Free Dragonfly Kisses by Sabrina York Page B

beautiful piece, a savage dragon.
    He made love like a dragon, she thought. Wild and feral and shrouded in flames.
    “Tell me about your tattoo.” She didn’t know why she asked. Probably because she wanted to extend the moment, the connection. And conversation was the only way she knew how to do that without a bow in her hand.
    He raised his arm to give her the full effect. Then bunched his muscles for good measure. The dragon undulated.
    She laughed.
    “I was a kid when I joined the Marines…”
    “You were a Marine?” Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
    “Thought I was hot snot. All the guys in my platoon got drunk one night in the Philippines and got tattoos.”
    “Why a dragon?”
    He grunted. The dragon rippled again. “It’s a reminder that sometimes you need to breathe fire.”
    She was studying his expression, so she noticed the tightness in his jaw. She traced it. “Breathe fire?”
    “Fight. Fight like hell for something.” His Adam’s apple worked as though he was in the coils of a dark memory.
    “I think that’s a good philosophy.” She said it to soothe him, but the words soothed her as well. She’d felt so out of control over the aspects of her life lately. The thought of fighting like hell, breathing fire to regain her identity, resonated. “And this one?” She thumbed the tattoo on his chest, the delicate dragonfly. She’d always loved dragonflies. So beautiful…and fragile.
    His throat worked again. “Ah.” He covered her hand with his. “A reminder as well.” The tenor of his voice, the slight wobble, caught her attention. “I got this one for Lila.”
    Her heart lurched. “Lila?” Some great love? A woman he could never forget? He had gone still, so she suspected as much. “Who is Lila?”
    “My…daughter.” A reverent whisper. He stroked the ink as the word slipped out.
    “I…didn’t know you had a daughter.” Silly thing to say. She didn’t know anything about him. Not really.
    “She…passed.” He forced the words out, clipped and tight.
    Cassie leaned up on her elbow and gazed down at his taut features; pain etched every line. “Oh, Dylan. I’m so sorry.”
    He pulled her back down onto his shoulder so, she suspected, she couldn’t see his face. “Me too. She was a funny little thing.” He sighed. “She played the violin.” A chuckle shook his chest. “She was horrible.”
    “No.”
    “Oh yeah. It was like cats being tortured.”
    Though he tried to hold her down, nestling her against his chest, she propped back up again so she could look at him. “I bet you listened, though, whenever she wanted to play for you.”
    “Of course I did. I loved her. I loved her so much. I would have done anything for her. Anything to save her…” His voice broke.
    “What happened?” She shouldn’t ask. But she couldn’t not.
    A shadow flickered in his eyes. “It was congenital. A gene, they said.”
    Cassie nodded. She knew. Her brother Mark had been born with a genetic tic. It had taken him too.
    Dylan sighed and looked away. “We were lucky to have her as long as we did.”
    She hated the pain, the tension she sensed in him, and tried to lift it by turning the topic. “And she liked dragonflies?”
    “Loved them. We planted a dragonfly garden in the backyard, she and I. We would watch them flit around for hours.”
    She didn’t bother to hold back her chuckle. “What’s a dragonfly garden?”
    He laughed as well, but it was a tight offering. “I don’t know. Lila found the information online about flowers that attract dragonflies.” He glanced at her, his eyes warm and damp. “If you plant it, they will come. Apparently. Those damn dragonflies were everywhere.” His smile flickered, faded. “And then, when she…passed, they all left.”
    “I’m sorry.” A stupid thing to say. And repetitious. But she couldn’t think of anything else.
    “Now, whenever I see a dragonfly, I imagine it’s her. Coming by to say hello.” He colored, as though