Desired by the Dragon

by Isadora Montrose

  She looked adorable pouting. He didn’t think he had ever seen her lose her dignity before. He stole a quick kiss, even though there were still any number of folks wandering on the docks. Maybe their neighbors needed some new gossip.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Quinn~

  They ate their impromptu supper in the kitchen. Moira seemed to enjoy his mother’s cooking. Mom had staff in Seattle, and a high-powered career at Drake Investments, but on West Haven she liked to be domestic.

  The kitchen had big windows like the family room, but its windows were still overhung by the deep porch roof. And still the multi-paned originals, unprotected by the winter storm windows and shutters, which the caretakers had removed for the summer.

  He left the California blinds open so that they could see the ocean sparkling beneath the moon. Except that tonight there was no moon. White horses were racing toward the shore as a storm blew in. He was used to that. The weather in the San Juans was variable and storms went with the location.

  Lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked immediately overhead. Rain drummed loudly on the porch roof. Moira’s eyes grew round. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Where does any of our weather on West Haven come from?”

  “Is this your doing?” she demanded crossly.

  He laughed. “Nope. Can’t blame this on dragons. That is not part of our talents. This is just another West Coast storm.” The gale rattled the Victorian window glass.

  “How am I going to get home?” she fretted.

  They had both driven from the colony in their SUVs, so that all the fairy paintings could be transported at once. He peered out into the night. Despite the depth of the porch, water streamed down the glass of the kitchen windows. Lighting flashed. Thunder rolled loud enough to shake those wet windows. Moira flinched.

  “This will probably blow itself out,” he said. “It’s too intense to last long.”

  “Maybe. Mind if I check the forecast?” she whipped out her cell. “Dang. I have no service.”

  He pulled his phone out. Nothing. “Me too.” He stood up. “Would you like seconds? Because I think we should clean up before the power goes out.”

  Moira didn’t want any more. She carried her plate into the kitchen and looked around. There were two full-sized dishwashers to cope with the load of an extended family, but Quinn didn’t think there would be electricity to run them tonight. He filled the sink with hot water.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “Put the leftover pie in the fridge. There’s plastic wrap in that drawer. This won’t take a moment,” he shouted over the thunder. “Can’t you do that teleportation thing and get yourself home if this keeps up?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. It would take too much energy. I’d literally have to sleep for a week.”

  “Oh.” He rinsed the dishes and stuck them in the rack. Began to wipe the counters. “I’ll take the rest of the pie back to Willow Cottage with me.” Probably in the morning.

  The lights flickered and then came back on. A warning. Moira looked a little white. Was she afraid of the storm, or of him?

  “Let’s sit by the fire again,” he suggested. “Do you like board games?”

  “Board games?”

  “Yeah.” He herded her toward the family room. “This is a screen-free retreat,” he said. “There’s no TV. No internet. No video games. But we can play cards, or Scrabble, or Monopoly.”

  “That’s what your family does here?” her voice was as disbelieving as her face.

  “Yup.” It was true. All day they flew together, sailed together, fished together. In the evenings, they played games. Board games, charades. Sometimes they told stories or read aloud. “Poker?” he asked hopefully.

  “I don’t gamble,” she said primly.

  The lights flickered again. Twice they blinked back on before going dark. There was firelight in here, but with his dragon vision he didn’t need it. Moira was huddled in on herself, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. But the fire was still going. It could go for days. The natural gas cylinders were large and full.

  “You’re perfectly safe from me,” he informed her, trying to be reassuring. His voice sounded gravelly even to him. In the dimness her fragrance was even more of a draw than usual. All evening he had felt an intimacy created by bringing his woman to his family’s home.

  But he could be strong. He sat down dead center of the couch facing the fire, and put his feet up on the big slab of glass that protected the polished burl walnut base of the coffee table from damage. He patted the leather cushion beside him. “Get comfy. Nothing you don’t want is going to happen.”

  Moira perched at the far end of the couch at a right angle to his. “I’m not ready for anything to happen,” she said. Her eyes were large and luminous and very gray in the firelight.

  How could he reassure her? “Do you want to try to drive in this?” He pointed at the windows where the rain ran in streams. Lightning lit her frightened face. Thunder growled.

  “It’s as though the storm is directly over us and stalled,” she whispered.

  “Yes. I think it would be dangerous to take the Old Coast Road.” He stalked over to the game cupboard and looked at the shabby boxes inside. Normally a light would go on when he opened the doors, but not this evening. “What’s your fancy? An old favorite, or something new?”

  She approached cautiously. Like a fawn coming to drink beside a predator. “Like what?”

  He remembered the light on his key chain and flicked it on.

  “I’ve never heard of half of these games,” she said. She began to laugh. “It’s a hoard of board games.”

  “We use them all,” he said defensively. It was true. All the boxes were mended and fragile with age.

  Moira smirked and ran pink-tipped fingers down the boxes. “Rack-O?” she said. “What’s that?”

  He pulled the box from the stack. “Good choice. It’s an oldie but goodie. Simple, but requires strategy.” He closed the doors again and turned off the penlight.

  This time he sat on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.

  Moira cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t the games table be better?”

  “Too far from the fire to see.” Besides she was cold and jittery. Her agitation felt like a gut punch. He desperately wanted her to feel happy and secure in his company. But this cozy evening apparently was not to her taste. Or he wasn’t. Why couldn’t he read her? The closer he got, the vaguer his instincts felt. Was fate laughing at him?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Sully~

  “I hate to disillusion you, my dear, but this is not my doing?” Sully gestured to the windows of his house where the rain beat a tattoo and lightning lit it up at intervals.

  Robin looked alarmed. At least as alarmed as a fairy ever looked, which wasn’t very. But her tranquility was badly ruffled. “Are you sure?” She flinched as thunder boomed.

  “I’m sure.” He waved one hand. The rain eased off and the thunder rumbled in the distance. “Better?”

  “Yes. What did you do?”

  “Extended the bubble I keep over the harbor and the marina to my house. I don’t usually bother, but if you dislike the storm?” He shrugged. He would do more than calm a storm for Robin.

  “Did you extend it to Shoreside and the Old Coast Road?”

  “Now why would I do that?”

  “It will be all over the island by morning that they spent the night together,” she said with satisfaction.

  “At least when the power and phone service is restored. And, before you ask, that wasn’t me either.”

  “This storm does not feel entirely natural,” she said. “If it isn’t you, then who?”

  “We have a lot of weather workers on the island. Tom Peterson is strong enough. Or Morley Clark. Couple of others too.”

  “But why would Tom or Morley or Clarissa Scott suddenly decide to enhance a storm?” A tiny frown appeared betwee
n her brows.

  “Maybe we’re not the only matchmakers on the island. Doesn’t feel like mischief. Does it?”

  Her brow smoothed out. “No, it doesn’t. There is no underlying malevolence.” She looked around at his living room.

  It was neither as elegant nor as neat as it had been when Nightingale had been alive. But it was comfortable and clean. The walls could have used some fresh paint. The furniture also needed to be replaced, or recovered. The couch was shabby. His favorite recliner had a split in the seat cushion and the footrest wouldn’t stay up.

  It was only seeing it with Robin’s eyes that made him aware of how shabby everything had become. Yet the thought of redecorating sent chills down his spine. He had resented it when Gale had changed things, as she had done regularly, but now it seemed better than hiring painters and choosing couches or fabric.

  “You may have to stay the night,” he said.

  “That will really set tongues wagging,” she said. But she smiled.

  “Nothing will happen that you don’t want,” he assured her dryly.

  “Hmm. Sometimes I don’t know what I want.”

  He opened his arms and she walked into them. “I can wait, Robin, my darling, for as long as it takes you to make up your mind.”

  Her silvery head rested lightly on his chest. “Nothing happening won’t stop the gossip, Sully.”

  He tightened his arms and chuckled. “Well, no. Where would the fun be in that?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Moira~

  The cards in the Rack-O box were greasy and scuffed. The rule sheet had been taped in several places and more than once, but everything seemed to be intact.

  “You’ve played this a lot?” she remarked.

  “Oh, yeah. But you’ll soon catch on.” Quinn adjusted his posture so he could flip through the pack of cards. He discarded some and told her the rules as he shuffled the rest of the deck.

  As far as she could tell, he wasn’t deviating from the printed sheet, but suspicion rose in her. “What are we playing for?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just points. You can keep score.” He handed her a notepad that was less shabby than the rest of the equipment. And a pencil that looked to have been chewed by mice.

  He saw her looking at the pencil. “My Cousin Ed’s boy got hold of that one Christmas,” he explained. “Nathan was teething.”

  The explanation made her smile. “You make babies play too?”

  “Ed played. He gave Nathan the pencil to keep him quiet.”

  “How old is he now?”

  Quinn thought. His eyes narrowed. “Seven.”

  In six years they hadn’t replaced that chipped and chewed pencil? “I guess this is now an heirloom?” She waggled the pencil.

  He nodded sheepishly as he dealt the cards. They each had a plastic holder that they placed their cards into as they were dealt. The object was to wind up with a holder of cards in numerical order.

  “You know, this would be easier if we could just arrange the cards we have been dealt?” she observed.

  “Nope, we have to play by the rules. This is a game of skill and strategy as well as luck.”

  She gazed at her rack despairingly. “I think you must have cheated when you dealt the cards.”

  He turned the top card in the remaining deck over. “You can take that card, or you can take a fresh card. Either way, you have to discard. You can discard the new card or one from your set.” His golden eyes gleamed in the firelight. He was enjoying this.

  She picked up the upturned card and replaced one of hers. A horrid thought occurred to her. “Did your fiancée enjoy this too?”

  He froze with her discard in his hand. “Cynthia?” She might have asked if rain fell up instead of down. “I have no idea. She’s never been to Shoreside. And we’ve never played any game except tennis.”

  “Oh.”

  “They watch television at their place in the Cascades.” He sounded slightly disapproving. “And they like to go jet skiing at night.” He frowned. “You know, I’ve really dodged a bullet. Imagine trying to explain that there are no jet skis allowed on West Haven? That motor boats have to stay under five knots, and there is absolutely no water skiing?”

  “What did you two have in common?” she asked lightly.

  “Blessed if I know.” He shook his head. “We know some of the same people. Enjoy going to galleries. At least, I met her at an opening. Took her to the museum and a whole bunch more shows. Maybe she was bored the entire time.”

  Moira devoutly hoped so. Then she recalled the internet articles and photos. “You both like sailing.”

  “I do. Cynthia likes sailing – if there is a crew to do the work.”

  “But there’s no challenge in that.”

  “I know,” he agreed.

  She scanned her cards. Picked up his last discard. “Rack-O,” she crowed.

  Quinn looked over her cards and helped her to calculate her win. She wrote down the scores and shuffled the cards. “Why didn’t you bring her here? It’s obvious you love West Haven.”

  He looked uncomfortable. He focused on getting his cards into their slots. She thought he was going to ignore her question, but after a moment or two he spoke. “I guess after I went up to the Cascades to the Fitzhugh’s place and spent a couple of weekends wearing earplugs and wishing I had stayed home where I could paint, I figured peace and quiet weren’t her thing.”

  They played without talking for a couple of rounds. It was a comfortable silence. Quinn’s shoulders relaxed and he scrutinized his cards. He clearly wanted to win. To distract him, she asked, “Have you decided on your entries for the Art Fair?”

  “Not really.” He looked up, hesitated over her discard, took a chance on the deck and threw that card onto the pile.

  She scooped it up. “Rack-O. And a run of five.”

  He turned her tray. “Forty,” he said.

  “I make it 225,” she retorted.

  “I meant mine.” He handed her the deck.

  “So which paintings are you considering? Soul Emergent for sure.” She dealt the cards.

  “You really think it’s that good?”

  “Yup. You need to decide. The judges arrive on June third. They look at the entries, deliberate, make their initial judgments, go away and return on the weekend before the Fourth.”

  “I thought I had until mid-June.”

  “You sort of do. But it will make you look flaky if you exchange an undamaged picture.”

  “They can get damaged?” He was horrified.

  “Relax.” She held up a hand.” It’s a contingency plan. Aunt Robin makes every artist sign an indemnity waiver. But since she is not compensating anyone if something goes missing or is damaged, it’s in the contract that in the event that work is stolen, lost or damaged, the artist may replace it with a new entry.”

  “Has it ever happened?”

  “No. The entries are kept at the community center in a locked room with a security guard.”

  He sighed. “Walter Babcock, the fearless bunny shifter.” He named Robin’s security guard. Wally was a long-time employee of the inn, a member of the Council, and a year-round resident. “Jesus. Do you think Robin would accept some real security? I know some people.”

  “Wally is very conscientious. And one of the West Haven deputy sheriffs.” She hid her smile. “And we’ve never had a lick of trouble.”

  “He’s a rabbit.”

  Quinn was such a hunter. As if prey species weren’t fierce and cunning too. “And a man.”

  “He’s five nothing in his shoes. Weighs sixty pounds soaking wet. Does he even own a gun?”

  “Probably not. But we don’t have much crime in Mystic Bay. For sure, Aunt Robin wouldn’t want a non-sensitive doing security.”

  “The guys I know are all shifters. Dragons, bears, big cats. Former soldiers. They know how to secure a building.”

  “I think it will be okay. Chill. We’re talking Mystic Bay. Even Seattle isn’t tha
t dangerous.” She looked up and grinned at him. “Rack-O.”

  His jaw dropped. Her dragon wasn’t used to losing. She was pretty sure that gave her bonus points in whatever side game they were playing.

  “You did that on purpose,” he accused. He looked at her with new respect.

  She sat up straighter and preened a little. “Uh huh.”

  “I had no idea that fairies were so devious.”

  “I’m good at reading people,” she bragged. Usually. She had taken a major gamble on Quinn’s reaction to her questioning.

  He tipped his big head backward and began to laugh. “I’m not sure I should play with you any longer. My mother warned me about females like you.”

  She placed her arms behind her and leaned on her palms, aware that this thrust her chest forward. “Did she?”

  Those green gold predator’s eyes regarded her unblinkingly. “Armed and dangerous,” he drawled. He began to pack the game away. “I think I better find you a bedroom. Although you can share mine if you want.”

  “Not yet.”

  He rose to his feet. The game box looked even smaller in his big hand. He held out the other one to her. “How well can you see in the dark?”

  The rain continued to lash the windows of the family room. There was no sign of the moon. “I need light,” she said. She didn’t mention she could make her own. She saw no reason to share her secrets. Yet.

  “Okay. We’ll get out the lanterns, for when I turn off the fire.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Quinn~

  The storm continued to rage, but they were safe in the Drake castle. Or cottage. And the fairy princess was asleep in the guest room. The bed had been made up by the housekeepers who kept Shoreside ready for the Drakes. He had left Moira with an LED lantern in the bedroom, and one in the bathroom. And left a third turned low in the hall in case she went wandering in the night. Like to his room.

  It felt good – right – to have her here under his roof. Or at least under the family roof. He had enjoyed their afternoon and evening together. They had sailed the Sieglinda as if they had done it together a thousand times. Moira had taken the storm in stride, even though she had to know that come morning half of West Haven would be gossiping to the other half.