Angie smiled sleepily at him. “I think it’s beautiful here. I love the contrast between rocks and forest. And the undulating coastline.”
“Too many people. Without even the benefit of cosmopolitan amenities,” he refused to concede her point.
“It’s just for a couple of weeks in the summer,” she explained. “The Art Fair is supposed to bring visitors to the island and improve the economy. And it certainly does. Mystic Bay retailers call it Christmas in July.”
“Hmph. It isn’t as though Angelina Lindorm requires a bunch of sightseers to improve her standing. You are famous throughout Sweden. Throughout Europe. You sell everything you make.”
“I am. And I do. Yet it’s kind of nice to talk to regular people who don’t know who I am. They just want to splurge on a piece of art that makes them happy. A kind of combination souvenir and status symbol.” She sighed happily. “I may have a talent for sales.”
“You bespell the customers?” He was alarmed and outraged.
She glanced reproachfully at him. “Of course not. If I overrode their true feelings, whether about how much they could afford, or what they truly like, the spell would wear off. Probably on the ferry. As it is, we tell them that, until their purchases leave the gallery, they can return them for a full refund.”
“Generous. Get a lot of buyer’s remorse?”
“No. And of the few who come in wanting their money back, it’s surprising how many change their minds when I show them our day book with the number of people who put themselves on a waiting list in case they asked for a refund.”
“Really?”
“It’s human nature to value what you’ve bought. And knowing that other people are willing to fork out for what they have just bought, justifies their choice and the price they paid. And yes, when people see those little red stickers, they often want that particular work even when I can show them something else by the same artist.” Angie rummaged in the cooler and took out a plastic box of chicken legs and offered it to him.
“But then those other people go away empty-handed.” He bit into succulent lemon-scented chicken.
“Not at all. We call to tell them that the original buyers have taken their piece. Usually they trot back the next morning and fall in love with something else.” She poured them both glasses of lemonade. “I think all these years I’ve been paying Hans Holm to have way too much fun selling my art.”
“You don’t need to stand on your feet all day,” he said indignantly. “My wife doesn’t need a job. And you have money of your own if you don’t want to use mine.” It rankled that she had rejected his money as well as their marriage.
“All members of the co-op have to staff it. That’s part of the rules. Moira chooses what goes on the floor, and when, but we have to help hang it, sell it, and sweep the floor.” She stretched languorously, thrusting the magnificence of her bosom into prominence. Was she doing it on purpose?
“You don’t need some artists’ co-operative in a two-by-four village no one has ever heard of to be successful.”
“And yet it feels right.” She shrugged and bit into a peach. Juice dripped on her chin and she wiped it off with her fingers and licked them.
Fire shot straight to his groin.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Angie~
“Are you trying to seduce me? Again?” Daniel’s voice was vaguely hostile.
Was she? They had made love in many boats. Their own sloop with its private cabin. The tiny ketches they used to sail in the Gulf of Bothnia when they visited Lord Lindorm. They had capsized a few of those little sailboats too in their time. Been forced to take dragon or perish. Even in July, the Gulf of Bothnia could be well below freezing.
But there had been a few holidays on San Michaela where the waters of the Caribbean had provided a blissfully warm bed for two. The entire island of San Michaela belonged to the Lindorms*. They had spent their time there mostly naked. Her Daniel had the Nordic inclination to nudity whenever it was warm enough. And the sun was certainly hot enough today, even if the water was not.
She stretched again. Observed the effect on her husband. This interlude had restored some of their usual easiness. The combination of sun and water was dissolving that knot of tension that had plagued her since she packed her bags in Stockholm. But was she actually trying to seduce Daniel?
Not that it would be hard. She could smell his arousal. See it in the broad stripes of red on his chiseled cheekbones. Even though he was sitting down, his legs were spread to brace against the rocking of the anchored boat, so his erection was obvious. Her heart picked up speed. Her insides melted. Her pussy began to hum.
“Well?” His voice was sensual threat and dare.
“Maybe,” she purred.
What was the harm? Aside from restarting the clock on their separation? Which hardly mattered. If they divorced, she didn’t care how long it took. It wasn’t as if she expected to marry again. Fairies loved only once. At least that was what she had always heard. And not always even once.
Daniel dipped a hand in the water, withdrew it dripping. “I won’t risk dumping you in the ocean.”
“Too cold? Even here in the shallows?”
“Yes. But we could go ashore.”
Doubt took her. “Who owns the beach?”
“According to the guy who rents these boats, the beaches are all public access. The house on the promontory is owned by a family called Spicer. They are presently off-island.”
She nodded. The Spicers were sorcerers. Gordon Sullivan had disciplined one of their number and they had left West Haven in a collective huff. There was talk that they might even sell up. The tittle-tattle in the Bean was that they wouldn’t be missed.
“It’s not far. We could swim,” she suggested.
“We’d have to be sure to do something to warm you up afterward.”
“We’ll think of something.”
She was nude before he could respond to her teasing. She knew better than to dive into unknown waters and settled for lowering herself over the side. The water was icy. And there was a stronger current than she expected. Daniel splashed into the water beside her. His strong hand grasped hers.
“Relax. I have you. Swim parallel to the shore. Let the waves push you onto the beach.” His voice was calm and assured. The voice of experience freighted with authority.
Her muscles loosened. She let Daniel tug her through the narrow rip current. Waves lifted her and brought her closer to the strip of pebbly beach. She tried to stroke toward it.
“Not yet.” Daniel said in that flat, calm voice he used on his unruly young cousins.
She was okay. Daniel wouldn’t let her come to harm. They waited for three cycles of waves before he thought they were close enough to wade ashore. The pebbled beach had given way to seaweed-covered boulders that they had to scramble to climb. The Seagull bobbed yards away. In the twinkling of an eye she clothed them both in cotton robes and beach shoes.
“I guess this means you’re afraid we’ll be seen.” Daniel chuckled as he knotted his sash.
“It means this is not what I had in mind at all.” She looked around. They were in the curve of a tiny bay. Behind them stairs had been carved into the cliff face. A wooden handrail suggested it was in regular use. There was nowhere to make love except the pebbles, even if she was still in the mood.
“What should we do?” They could hardly abandon the boat, but she did not fancy another swim.
“You could teleport back on board,” Daniel suggested. “I could swim back.”
“Against that riptide?” She was horrified. “Not twice! And it’s too far for me to materialize safely.” Fairies could switch location, but it took a lot of energy and she had never attempted more than a few feet at once. Being pregnant changed everything.
“I’ve done it before,” he pointed out.
He had. But not while she watched. He looked eager to try, damn him. “No. Let’s go up and see if there is a way to get to the beach on the other s
ide of the boat, so that you can swim with the current.”
“Hey.” His big hand pulled her into his warmth. “We’re safe. You’re a little chilly, but we’re fine. We’ll go up those stairs, see if we can find that house.”
Without warning she was suddenly in tears. Daniel rocked her in the safety of his powerful arms. Gradually the flood became a trickle.
“Do you have a fairy handkerchief on you?” he asked her hair.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she hiccupped.
“Pregnancy,” he stated smugly. “Plus we had a narrow escape. Although we could have taken dragon at any time.”
“Not while I’m pregnant!”
“Who told you that?”
“Your mother and grandmother. All your sisters-in-law.”
He held her tighter and his chuckles became waves of laughter. “Old wives’ tales. What possible harm could it do?”
“Apparently it primes the fetus for early shifting. As in shortly after birth instead of puberty.” She pulled away. “It may be an old wives’ tale, but I am not risking having a fireling I can’t keep track of.”
“All right. Up you go. I’ll be behind, in case you fall.” He pushed her bottom as she mounted the staircase.
It was steep, and the treads too narrow for her whole foot. Apparently, the Spicers were mountain goats as well as sorcerers. But eventually they reached the top of the cliff. Someone had made a bench out of granite. Angie collapsed gratefully onto the sun-warmed stone. Daniel joined her. The view was magnificent.
The line where sky met water was a purple haze. Green islands rose out of it like the spires of churches. The pointed roofs of a series of turrets peeped through the trees and marked the location of a great Victorian cottage on the nearest island.
“This is perfect,” she breathed. “I wish I had my sketch pad with me.”
“Produce one.”
Why not? They were alone. And even if one of the Spicers came along, this was West Haven where the paranormal was normal. She materialized a pad and pencil and turned the dancing waves and foraging sea otters into a series of line drawings, the turrets opposite into a castle. Daniel sat stock still beside her, arms folded, letting the breeze pass through his golden hair.
“I guess we should move on.” She closed the pad reluctantly.
“Probably.” He made no move to rise. “I don’t see how you can transform sea and rocks into a sculpture,” he said.
“Neither do I. It will come to me. Or not.” She stood up and stretched.
“I think this is where we went wrong.” His voice was wry. And then he pulled her onto his lap and kissed her.
*Dragon’s Confession & Dragon’s Possession
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Daniel~
The crunch of wheels on gravel interrupted his kiss. What had happened to his famed luck? The luck of the Lindorms? Angie stiffened in his arms and in a heartbeat her scent went from yielding and aroused to anxious. He gave her one last peck and set her back on the rock.
“Whoever it is can’t see us here,” he murmured reassuringly.
“We should go apologize for trespassing,” she said. She waved a hand and restored her hair to its usual gleaming state. Despite her red cheeks, her coronet of silvery-blonde braids looked regal.
“What about me?” he asked.
“Not a hair out of place.” She sounded resentful.
“You look perfectly turned out,” he assured her. “Do you want to change our clothes?”
Instantly they were wearing their sailing clothes.
The vehicle they had heard turned out to be a hatchback. A short, visibly pregnant woman was attempting to hammer a signpost into the lawn. She jumped when they appeared from the trees that screened the lookout from the house, but recovered quickly. Daniel identified her as a rabbit.
“Hello, Melissa,” Angie said cheerfully. “Did you get the listing?”
“I did.” The rabbit beamed. “Not that there’s much competition on West Haven. There’s just the one agency. But the Spicers could have gone with my boss.”
“Let me do that for you,” Daniel offered. He took the mallet from the rabbit.
“This is my husband, Daniel Lindorm,” Angie said. “Daniel, Melissa Babcock, Sheriff Babcock’s wife.”
“How do you do?” He knocked the metal stake into the rain-softened ground with a single blow. FOR SALE proclaimed the swinging board.
“Glad to know you, Admiral,” Melissa said. “And thanks for your help. I put one out by the entrance to the driveway, and I think that tuckered me right out. Did you guys come to see the house?” she continued hopefully.
Unlike most of the architecture he had seen on the island, the Spicers’ house was a long, low building of modern construction. It had been built into the side of a knoll with a V-shaped glass deck cantilevered out over the side of the cliff. It resembled nothing so much as the observation deck of a great ocean-going liner.
“It’s smaller than I expected,” Angie remarked.
“Only from the outside,” Melissa assured her. “Do you want to see?”
He started to tell the real estate agent that they were not house hunting, but a look at Angie halted the words. She was interested. Probably not interested in living here, but in seeing what it was like. “Sure, but I warn you we may be wasting your time.”
“That’s okay,” Melissa said. “You guys are probably not eligible to buy anyway.” She led the way along a winding stone path to a pair of double doors.
“Not eligible?” he asked.
“Property on West Haven may be bought and sold only with the approval of the Mystic Bay Town Council.” Melissa sounded as if she were quoting.
“Indeed?” He bit back his resentment.
Angie cocked an I-told-you-so eyebrow at him.
“Yup.” Melissa opened the double doors and led them into a broad echoing foyer. “The council doesn’t let non-sensitives buy property. They can rent, but that’s it.”
She sighed. “To tell you the truth, I think this place is going to be hard to move what I do. There are not a lot of locals who can afford this much land, and the Spicers want top dollar. Also, most people around here prefer Victorian architecture to modern. Plus it’s a long way from town.”
“Let’s see that observation deck.” Daniel shook his head at Angie’s puzzled look. No need to make the real estate agent think they were going to buy this place.
“Observation deck? Oh, you mean the one outside the great room,” Melissa said enthusiastically. “It extends the width of the house and has access to the deck. And a great view.”
The great room was indeed cavernous, with a vaulted ceiling and a wall-to-wall view of the ocean. Today sunlight sparkled on the gently rippling water. Daniel suspected that in the winter, under a gray sky, and with black, tempest-tossed waves, the view would be less pretty and more elemental. Just like the Gulf of Bothnia.
Angie was pacing off the room. “It’s huge,” she said happily. “Seventy-five feet wide!”
Melissa consulted her clipboard. “Seventy-seven. And thirty-two deep. The kitchen is this way.”
“I thought that the Spicers had been summer residents since the turn of the last century,” Angie said. “How come this is mid-century modern?”
Melissa’s lips flattened. “In the 1950s a mysterious fire burned down their original cottage. That caused the then town council to reverse its decision against replacing it.”
Daniel had lived in old buildings his whole life. Personally, he much preferred structures where the plumbing and wiring were not afterthoughts. The kitchen was spacious with lots of counters and those huge appliances that Americans favored. It had only a narrow strip of windows above the kitchen sink. But because there was no wall between it and the great room, the light from those expansive windows flooded the space. Like the living room, the kitchen nook was empty.
The house had good lines, but something was off in the atmosphere. It felt abandoned.
And a little creepy. As if ill-will hovered around them.
“How many bedrooms?” Angie asked.
“Five. And five bathrooms. Plus a powder room. Divided into two wings.” Melissa flipped on lights as she went. “The original incandescent fixtures have been replaced with LEDs.”
The bedrooms were nevertheless dark, the windows too high up on the walls to see out of. Melissa pressed more buttons. The blinds on the master bedroom windows rose. The room got a little brighter. Dust marked the place where the king-sized bed and night tables and dressers had stood. Just like the kitchen and great room, the energy in this room was off. Too much magic of the wrong kind, he deduced.
“This place needs a thorough cleaning,” Melissa said.
And an exorcism.
“And repainting,” Angie chimed in. “I don’t love this color.”
The entire house was painted grayish-beige. In the bright living room it looked off-white. Here in the subterranean bedroom, it looked dirty and gloomy and added to the feeling of wrongness.
Melissa didn’t comment on Angie’s observation. She turned on the light in the bathroom. “You’re going to love this.”
She was right. Blue and white tiles and huge mirrors bounced the available light around the most enormous bathroom Daniel had ever entered. The window over the double-soaker tub looked out into the surrounding forest. The shower stall had room for two or three or six, if your tastes ran that way.
“Where does that go?” he asked.
“Let me show you.” Melissa unlocked it. They went out onto a deck with a view from two sides. A hot tub and sauna had been placed in the corner of the two walls. At the narrow end, the ocean sparkled. The forest was a green wall on the wide edge.
Daniel peered inside the sauna. It appeared unused. It smelled only of cedar.
“This deck is spectacular.” Angie took the sentiments out of his mouth. “What a great view!”
“The Spicers had a whole suite of furniture out here,” Melissa said. “A couple of sofas, lounge chairs, tables, even a rug.”
Adored by A Dragon: A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance (Mystic Bay Book 4) Page 7
