Dragon's Pleasure (BBW / Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 3)

by Isadora Montrose

  The grey sweater had been made for someone less bulky through the chest and arms. His head slipped through the deep vee, but the three buttons below the collar wouldn’t do up. His chest hair poked through the gap. Because his chest pulled the sweater sideways, the waistband rose up to his belly button exposing part of his furry six pack. The sleeves stretched sideways and four inches of hairy forearm stuck out.

  The socks fit better. They went over his calves as if they had been made for him, and the feet fit exactly. He could even turn them down under his knees. That was one big bear she was knitting for. He wound his blanket back around his waist. He was warm but he looked like a fool. A big, rough, used-up jackass.

  Anyway, why would such a beautiful woman be hanging about waiting for a wreck like him? Of course she had a lover. Or maybe it was her husband who was the Bascom. Zeke went back out to the sitting room scowling.

  His angel had set out a large bowl of something beige and a big mug of coffee on her table. There was a tang of cinnamon and apples in the air. He poured half a jug of cream over his mush and dug in. It sure wasn’t something from a box, nor yet an army canteen. Tender nubs of oats mingled with cinnamon and apple chunks. Delicious. The coffee was hot and strong and black. Just the way he liked it. Maybe he had found heaven after all.

  Jenna didn’t say anything while he ate, but when he had finished his oatmeal, she said, “Bacon and eggs?”

  He was hungry enough to say yes, but he hedged. “If it’s no trouble.”

  “None.” She slipped into her kitchen and came back with a coffee pot and a big pitcher before vanishing again.

  He filled the plastic glass with the orange juice she had brought and tipped it down his throat and refilled his glass. He felt incredibly thirsty. In the kitchen he could hear the homey clatter of pots and the ping of the microwave as he drank a second mug of coffee.

  He looked around him at the pleasantest room he had ever been in. Despite its size, it was comfortable without being in the least cluttered. Everything had a place and had been put in it. It was restful, that’s what it was. He wondered who she had made this rustic haven for. The lucky son-of-a-bear who’s sweater and socks he was wearing? It was little wonder he had thought he had found paradise when he saw this room.

  Unlike the elegant houses he had grown up in, this place looked and smelled like a home. Simple, cozy, relaxing. A pint sized version of Laura’s log house. The tops of the dressers had a few wooden boxes. The unplastered log walls held very little. A row of hooks held three coats. A picture of wildflowers and a colorful quilt hung on one wall.

  And beside the entry to the bathroom and bedroom hung a framed bronze star. The medal was surrounded by a chain with a single dog tag. A cream colored paper he guessed was the official citation had been placed beneath. He felt an ignoble surge of hope that the dead soldier was her lover. This despicable thought made him surlier than ever. What business did he have fantasizing about the widow or sweetheart of a genuine American hero?

  Jenna came back with a big plate of scrambled eggs and five rashers of bacon and a small mountain of buttered toast.

  “Honey?” she asked.

  “If you don’t mind.”

  It was good. He was starving and he used the last corner of his toast to mop up his plate.

  “More?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, thank you. If this weather keeps up, you’ll run out of food.”

  She laughed. “Probably not. I’m stocked for bad weather. Besides, someone will be out to check on me once the storm is over. If you’re still hungry, you should eat. You probably burned a lot of calories walking in a blizzard. And I want you to finish that pitcher of juice. You’re still dehydrated.” She filled his glass and stood over him as if she a nursemaid and he a reluctant toddler.

  Grumpily Zeke finished his juice. He had a bad case of the hots, and his angel thought he was an invalid. Just his crappy luck. “Happy now,” he growled.

  “Hmm. You’re still dehydrated after last night. Human beings take a full day to recover from dehydration. I’m going to keep poking liquids down you until you start peeing regularly.” It did not occur to Jen to soften her tone.

  Great. His angel saw him as a helpless patient. He drank another glass of juice with bad grace, and went to stand looking bleakly out the small gap the snow had left between her front window and the sky.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jen was willing to cut this guy some slack, but rude was rude. Plus she felt hurt that he seemed to be ignoring the fact that they had had sex. Well except when he had demanded she rejoin him on the quilt. Maybe that was normal these days for people who had had casual sex. What the hell did she know from casual sex?

  And yet she felt hurt. Probably because her bear senses were still telling her this guy was her fated mate. As if. But at least she knew that he hadn’t been sent here to get medical help. Though way had he been out in the woods in this weather at all?

  Jenna shoved her feelings down and got busy making lunch. Zeke was still standing brooding at the front window when she set the table. She had thawed chili and made a pan of cornbread. Her visitor didn’t budge until she called him by name.

  Zeke turned to look at his hostess. Flushed from the kitchen, she looked even more lovely. Big breasts filled out her red sweater and a round ass bounced in her jeans. There was a smell of something savory and food steamed on the table. He was abruptly hungry. And thirsty. He took his place at the table and nodded curtly to Jenna before filling his glass with more juice.

  Jen looked at the hard lines of Zeke’s grim face. He was the least handsome Bascom she had ever set eyes on. The harsh planes of his broad face were etched with lines of suffering and pockmarked with old scars. His predatory brown eyes were hard and cold. Yet she was drawn to him — as if this morose, stony faced bear was a smiling, good-natured gentleman.

  “This is good,” he said polishing his bowl with a hunk of cornbread before he remembered how uncivilized that was. Jen didn’t seem to mind his manners. She passed him the plate of cornbread with the last piece.

  “Would you like more chili?” she asked. “There’s more in the pot.”

  Zeke looked longingly at the single square of cornbread. It was good. But he was pretty sure he had eaten more than his share already.

  “Good ahead,” she said. “I’ll cut more. And this stuff doesn’t really keep.”

  “Thanks.” Zeke had that puppy buttered and eaten before Jen disappeared into the kitchen with his bowl. A fellow could get used to food this good. He poured himself more juice from the pitcher she had wordlessly refilled. She was right, he was still dehydrated.

  Jenna put the rest of the chili into Zeke’s bowl, and cut the remains of the cornbread into squares. She turned on the coffeemaker and returned to the table hoping her visitor’s grouchy disposition would have mellowed with eating. Maybe he had a headache — that was typical after hypothermia. Why was she making excuses for the miserable ingrate? Because she was infatuated with the nasty, miserable son-of-a-blamed-bear!

  “What did you do with my clothes?” Zeke asked when he was finished his chili.

  Jenna shook her head apologetically. “They were just muddy rags by the time I got them off you. I salvaged your hat, gloves and socks. But everything else is in pieces. I saved your belt and boots. But there’s no sign of your wallet.”

  “Crap. It’s in the glove compartment of my truck, under a couple hundred tons of rocks and mud.” Zeke grimaced. “I need some clothes, and to see about replacing my id.” He looked around as if this had just occurred to him. “And to charge my phone.”

  “I know,” she said sympathetically. “Once I get my phone or internet back, I can ask around for clothes. Someone will be able to lend you some stuff. But I don’t have a charger for an iPhone. I’m afraid you won’t be able to tell anyone you’re safe just yet. And you aren’t going anywhere until the roads are plowed.”

  She frowned as his words registered. “What do
you mean your truck is under mud and rocks?”

  “I was driving along the road out of the north camp ground, heading down to the Ranger Station at the gate, when a mudslide wiped out the road.” Zeke shrugged. “Lost the truck.”

  “Were you in it?” Jenna was aghast.

  Zeke shook his head. “I’d have been dead if I was. I’d gotten out to look at the road because a mudslide had made a huge pile of rocks and trees I couldn’t get around.” He shrugged again. “The other half of the hillside picked that moment to slip downslope. Rolled the truck over and carried it off with the timber and boulders.”

  “I’m sorry.” She clicked her tongue. “You were lucky you weren’t in your truck.”

  Zeke shrugged again. He was alive, that was what counted.

  “Why did you head here instead of the Ranger Station?” she asked. “I’m miles and miles from that road.”

  “I had to go uphill because the road had turned into a river. I found a signpost that said there was a Ranger Station a mile and a half uphill. So I headed there.”

  “Oh, dear God,” she exclaimed appalled. “They closed down that place down more than fifteen years ago.”

  “Yeah, around about the time I found that raccoon palace I figured the sign post was a bit out of date. I gambled that the light I saw was closer than the real Ranger station and headed for it.” Zeke was matter-of-fact.

  Jenna’s face told him he had guessed wrong.” This cabin’s fifteen miles from the old station. You’re lucky you made it at all, in all that snow. Why didn’t you take bear?” she asked.

  “I didn’t think that I could bang on someone’s door in the altogether — without having to answer a whole lot of unanswerable questions,” he growled feeling foolish. But he was damned if he would tell her he was afraid to take bear at all.

  Jenna nodded. “But why were you in the forest at all?” she asked. “It’s been raining for weeks!”

  “Camping.” His tone was hard and flat and final. Clearly this was a no-go area.

  “Where are you from?” Her tone said, ‘Not from around here’.

  “Colorado. I’d guess we’re family somehow — if Bascom is the name you were born with. My great-grandfather came from around here someplace.” Zeke looked a question.

  “I was born a Bascom all right. There are lots of us on Yakima Ridge. Lots of us in these mountains. What was your great-grand’s name?” Jen asked interested. Time to figure out if she was crushing on close family.

  “Clive Benoit Bascom,” Zeke replied. Did she mean she wasn’t married? He checked for a ring and to his relief her hands were bare.

  “Never heard of him.” Jen’s relief was evident. “Though these woods are full of Benoits as well as Bascoms. And I’m related to them all.” She got up and cleared the plates and returned with a damp cloth to wipe the table. And another to dry it.

  She opened the bottom drawer of the pine bureau by her door and came back with a big album held closed by two thick elastic straps secured by bar buttons. “I have something to show you,” she said softly. “This is my copy of the family tree.” She undid the buttons. Scraps of paper fluttered out and she stacked them with reverent fingers.

  “This is my daddy,” she said pointing to a name with four others under it. “And this is me and my sister and brothers. Her finger went upward. This is my daddy’s grandpa, and his father. My great-grand. He didn’t have a brother called Clive.”

  Jen ran her finger back another generation, until she found her great-great-grandfather’s brothers. “There’s a Clive here,” she said pursing her lips, “But this one is supposed to have died in the war.”

  “Let me see,” he took the book from her and turned it around. Colin, George, William and Clive were brothers. Clive and Colin had little crosses and WWII by their names.

  “That means Clive didn’t come back from the war,” Jenna said. “William is my great-great-grand.”

  “My Great-granddaddy Clive fought in the second world war, for sure,” Zeke said. “But he sure enough didn’t die in it. Moved to Colorado in 1946, had four wives, and five or six kids, maybe more. This probably isn’t him. Or someone got the facts wrong.”

  “Well, there are Bascoms all over the Ridge,” she said and turned more pages. Together they looked for Clive’s name in several different sections. Nothing.

  Jenna moved to the back of the album.” These are the records from Gleed. That’s over in Oregon.” Her fingers ran over the entries. “Here we are. These guys are the generation that fought in WWII. Lots of Bascoms.” She shook her head and her braid swayed. “But no Clive here at all.”

  He took the book back from her. “If my great-grandfather is the Clive who was your great-great-granddaddy’s brother, we have three or four generations between us. You think that’s enough?” He watched with interest as Jen’s healthy glow changed to crimson.

  “Are you asking if we’re kissing cousins?” she said stiffly, not meeting his eyes.

  Zeke chuckled and she felt the vibrations right through her body as if he was charging the air with electricity. “What other kinds are there?” His deep voice was curious.

  “Just the two — kissing and close,” she snapped.

  He sniffed the air. “You sure don’t smell like Laura,” he spoke his thought.

  “And she would be?” Jen’s voice was tart.

  “My cousin. But her great-grandma and mine were different women.” Clive mused. “So we’re both Clive’s great-grandchildren, and third cousins? Would that be right? But I wouldn’t call her a kissing cousin, more like a sister.”

  “Depends how many places you meet up on the family tree,” Jen said cautiously.

  Zeke laughed hollowly. “That’s the whole problem in my family. We don’t meet up enough.” He got up and stalked back to the front window. There was nothing to see there but snow, but he kept his back to her.

  Of all the things he didn’t want to think about right now, his family back in Colorado was high on the list. He hadn’t come all the way out to Washington State so he could import his family problems. All he wanted to know was if this luscious angel was his to keep. Although her figure was as ripe as his cousin Laura’s, she sure as hell didn’t smell like her.

  Jenna examined his rigid form warily. Now what had she said? This Laura was dear to him, but he thought third cousins too close for them to wed. Was that it? Because one moment they were sitting talking, and the next he was glaring at her and stamping off.

  Well, she didn’t put up with much, but she didn’t know this guy well enough to tell him off. She replaced the mementos that had fallen out of the book and refastened the elastic carefully before she tucked it neatly back in its drawer. Then she went to stir her stew and wash up the lunch things.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zeke stared blindly through the scarlet haze that clouded his eyes and his brain. The last thing on earth he wanted to have to explain was his family. His anger at his father and great-grandfather mingled with a general feeling of foreboding about his future. What the hell had Granddaddy Clive been thinking to leave his money in such a way as to set the whole family at each other’s throats?

  It wasn’t as if things had been great before they all found out about the old devil’s crazy will. He and his father had been at cross purposes since he started sprouting chest hair. Jeremy Bascom could never seem to accept that Zeke’s career in the army was as important as Patrick’s career as a lawyer for the family firm. As much as he loved his brother, as far as Zeke was concerned, his career was infinitely more important than his twin’s. Hell, lawyers were two for a penny. Rangers were a rare breed.

  Of course, probably he wasn’t a Ranger any more. Because nobody cared how sorry you were that you had ordered your men to run to their deaths. Sorry didn’t cut it. But without the Rangers he felt lost and emasculated.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive finish cutting his balls off by taking that desk job in Denver. The day he gave in to Clive or Jeremy Basc
om’s demands was the day he might as well cut his throat. He refused to go work for B and B Oil. Jeremy, Gilbert, Calvin and Patrick might be able to endure fiddling with sales figures and stock reports day after day, but Zeke Bascom would rather dig ditches with a fork.

  Clive was an evil old goat who had kept them all dancing to his tune while he lived and wanted to keep on doing it from the grave. Zeke had drawn a line when he turned eighteen and had refused to be manipulated ever again. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Clive’s will bully him into doing what he had sworn he never would.

  Whenever he thought about his sprawling, dysfunctional family he felt like an animal caught in a trap. Except that he was the exception. He was the Bascom who had avoided Clive’s carefully laid bait and hadn’t fallen to his doom.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathize with Great-granddaddy Clive. Had to be tough — even for a mean old bastard — like Clive to watch each of his sons go off to war and none come back. Had to be tough when your grandsons did the same and your great-grandsons looked to be following suit. But hell, bears were bears, and if they weren’t in the services, likely they would be like his Uncle Freddie, trying to kill themselves riding bulls.

  Clive had attempted to lure Zeke into a comfortable cage at B and B Oil. But even if managing an oil company had suited his natural talents, the last thing on earth Zeke had ever wanted was to work for that interfering despot. It was beyond him how his own brother liked it so well. He didn’t understand Dad either.

  Of course, Jeremy Bascom was driven by money. He liked the trappings of power that being an executive at B and B gave him. He liked having the ear of his congressman and his senator. He liked having young women drool over him. Working in an office in Denver seemed to fit him like one of his ten thousand dollar suits.

  Clive had been displeased when each of his great-grandsons in turn had elected to enlist. But he was fighting nature. Adolescent bears were eager for adventure, risk and danger. Better to work it off in uniform, than chasing tail like Clive and Jeremy, but Clive hadn’t seen it that way. He liked to think he called the shots in his family.