Desired by the Dragon_A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

by Isadora Montrose

  Moira held out her hand politely. “Hello,” she said.

  Cynthia laughed brittlely. “Actually, I’m Quinn’s fiancée.”

  Abruptly, Moira felt sorry for the other woman. She was due for a major embarrassment. “I’m Quinn’s,” she paused delicately, “Agent.”

  “His agent?”

  “Artists generally have to have agents if they want to sell their work,” she explained patiently.

  “A Drake scarcely needs to make a hobby pay for itself,” Cynthia said condescendingly.

  Anthony unlocked the front door. “Lorraine and Quinn should be along momentarily. Why don’t we have a drink while we wait for them?”

  “Good idea,” Moira said cheerful. “Make mine mineral water, please.” She turned confidingly to the other woman. “I’m drinking for two.”

  Cynthia visibly relaxed. “Oh. Congratulations. Is Mr. Fairchild going to join us?”

  “Any moment.” Moira began to enjoy herself.

  Anthony practically herded them into the parlor. Cynthia looked around with interest. “Have a seat, ladies. I’ll get those drinks. White wine, Cynthia?”

  “Yes, please.” Cynthia sat down on one of the two stiff settees.

  Moira took the one opposite.

  “Who are the olds?” Cynthia whispered pointing at the portraits over the mantelpiece.

  “I think they are the parents of the Drake who built Shoreside,” Moira said.

  “Seriously deformed,” pronounced Cynthia. “I mean, look at her neck.”

  Moira seized the opportunity to explain about American Primitivism and the role of itinerant artists in American art history. “Those portraits were evidently done as a pair, probably just after the Revolutionary War. Even if they weren’t family portraits, they would be worth collecting.”

  Anthony returned with a tray on which there were three glasses. “Here we are,” he said with false heartiness. “What were you two talking about so cozily?”

  “Moira was just telling me how valuable these lovely paintings of your ancestors are,” Cynthia lied sweetly.

  Anthony took a sip of his drink and gave Moira a sharp look. “Are they?”

  “Hmm. For serious collectors, the artist’s flawed technique is as much a part of their charm as their age. I particularly like the fact that the lace on Mrs. Drake’s dress is executed so carefully, while her features are slightly lopsided. Probably the artist painted the clothes during the winter and added the head when he – or she – went door-to-door offering to paint portraits.”

  “I had no idea women were painting in that era,” Anthony said, looking absurdly grateful.

  “Oh, yes.” Moira was perfectly willing to keep the conversation neutral, but it was time to find out why Cynthia was here. She turned to the other woman. “It’s too bad you missed the prize-giving. Of course all the paintings and art pieces will be on view until the end of the month. But the judging was this afternoon. And all of Quinn’s have already sold.”

  “Really?” Cynthia shrugged. “I will have to go see them, I suppose.”

  “You should. Quinn took first prize,” Anthony said into the awkward silence that followed Cynthia’s perfunctory remark.

  “He couldn’t have,” blurted Cynthia.

  “No?” Anthony’s voice was dangerous.

  Cynthia chuckled lightly. “I have it on good authority that the judges found his work sadly derivative. Absolute dreck.” She made a recovery. “But perhaps they didn’t want to offend the Drakes?” she suggested.

  The penny dropped. Moira saw it all. Cynthia and Adrian were in cahoots. “I assume your informant was Adrian Whitlock?”

  Big blue eyes widened. Cynthia nodded. “How did you know?”

  “Mr. Whitlock got himself thrown off the jury,” Moira informed her. “For bad-mouthing the art, and making threats. I’m afraid that he was not the impartial judge he should have been.” She shook her head in feigned sorrow. “I hate to speak ill of my former partner, but he is not above taking bribes. His reputation is not what it once was.”

  “He wasn’t on the jury?” Cynthia snapped.

  “He was replaced by Sylvia Gospel, who thinks Quinn is a genius. As he is,” Moira informed her.

  Cynthia swallowed hard. She gulped her wine. “Really?”

  “Oh, yes,” Moira said happily. “He has true artistic vision and great technique.”

  “Thank you, darling,” Quinn drawled from the doorway. He kissed Moira on the mouth. A brisk, possessive kiss. “Why, Cynthia,” he murmured as if he had only just noticed her, “What brings you all the way to our little island?”

  She stood and moved to embrace him, but he sidestepped and pulled his mother forward. “Mom, Cynthia has joined us.”

  Lorraine kissed Cynthia on both cheeks. Moira wasn’t surprised that Quinn’s ex-fiancée looked pale. Anthony stood up. “White wine, Lorraine? What’ll you have, Quinn?”

  “Red, please.” He sat down beside Moira and put an arm around her shoulders. “Tired?” he asked solicitously.

  “Just a little.”

  Cynthia looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Quinn’s arm tightened. “Yes, indeed.” He picked up Moira’s hand and kissed her fingers. “Moira has made me very happy.”

  Cynthia’s eyes bulged. “I was referring to your first prize,” she said stiffly.

  “That too,” Quinn said affably. “But a first prize is nothing compared to a wife and baby.”

  Anthony entered on that remark. He acted with smooth aplomb that Moira could only admire. “A toast,” he declared. “To Quinn’s triple successes.”

  They all raised their glasses and sipped. After that there was nothing for Cynthia to do but to excuse herself and leave. “I have to find a hotel,” she said.

  Moira rose to the occasion. She pulled out her cell. “I’ll call my aunt – she runs the Tidewater Inn. She’ll find you something.” Robin would, even if it meant putting Cynthia up in Robin’s quarters.

  Cynthia’s taillights had not disappeared before Anthony led them into the family room. “I think your mother and I are owed some explanations,” he said when they were all comfortable and the fire was lit.

  “As you have already noticed, I have transformed my mate,” Quinn kissed Moira’s hand. She let her rings appear. “She’s pregnant. And we were married in Mystic Bay three weeks ago.”

  Anthony looked inclined to be indignant. But Lorraine jumped up to kiss Moira. “That’s wonderful news,” she cried. “But poor Cynthia.” She looked accusingly at her son.

  “I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her,” Moira said. “She and Adrian Whitlock were in collusion to destroy Quinn’s art career before it got started.” She told the older couple about Adrian’s campaign to discredit the art show and the artists.

  “But what would Cynthia have gained from that?” objected Lorraine.

  “She obviously thought that if I went back to Drake Investments, we would pick up our engagement as if nothing had happened,” Quinn said. “But it was over for me the moment I realized she was more in love with my money than me.”

  “Unlike Moira,” Anthony said with satisfaction. “Now we just have to decide where to hold the wedding.”

  “We are already married,” Quinn protested.

  “We’ll do it up right.” Lorraine ignored Quinn. “I think we should have a reception here on West Haven and one in Seattle. We only have one son.”

  Moira squeezed Quinn’s hand tightly. “As long as I get to have two more wedding dresses,” she said.

  He laughed and swept her into his arms. “Done,” he cried.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Moira~

  “Shh,” she said. “We have to be quiet.”

  “Why?” Quinn asked.

  “Because your parents are just down the hall,” she retorted. Lorraine and Anthony had turned in at the same time she and Quinn had gone upstairs to his bedroom.

  “But we’r
e married,” he said. He raised his head from between her legs and grinned fiendishly. “And we’re only doing what married people do.”

  “They can hear us.” She clamped her legs over his head, but that only made the sensations created by his tongue and lips intensify. She couldn’t prevent a shrill squeal as he circled her clit and sucked.

  Quinn raised his head. “I’m not the noisy one,” he pointed out. His hand replaced his mouth and he watched her squirm with masculine satisfaction. “Besides, I like the sounds you make when I get it right. Also, this room is soundproof.”

  She looked at his aura. He was so aroused that all she could read was his intent to ravish her. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Relax. Lathe and plaster absorbs sound. So does two-inch thick oak.” He pressed inside her vag and stroked the area on the top.

  She forgot about her in-laws down the hall. Ripples of pleasure spread from that spot through her entire pelvis. Every muscle clenched. Someone was shrieking in time with the explosions in her body.

  She came back to earth wrapped in Quinn’s arms. He kissed the side of her head. “Happy, Mrs. Drake?”

  “You know it.” She snuggled closer. “Hey. You did that on purpose,” she accused.

  “Brought you to climax?” he asked innocently. “I live to please you, you know that.”

  “Made me scream.”

  “Gets me hot, every time. You ready for round two, sweetheart, because I’m about ready to disgrace myself.”

  She reached for his cock. “You going to poke me with your manly staff?”

  “You bet.” He fit himself to her. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Despite his claim of desperation, they rocked together for a long time. When they finally tipped over the edge, they went together. Their mutual orgasm rippled outward and merged with their auras. She felt Quinn’s spirit meet hers in perfect harmony. She was loved. She was going to be a mother. And she was going to have two more weddings. Life was good.

  She fell asleep with his hands covering their child.

  EPILOGUE

  Mystic Bay Hospital, March

  Moira~

  “Tired?” asked Quinn.

  “Exhausted,” said Moira.

  “I think that’s traditional,” Quinn assured her. “They call it labor for a reason.”

  They looked at the red-faced infant nuzzling at Moira’s breast. “I don’t think she is doing it right,” said Moira. “She keeps falling asleep.”

  “She’s probably worn out,” Quinn said. He stroked his daughter’s white-blonde head. Her eyes were so tightly shut, she didn’t have eyelashes. “Is she supposed to have so little hair?”

  Moira laughed. Right now her daughter had little more than peach fuzz. She brought her daughter to her face and inhaled her milky baby scent. “It’ll grow.”

  “My mother wants to know her name. She says we’ve had nine months to pick, and we ought to have decided by now.”

  “If you hadn’t kept telling me she was going to be a boy, we might have come to a decision.”

  “She’s a miracle. Maybe not the first daughter born to a dragon, but she’s the first on American soil.” Quinn looked unspeakably smug. Which was pretty much how she felt.

  “Maybe that means she’s not a dragoness-born,” Moira said. “Although she doesn’t smell like a fairy. Not exactly.” She took another whiff.

  Quinn laughed. “We’ll have to wait for puberty,” he said.

  “Not if she’s Fae,” said Moira. “Her powers will manifest about the time she learns to talk.”

  Quinn looked horrified. Moira laughed at his expression.

  “What do I tell my mother?” he asked.

  She was too tired to think, but she tried. “Tell Lorraine we want to call the baby Rowan after my dad.”

  Quinn smiled. He kissed Moira. “Lots of girls called Rowan. But maybe we should call her Rowena Guinevere? For both your parents.”

  “Rowena Guinevere Drake,” mused Moira. “I like it.”

  “Rowena Guinevere Fairchild-Drake?” suggested Quinn.

  “I would spend all my time waiting for the kids at school to call her Rowena Fake,” Moira objected.

  Quinn looked outraged. “They wouldn’t dare.” He stroked Rowena’s petal soft cheek. “Would they?”

  “In a heartbeat. Kids can be savages.”

  “Then Rowena Guinevere Drake it is. Have I told you today that I love you?”

  “Probably. But I don’t remember.”

  Quinn took her mouth in a claiming kiss. He scooped Rowena into his arms. He held her awkwardly, but he would improve. “I love you, Moira Drake. And I love our daughter. I’m going to put her in the bassinette and you are going to take a nap. The nurses tell me this could be your last chance to sleep for three months.”

  “You were up all night too.”

  “I’m going to sleep right here in this recliner.” Quinn pointed to the bedside chair. He kissed her again and tucked the baby into the clear plastic bassinette.

  Ten minutes later, the nurse looked in on her patients. She found all three Drakes sleeping soundly. In keeping with the policy of the Mystic Bay Hospital, she tiptoed away and let sleeping dragons lie.

  <<<<>>>>

  COMING SOON: APRIL 13, 2018

  CHERISHED BY THE COUGAR

  A SHIFTER IN LOVE

  FUN & FLIRTY ROMANCE

  MYSTIC BAY SERIES BOOK 2

  by

  Isadora Montrose

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lighthouse, West Haven Island,

  September

  Claudia~

  “Don't even try to deny that Jimmy is a hunter,“ Tom Peterson thundered. “All I want to know is, who's his damned father?“

  “Dad,“ Claudia attempted to regain her composure and keep her voice low. “You’ll wake Jimmy. I just got him off to sleep.“ Her son was her whole life, but unquestionably he was exhausting. She lived for his bedtime.

  Tom loomed over Claudia, hands in pockets, a scowl distorting his face. Fury in every line. He turned to his wife in exasperation. “You explain it to her, Virginia.“

  “Your father is right, honey.“ Mom’s plump face was puckered with sorrow and worry. She was practically wringing her hands. Although she wasn’t a hand wringer by nature. “Being a single parent is one thing. But you can’t possibly raise a hunter by yourself.“

  “Stop calling Jimmy a hunter,“ Claudia objected fiercely. “He’s a cougar shifter. And your grandson. You’ll just have to accept that there is no possibility of a marriage between me and his father.“ Which was perfectly true. Not that a little thing like a wife and family had prevented Dominic from pursuing a relationship.

  “Who is he?“ Dad lowered his voice, but his tone remained fierce. He marched restlessly around Claudia’s little sitting room, ran into the narrow writing table under the window, and paced over to the scarred dining table. He was going to wear out the threadbare carpet. Claudia had no idea what color it had originally been, as time had faded it to a sickly mustard.

  “A guy I met in Portland. We had an affair.“ Claudia gave her parents a modified version of the truth. “He wasn’t in a position to marry me, and frankly, I don’t want to marry him.“ Not now that she knew he was and had been married for years. “Now that I’ve returned to West Haven, Jimmy and I will manage fine.“

  West Haven was one of the many tiny islands that dotted the San Juans. The natural harbor of Mystic Bay was the island’s only town. The entire island boasted almost three thousand year round residents, which rose to nearly nine thousand when the summer people arrived. The year-round residents were sensitives, or married to sensitives.

  Claudia had been raised on West Haven and had brought her child home where he would be surrounded by people of paranormal talent. She had hoped having her family close by would make being a single mom easier. She certainly hadn’t expected this kind of attack from her parents. After all, she had been a single mother for three
years.

  Dad gave a crack of laughter that did nothing to lighten the tense atmosphere. He was a man of middle height and average good looks. His weather working talent enabled him to make a good living leading whale watching tours out of the Mystic Bay Harbor. A life aboard small vessels had given him the impressive physique of a much younger man.

  Right now he looked ready to unleash a typhoon on someone. Probably Dominic Rutherford. And no one had ever deserved high water and gale force winds more. But Claudia knew better than to give away her greatest secret. Dominic was a rich and powerful man, married to a senator’s daughter. Outing him as Jimmy’s father would be staggeringly stupid.

  She did not want the immensely wealthy Rutherford clan claiming her son. Nor did she want to spark a vendetta between her extended family and the Rutherfords who had been summer residents on West Haven for over a century. And she certainly did not want Dominic’s father-in-law the senator to put her on his radar.

  Virginia crossed the room to sit beside her daughter. Her arm around Claudia’s shoulders was a comfort, but it changed nothing. This was not a secret she could share even with Mom.

  “Claudia!“ Mom was practically wailing, “It’s not that simple. I agree that giving Jimmy more time out of doors and finding him friends who are also sensitives has made a good start in settling him down. And he seems to be doing well at daycare. But if he’s a handful you can barely manage at three, what will you do when he’s thirteen and turns into a mountain lion?“

  “This island is full of shifters. I’ll get our friends to help. And maybe by the time Jimmy hits puberty, I’ll be married.“ Claudia held up a hand. “Not to Jimmy’s father. That ship has sailed. But to a decent man. My fated mate. You know the old saying, A match made in West Haven, is a match made in heaven?“

  Mom brightened at the reminder that West Haven had a long tradition of happy marriages. But then she looked discouraged and her shoulders drooped. She glanced at Dad. “You tell her, Tom.“

  Dad dropped into the weary oatmeal-colored armchair opposite the couch. Claudia considered herself fortunate to have rented the lighthouse fully furnished. Even if the furniture had endured decades of tenants with sandy feet and wet backsides. It was clean and cheap.