The Loneliest Dragon at Christmas (An MM Monster Christmas #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

“ G ood day,” a soft voice said.

Jack placed the last of the freshly baked bread on the shelf and turned towards the customer at the counter.

Fuck me, he’s pretty.

Posture straight, the man stood with a slight tilt to his head. His brilliant golden eyes watched Jack. The man was tall, about the same height as Jack, although lean and less broad-shouldered. Coppery red-and-orange curls fell loosely around the man’s shoulders. A few strands caressed the skin of his neck. A flurry of freckles danced across his pale nose and cheeks.

He can’t possibly be human. No one that pretty could be human.

But Jack couldn’t determine what he was. Clearly not an orc, troll, ogre, or goblin. Nor a pixie, sprite, or incubus. If it were night, Jack might guess vampire from the man’s pale complexion. Although, a slight flush beneath the skin did not fit with that theory. Perhaps a demon? Or a shifter? A phoenix would fit with the man’s striking colouring.

Jack supposed he could just be a ridiculously stunning human. But that felt unlikely. Jack couldn’t put his finger on why, but despite his slender frame, the man’s presence seemed to loom over Jack.

Pulling himself together, Jack approached the man at the counter. “What can I get you today?”

“Do you have vanilla crescent cookies?” The man enunciated his words, speaking with a clipped, polished tone, a distinctly posh accent.

Jack hid a grimace. The pretty man sounded exactly like Jack’s uncle and aunt right after they’d gotten jobs as fancy servants in the rich part of town. Jack never went to those rich parts. He never had a reason to. Of course, he’d never be invited as a guest. And he was too coarse and rough to get a job there either. Not that he’d ever wanted one.

His uncle and aunt had turned into complete knobheads. They’d gotten a new home, new clothes, and new accents. They’d become brand new people. The type of people who were far too good for Jack and his family. In the city of Anorra, even amongst the servants, there were different classes, and he and his family knew their place in society.

He took in the man’s garb. He wore a well-fitted charcoal coat. It had been perfectly cut to fit his body, with no stains or obvious signs of wear. When Jack’s uncle upgraded his wardrobe, he’d told Jack how his uncle dressed reflected the household he worked for.

Wonder what this grand servant is doing in this part of town? Maybe the toff he works for has sent him searching the city for vanilla crescent cookies.

“You’re in luck,” Jack said. “We do have them. Freshly baked this morning.”

A smile split across the man’s face, a lovely smile that caused Jack’s breath to catch in his throat. Jack looked away. No use admiring someone like this. No doubt this man thought himself too high above a hearth-and-kitchen-witch baker like Jack.

“That’s good.” The elegant man swiped a hand through his luscious locks. “I’ve gone to quite a few bakeries these past few days and have not had any luck finding them.”

Jack frowned. What sort of man had a servant looking for days for a cookie? This man must really be rich and have too many servants.

“The cookies originated down south and aren’t a popular Christmas cookie in these parts,” Jack explained. “But it was one of my father’s favourites, so we always have them at this time of year.” Jack reached beneath the counter. “How many do you want?”

The man leaned down to get a better look at the cookies behind the glass. “That’s them?” He hummed. “Just one, please.”

“All right.” Jack grabbed it. “Want to eat it in here or take it away?”

The man considered. “I will eat it here.”

Jack paused. So this wasn’t for whoever the servant worked for. Interesting.

“Of course.” Jack grabbed an old, small, chipped yellow plate covered in faded painted daisies. He placed the single cookie on the plate.

He held in a grimace. No doubt this plate wouldn’t match up to whatever well-to-do bakeries this bloke usually ate at. Chipped plates were probably tossed out straightaway in those sorts of places. “Anything else? Something to drink, maybe?”

“Hmmm.” The man placed a finger on his chin and seemed to be considering. “No. Just the cookie.”

“All right. Here you are.” Jack slid the plate across the counter. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.”

The bakery had several small tables. Sometimes the bakery got pretty packed and it could be hard to find a table. But at this time of day, all but two of the tables remained free.

Jack’s youngest sister, Lacy, moved between the tables, wiping them down and making small talk with the customers. Garlands, greenery, ribbon, baubles, and of course a Christmas tree decorated the front of the bakery.

Instead of taking the plate to one of the empty tables, the man just stood at the counter and stared down at the cookie. After a moment, he reached out with his slender fingers and picked up the cookie. He lifted it, angling it from side to side, perusing it. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

Jack stifled a frown. Was there something wrong with the cookie?

He’d never seen anyone do something like this before. Usually, customers bought the food, took it to a table, ate it, and then left.

Was the cookie below this fellow’s high standards? Jack pulled himself up as a flash of pride filled him. They made top-tier cookies in the Magic Bakery.

The man continued to examine the pale crescent-shaped baked good. He then lifted it to his nose. Eyes fluttering shut, the man inhaled, nostrils flaring. A small, pleased rumble escaped him.

Then he opened his mouth and placed the tip of the cookie on the plump flesh of his lower lip. He slid it into his mouth and bit into the morsel. The man chewed, making a soft groaning sound.

Jack couldn’t look away. Heat flushed his skin.

Why is this so erotic? I’m a baker. I’m used to seeing people eating baked goods.

But the way this man savoured the cookie, taking his time, the small sounds of pleasure that escaped him—it all felt strangely intimate. And sensual. The stranger popped the rest of the cookie into his mouth and chewed slowly, mouth and jaw working.

Finally, he stopped. He licked his lower lip, now covered in white powdered sugar. He sighed. Opening his eyes, he smiled slowly at Jack.

The bakery felt warmer than usual.

“Thank you. That was—” He paused as if thinking. “—divine.”

Jack would usually laugh at a comment like that. But he didn’t. The stranger had spoken with complete and absolute sincerity.

“You’re welcome.”