Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel

by Daniella Wright

  At times like these, I feel the absurd notion to twirl around in circles at the center of the open field, losing myself in the tender warmth of a summer’s day in Texas and escaping to a fanciful kingdom in the sun—one that exists only in the confines of my psyche.

  The feeling is fleeting.

  Opening my eyes wide and squaring my substantial shoulders, I step away from the intoxicating spotlight supplied by the glow of the sun and train my gaze instead in the direction of the tall red barn that forms the centerpiece of this open field. Once again I’m a 25-year-old woman with business on her mind.

  “Time to report to work,” I muse, trudging through soft mounds of hay and heather to reach the towering ruby red structure that bustles from within with noise and activity.

  The moment that I step through the tall double doors that lead into this crowded structure, I smile politely at the line of gentlemen who tap their hats genteel in my direction.

  Then I pass them all by in a graceful flourish, stepping up to the front of a stage that supplies a solid centerpiece to the barn.

  Lining the surface of this sturdy oak platform stands a line of horses up for auction; tall, noble equine creatures that shine in their rich hues of ivory, ebony, chestnut brown, dappled grey and greater gold.

  One horse in particular ensnares my attention; a shiny, sprightly filly boasting a rich coat of glowing chocolate brown and long, sleek contours.

  As a seasoned horse dealer, I never have seen anything quite as beautiful as this exquisite example of sublime equine radiance.

  I amend my opinion moments later, as my gaze shifts to the side of the stage; where a stallion of the human variety stands tall and stalwart.

  Standing proud beside the stage is a man that my wily mama would classify as a ‘tall drink of water’; a muscular gent, about 27 years in age, boasting a chiseled face, full, sumptuous lips, carved cheekbones, and a pair of bright, crystalline blue eyes that are staring directly into mine.

  For a moment, our public surroundings dissolve around us as we share a secret smile; our gazes locking and holding in what seems to be a show of keen mutual appreciation.

  Just briefly my eyes wander down the length of the stranger’s trim, toned physique; lingering on the crisp white denim shirt, gold brocade vest, sharp bolo tie, wide brimmed ivory cowboy hat and skin tight blue jeans that set off his raw masculine beauty to spectacular effect.

  “A stallion indeed,” I muse in silence, stopping just short of licking my pearl pink lips as I bask in the third example of sun bronzed beauty I’ve witnessed that morning.

  “Good mor-ning!”

  I jump as my sinful meditation is disrupted by the sound of a loud, booming voice; one that, sadly enough, does not belong to the man that I suddenly, almost desperately long to say “good mor-ning!” to—but instead resounds from the burly throat of a short and very stocky auctioneer.

  “I want to welcome you to our weekly horse auction here at McCrary’s Farm,” the man announces, tipping his wide brimmed ebony hat in the general direction of the assembled crowd. “And to start things off today, we’re going to offer up a real purty filly for yer consideration. Coming all the way from Dallas to grace our stage here in Sagebrush, Texas, is the beautiful Soleil—a fine animal that already stands some 10 hands high. Sure to become a beautiful mare in her adulthood, Soleil has hearty teeth, healthy hooves and a long, fluffy mane. She’ll make a mighty fine addition to any strong stable. So with that in mind, may I hear a first bid?”

  Immediately I raise my dainty gloved hand high in the air, parting my lips to issue what I hope will be a winning first bid.

  “60!”

  The crowd gasps as a second deep, masculine voice resounds loud from the crowd; declaring a dollar amount that, in many cases, could stand to bring a quick and successful end to any standard horse auction.

  “70!”

  Ah, but this was no standard horse. And I am prepared to fight for her.

  “80!” I bellow, my feminine tones resounding high and loud between the walls of the surrounding barn.

  Shutting my lips tight, I step forward to claim my acquired prize; stopping dead in my tracks as—once again—that loud, deep voice makes itself known.

  “90!”

  Letting loose with an audible groan, I cast a sharp glance toward the source of this intrusive sound; my eyes widening in surprise as I see that—yes indeed—the stallion is bidding on the filly.

  Further annoying me with a playful wink, my apparent rival bounds forward with a confident gait in the direction of the stage—stopping dead in his tracks as I bellow out, “One hun-dred dollars!”

  The gentleman’s confident smile dissolves and his mouth falls agape as his eyes collide with mine; his azure gaze turning dark and stormy as he folds his muscular arms before him.

  The auctioneer, for his part, fixes the gentleman with a questioning look as he awaits a counter bid.

  The man just shakes his head and turns away.

  Shrugging his broad shoulders in a show of resignation, the auctioneer waves me forward as he declares in a booming voice, “The pretty little filly in the front row gets the pretty little filly up here on stage.”

  Soon I lay a firm grasp on the braided reins of my newest acquisition; a quiet, amenable horse that whinnies softly as I stroke her wispy mane.

  Not so quiet and amenable was the scowling cowboy who now bounds up to me with sharp, purposeful steps.

  “What do you think you’re doin’ here, Little Lady? Buyin’ a pretty little filly to take you ridin’ on a lazy Sunday afternoon?” he snaps, pointing an accusing finger straight in my face. “I had important plans for that horse.”

  Planting my hands square on the surface of my calico clad hips, I lift my chin to proud effect in the face of the stranger’s blatant disrespect.

  “Well as it happens, dear sir, I as the biggest horse dealer in Sagebrush don’t really get the chance to enjoy all that many lazy afternoons,” I insist. “I have my own big plans for this filly—plans that do not include you.”

  The man shakes his head.

  “A woman horse dealer?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

  I roll my eyes.

  “If I only had a filly for every time somebody asked me that dang blasted question,” I growl beneath my breath, adding more loudly, “Yes, I am indeed the most successful horse dealer here in Sagebrush.”

  Recovering quickly from his initial shock, my rival squares his sturdy shoulders and declares, “Well, I—Duke Wyatt--just happen to be the biggest horse dealer in Austin—a city that, if you’ve heard of it, just happens to be a bit more substantial than your beloved lil Sagebrush.”

  I nod, my ire melting as my mind is struck by something resembling an idea.

  “Austin, huh?” I query, tilting my head in a show of curiosity. “Well maybe the two of us could work together, just a bit…”

  Cutting me off with a sharp, sardonic laugh, the man who calls himself Duke acts more like a varmint as he waves away my suggestion.

  “Keep dreamin’, Princess,” he barks, turning on his boot heel toward the door.

  Apparently unimpressed with the man’s theatrics, a rebellious Soleil lets loose with a loud, sharp whinny; one that I vow will earn her a special carrot before the end of the day.

  “You tell ‘em, Girl,” I praise her, adding in a louder tone, “Ya see there, Duke? Even the dang gum horse knows a varmint when she sees one!”

  Chapter two

  I am here to tell you today. It ain’t always easy bein’ the only gal in a Texas saloon. Or, should I say, the only gal not kickin’ up her skirts and her heels in equal measure as she pouts profusely in the direction of any man who will watch.

  “Although I must say that I am most impressed by the ability of those dancing girls to pull off all three of those highly skilled maneuvers at once,” I tell the cowboy beside me—a gentleman who, much like myself, has sidled up to the long dusty bar at the Yellow Rose saloon.
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  “I couldn’t agree more,” the man answers, lifting his gaze from the surface of the polished wooden bar that looms just before us. “Just you know, though, that some fellas happen to favor a real gal. A strong woman who knows her way around a saloon—and, for that matter, around a horse barn.”

  I freeze as I hear the sound of a too familiar voice; a smooth, deep tone that—despite its dulcet notes—manages to make my every nerve stand right on end.

  “It can’t be,” I breathe, shaking my head from side to side.

  My worst fears are confirmed seconds later, as the cowboy whips off his wide brimmed white hat to reveal a chiseled bronzed face and crystal blue eyes; azure gems that twinkle mischievously as he greets, "Howdy there, Ma'am."

  Making no response to this friendly greeting, I instead turn to face the grey haired, mustached bar keep that stands quiet and expectant on the opposite side of the bar.

  “If you please, Sam,” I drawl with a smile. “Could you pour two tall cold brews for my gentleman friend and me?”

  Letting loose with a surprised chuckle, Duke Wyatt claps my back as he settles his tall muscled form on the surface of his red leather stool.

  “You’re buyin’ me a drink?” he asks, tone surprised and disbelieving. “Why that’s mighty nice of ya, Miss.”

  Snorting sharp in response to these words, I nod politely in Sam's direction as he presents us with two tall glass mugs filled to the rim with amber hued liquid.

  “No, actually,” I counter, adding as I stare the smirking cowpoke straight in the eyes, “I ordered one beer to drink—and another to pour over the head of the gentleman who is anything but.”

  I narrow my eyes as Duke pitches his head back, letting loose with a sharp guffaw that manages to annoy me all the more.

  “You sure are a spirited little filly,” he “praises” me, at the same time grabbing up the glass before him in what seems a defensive—and, on reflection—very smart move.

  I roll my eyes.

  “I’m not a filly,” I spit out this last word as if it was venom. “I am a horsewoman and a businesswoman who graduated at the top of her class at finishin’ school. And in my spare time, you can find me huntin’ and fishin’ for my own food and readin’ lots of good books.” I pause here, lifting my chin in a show of pride. “My daddy, God rest his soul, raised me to be just as strong and capable as any ol’ man. You included, Duke Wyatt.”

  Duke looks at me for a long, thoughtful moment, then nods.

  “Ya know what’s funny, Miss?” he asks me, taking a long draw from his beer as he continues in a lowered tone, “I’ve always told myself that I favored a strong, smart woman who spoke her mind. I never have been one for shrinkin’ violets—and you can keep yer showgirls and saloon belles, thank ya very much,” he insists, lifting his glass in my direction. “Ah, but what do I do when I finally meet this gal? One who also happens to have some cute freckles and the biggest hazel eyes I ever did see? I go and act the role of a fool—not the role of a gentleman, like Mama always taught me.”

  I nod.

  “Well I’ll drink to that,” I agree, grabbing and guzzling the tall cold beer that awaits me on the bar.

  Duke chuckles.

  “Well would you dance to that?” he asks, making a broad gesture in the direction of a dusty tiled dance floor that forms a rustic centerpiece to The Yellow Rose Saloon. “Cause if I hear correctly, the band is playin’ The Yellow Rose of Texas. And wouldn’t ya know it? That just happens to be my favorite ditty.”

  I nod, setting aside my drink as I take the hand of the cowboy who leads me to the dance floor.

  “Mine too,” I agree in a begrudging tone. “And that, mind you, is the only reason as to why I am agreein’ to this dance.”

  I amend my opinion moments later, as the blasted cowboy just has to go and prove to me that he dances just as good as he looks.

  Sweeping me up into two strong arms, Duke swings and sways me across the surface of the dance floor; treating the saloon space like a European ballroom as he pulls me closer to him.

  I feel as if I’m floating on air as our feet canvas the tile—moving back and forth in a perfect rhythm as the opening notes of The Yellow Rose of Texas surge loud around us.

  Our chests press together as our gazes lock and Duke pulls me closer still; his hands running like streams of warm water down the surface of my back.

  In the span of a heartbeat he dips me thrillingly; bending my body backward as our lips loom dangerously close.

  Even as my heart pounds in response to the beauty and grace of my partner, I restrain myself from kissing his sumptuous lips; instead parting my own to sing the lyrics to the song that guides our every move.

  I shut my eyes to lose myself in this lovely anthem of Texas; going back in my mind to a simpler time, when my dear ol’ daddy—a man who raised me alone, and like I was an only son as opposed to a dainty daughter—used to carry me through our own fragrant fields, filled with golden roses.

  Just then I open my eyes to behold the greatest temptation. And as my pulse pounds and my heart races at the vision of Duke’s masculine beauty, I get an all too strong reminder that I’m a woman now.

  “Blast you, Duke, but I just have to tell you,” I release on a heated whisper. “You just have to be the most beautiful man I ever did see.”

  Letting loose with a sensual chuckle that sends tremors down my spine, Duke cradles me in two strong arms as he stares deeply into my eyes.

  “Well thank ya kindly, Miss,” he drawls, running some soothing fingers through the lengths of my long chestnut hair. “Mind if I repay your compliment by way of a kiss?”

  I nod my consent with a resigned sigh; a sound that evolves to an elated gasp as Duke seizes my lips in an intense kiss.

  His full, soft lips massage mine as our mouths merge in what seems a binding kiss; his arms tightening around my waist as a low, soft growl escapes his throat.

  Angling his head over mine to intensify his passion, Duke devours my lips with his as I sink happily into his arms; leaning hard into his kiss as our hot, hard breaths merge between us and our tongues intertwine.

  Returning his affection with intense lust, I brace my hands on his muscular shoulders and wriggle contented in his arms. I savor the lap of his long, wet tongue clear and clean across the roof of my mouth, and the tickle of his tender fingertips as they scale the length of my spine.

  I release a frustrated groan moments later, as fully and finally he breaks our kiss; angling my body upward until we stand face to face at the center of the dance floor.

  Wordlessly we succumb once again to the rhythm of the dance; swirling and twirling across the floor as I lay my head on his muscular shoulder.

  Even as our bodies move together in our own private realm, I can’t help but cast a self-conscious look around us on the dance floor; scanning the crowd for possible reactions to our very public passion.

  I sigh relieved, though, as I realize that Duke and I are the ‘polite ones’ on the floor; at least in comparison to the ladies and gentlemen around us, who in reality are anything but.

  “Just look at all of these fancy ladies, trying to tempt all these wily ol’ cowboys,” I whisper in Duke’s ear, adding with a scoff, “I would never conduct myself in that manner.”

  I gasp as my companion pulls me closer still, dipping his head to grace my neck with a soft, sweet kiss.

  “Ah, but my lady. What would you do if a certain gentleman conducted himself that way with you?” he offers on a purr. “Let me be your fancy gentleman, Miss Elizabeth. Allow me to seduce you.”

  With these words he steps away from me, moving the full length of his firm muscled body in a sleek sensual gyration as he crooks a sexy finger straight in my direction.

  “I have a room upstairs, Cowgirl,” he growls. “If you care to spend some time with me, I swear I’ll make it worth your while.”

  Taking his hand in mine, I walk as if in a dream up the length of a brass handled staircase at the co
rner of the bar.

  Soon I find myself in a room that screams of sin—if, indeed, one could ever classify room décor as ‘sinful’ or ‘naughty.’ Ah, but how else could one classify a bed chamber swathed in wallpaper of scarlet brocade, that claims a big ol’ brass posted white feather bed as its centerpiece?

  Sweeping me most literally off my feet, Duke tosses my body into a soft mass of satiny ivory comforters; standing tall and proud before me to strip off his sleek brocade vest one shoulder at a time.

  “Now I full and well know, Cowgirl, that you’ve been ridin’ the range and workin’ hard all day,” he purrs, unbuttoning his cotton shirt to reveal a massive bronzed chest that was anything but proper. “Now all you have to do is relax…and let me entertain you.”

  With this declaration, he descends with a lusty growl onto the bed before him, crawling like a cat between my feet as he relieves me of my confining slippers—along with the shift and petticoats that lie beneath and above them.

  I giggle in spite of myself as he licks his way up my long legs and laves the skin of my thighs.

  Surging upward to ensnare my white cotton panties tight between his teeth, he drags them down my legs before returning to the source of my ultimate feminine pleasure.

  The strands of his long, thick ebony hair tickle my thighs as he licks open my intimate folds; gracing me with the intimate kiss as I squirm contented beneath him.

  Wrapping his full soft lips around the surface of my sensitive clit, Duke licks and suckles my feminine fruit; sending invigorating waves of unadulterated pleasure careening through my being.

  Bobbing his head up and down to intensify the sensation, Duke massages my hips with loving hands as he ministers to my every need; setting my body afire as a succulent pressure builds low within my belly.

  Then with a last, resounding lick he sends me hurtling over the edge; treating me to an incredible clitoral climax.