Adored by A Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 4)

by Isadora Montrose

  Rowena gave a last gurgle, let go of the nipple and fell into a deep sleep. Would her fireling be as sweet? The baby’s cap of blonde curls seemed too pale for a dragon. Quinn’s hair was almost black. His beard was black. Probably Rowena’s baby curls would darken as she grew up. But she and Daniel were likely to have a golden-haired fireling.

  “How did you manage to get away from the store?” Angie asked.

  “I called in a favor. My cousin Raven is taking my place.”

  “I don’t remember Robin mentioning a Raven,” Angie murmured.

  “They aren’t close,” Moira said wryly. “And by not close, I mean they are oil and water. But Raven is also only distantly related to both of us. Still a Fairchild is a Fairchild, and Raven agreed to help out if I let her babysit Rowena on Saturday.”

  Angie chuckled. “I thought you had to pay babysitters!”

  “Not when there’s a shortage of babies! We usually leave Rowena with Robin and Sully, but with the summer rush starting, I think letting Raven get her mitts on Rowena will be okay.”

  “The Lindorms are just the same,” Angie said. “I’ve looked after a lot of firelings myself.”

  “Great practice. I never had much to do with babies until I had Rowena.”

  “You look like a pro,” Angie assured her. “We should go swimming,” she tried to wake up. “The water looks perfect.”

  It did. The reef protected the beach from the waves. It was not mill pond smooth. A soft and gentle breeze ruffled the blue water with a slow and gentle rhythm under a clear blue sky. The sun was bright but not too strong.

  “This is the best beach on the island,” Moira said. “The water is warm, because it’s so shallow. And it’s calm unless there is a gale. But I don’t want to leave Rowena asleep on the shore.”

  “Quinn could watch her.”

  Moira chuckled. “Just like he can eat and sketch?”

  Quinn was sitting within arm’s reach of Moira and Rowena, but he might as well have been on the moon. His plate was still mostly full. He had tried the items on it, with apparent relish. But inevitably he had become distracted by his sketch pad. He stared out at the waves breaking on the reef and transferred whatever he saw to the paper with swift lines of his pencil.

  “If this is the best beach, where is everyone?” Angie asked. They were quite alone. The only sound was the calling of the seagulls. Unlike the greedy birds in town, these seemed unused to people for they weren’t demanding the leftovers.

  “No land access.” Moira waved a hand at the cliff behind them. Only a mountain goat could have climbed it. “And you have to be a local to get past the reef and avoid the rocks and sandbars.”

  Quinn had made sailing in seem easy. His sailboat was pulled up on the shore. Of course, he had spent all his summers on the island and sailed since he was old enough not to fall overboard.

  “Well, where are the locals?” Angie demanded.

  “We got lucky. Everyone must be working. Sunset Cove is never busy, but it does get used,” Moira said. “The merfolk come here often. But of course they swim over. We’ll go in the water, when Rowena wakes up.”

  “Do you mind if I take a nap too?” Angie asked. “I seem to be constantly sleepy.”

  “You go right ahead. I’ll stretch out with Rowena. It takes a lot of energy to grow a baby, and the same amount to take care of one.”

  “At least you have help,” Angie indicated Quinn with her chin.

  “He’s a great dad,” Moira confirmed. “When I can part him from his pencils.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Daniel~

  He found Sunset Cove with no difficulty. The water on the ocean side was choppy and cold. But in the bay, which was sheltered by the cliff and the reef, the water barely moved.

  Despite his expertise, his map was not sufficiently detailed for him to bring his boat into shore. It did not mark the sandbars. Nor were there buoys. He slowed The Seagull so he could observe the beach and water.

  A picnic hamper sat tidily on a checkered cloth. In the water that accursed dragon raced a woman from edge to edge of the bay. Alternately a dark head, as sleek as a seal, emerged from the water, followed by a golden one. The red mist over his eyes obscured his dragon vision.

  So did the steam and smoke emitted by his nostrils. Self-control. He was a Lindorm. And an officer. He did not lose control of his talent. Or his ship. He wrenched his attention back to The Seagull and the dangerous stretch he was sailing.

  The little sailboat was wallowing like a hippo in bathtub. He was caught in the narrow current that encircled the island like a protective girdle. Which it most likely was. A swift paranormal stream, undoubtedly reinforced with magic. Probably set by Gordon Sullivan, the weather-working mage.

  He tore control of the craft from the current and sailed back to harbor, images of his wife cavorting with another man seared onto his retinas. Just when had he lost mastery of this situation?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Angie~

  “Whatever are you up to?” Angie joined Moira on the beach where the sea foamed gently. The other fairy popped back into view, sitting with her baby between her legs, enjoying the lapping of the waves. “You and Rowena suddenly disappeared.”

  “How did you miss Daniel?” Moira asked.

  “I didn’t. Oh.” Angie blinked. “You did that on purpose.”

  “You bet. Sisters forever, girlfriend. Maybe I lit a fire under your dragon?” Moira dabbled Rowena’s sandy hands in the sea before the baby could taste her gritty fingers. “Close your mouth, Ange, and say, Thank you, nicely.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Daniel~

  By the time he showed up at the inn he had decided to pretend the incident in Sunset Cove had never happened. What was the point in asking questions to which he didn’t want the probable answers?

  Angie was waiting for him at the front desk. She was her usual immaculate self in a floaty dress in a misty shade of green. She introduced him to her cousin, Robin, who looked enough like his wife to be her sister.

  “How do you do, Admiral Lindorm?” Robin held out a hand.

  She was more delicately built than his wife, with none of Angie’s lush curves. And her style was more buttoned down. But she was as beautiful as Angie, and did not appear much older. He could easily see why Gordon Sullivan was in love with Robin Fairchild.

  “You must excuse me,” the innkeeper said regretfully. “But we have a minor emergency in the kitchen.” She drifted away in a cloud of delicate perfume.

  “Do you want to eat here?” His voice came out more gravelly than he intended. Apparently suppressing his desire to bellow his husbandly outrage was more of a strain than he had anticipated.

  “Do we have a reservation?” Angie asked.

  “I didn’t make one.”

  “Then we’ll have a long wait. I’m hungry. Let’s grab a quick bite at the Crab Hut. I’m in the mood for a crab supper.”

  “There’s no privacy there.” He knew. He had checked it out after he returned The Seagull, hours ahead of schedule.

  “We could try The Purple Whale,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Despite the name, it’s supposed to be quite good.”

  “Is that the restaurant where the tables are about three inches apart? And the whole place is open to the sidewalk?”

  She nodded. “That’s the one. Crab Hut it is,” she said cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Angie~

  Yanking Daniel’s chain felt good. Good but scary. Like hanging at the top of a rollercoaster for hours instead of seconds. Terrifying but strangely satisfying. He had taken her for granted for far too long.

  They made slow progress to the Crab Hut. The sidewalks of Mystic Bay had not been designed to cope with the volume of foot traffic they had this evening.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “This is worse than this morning. I thought this village had barely enough people to roll out the streets each morning. And that the
ferry took the tourists away at five.”

  “Art Fair,” Angie said briskly. “The preliminary judging began last weekend. People have come to Mystic Bay to get a preview. They are staying over and they all want supper at the same time as us. I just hope we get a table.”

  “I thought the Art Fair wasn’t until the Fourth of July?”

  “It’s not. It was Robin’s idea to open it to the public in June right after the judges leave. The work goes on sale afterward. People like to guess who will win. Agents and dealers like to lock down the entrants beforehand. Which is also guessing who will win.”

  “Is your work entered?”

  “No.” She laughed at his question. “I’m an established sculptor. I don’t need the validation. Quinn won last year, and this year he has three new pieces entered. He’s very talented.”

  At the mention of Quinn’s name his jaw bulged. If she was not mistaken, he swallowed fire before he spoke. His voice was stony. “So everything in the co-op is entered in this competition?”

  “Oh, no. The Art Fair is held in the community center. The co-op is a year-round gallery. Everything in there is for sale. Not my sketches, because what I am selling is the finished work. You know I don’t sell my preparatory material.”

  He ought to. Her plaster casts alone filled half a warehouse in Stockholm. And her sketches occupied a humidity-controlled, fireproof vault. The bronzes were the responsibility of the museums and private owners who had purchased them. Daniel had a rotating series of young Lindorms monitoring the warehouse and vault to keep her work safe from fire, flood, and felons.

  “This island is too small for you,” he pointed out. “For a start, there’s no foundry. How are you going to move from clay to plaster to bronze without one?”

  “Our plan is to start one. Bringing industry to West Haven.” Her voice was quietly satisfied.

  “Who is our?” he growled. “You and Drake?”

  “Robin and I. Quinn isn’t a practical person. Look at the way he forgets to groom his beard.” Angie made a small chocked sound, inviting him to share her mirth.

  “I thought his dishevelment was just an artistic pose,” he said.

  She understood his confusion. All Daniel did to become clean-shaven and perfectly barbered was to pass his hands over his head and face. It was incomprehensible to her precise husband that any adult dragon would forget to groom.

  “Quinn gets distracted and forgets to look in his mirror. When he gets too shaggy, Moira gives him a nudge.” She grinned up at him.

  He appeared confused by her friendliness. Excellent. Although her sense of teetering on the brink of an inferno increased. Who knew playing with fire could be such a rush?

  He held the door of the Crab Hut for her. “We didn’t get to talk.”

  Well, they were certainly not going to talk here. It was just as busy as she had hoped. There was a line up at the hostess station. And the dining room itself was full.

  “I’ve opened the patio,” Pearl Merryman said when they got to the head of the line. “If you don’t mind the humidity, you can have a table right away.”

  “Thanks, Pearl,” Angie said. “This is my husband, Daniel. Daniel, I’d like you to meet Serena Benoit’s mother. This is Pearl Merryman, the Mer-Queen.”

  “How do you do?” he said. “I think I met your other daughter at the inn.”

  Pearl nodded briskly. “Charlotte is working there for the summer.” She led them outside to a narrow deck overlooking the marina. A strong smell of sea and sea lion hung in the damp air. A hum of conversation competed with the sea lions barking.

  “Will this do?”

  It was just as noisy and crowded as the dining room. Angie murmured, “Perfect. Thanks, Pearl. I’m starving.”

  Daniel pulled out her chair and seated her with as much grace as he could muster, which wasn’t much. She smiled innocently at him. “It’s mostly tourists out here. You can probably say whatever it is you wanted to say.”

  His jaw bulged again and he narrowed his eyes. He steered the conversation back to her work and the possibility of getting a foundry started on an island where all materials had to come by boat.

  She deliberately dragged out their meal by ordering dessert which she hardly ever did. When the chocolate mousse parfait arrived, she insisted on sharing with him.

  “I’m fine,” he said curtly, sipping black coffee.

  “Just a taste,” she coaxed, holding the long spoon to his lips.

  He let her feed him although his high cheekbones were scored with red. She returned the spoon from his lips to hers without a refill. Rolled the residue over her tongue.

  “Yum.” She licked her mouth.

  He twitched. His chest broadened. His flush deepened.

  This was such fun. But all too soon the parfait was a memory. The streets were only slightly less busy when he walked her back to the inn.

  She kissed his cheek in the lobby and deliberately did not invite him up. “I’m exhausted,” she said. “We can try to have that conversation tomorrow.”

  “Not at that coffee shop.”

  “There’s never any privacy at the Bean,” she admitted. “But it’s the best place to get the local news.” Or become the local news.

  “We need to talk,” he insisted. “When are you free?”

  “My shift at the co-op is over at one.”

  “I’ll be there,” he vowed. He took her shoulders and hauled her against his rock-hard chest. Bent his head and gave her the sort of kiss she had never expected to share with the desk clerk and the assorted onlookers.

  Even the snickering did not stop him from draining every last drop from the kiss. She was quivering when he set her back on her feet.

  “Two can play at this game,” he growled and stamped out.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Daniel~

  At 1300 hours he came for his wife. Quinn was nowhere in sight. Angie was supported by a pair of men with paint-stained hands to go with their smeared jeans.

  She gave him a wink as she accepted a credit card from a prosperous-looking couple he recognized from the inn’s lobby. They remembered him too, for they grinned. What had gotten into him last night?

  The gazelle shifter who had taken fright at his presence at the art supply, dashed through the doors of the co-op right after him. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Celeste Greene panted. “But my mother-in-law got stuck in traffic!” She sounded elated.

  Angie took her purse from the desk drawer. “You’re right on time. Traffic is always bad when the ferry gets in. Isn’t it great? And it isn’t even the weekend yet!” She took Daniel’s arm, pinching him in the process. “Stop glowering at the customers,” she hissed.

  Was he? “You must be starving,” he said.

  “I’m always starving these days,” she confessed. “I bring fruit with me.”

  “Did you have time to eat it?” He led her outside where the mass of people had become a mob.

  Two uniformed deputy sheriffs were politely directing the bumper-to-bumper traffic off the main street. Angie waved at them.

  “Where have these people all come from?” he demanded. He had expected tourists, but not to have to walk in the street.

  “Ferry. Today is the first day of the summer schedule. Instead of two ferries a day, we will have six. People are advised to park in the lot by the harbor, but they usually don’t.” She was practically incandescent with happiness. Happiness he suspected had nothing to do with his presence.

  “Hey, this isn’t the way to the inn,” she objected.

  “We’re going sailing,” he said.

  She looked dubiously at her sandals and dress.

  “You can change on the boat.”

  “True. What about lunch?”

  “I had the inn prepare us a cooler.”

  “Excellent. Those grapes were a long time ago!”

  Even the marina was bustling. The pushy sea lions had disappeared. But they had been replaced by children carrying melting ice cr
eam cones. The youngsters made more noise too. Twice he had to move Angie away from headlong contact with dripping cones and stomping feet. But he got her to The Seagull intact.

  She immediately exchanged her sleek sheath for khaki pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Soft-soled loafers replaced her sandals.

  “You’ll need a hat,” he admonished.

  “I’ll conjure one if I need to. I need the sunshine more.” She added sunglasses and stepped aboard The Seagull.

  He settled her on the seat, untied the sailboat, and they slipped out of the harbor into the channel.

  “What shall I do?” she asked.

  “Nothing for the moment. I have directions to a place we can anchor to eat.” He let the wind take the sails.

  He had memorized the map of the island and surrounding ocean that had come with the rental. The cove he was headed for supposedly could only be reached by water and would be deserted as the whales were presently on the other side of the island.

  Angie relaxed and turned her face to the sun. The breeze meant that conversation had to be carried out in shouts. Not much point in trying for intimacy until they anchored. Some of his tension evaporated. Sailing even this little craft relaxed him. Unlike his own sailboat, The Seagull had been designed for stability, not speed. But at least it had a sail.

  West Haven was one of many forested islands in the Strait of San Juan. All around them greenish lumps blurred the horizon. The water was deep in the channels, a sort of dark blue-black, despite today’s bright blue sky. He took them far enough offshore that they were alone on the water.

  Sailing had been part of their lives together from the beginning. Angie was a more than competent sailor and usually clamored to participate. But today she seemed content to sit and look around her, her eyes half-closed. She looked tired. That co-op was too much for her, in her condition. On top of working at the art supply. She needed looking after.

  West Haven was amply supplied with small bays and coves, pretty enough but lacking the grandeur of Sweden’s fjords. He said so when he had dropped anchor and fished out the cooler.