didn’t sound much worth smiling over.

“Gretchen emailed me the list of what Jillian and I get to keep. It’s not long, but it covers what I care about. I can’t speak for Jilly, of course, but at least she took her most beloved things out of here years ago. All in all, Deputy Theo, I think it’s fairly generous, so, like I said, breakfast’s on me. And at least that’s mine to give.”

“It was never our intention to leave you with nothing.”

That was true. Even if the Marshals made a habit of stripping families to the bone to pay for one person’s sins—and Theo wouldn’t work for them if they did—he would still have made sure Jillian and Tiffani were taken care of. Jillian was his mate. Her love for Tiffani made Tiffani his family, too.

“I know,” Tiffani said. For a moment, he thought she was responding to that last thought. That they were family.

He turned to look at her, no longer caring if his face was red.

Yesterday, she’d been frazzled and worn, with runny mascara and smeared eyeliner. This morning, her eyes were dry and she looked tired but not exhausted.

“I know,” she said again. “No man who offers to cook breakfast is going to screw up a woman’s life. Not when he looks at her like you look at Jilly. I don’t know if that’s true, but it should be. Make breakfast for my girl, Theo. She deserves the best. I loved Gordon, but Jilly is the only part of him I still want to keep.”

*

Jillian came downstairs an hour later as if tugged there by the smell of French toast. Her sleep-tousled hair was loose around her shoulders and her long legs were bare and mostly exposed by a pair of soft cotton sleeping shorts.

She smiled at him cautiously. “Good morning. I was worried you were gone.”

Shit. He should have never have left her alone upstairs without a note. It hadn’t occurred to him that since she was used to people vanishing on her, she might think he’d regretted their night together. It hadn’t occurred to him because it seemed so self-evidently wrong.

He abandoned his spatula and went over to kiss her.

“I got up,” he said, his lips still close to hers, “so I could make you breakfast. Otherwise no power in the universe could have taken me out of your bed.”

Her smile gained confidence. “That’s acceptable.”

“Once you’ve tried my famous French toast, you’ll admit it’s better than ‘acceptable.’ You’ll never let me sleep past six again.”

He had spoke of their future together without meaning to, remembering too late that she wouldn’t have the same rock-solid belief in it. He girded himself for her to draw back from him.

But instead, she flushed with pleasure. She looked almost the way she had last night after her first climax, when her cheeks were still pink and her fingers were still tangled in his hair. She’d said his name like it was music.