Buying a Mate (BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance) (Quick & Furry Book 8)

by Celia Kyle

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Authors

  Copyright Page

  Buying a Mate

  Mate a woman for her millions? Sign weredragon Taron Jones up! He didn't begin life as a mercenary jerk, but being exiled from the clan tends to make a man willing to do a lot to survive. Including mating a human female who isn't truly his mate. Or is she?

  Taron's dragon says the curvaceous female belongs to him.

  River says she only needs the muscular lickable weredragon for a marriage license and nothing else.

  The Browning siblings... They say River will marry this thing over their dead bodies.

  And that is too good of an invitation to ignore.

  Chapter One

  A single piece of paper destroyed River Browning’s world. And not even a nice one. It wasn’t thick or pretty, didn’t have gold foil or anything.

  Plain old recycled paper stock. And really, she shouldn’t begrudge them for using recycled paper. She cared about the environment just as much as the next person. But the rest of it? Those printed words in twelve-point Arial font?

  They could take a flying leap, suck on a lemon, and fuck off.

  In order to retain a 51 percent share…

  ...married within thirty days.

  God. Dammit.

  Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

  She hated her biological father. Like, really hated him and not only because his will was forcing her to get married. Because he was letting her half-siblings—legitimate Brownings—get River’s stake.

  Why should part of Daddy’s company go to his bastard kid? Didn’t he pay your mom off already? That’d been half-sister Veronica during the reading of the will.

  Right? You were born on the wrong side of the blanket. That’d been Stephanie as she wrinkled her pert, plastic surgery shaped nose. Hand to God, the “legitimate” kids talked like regency romance heroines. Who said “wrong side of the blanket” anymore?

  Listen, bitch, you ain’t getting the cash. And that’d been the last of the official Bitch Brownings—Theresa.

  Now, to be sure she understood everything she’d heard, the lawyer sent a memo.

  As if she’d forget she now had twenty-nine days to get married.

  Married.

  Where was she gonna find…

  Wait. Married was like mated, right? And she’d just gotten some sort of Meet&Mate invite from her college roommate-slash-bestie and…

  Yes.

  Mari—Marilyn M. Rowe. She needed to find Mari’s number. River dug her phone from her purse and prodded at the device. It took no time to bring up the Internet and even less time to locate the phone number to the M&M Mating Agency.

  When she loaded the website, she snorted.

  We deal in mates, not chocolate.

  That was so Mari.

  One click had the phone dialing her friend’s number and the perky voice of the receptionist grated on her last nerve. Hell, she was surprised she even had a last nerve. She was sure the memo destroyed it.

  When the girl was done with her spiel, River spoke. “Mari Rowe, please.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Rowe isn’t—”

  Hell no. She was not being pushed off. “This is River Browning of Browning Industrial.” She hated throwing her weight around, but she wasn’t above it. “I want to speak with Mari. Now.”

  “One moment, please.”

  It paid to be an almost millionaire with the Browning name.

  “Rivs!” Mari’s screech filled her ear and River smiled.

  “Mari, how goes it?”

  “Wonderful, dahling. I haven’t heard from you in forever.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “I got one of your flyers in the mail.”

  “Yeah? Isn’t it fabu?”

  It was neon pink with lime green text. So, it was something. “Of course. So, a dating agency, huh?”

  “No, mating agency. Mating. Everyone who comes to us is ready to settle down and is looking for lurve.”

  Perfect. Maybe.

  “And they’re all, you know, like you?”

  Mari snorted. “Baby, there’s no one like me.” She giggled. “But yeah, they’re all shifters as well as humans interested in mating a shifter.”

  “Huh.”

  She nibbled her lower lip and stared at the memo once more. It’d been sitting innocuously on her desk, just waiting for her to arrive for the day. River was good enough to work at Browning Industrial, but not good enough to own part of it.

  Screw it.

  She pushed her chair back and scurried to her office door. One nudge had it swinging shut and a tug on the blinds made it so no one could see in. She was as alone as possible.

  “So, I’m kinda in a bind.”

  “What’s up? You bailed me outta jail a dozen times.” —two dozen— “I totally owe you.”

  “My biodad died and his will says I need to get married within the next twenty-nine days or I lose my stake in the company. It needs to be to someone strong enough to stand up to the other Brownings. I’ll pay, Mari, and I don’t care what kind of shifter. I need someone.”

  “You know we’re a mating agency, right? Maaaa-ting.”

  “I know, but there’s gotta be someone who can kick ass and is desperate enough for cash.” She didn’t care that she whined and that whining is beneath a Browning.

  “One sec.” A rustle told her Mari placed her hand over the receiver, muting her voice as she spoke to someone. Hopefully a someone who could help River. It felt like forever until her friend returned. “Okay, I may have someone. He’s a friend of Maddox’s. I know the guy and he’s nice…-ish.”

  “-ish?”

  “Well, all shifter males are dominant and growly, but if you keep him fed, you should be fine.”

  “Great…” Hesitation suddenly plagued her. Maybe this was a bad idea.

  “No, no, it’ll be fine. He’s a good guy,” Mari dropped her voice, “mostly.”

  “What do you mean mostly?”

  Mari sighed. “I’d date him—”

  “The fuck you will.” Maddox’s shout reached through the phone.

  “—if I was actually looking to date. Ignore Maddox. He pretends I’ve never seen a dick, never mind fucked a guy.”

  “Who the hell have you—” Maddox’s roar was cut off by a low ouch.

  Well, Mari was still into bitch slapping her brother. Some things never changed.

  “Seriously, he’s hot and even when he growls, he’s sexy. At worst, you have something pretty to look at. At best, you have something hot to bang. Plus,” she lowered her voice. As if that’d keep her shifter brother from hearing. “He could use the cash. He’s kinda on the outs with his kind and you know how some humans are about hiring shifters.”

  Yeah, River knew it well. It was one of the things she planned on changing at Browning Industrial once she had control.

  “What kind of shifter is he?” She nibbled her lower lip. Then again, did it matter?

  Not really.

  “Dragon.”

  Now that was sexy.

  * * *

  There was short on cash, there was poor, and there was completely fucked.

  Taron Jones was the third.

  Lost fortune, no cash, no job, and the fact his kind (bunch of pussy, backstabbing fucking reptile
s who didn’t deserve the name dragon) had turned their backs on him centuries ago meant that yeah, he was completely fucked. With a capital F-U-C-K-E-D.

  “So, Mads, you said you might have some work for me?”

  Taron leaned forward and snagged a handful of chips from the bowl on Maddox’s desk. Sensible guy. Having food on hand when dealing with shifters was a great idea. Their metabolism ran faster than humans’ did and since most of them were carnivores, a hungry shifter wasn’t something anyone wanted for their two o’clock appointment.

  The movement did more than snag him a handful of food though, it hid the fact that his hands shook with nerves. Whatever Maddox had lined up, Taron needed it. Like really needed it. His landlord had kicked him out that morning, so literally everything he had in the world was crammed into the duffel bag at his feet.

  Hell, he was even still wearing the same clothes from the photoshoot he’d had yesterday morning. Not that he’d ever call himself a model, his human appearance wasn’t halfway as impressive as his dragon form, but the photographer had raved over his face and body like he was something special. He snorted to himself. If he was that freaking special, they’d be falling over themselves to take pictures of him dressed in leather with a girl draped over him instead of packing him off with enough cash for a meal and a vague promise of hitting the big time.

  Life was hard for a disgraced dragon.

  “Yeah...work. It’s not really a job. I lied about that bit.” Maddox leaned back in his chair and flashed a broad grin. Totally unapologetic, that was Maddox all over. Asshole was probably going to have him doing the filing. Or cleaning the damn toilets.

  “So it’s not really a job, but it pays?”

  Taron’s stomach grumbled and he looked at his hand. His empty hand. Damn, the chips were already gone and the burger he’d had for lunch seemed days ago. Pride stopped him asking for more. He needed to eat, or he’d end up leaner than he already was, which was plenty lean for a dragon. There was no way he was letting Maddox know that, though. A guy had his pride.

  Maddox dug into a nearby drawer and tossed the bag at Taron. “You might as well finish them. Mari got the wrong flavor again. I won’t eat them. Then she’ll nag me about keeping my calorific intake up or some shit.” He rolled his eyes. “Women, pain in the freaking ass.”

  “I heard that!” a voice yelled from the other office.

  Taron didn’t care what Mari had heard. Shrugging nonchalantly, he opened the bag of chips and stuck his hand in, grabbing a handful. They were good and he wasn’t turning down free food. Couldn’t afford to.

  “It pays?” he pressed again. Whatever he agreed to had to pay. “No volunteer crap to build my resume?”

  That was the spiel the other agencies had spun him, citing the difficulties of hiring out shifters and all that crap.

  Maddox shook his head, his gaze still intent on Taron. He stopped mid-chew. Something was off here. Very off.

  “Spill, Mads, what’s the deal?”

  “Welllll, honeybun, it’s like this. We got a job that’s not like a job, really, and we need someone special to fill it,” Mari drawled from the doorway and Taron turned that way with a broad grin on his face. He liked Mari, always had, but was careful not to let that like trigger either Mari’s predatory instincts or Maddox’s protective instincts over his sister.

  “Someone special?” Taron easily deciphered the speech. “You need a patsy to follow orders, don’t you?”

  “Pretty much.” She flashed white teeth in a winning smile and his body thrummed with a hint of desire.

  Carefully Taron scented the air, a reflex action where women were concerned. But that special scent he’d looked for since he’d realized the difference between little boy dragons and little girls of any species wasn’t there. Damn. Mari would make some lucky guy an awesome mate someday.

  She sauntered across the room to rest her hips against her brother’s desk. “We have a lady on our books who needs to get married. The full human deal, legal and binding. But…” She held up a finger when he opened his mouth. “This is purely a business deal, not a mating. You’ll get bed and board, clothing and a car as well as a monthly allowance. After a year, you’ll receive a rather large sum and a quiet divorce.”

  He blinked, his dragon wanting to latch onto a few of the words in the sentence, like “lady,” “mating,” and “bed.” With control born of experience, he ignored them and focused on what she’d actually said, not what the dragon thought she’d said.

  “Business deal? So like a marriage of convenience?” Who would have thought it? That trashy regency romance he’d read while waiting at the last agency before they’d told him his kind weren’t welcome after making him wait all day had come in useful. Go figure.

  Mari nodded. “Exactly. She needs to get married, quickly, to fulfill some clause in her father’s will or lose her inheritance.” She paused and her lips curved into a little smile. “Let’s say she and the rest of her family don’t exactly get along, so she’s requested…”

  Maddox sighed when she paused. “She wants the least suitable shifter we can find to freak her goody two-shoes family out. So…” he motioned to Taron’s leather pants and thin white tank top, the shifter ink tattoos, and the symbol of his disgrace—the white stripe in his hair. “This is perfect. Throw in some guyliner and a bad attitude and we have a winner.”

  Chapter Two

  He wore guyliner. And by he, River meant Taron Jones, disgraced weredragon. She wasn’t sure why or how he’d ended up disgraced. Only that it was icing on the suck my dick Boston Brownings cake.

  River slowly made her way toward him, the only man in the small sports bar who had a nice stripe of white hair that stood out against the other midnight strands. A sign of his “disgrace” apparently.

  She thought it was pretty. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her description, but it wasn’t like she could change her thoughts.

  She padded closer, her high heels clicking against the polished concrete floors. The music/irritating noise blared through the space as the TVs fought the standard pop hits that attacked her ears.

  He toyed with the lowball glass, spinning it around and around before tracing the rim with a single finger. His gaze remained trained on the glass, capturing his attention fully. She didn’t think he even watched for her, but that opinion quickly changed when he lifted his head and stared at her. Not just at her, through her, deep and strong, he captured her with his gaze.

  Black. His eyes were black or nearly so. And yet they changed in a flash, the color rolling from the dark hue to shades of yellow and then green before finally settling on an alluring blue. He stared at her, blinking slowly before raking her with his gaze and then his orbs were back to darkness.

  Those swirling colors had to have been his dragon.

  River shivered, the reality of marrying a shifter finally striking her heart. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she should find a lawyer to marry. They were used to fighting, right?

  He quirked his lips, corner tipping up in a smirk that had her panties growing suspiciously wet. But it wasn’t arousal. Nope. This was all business. Money for his name and a little muscle when needed. That was it.

  “River,” he rumbled, the sound slithering through the air and striking her in the heart. The beat tripped, busting out a staccato rhythm before settling into normalcy once more. “Nice to meet you.”

  He spun on his stool, slowly turning toward her, giving her a better look at his seated body. He had broad shoulders and a heavily muscled chest, but she’d expected that. What she hadn’t anticipated was the way she felt when he breathed deeply or how her body reacted to the chuff that escaped his lips. Or how her nipples pebbled when a pale tendril of smoke slipped from his nose and curled in the air.

  River swallowed hard and straightened her spine. She’d been the acting president of Browning Industries for years. She could get through this meeting without making a fool of herself. She hoped.

  She pressed a hand t
o her stomach, took a deep breath, and then strode forward. She extended that hand, reaching for him. “I assume you’re Taron Jones. I’m River Browning.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was a word, but not—an almost purring moan that rumbled through him. His eyes scraped over her from head to toe. No, who was she kidding? He caressed her with his gaze, those eyes not missing a single dip and curve of her body.

  Well, he needed to get a good look at all the curves he’d be tied to for three hundred sixty-five days.

  River cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should take our seats to discuss our…”

  She paused and sought a word that was a little more personable than business deal, but Taron beat her to it.

  “Future.”

  “Future.” She jerked her head in a quick nod. “Right, our future.”

  Those sinful lips remained quirked and he snatched up the lowball glass. He threw the contents back in one quick swallow, hissing as the liquid slid down his throat. “Damn, that’s good.”

  He thumped the glass back to the wooden bar top and pushed to his feet. She tilted her head back. And back. And back some more.

  “You’re tall,” she blurted.

  “And you’re a pretty prim package begging to be unwrapped.” The expression in his eyes told her he was more than happy to do some unwrapping.

  “Yes, well,” she reached down and straightened her skirt, flattening imaginary wrinkles, “there won’t be unwrapping, will there?”

  “You’re the boss.” Glowing blue eyes met hers. “You tell me.”

  Yes, she so wanted to say yes. But men like Taron didn’t go for short curvy humans. They liked the women who turned heads and demanded attention. River was happy to hide in the shadows and live her life without problems.

  Taron Jones was a walking, talking problem. Who also happened to be at least six feet tall and covered in muscles from head to toe. Big ones. And the way his clothes clung to him should have been illegal. All that cotton and leather stroking him, giving her a glimpse of what she could have but refused to take.