Desired by the Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 1)

by Isadora Montrose

  “What did you do to her?” Moira hissed as soon as the hostess was out of earshot.

  He narrowed his eyes. Firmed his lips. But he answered – in a voice pitched just for her ears. “I only calmed her nerves. She has no more reason to be afraid of me than you do.”

  Which wasn’t saying much. She ought to be running for her life.

  Quinn opened his menu. “What are you going to have?” he asked.

  “Crab cakes and salad.” It was what she always had.

  “I’ll join you.”

  Belinda came over to the table. Her shirt was embroidered with her name. She was also one of the local kids. The teen-aged daughter of sorcerers. She didn’t seem alarmed by Quinn.

  “Hi,” she said. “My-name-is-Belinda-and-I-am-your-wait-person-tonight. Have you decided?”

  “We’ll both have the crab cake platter,” Quinn said. “With salad. Hot sauce with mine. Moira?”

  It was the first time he had said her name tonight. Her toes curled inside her shoes. “Yes, please. And blue cheese dressing on my salad.”

  He looked pleased. “I’ll have that too.”

  A shared taste in blue cheese dressing and hot sauce wasn’t much to base a relationship on. And yet her heart warmed.

  “Something to drink?” Belinda asked. Moira realized that the Hut had a newly acquired liquor license. Her heart sank.

  “Moira?” Quinn murmured.

  “Just water,” she said.

  “A bottle of sparkling water, please,” Quinn said. “And two glasses.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Belinda said.

  Better ignore the booze issue. “Is that going to be enough food for you?” Moira asked. He was a big guy. The crab cake platter wasn’t that large. Belatedly she remembered that like all artists just starting out, he was probably cash strapped.

  “Probably not. But if I ask for double portions, the cakes will get cold before I finish my dinner. I’ll order more when she brings the first lot.” His voice was unruffled. But he was not trying to soothe her. Just stating a fact.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Quinn~

  Sharp-eyed Moira had caught on when he had allayed the little mermaid’s anxieties. He had already known that for all her air of fragility, not much got past the fairy princess. But what else was he to do? Prey species were always uneasy around hunters. Not that mermaids were exactly prey. But their hostess had been transfixed with fear as if she felt threatened by his presence.

  Even though there was a no hunting law on West Haven. Even though no decent dragon hunted other shifters. She had felt terror. So he had calmed her. Now it was as good as certain that Moira knew he was a hunter. Of course, sooner or later, she had to know. He would just have preferred later. Much later.

  Come to think of it, perhaps that little mermaid had picked up on the low-level arousal he felt around Moira and assumed it was directed at her. There had been long centuries when his ancestors had snatched mermaid brides right off their rocks. Perhaps the hostess’ instincts were oversensitized, but not unfounded. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in children or a child bride.

  Moira didn’t seem scared. Which was good. But that might only mean she thought of this as some sort of business dinner. Which was beyond depressing. Surely not even a fairy could be that unaware of the sizzle between them?

  The food was as good as it had been in his childhood. Moira ate with refined enthusiasm. He had grown so tired of watching Cynthia toy with a salad while he worked his way through a dragon-sized dinner. He had worried that his former fiancée was teetering on the brink of anorexia, although she had been too touchy about her diet for him to vocalize his concern.

  There was nothing greedy in Moira’s dainty enjoyment of her crab cakes. She ate with a sensual delight, savoring each bite. Was it normal for a guy to find chewing an aphrodisiac? Not that he needed one around Moira. Her presence was a constant buzz to all his senses. Around her he needed no extra stimulants.

  “Look,” she exclaimed delightedly as the last of the light faded from the sky. Her chin directed him to look out the window. “We have two moons tonight.”

  He looked. The water lapped against the pier and gently rocked the boats docked there. Fat sea lions were sprawled on the wooden boards. Out beyond the tethered shipping, the waves rippled gently and reflected a perfect image of the full moon. Two moons indeed.

  “It’s good luck,” she told him happily. Her whole face glowed as if she were momentarily lit from within. Even her silvery hair had a halo.

  “I’ve never heard that.”

  She smiled secretively. “Fairy lore,” she said lightly.

  Dragons were lucky. But according to his family, they made their own luck.

  Belinda returned. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Could you please bring me a second plate of crab cakes with fries this time? Moira, would you like something else?”

  She had eaten most of her salad, and all but one of her cakes. “I’ll share your seconds,” she murmured. “But I would like more water.”

  “Another bottle, please.”

  Belinda scurried off. Moira forked up salad. Suddenly the noise of cutlery on china resumed. How could he have forgotten, even for an instant, that he and Moira were the evening’s entertainment for the locals?

  “So what did you take the summer off from?” she asked.

  “The family business,” he replied.

  “And what does the family do?”

  “We’re stockbrokers.” He picked the dullest description possible.

  “Oh.” She ate the last bite of salad. “So after a summer of painting, you’ll go back to being a stockbroker?”

  The diners paused, forks frozen in midair.

  “I hope not,” he said. “The idea is to see if I have what it takes to make art my vocation.”

  “Talent alone isn’t enough. Do you have an agent?”

  He shook his head.

  “I know a few people,” she offered.

  “So do I. I want to get the art show over before I interview one.”

  Belinda returned with more fizzy water and Quinn’s seconds. There was a minute or so of bustle as the server cleared plates and arranged the food between them. But then she left, and the fairy princess inspected the mound of fries and crab cakes between them. For some reason, the Hut was stingy with salad, and lavish with potatoes.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  She helped herself to another crab cake and a few fries. “Thank you.”

  “I like a woman who enjoys her food,” he told her. The room sighed, and people went back to eating.

  “Agents tend to interview artists,” she said gently. “It’s more like looking for a job than hiring an employee.”

  Not when you were a Drake. He expected to have his choice of agents as they scrambled to act for a member of a family that annually spent a small fortune on art. Even if he was a self-indulgent, talentless hack, announcing that he was in the market for an agent would set off a feeding frenzy.

  “You’ll have to tell me what to say,” he said lightly.

  Her eyes narrowed, as if she had detected his subtle evasion. He had better watch his mouth, she picked up on everything. Moira’s gaze drifted back to the double moons. Suddenly, the sea lions lumbered to the edge of the dock in a blubbery mass and plunged into the ocean. The splash made the boats rock wildly at their moorings and broke up the moon’s reflection.

  “They’re going fishing,” she said.

  “Why the stampede?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea. But they always travel together. Maybe there’s safety in numbers? The strait is full of killer whales.”

  “Hmm.” Prey was generally safer in a herd. Ask any zebra. Sea lions were both predators and prey. “How about you? What made you decide to sell your galleries and move back to West Haven?”

  Her smile dimmed. Her eyes turned silver. She lied smoothly. “I was born here. I guess I was home
sick.”

  “I’ll bet your parents were happy to have you back,” he returned.

  “My mother and father sailed west years ago,” she said flatly.

  Sailing west was a fairy euphemism for dying. He hoped his mention of her parents was not going to prove a date-ending error. “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “You must miss them.”

  She looked ineffably sad, but all she said was, “When I grow weary of life, they should be waiting for me in the West.”

  Which meant what?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Moira~

  The bill had come. Quinn had added a generous tip. And paid cash. As he did for his art supplies. Presumably this meant he was careful with money. Or that he couldn’t get credit. She shouldn’t be giving her heart to a man she knew so little about, and most of it not good. But the more time she spent in his company, the more she wanted to spend. She was in such trouble.

  “Since the sea lions are gone, do you want to look at the boats?” he interrupted her thoughts.

  When Moira said, “Sure,” he looked as if all his Christmases had come at once.

  Even though sea lions had been known to lunge at tourists, she wasn’t afraid of them. But it was nice not to have to watch for them. The dock was a floater. It bounced lightly as the wind picked up. Quinn steadied her and rearranged her shawl. Underneath her blouse and wrap, her skin tingled.

  “Warm enough?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Heat spread when his fingers slipped down her arms. She felt chilled when he removed them.

  Mystic Bay was a natural harbor. The marina was cradled in the gentle curve of two arcs of rock. Only if the wind blew directly at the harbor opening would the ocean breach the sea wall that guarded the moored ships. The water was dark and the boats bobbed harder than they had an hour ago. The weather was changing. There was no sign of the sea lions.

  Quinn offered her his elbow again. She had no trouble keeping her balance in her flats, but she rested her hand on his brawny forearm. Even through the tweed of his jacket she could feel solid muscle. “What do you do to stay in shape?” She blushed when she realized she had murmured her question aloud.

  Those big muscles tightened. Relaxed. “I fly,” he said briefly.

  “Fly?”

  “I’m a dragon,” he said. His arm tensed again as he awaited her reaction.

  “Oh. I was sort of thinking bear,” she admitted. A dragon! Talk about your incompatibility factor.

  His muscles relaxed fractionally. “What do you know about dragons?”

  “Just that they’re supposed to think they’re better than other shifters.” And that they were supposed to hoard women. And gold. And had rapacious appetites. Sexual appetites. Her pussy tingled.

  He grinned. His newly trimmed beard parted to reveal white teeth. “We usually are,” he said arrogantly. “I certainly hope you find me the best hunter.”

  “Hunter?”

  “Isn’t that what you fairies call us?”

  She permitted herself a smile at his plain speaking. “Not in public, and not aloud.”

  “We aren’t so mealy-mouthed ourselves. We never forget that hunting is what dragons are born to do. Keeps us humble.” His voice was just as arrogant as he finished.

  She laughed. “There is nothing humble about you, Quinn.” She had another thought. “There are dragons on West Haven. Are you related to Lloyd Furlong or the Drakes?”

  She felt him decide to tell her the truth. “I’m a Drake. Quinn Drake. But keep that between us. I don’t want my name to be judged rather than my art.”

  “Why would?” she began and stopped herself. The Drakes were insanely rich. Renowned philanthropists. They made donations on West Haven and in Seattle. Probably sat on the boards of hospitals and colleges. They drove up prices at auctions. The judges would not want to offend a Drake and risk having grant money evaporate. Or they might resent the family’s wealth and downgrade their ratings of Quinn’s entries. A lose-lose situation.

  He was just looking at her, waiting for her to figure it out. She nodded. “How does your family feel about your art?”

  “They hope I’ll grow out of it. Or get bored. Decide to make my living like a real dragon.” She detected pain in his even voice.

  “At Drake Investments?”

  “I am – I was – a bond analyst. My job is waiting for me to fail at painting.”

  “You won’t. You have real artistic talent.” She began to laugh. “No wonder you plan to interview agents. You’ll have your pick.”

  “Yeah.” He sounded disgruntled. “I want my paintings hung in every museum in the world. But not because I’m a Drake. Because they speak to people.” He glared at her. “You have to keep my secret.”

  “Don’t you dare try to intimidate me.” She remembered what else she knew about dragons. Weren’t they supposed to be obsessed with virginity? Was that the full extent of Quinn’s interest in her?

  “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. More like grumpy.

  But by the time they reached the end of the pier, he was smiling again. He turned them back the way they had come. Suddenly she noticed the avid faces gazing raptly out at them from the windows of the restaurant.

  “We’re being watched,” she whispered.

  “I know. They are probably waiting to see if I eat fairies for dessert.” He looked and sounded like a pirate.

  Or did she think that because she knew he was a dragon? “Do you?” She was flirting. Flirting with a pirate. Flirting with danger.

  “Only if they beg on bended knee.” His voice was suddenly dark with passion – with desire.

  She wasn’t ready for anything more than dinner and stroll on the pier. “It’s getting late,” she said. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.

  “So it is,” he said regretfully. “And I already had strawberries with brown sugar.” He said it as if, instead of decorously eating their own portions, they had fed each other and exchanged kisses with their fruit.

  “You stop that,” she hissed.

  He smiled another panty-soaker. “Another time,” he promised as she clenched her thighs and bit back her groan.

  They walked silently back to Rosewood Cottage. As they went past, it seemed to her that every employee of the inn with the smallest excuse was performing a task outdoors. Quinn acted oblivious, but she felt amusement ripple through him.

  “I’m glad you find it funny,” she said. Now that he was taking her home, inexplicably she felt crabby.

  “Comedy gold,” he replied. “I’ve never provided so much entertainment for so many by doing so little.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “As a rule, I am rightly considered to be one of the world’s most boring people.”

  “I don’t believe that either.”

  “Believe.” His voice was deep, and dark, and resigned.

  He escorted her to the foot of her porch steps. Their presence turned on the motion sensitive lights. “I want to kiss you good night, but we have an audience,” he said. “It’s up to you.”

  As long as they were in Mystic Bay, they would have an audience. “It’s just a good night kiss,” she said. “Let them look.”

  The next thing she knew he had grasped her waist and lifted her to his mouth. Her legs dangled. Her mind whirled. He pulled her close to his body and let her breasts graze his shirt. His mouth and hers touched, pressed. An electric spark snapped between them. He sighed and lowered her – to the third step. He held her lightly until he was certain she was balanced.

  Was that all? She tipped her face up. Even on the third step she was still shorter than he was. This time he bent his head, and his hands cupped her shoulders. He kissed her as gently as before, but the same spark arced between them. She pressed back and found his lips plump. His beard tickled as he moved his mouth over hers, pressing kisses all along the bow.

  She parted her lips. He licked her lips and withdrew his tongue. He was nothing but a tease. She pursued his tongue
back into his mouth expecting to be pounced on. But his remained gentle as she explored. He tasted of strawberries and deeply aroused male. Now, how did she know that?

  The sparks kept coming. Her nipples felt as if they might explode. Her clit too. And all he had done was kiss her and squeeze her shoulders. This dragon was dangerous. She pulled back, alarmed. He raised his head. Stroked her cheek. The lights flickered back on as he moved his hand. She hadn’t even noticed them go out.

  “I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said. “Lock your door.”

  Bemused by those tender kisses, she floated up the remaining stairs without a single protest at his orders. He was as good as his word too, staying on her path until she turned the deadbolt and threw the heavy cast-iron bolts that secured the door top and bottom. Old-fashioned protection, but the best kind.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Moira~

  She was far too buzzed and frustrated to go to bed. Whoever heard of a rattled fairy? Was this peculiar emotionality her new normal? Maybe she should see a doctor. There were sensitives on the island who were used to treating the Fae.

  She booted up her laptop and ran a google search on Quinn. Lots popped up. That wasn’t too surprising. The Drakes had big money. Big money had social and political prestige. The Drakes were newsworthy. Wherever he went, Quinn garnered plenty of attention.

  There wasn’t so much as a hint in the business news that the only son of the CEO of Drake Investments, Inc. had quit his job. Not a whisper. Interesting. Was that because Quinn was leaving himself a fallback position? Or because the Drakes refused to accept his decision?

  More troubling were the dozens of photographs of Quinn escorting his fiancée to the opera, to charity balls and fund-raising dinners. His fiancée! Suddenly she had first-hand experience of jealousy. Cynthia Fitzhugh was a tall, willowy blonde from another prominent Seattle family. A former model turned clothes designer, Ms. Fitzhugh had a successful line of clothes marketed under her own name.

  She looked good on Quinn’s arm. Proportional. Beautiful. Elegant. If you liked the skinny clotheshorse type. On impulse, Moira looked up Cynthia’s clothing line. Cynthia modeled her own garments on her website. Either she was an egomaniac, or she couldn’t pay a model. Or maybe she saw no reason to hire another woman to do what she herself could.