Desired by the Dragon_A Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romance

by Isadora Montrose

  Moira nodded. She had advised many new clients to keep their mouths shut and smile – no matter what buyers said. “I don’t know if I am the one to provide that service in Mystic Bay,” she demurred.

  “You think about it,” Elena said. “Art is your calling, not just your living.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Moira returned weakly. Could she start another gallery so soon? Or were Whitlock’s underhanded dealings going to bite her if she tried?

  “We have to be on our way. We’re already ten minutes late for our meeting with the mayor.” Elena and Jasper slipped out the door and were gone.

  Ten minutes later, Quinn stalked back into the store. “Whitlock’s gone,” he said. “Ferry left right on time with him and his luggage. I think we’ve seen the last of that grifter. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. Because you owe me. Looks like Hop-along and I are now best buddies.”

  She smiled. “You have to admit Wally’s a good man in a pinch.”

  “He’s okay for a bunny shifter.”

  Moira laughed. “You know that idea you had that I should start a gallery?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Quinn~

  The Mystic Bay High School auditorium was decorated for the Fourth with red, white and blue bunting and crossed American flags. This was his moment of truth. The five judges sat in a row on the stage. Robin was at the podium, elegant and dispassionate as she welcomed the judges and introduced them to the audience one by one.

  It was standing room only in the packed auditorium. A number of art critics had swelled the throng of residents and visitors. Quinn was sitting in the front row with the other artists. He wished he could be beside Moira. But Robin had decreed that when the winners were announced, they should be accessible. He resisted the impulse to turn around and locate her.

  The judges stood as the mayor spoke their names. Robin finished her speech with a request for the envelope containing the winners’ names. As the spokesperson for the judges, Patricia Wong handed it to her with a flourish. Robin slowly opened the envelope milking the suspense for all she was worth.

  “Third prize goes to Cecily Mandel for her Bust of a Young Girl.” Quinn thought that any of Ted Fisher’s pieces were more imaginative. But Cecily had the edge in technique. And her bust was a lovely object executed in terracotta.

  There was hearty applause and middle-aged Cecily stumped up onto the stage to collect her check. She thanked Robin for giving her a place in the colony, and the town of Mystic Bay for the opportunity, and stumped off waving her prize money.

  “Second prize goes to Ray Cornish for his Return of the Fishers.” That prize was richly deserved. Return of the Fishers was a masterpiece of light and color depicting the fishing fleet returning to the Mystic Bay harbor.

  Ray collected his check to thunderous applause and Robin took out the third slip of paper. She smiled at the audience. The room held its breath.

  “First prize belongs to our own Quinn Drake. As you all know, the Drakes have been summer residents on the island for decades. Quinn’s Soul Emergent-Number One has taken this year’s grand prize. Let’s have a round of applause for our first-place entry.”

  He had done it. Although he could have done without the public announcement of his true name. His trip to the stage was accompanied by as much whispering as clapping. He could see his father and mother sitting in the audience. They had collared Moira, for she was sitting between them. A buttercup about to be crushed by two icebergs. Shift. He had better rescue her.

  He had to make a speech. And shake hands with all the judges. The applause went on forever. Moira’s dainty hands beat a tattoo. So did his parents’, although he didn’t think either Mom or Dad looked truly pleased. Well, he had not thought getting their approval would be easy.

  He tried to catch Moira’s eye as he returned to his seat in the front row, but she was speaking to Mom. Robin’s closing remarks seemed to go on and on. But eventually she invited everyone to go next door and look at the entries – and buy them. The judges trooped off the stage to more applause. Robin whisked herself behind the back curtain, and the ceremony was over.

  As one the audience stood and tried to leave. He could see over the heads of the crowd to the doors where Babcock and his minions were keeping order. Moira was crushed between his parents moving in the mass. He and the other entrants could go nowhere for the press of hands to be shaken.

  It appeared that the Art Fair had done what Robin had wanted and made a name for itself. Just being in the show was going to be enough to give careers a boost. Of course, he had yet to sell a single painting. Moira had insisted on an unbelievable price for all of his entries. He thought she had priced him out of this market.

  By the time he got to the Community Center, all five of his paintings had a discreet red dot indicating that they were sold. Moira was standing before Soul Emergent between his parents. His father especially was radiating displeasure.

  “Of course, I’m prejudiced,” Moira said briskly. “But I think his vision speaks for itself. And the quality of his technique merely enhances that vision.”

  “Hmph,” Anthony snorted. Quinn’s mother laid a warning hand on her husband’s forearm.

  Quinn rested his hands on Moira’s shoulders hoping to reassure her. She grinned up at him. “Told you so,” she said motioning toward his first-place ribbon.

  “So you did. What do you think, sir?” he asked his father.

  “That you’re a braver man than I am to trespass in the Old Forest.”

  “I had the permission of the Old Ones.”

  Anthony looked skeptical, but he didn’t say anything. Quinn’s mother smiled at him. “I was just telling Moira that we hadn’t seen you all summer. We should mingle a bit more, look at the other entries, and then I think a little supper is in order.”

  Moira looked amused. In her flouncy yellow dress she looked more like Marilyn Monroe than ever. Mom was wearing one of her trademark white summer outfits. She looked cool, elegant, and sophisticated. Dad matched her in a white polo shirt and pale gray pants. They clearly thought they had Moira under control. Just as clearly she was not intimidated.

  Quinn cleared his throat. “Are you free to join us, Moira?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her voice was a dangerous tinkling of silver bells, but her eyes were a clear blue-green.

  “That’s settled then,” Dad said. “You can tell us about these next paintings.” He bore Moira off, leaving Quinn with his mother.

  “Your father is naturally upset,” Lorraine Drake murmured. “But I have always wanted a daughter.”

  Oh. Of course they had noticed that Moira was a dragoness. Naturally. He grinned at his mother. “You’re going to love her, Mom. But we can’t discuss this here.”

  “No?” she hissed. “Your father has already been accosted four times by members of the Council demanding to know if you intend to fool around with Ms. Fairchild indefinitely. And we would also like to know.”

  Just what he needed. Irate parents. He spared a glance at Moira who was holding forth on the seascapes she and Dad were inspecting. “We’ll hash everything out this evening, Mom. Come tell me what you think of this.”

  He led her to Ted Fishers’ Sunrise over the Forest. The wide, twisted and spired yellow bowl had streaks of bottle-green and rose-pink running through it. Ted had captured the essence of the Old Forest at dawn.

  “It’s lovely.” Lorraine peered at the price tag. “Gracious me. Who priced this art?”

  “Moira.”

  “Indeed?”

  Quinn chuckled. “You can afford it. It would look great in the sitting room at Shoreside, wouldn’t it?”

  Lorraine shook her head. “Dining room. Seattle. We don’t need reminders of the Old Forest at Shoreside.” She looked around for one of the volunteers.

  Wally Babcock drifted over, spruce in his uniform. A small forest of gadgets swung from his belt, although he had left his truncheon at home. “Can I
help you?”

  “Mom, you remember Walter Babcock, don’t you?”

  Lorraine held out her hand graciously. “Of course. How are you today, Mr. Babcock?”

  Caught between two hunters, Wally’s pink nose twitched, but he unhesitatingly took Mom’s hand. “I’m good. You interested in this beauty, Mrs. Drake?” He jerked a thumb at the bowl.

  Mom glanced at Quinn. “I want to buy it.”

  “Excellent choice,” Wally said agreeably. “You write out a check for Ted Fisher, Mrs. Drake, and I’ll put a red sticker on the card.”

  “To Ted?” asked Mom.

  “The Art Fair is not taking a cut on the artists’ sales. Every penny goes to the creator,” Walter said proudly.

  “The Tidewater Art Fair is a little different,” Quinn said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Robin~

  Sully was coming to her rescue. She caught his eye and shook her head once. Just the tiniest bit. His own eyes narrowed, but he slowed his dash through the crowded Community Center and allowed Stella Appleby to halt him.

  Undoubtedly Stella wanted to explain to him all the ways in which it was unfair that her paintings had not won. Stella was a mid-range psychic with a flair for talking to animals. It was a pity her seascapes did not talk to people.

  “It’s a disgrace,” repeated Cal Masters. Cal was a very large sorcerer whose talent for horticulture had made his flower farm an incredible success. Like Robin he had been on the Mystic Bay Town Council for several terms.

  He loomed over Robin and waved his drink around to emphasize his point. Perhaps champagne in real glasses had been a mistake. Although Moira had insisted that it gave the correct atmosphere of exclusivity to their makeshift sale room.

  “I’m not sure,” she murmured in response, “Just what aspect of Moira’s friendship with Quinn you find so disgraceful.” Cal was the third councilor to take her aside this afternoon and object to Quinn and Moira’s affair.

  “Aside from the way they’re flaunting the fact that they are sleeping together? I would have expected a little discretion from someone Moira’s age!”

  “It is hard to keep a secret on West Haven,” Robin defended Moira.

  Cal finally realized that other people were listening to their conversation. He lowered his booming voice. “That hunter,” he spat the word. “Is taking advantage of your niece. She’s too infatuated and too innocent to see that he’s just using her.” He lowered his voice still further. “I went online. That bastard is engaged to a danged Muggle!”

  Robin opened her eyes wide at him. She had often found this innocent expression useful. “Are you sure?”

  “Yup!” Cal drained his glass as if it contained beer instead of bubbly. “You have to do something. It was bad enough when we thought it was just one of your pet artists sleeping with our Moira, but he’s one of those Drakes. He ought to know better.”

  “What would you suggest?” Robin asked gently. “Moira is a grown woman, and has a right to a private life. I’m not sure that she will break things off just because the Council demands it.”

  “Private,” said Cal as if it was an expletive. “If they want to break the rules, they get to pay the piper.”

  Robin did not point out that his metaphor made no sense. She glanced around and judged that they had accumulated a sufficiently large audience. “Yes,” she prompted.

  “And I told Anthony Drake so to his face,” he added.

  “Told him what?” asked Robin. Across the room, Sully had heard his fill of Stella’s complaints. He appeared to have pointed out that all her paintings had sold stickers on them. He moved towards Robin.

  Sully arrived at her elbow just as Cal made his revelation. “I told him that his money couldn’t buy him out of this scandal.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I told him that if Quinn didn’t marry Moira, we’d put his land title to a Council vote!”

  “Did you now?” boomed Sully. “What did he say?” His eyes twinkled down at Robin.

  “That brought him up short, I’ll tell you.” Cal tried to drink from his empty glass, and looked bewildered by its emptiness. “Never saw a fellow look more taken aback. He said he’d have a word with his son. I will say this for hunters, they keep control of their families. He’ll sort that boy into two piles. You’ll see. You can expect an announcement real soon.”

  “Marriage?” said Sully as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “Between our Moira and a hunter?” He snorted. “A fling is one thing, but a marriage is forever. Dragons never let their wives go. No divorce if things don’t work out.”

  “Moira has made her bed,” thundered Cal. “She can danged well lie in it. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Mildred Forster and Carmine Sutton both agree that it’s marriage, or we throw the Drakes off the island. Maybe Moira as well!”

  “Exile seems a little harsh,” protested Robin. “But marriage? What if there are children?” She permitted herself a tiny frown.

  Cal leaned forward. “By what I understand, that ain’t much of a risk. And if there are kids, the Drakes will bring `em up right.”

  “Well,” said Robin, “It seems I am in your debt. It hadn’t occurred to me to tackle Anthony.”

  “You remember that, next time we’re on separate sides of an issue,” Cal retorted. “You tell Moira that we’ll give her a week to set a date, or we’ll call the council together to vote on it. And be sure to tell her how the vote will go.”

  “I’ll do that,” said Robin.

  “I need a drink,” said Cal.

  “The bar is still open,” Sully pointed out.

  He and Robin watched Cal shoulder his way towards it. Sully nodded at her. “That makes six,” he said for her ears alone.

  “If the Council is united in demanding a marriage,” said Robin piously, “We will have to put a little pressure on our niece.”

  “Lorraine Drake thinks she and Quinn make a good couple.” Sully pitched his voice so that the folks around didn’t have to strain their flapping ears. “I have to say, I like the cut of his jib. Could be he’ll make our girl happy.”

  “We will have to see that he does,” said Robin.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Moira~

  “Are you just toying with our boy?” Anthony Drake demanded as he let out the clutch of his big black SUV.

  Moira had expected Anthony’s attack. He had been fairly simmering since she had introduced herself. Her talent for reading people had only been enhanced by her transformation. Anthony’s wrath showed up in his aura and in a certain bitter taint in his scent. Too bad she didn’t know precisely what had triggered his fury.

  “The thought of keeping Quinn as my boy toy is rather tempting,” she said lightly, “But I am Fae, we don’t trifle with the feelings of others.”

  Anthony shot her a look as he turned onto the Old Coast Road. “So what are you and Quinn up to?”

  “Shouldn’t you be asking him that?”

  “Is he going to tell me something different than you?” he snapped.

  “Um. No. Does our relationship distress you?” she asked gently.

  “What distresses me is having my neighbors haul me aside and ask me what the heck my only son is doing seducing a fairy. A virgin fairy too.”

  “Not anymore.” She hoped she did not sound as smug as she felt.

  Anthony snorted. Smoke hung in the air. “I’m going to tell you what Quinn should have told you before he ever got you into bed.”

  Moira rolled the window down, second-hand dragon smoke could not be good for the lungs. “Yes?”

  “The transformation makes the marriage.” Anthony threw down the gauntlet.

  “Old dragon saying?” She kept her voice polite.

  “More like ancient dragon lore.”

  “Ah. So you think that Quinn and I should get married?”

  “Before the baby comes.” He shot her another ferocious glance before he powered through another hairpin bend.

&nbs
p; She patted her tummy happily. She had only been sure for a few days, herself, and the reality still made her giddy. “Is the baby general knowledge?”

  He snorted. Flames flickered in the air. “Furlong knows. The others are just outraged by the idea of you screwing a hunter.”

  She winced. “Quinn and I prefer to think of what we do as making love.”

  “Good. So you won’t mind if Lorraine and I start planning a wedding?”

  “That would be up to Quinn, wouldn’t it?” She did not think a second ceremony was important, and Quinn wasn’t much for fusses.

  “If he transformed you and isn’t in love, there’s more wrong with that boy than his artistic bent.” Anthony’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “He threw away a perfectly good career at Drake Investments. He’s going to be a relative pauper, you know. Maybe you could persuade him to go back to trading bonds?”

  “Quinn has true talent, sir. Believe me, I know. And he was miserable being a bond analyst. And money isn’t everything.”

  His face eased out. He turned the car into the winding drive to the cottage. “Looks like they beat us back,” he said.

  “That isn’t Quinn’s truck,” she said.

  Anthony parked the SUV in the garage. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll see who our visitor is.”

  Honestly. Were all the Drake men overprotective alpha males? She supposed it went with the territory. She foresaw a life of being smothered in cotton wool. But Moira slipped obediently into the shadows and listened.

  “Cynthia!” Anthony’s distinguished voice was tight with anxiety. Or maybe she had extra-sensitive hearing now that she was a dragoness. “What brings you to West Haven?”

  “Hello, Anthony,” Cynthia Fitzhugh cooed. “I thought I had given Quinn enough time to come to his senses. So here I am.”

  “Huh?”

  It was time to rescue the dragon. Moira stepped out and walked up the path to the porch. A whippet-thin blonde was reclining in one of the Adirondack chairs. Her posture was relaxed, but her aura was tense. So this was the ex-fiancée.

  Moira slipped an arm through Anthony’s. He patted hers nervously. “Moira, I’d like to introduce you to a family friend. This is Cynthia Fitzhugh. Cynthia this is Moira Fairchild.”