Dragon Heart

by Susan Arden

  Dragon Heart

  Susan Arden

  Avon, Massachusetts

  Copyright © 2014 by Susan Arden.

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.

  Published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.

  www.crimsonromance.com

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-8697-7

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8697-2

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-8698-5

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-8698-9

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123RF/Linda Bucklin and iStock/CURAphotography

  This book is dedicated to Crimson Romance, for in giving me a start to writing series romance, you opened a door in my imagination and a place to pour out my heart. Each step, you have helped me become a better writer … a more adept feeler of feelings. Namaste, Tara and CR team.

  A special thanks to Julie Sturgeon. For giving more than a polish. You worked your magick. Superstar editing!

  “Matilda said, ‘Never do anything by halves if you want to get away with it. Be outrageous. Go the whole hog. Make sure everything you do is so completely crazy it's unbelievable’ ... ”

  ― Roald Dahl, Matilda

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  More from This Author

  Also Available

  CHAPTER 1

  Shay paced along the terrace railing of her family’s villa, her anger churning, and gazed across the shimmering bay of Rio Tejo. Since she wasn’t about to drown herself in the bay below, a bucket of alcohol would have to do the trick of deadening her desire to scream bloody murder.

  She poured two fingers of cognac into a tumbler and downed the amber liquid fire, burning her tongue and throat as she swallowed.

  “Holy goddess!” She slammed her glass down on the marble-topped wet bar and sucked in a breath.

  The scorch to her senses didn’t equal the fire racing along her nerve endings. Her calf muscles and hamstrings twitched as she reeled in her rage. She was on the verge of shifting into a roaring hot mess. As an unmated leopardess, she was hell-bent to be free—remain free—and roam the untamed Lisbon countryside far, far away from the lecherous stare of a man old enough to be her grandfather.

  She raised her eyes to the starless sky, awash in pearlescent light. The nearly full moon lit up the horizon, creating a craggy silhouette of the mountain range off in the distance. The jagged cliffs and a baying wolf reminded her of home. Her heart lurched. In a few days, the moon would be full. The red moon. Her twenty-second.

  “What are you doing out here and alone?” Drake asked, coming up behind her in the noiseless fashion he’d perfected as her bodyguard over the past few months. His tone was rough and she flinched at the gravelly voice that triggered a shiver deep in her belly—the type of arousal that made her skin prickle.

  Dammit! She hated when he did that—appeared out of nowhere. How long had he been standing there? Swiftly, she straightened and stripped her face of all emotions.

  “Are you here to read me the riot act because I forgot to check in with your team of jailers?” Shay poured another liberal serving of cognac into her glass.

  “Tempting as that is, it’s not the reason I’m here,” Drake replied from the shadows. He must have stopped behind her.

  What the crap? Fine. She wasn’t going to seek Drake out and ask his help … or could she? Jesus Freaking Christ, if anyone might have an answer it would be him—with his all worldly experience. The man marched to his own drum doing as he damn well pleased. He most likely already knew her dismal future. As her parents’ chief security advisor, Drake O’Connor was privy to everything—why not this monstrosity? But surely, if that were true he would have mentioned something. Done something to prevent her from being forced into a marriage with Dimitri Necrodemas, a decrepit leopard shifter who required heart pills, a blood pressure cuff, and a nurse. God, she’d never seen so many prescription bottles before. Forget Viagra—he’d keel over. God, what if the ancient shifter actually did take some sort of sex stimulant? Gag. Me.

  Dimitri spent his days as Chief Justice for the Council of Mediterranean Shifters, and she’d spent the last four hours in his insufferable company, listening to him drone on about what he owned and whom he controlled.

  It was all dubious, self-inflating drivel in her opinion, considering the recent unchecked bands of uncontrolled shifters ravaging the area and one in particular: the Unruled, a violent gang who tagged their black spray-painted symbols on surfaces all over the city here and across Europe. The violence roused fear in shifters and humans—yet humans were taking action. They were indiscriminately locking up shifters—innocent and guilty alike—in detention centers from which there was no return.

  “I just came back from Dimitri’s dinner party. And since we’re playing twenty questions, I didn’t see you there. Were you playing hooky?” she asked, fighting to focus on the waves lapping at the stone pilings below, and put aside the bomb Dimitri had dropped. A marriage proposal that sounded more like a business deal and he’d assured her once, if not fifty times, how much power she’d wield as his wife. Who the heck cared? She’d be a glorified nursemaid and a political pawn if she were lucky. The other possible choices were unthinkable.

  “I was outside patrolling his grounds. Necrodemas has his own security pack working the interior of his home.” Drake remained directly behind her when he answered—which unnerved the bejesus out of her. She felt the heat from his body permeate the space around her, inciting her leopardess instincts—so much so, her skin began to tingle as racing darts of arousal hijacked her intelligence.

  “Home? More like mausoleum,” she muttered, on edge for Drake to do something besides talk to the back of her head. Hell and high water would come before she turned around to face him.

  “His art collection is impressive,” he retorted. “Did you see the relics Necrodemas claims to have acquired?”

  “Questionable pieces of art. I’m not impressed by Dimitri’s prowess in black market finds.”

  “You weren’t there to debate fair trade. These upper echelon shifters are your people, are they not? Better get used to rubbing elbows with his kind,” Drake replied.

  “How can you say that?” she hissed and would have stared daggers at him if he were standing next to her. Dammit, she shouldn’t be peeved at Drake … it was her parents who set this roulette wheel in motion.

  “Not my opinion. I go by your family’s directives, and how they acquire support isn’t part of my job duties.”

  “Support? Is that what this is called?” S
he’d been introduced to Dimitri years ago and met him again earlier this summer in Monaco. Only then, he’d been categorized as a business acquaintance of her father’s—not even a true friend. Dimitri came from new money and ceaselessly flaunted his power and privilege. Yachts, a vineyard, homes—he referred to himself as a successful entrepreneur. Hah! That was rich. He used charities as tax shelters to appear magnanimous. On paper, she supposed he was some woman’s dream. In person, he was her nightmare—and she was her family’s pawn in a political power grab.

  On the surface, of course, they sent her on this trip as an envoy from the States to jockey a continental union between Europe and North America. She was supposed to show the people back home how much fun it was to vacation abroad. This was nothing short of propaganda to leverage shifter support, a joke that ran counter with her apolitical aspirations.

  “The Barclay team has set its sights on acquiring Necrodemas’s support for the upcoming election as you well know.”

  “Dimitri is not on any team of mine,” she snapped and rolled her eyes. “Or should I have that tattooed on my forehead? Haven’t you heard anything I said this week? I feel like I’ve been talking to the walls.” Heaven help her. Did Drake also take her for some trophy wife to be bartered off? Anger rocketed through her body, a cutting force she tasted on her tongue, bitter and razor sharp. Now with her emotions bubbling upward, she was no more than a hairsbreadth away from shifting. A low rasping snarl crept up her throat.

  “Could have fooled me,” he retorted.

  “You are so not amusing, Mr. O’Connor!” She fought to keep watching the waves instead of releasing the brunt of her frustration on Drake.

  “Careful, your claws are showing, kitten.”

  Did he just call me “kitten”?

  “And you might get scratched, if that’s your best comeback.” She chugged her cognac, and then chucked her crystal brandy snifter onto the rocks below.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He chuckled, the sound of his voice a sensual whisper that glided over her skin like satin and aged whiskey. “Is that some far-fetched challenge? ‘Cause if I recall correctly, I won the last one. I’m so sick of not being taken seriously,” she said.

  The sound of Drake’s rumbling laughter crystallized her anger and the butterflies in her stomach swarmed. And yes, her actual leopard claws did feel uncomfortably close to the surface for all the wrong reasons whenever she was around him.

  Unlike earlier tonight, when she sat alongside Dimitri and ice water flowed in her veins. All evening Dimitri had licked his lipless mouth like a hungry toad while gazing at her chest, her mouth, her legs … the man was beyond revolting. Her skin didn’t just crawl, it shrank. Never, ever, she vowed silently, gripping the metal rail so tightly her knuckles hurt.

  How was this possible in the twenty-first century? She’d graduated early from high school, gone to Duke, double majoring in business and accounting, and graduated summa cum laude. At her parents’ insistence, she toured the south of Europe as a graduation gift and fully expected to return home and begin her career as an audit specialist in financial due diligence for Sternberg and Fink, the largest accounting firm in Colorado. So far she’d snagged a large investment company as a client. According to her plan, the custom-built furniture she’d ordered had been delivered to her Denver office suite. A cocktail party was scheduled for next month, when she’d officially accept new clients for the firm.

  Instead her mother was excited about throwing an elaborate engagement party. Numb, she’d listened to Mother’s ideas for hand-engraved invitations, wedding dates, and going to New York for fittings for her trousseau. More like a set of straightjackets in varying pastel shades of discontent and dissatisfaction.

  Drake broke apart her mental rumbling when he picked up and corked her bottle of cognac.

  “Why so upset? This isn’t like you, Shannon. Everything went according to plan. Did something happen tonight?” he asked in a voice that rubbed her the right way. “Necrodemas’s driver brought you back without a problem. Correct?”

  He better not think for a second that she was onboard with this marriage plan. Holy hell! Was everyone bonkers? But he was correct—she was close to losing it. Badly.

  She inhaled, trying to siphon her outrage. “You mean that black Hummer caravan. I rode in some version of a tank that smelled of stale liquor, cigars, and only God knows what else.” Unlike Drake’s motorcycle.

  “From my vantage point, I don’t have a complaint. You’re safe.” He came up next to her at the railing, and his arm brushed against hers, unleashing a high-powered zing that tore through her and made her fingertips tingle. “His team delivered you back here on schedule, without a hitch.”

  “That’s not how you travel,” she lowered her voice, “is it?” A strange spiraling in her belly expanded as their arms continued to touch. She slanted him a glance, encountering his chiseled profile as he gazed outward through his ever-present wraparound sunglasses. Even at night he had them on, preventing anyone from tracking his gaze. Probably part of his Navy SEAL training; whatever it was, he appeared ready to rock the world on go.

  “Mea maxima culpa. I never should have let you know about my ride.” Drake didn’t look over at her, saving her from encountering his panty-melting smile that accompanied his arrogance. It was a wonder he’d ever unbent enough to let her ride on the back of his motorcycle, even if it had taken a bet she could escape his security crew to force the moment.

  “Don’t be sorry. It was the high point of this so-called journey. I won’t tell … if you don’t.”

  “You know my lips are sealed where you’re concerned. I’ve got your back.” Abruptly, he faced her, holding up his fist, and of course, his full lips were quirked, displaying his customary and very irritating smirk. Stubble littered his square jaw, and tonight like every night, he wore a black shirt, stretched snug over his broad shoulders. He looked good enough to eat.

  Not helping, Shay!

  Bumping her fist to his, she swallowed and nodded. “I hope that’s not just talk. I have heard enough cheesy promises to last a freaking lifetime or two.”

  “Shay, I’ve always been here for you. Ever since we were kids.”

  She sighed and nodded. Yep, they did go far, far back; so much so that Drake always seemed to be lurking in the shadows of her mind. He was her older brother Shawn’s good friend who then had the audacity to serve under her father. A freaking Navy SEAL on some covert mission in the Persian Gulf that neither he nor Dad talked about except in whispers and winks. What would Drake do with the information of her pending marriage—did it mean nothing to him?

  Abruptly she stopped her mental wrestling match and spoke her mind, letting go of the railing. “My parents have called me home,” she began, testing the waters of what lay between them.

  “I’m aware of that plan. High priority as of twenty minutes ago. So far, I spoke with your father at length. Even your mom personally telephoned me.” His voice came out sounding hoarse…strained. “They expect you by Friday.”

  “Arrangements all made for my return? How very professional of you—are you counting down the seconds?” She bracketed her hands on her hips, jutting her chin as he lifted his sunglasses. Whoa! She was unprepared for the sizzling jolt that raced through her when she encountered his jade-colored eyes—eyes that few men possessed.

  The key word being men—Drake’s dragon ancestry shone through every one of his nuances, delivering a marked difference in her reaction. Really, it was like her brain short-circuited. That one distinction set him apart from anyone she’d ever encountered, including her all-powerful father Richard Barclay and Shawn, her only sibling. She could debate any issue with them—jointly or separately—until the cows came home and win. Not with Drake. He reduced to her a dithering, melting mess.

  Standing inches away, he gazed down at her, and she felt the jagged edge of a connection that rippled through her each time their eyes met. She fluttered her lashes, the pit of he
r stomach knotting from his power. The roiling sensation swirled lower, making her yearn for fiery friction—something so decadent, she failed to conceptualize the specifics, only that this craving involved him.

  Was he aware that he did this to her? She bit her lip, curling her fingers tighter against her hips to keep from reaching out to him. It was like she wanted to fight him and at the same time, fuse her lips to his.

  “Not as of yet,” he said, oddly reticent. Usually, he had plenty to say … on her behavior, way of dressing, her friends—endless volumes he shared without being asked.

  She whispered hoarsely, “It’s less than a month before my upcoming … marriage.”

  “I thought—” His head snapped upright and his eyes flashed brightly before he wiped all traces of emotion from his face. Now, he returned her stare, stoic as ever. “So you decided to accept Necrodemas’s proposal. That surprises me.”

  “Not yet. I mean I haven’t formally. That depends. Will you take me … home to finalize the arrangements? Apparently, this is more than a wedding.” She sought an affirmation from him. Leaning in his direction, she inhaled his smoky scent with her overwrought leopardess senses. Stop, Shay. Don’t be a fool … OK, don’t be an even a bigger fool.

  “The jet has an engine being overhauled. It’s grounded for the time being.” He frowned at her from behind hooded eyes. “We need to talk.”

  No. They needed to kiss. Or better yet, get naked.

  “Technical mumbo jumbo? Please, don’t bother.”

  “Little girl, I’m sure you of all women can keep up with whatever comes out of my mouth.”

  If that included his tongue, she’d love to try.

  “I’m game.”

  “Always rising to every challenge. Why am I not surprised?” Drake murmured.

  “Well?” she inquired. “Is this about the travel arrangements or more chaperone nagging nonsense?”

  Was he playing her? Surreptitiously, she sniffed the air and her mouth watered from Drake’s pervasive alpha male scent working her senses. Her canines were ready to pierce her gums—a sign she was ready to mate. How awkward!