Hector didn’t speak again until they reached their suite. To Christina’s surprise, Hector’s wife Katharina was waiting for them in the sitting room. Where had Kati sprung from? Her face was haggard and her eyes were red and puffy. “Thank God,” she said springing up from the sofa anxiously. “Did you tell her yet?”
“Tell me what?” demanded Christina, as Rudolf locked the door and stood in front of it. Surely Kati was supposed to be in Germany?
Hector let his skis and poles fall and put his arms around his trembling wife and held her close. “My grandfather is dead,” he said to Christina over Kati’s shoulder and released her. He stripped off his helmet and tossed it and his gloves on the coffee table.
With an effort, Christina closed her mouth. She tried to speak but no words came.
“Prinze Wilhelm has sent for Hector,” Katharina said apologetically. “And Gustav and Rudolf too.”
“Of course,” Christina said. The Grand Duke was dead. How had that happened? She gazed around the hotel sitting room at a loss. “What can I do?”
Katharina’s face was drawn and white. She looked as bewildered as Christina felt. “I don’t know.” She sat down on an armchair as if standing was too hard.
Hector was unzipping his jacket and tossing it aside. “I am going to change. Rudolf, Gustav, I want you at my back when I go downstairs.” He turned to his wife. “Pack for me, Kati,” he ordered. “As soon as I return, we’ll leave for Juist.”
* * *
“I’m sorry, Christina,” Katharina von Bulow said for at least the sixth time. “I know Hector promised Lord Lindorm he would guard you while you skied. But this has taken us all by surprise. Hector has to return to Juist Island at once.”
Christina reached into the lowest dresser drawer and brought out an armload of sweaters which she placed on the bed so Katharina could add them to her husband’s suitcase. “I understand. If Uncle Thorvald suddenly turned up dead, it would throw our entire family into chaos. I don’t blame Uncle Wilhelm one bit for summoning Hector. His place is with his father and the rest of the family. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine here for a few hours.”
Katharina sniffed and pushed socks into the corners of the case. “Hector is shattered,” she said. She blotted her eyes with a tissue and blew her nose. “We all are.” She took the stack of folded shirts that Christina handed her and layered them on top of the other clothes. “No one thought the Duke would take his own life.” She continued to shove items into the spaces. “I think this one is full,” she said and looked around vacantly.
Christina moved Katharina gently to one side and closed and zipped the suitcase and replaced it with the empty one. “Get the stuff from the bathroom,” she instructed firmly.
Katharina tottered out of the bedroom into the bathroom. A metallic clink indicated she was collecting her husband’s toiletries. Christina concentrated on getting the rest of Hector’s things packed up.
Katharina reappeared with a leather case and a small zippered bag. “The closet is full of suits,” she said in something like despair.
“Put those things in here,” Cristina pointed to the bottom of the case. “I’ll find Hector’s suit bag and you clear out the shelves. Anything that is left when Hector returns, I’ll get the hotel to send on.”
There was a loud knock at the outer door. It opened hard on the knock, but the night latch blocked it after the first few centimeters. “Let me in, Kati,” Hector’s deep voice commanded.
Christina motioned for Katharina to be silent and approached the door to the hallway. Hector’s alarm had communicated itself to her. She glanced at the security monitor to confirm it was Hector and his men outside the door. They looked muscular, tense and pissed. A trio of roused dragons on high alert.
“Where is Katharina?” Hector demanded without pleasantries. “We’re leaving right now.”
“She’s still packing,” Christina replied. “You’ll have to empty the safe before you go.” She took for granted that Hector had stashed his traveling hoard in the safe provided by the St. Moritz.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Gustav, Rudolph, help Kati with the bags.”
Hector strode across to the large oil painting over the desk and placed his palm on the ornate frame. After a moment, the painting swung away from the wall revealing a wall safe with a keypad. Hector’s fingers moved busily over it until the lock released. The interior held a large dark brown leather satchel which he grabbed by the handle.
“I’m ready,” said Katharina from behind him.
Hector turned. “The car is waiting,” he said. He put an arm around his wife’s shoulders and turned to give more orders. “Chrissy, I have notified your family. Stay in the hotel until your uncle sends sword bearers to replace us.”
“I’ll be fine, Hector,” Christina said calmly. “I’ll give these rooms a once over and courier anything we overlooked. We packed everything important. Do you have your laptop and tablet?”
Hector swore again. Gustave came out of the bedroom rolling a suitcase and carrying a tablet in one huge hand. Hector opened his satchel and set the device on top. “Laptop?” he asked.
“It’s in my purse,” Katharina said. She moved out of Hector’s embrace and grabbed her handbag. She swallowed hard. “Let’s go.”
Christina kissed her cheek. “Keep safe,” she said softly. “Give my love to Aunt Marta and Aunt Ehrengard.”
“I will.”
There was a knock on the door. “That will be the bellman,” Hector said. He checked the security monitor. Two uniformed youths stood waiting deferentially.
Within moments, they had all left and Christina had locked and bolted the door behind them. She made a final sweep of the rooms, collecting the things she and Katharina had been too fussed to see before. There was a small heap on the bed when she was done. She glanced at her watch. They would be in the air by now, flying back to the North Sea Island where the von Bulows had their estate.
On cue, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen before answering. “Hello, Mamma,” she said.
“Has Hector left?” Anna Lindorm demanded.
“Just now,” Christina confirmed.
“Your father is sending Theo and Gunnar to bring you home,” Anna said. “The Eldest is concerned.” Her voice sounded strangled.
Christina correctly interpreted this statement to mean that the entire family was in a flap. As well they might be. The death of a dragon lord by suicide was unheard of. Dragons did not take their own lives. For Hector’s grandfather to have done so was both alarming and suspicious. Naturally, Lord Lindorm, as Prinze Reinhardt’s cousin and friend, was devastated.
“I will be safe here in Switzerland,” Christina assured her mother. “No one knows who I am. They all think I’m Hector’s mistress.”
Anna gasped as if Hector and Christina’s cover story surprised her. Maybe Papa hadn’t told her. Christina heard her mother gulp. “Be careful,” Mamma said. “Stay in the hotel. The boys will be there in the morning.”
“I’ll be fine, Mamma, don’t worry. I’m just collecting all the stuff Kati and I missed when we packed Hector’s things. Once I have a chance to shower, I’ll have a drink in the bar before I change for dinner.”
“Why don’t you stay in your suite?” Anna pleaded.
“I will stay in character. If Prinze Hector abandoned his mistress in St. Moritz, she wouldn’t stay in their suite pining.”
“I suppose not. Chrissy, I don’t mind telling you I’m worried. This business of the Grand Duke’s death is very disturbing.”
“I’ll be careful.” It took another twenty minutes of coaxing before Christina could end the call.
CHAPTER SIX
“Shall we meet in Argentina beforehand, Ive?” Felipe Balcazar Mendez asked. “The women here are beyond beautiful. Felipe’s dark hair was cut as short as possible to tame what Ivan knew was its inexpressible tendency to curl. Most undragonlike. As were Felipe’s eyes. They were so black they seemed to be all pupil. Diff
icult even to read even for someone who had known him for years as Ivan had.
Ivan shook his head at the monitor of his laptop. “I’m staying in Europe for the moment,” he told his friend. They were speaking Hungarian, as was their custom when the security of video conferencing was in doubt. “And I would advise you to give that meet a skip.” He hoped Felipe would not ask too many questions, but just take his circumspect suggestion as the warning it was.
Balcazar Mendez’s well-groomed eyebrows rose. “Any particular reason, Ivan?”
“The weather is inhospitable.”
“The financial weather?” Felipe asked lazily, leaning back against the hotel armchair. Ivan could see that Felipe was not alone. A slim dark woman in an elegant red dress was lounging on the divan behind the Spaniard.
“Not to my knowledge. It’s just too — hot for us.”
“Ah.” Felipe shrugged. “I am committed,” he said lightly. “Now about those debentures?”
“What about them?”
“Are you going to back the Bank of Estremaura, Sarkany?”
Ivan shook his head. “Count me out, Felipe,” he said firmly. “As I told you last week, with the market as it is, Sarkan Industries is not investing in high risk securities.” He restrained an impulse to apologize. Business was business, and no amount of friendship should make him contemplate those debentures.
“Then I will see you in France when we go before the Council.” Felipe returned with a wry twist to his lips. “Are you invited to Loire-du-Bois afterward?”
Ivan grinned widely. “Of course. All of us are. It’s a Swedish tradition to spend the spring in the Loire valley. I’m looking forward to Lord and Lady Lindorm’s famous hospitality.”
Felipe grimaced. “It’s damned inconvenient, I can tell you. There’s a match in Florence that I will have to miss, unless I can convince my parents that a week is quite long enough to spend lolling about at the Lindorm Mate Fest.”
Ivan laughed. “My brother and I will be staying the full fortnight. Leah is very excited to be invited to the Chateau.”
“Ha. She won’t be after she has spent some time with those fat milkmaids. A drearier bunch of females never breathed. Needlepoint is their idea of excitement.”
“Milkmaids?” Ivan was puzzled by Felipe’s contempt.
“Big tits and wide rumps, innocent blue eyes and long blonde braids. Think about it.”
Ivan smiled. “I have a taste for dairy myself,” he said thinking of the Lindorm women’s statuesque forms and lavish curves. Built-for-dragon beauties every one. Actually, Felipe’s mocking description encompassed Leah. He stopped smiling and gave his friend a sharp look.
“Whereas, my tastes are different.” Felipe turned his head and indicated the olive skin and black eyes of his svelte companion. She was as different from the Lindorm women as it was possible to be. Beautiful in her own way, but no pink and white Juno.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but has it occurred to you that your future bride might object to your way of life?” Ivan blurted out.
Felipe shrugged. “Then she wouldn’t be the girl for me.”
“Did I tell you about my meeting with Watatoni Te Kanewa in New Zealand?”
“Nope. Just said you were going out there to see Voros. What happened?”
“Roland took me to Te Kanewa’s island so that I could ask the old man for a maiden,” Ivan told him. “Watatoni just about ripped me a new one. Said I was a decadent, dissolute product of a degenerate race. And a few other things I won’t mention. He attributed the lack of European firelings to our pursuit of unsuitable women.”
The scornful words of Lord Watatoni Te Kanewa came vividly back to Lord Ivan. ‘Degenerate and decadent’ the Maori Dragon Lord had called him two months earlier. Watatoni had accused Ivan and Roland Voros of wasting their seed on women who could never bear them firelings. It was true, at least he supposed it was true of him. He didn’t know about Ro’s sex life. Now that Ro was married to his fated mate, he seemed unlikely to stray.
Ivan only knew Lord Te Kanewa’s accusation was true of him. He had laid more women than he could name. But why shouldn’t he have enjoyed what he was offered? He was a Sarkany and one of the richest men on earth. Being a dragon shifter, he was incapable of getting a female pregnant or catching a disease from one. He had always been willing to pay for his pleasures, and again for his freedom when he wearied of his conquests. Which he always did. None of his many lovers had minded his inevitable farewells, sweetened as they always were by valuable gifts.
He had slaked his dragon-sized sex drive as and when he pleased, and thoroughly enjoyed his sybaritic lifestyle as Felipe was still doing. Until Lord Te Kanewa had heaped scorn on him. Celibacy wasn’t so bad. You got used to it after a while if you kept active. Not.
Felipe roared with laughter. “That’s what you get for hanging out with Finns,” he cried. “I’ll see you in France, my friend. Enjoy your skiing.” The video winked out.
* * *
From the vantage point of the après ski bar, Ivan Sarkany watched appreciatively as the statuesque blonde sauntered past. She moved as if she, and she alone, owned the elegant lounge. Her casual outfit of blue sweater and black leggings clung lovingly to her curves. She looked even better than she had racing down the slopes at daredevil speeds. Every male eye in the place was drawn to the leisurely progress of that voluptuous body.
The uniformed doorman rushed to assist her. Ivan sardonically noted the poleaxed look on the poor fellow’s face. Must have smiled at the poor, dumb brute. Trouble on two legs, he warned himself. Hadn’t he decided that his days of dalliance were over? He had pledged to find himself a virgin bride and settle down. Pursuing unsuitable females was his past, not his future. He turned back to his scotch and water and sipped thoughtfully.
“Do you know who that was?” the man seated beside Ivan mumbled. His red face said he had been drinking since he had left the ski slopes. His accent proclaimed him to be German.
Ivan shook his head. “No,” he said shortly. “Do you?”
“Christina van Waals,” the other man breathed in a reverent sigh. “The supermodel,” he elucidated.
Ivan didn’t believe that. Not with those ripe curves. Not with that round ass and generous rack. Ivan had dated too many models not to know how bony they were in the flesh. This woman might be a centerfold model, but she was no stick-thin clothes rack. She was just the sort of round and luscious female he had always made a point of avoiding, even before he had sworn off women.
“Hmm,” he returned noncommittally.
“She’s Dutch,” the barfly confided.
Ivan looked at the other man and reassessed his sobriety. The German was still upright and probably good for another few hours. But he was just befuddled enough that his gossip was not to be believed. “Hmm,” Ivan repeated.
“They say Bulow brought her here,” the barfly continued. “But his wife turned up and dragged the prince off. So she’s at loose ends.”
“Hector von Bulow?” Ivan asked in surprise. He would never, ever, have suspected Prinze Hector von Bulow of keeping a mistress. The Prinzessin Hector would incinerate the fool. But if ever there was a female to make a dragon risk immolation, that one was it.
“The same. They were sharing a suite, and then Katharina von Bulow arrived and swept her husband off home. The lovely Christiana is going to have to find someone else to pay her bills.” Longing and hope throbbed in the German’s voice.
“Couldn’t she pay her own bills?” Ivan asked. He thought about her clothes. They were of that casual elegance that shrieked designer, even though they possessed nothing so vulgar as an exterior label. She looked rich. But maybe Christina van Waals was just expensive.
Ivan’s new acquaintance snorted. “Not her. She’ll have a new protector by tomorrow. You’ll see.” He drained his glass.
“You sound jealous,” Ivan mocked gently.
The German slumped. “She didn’t give me a second look. Just
walked past me as if I smelled bad.” He patted his patterned sweater where a little paunch made a soft bulge. “Besides, my wife is upstairs.”
“Ah.” Ivan sipped his own drink, thankful for his rippling muscles. He was fairly sure he could lure the lovely Christina into his bed. But he had sworn he would save himself for his bride. Whoever she was. And wherever she was. Too bad his tastes didn’t run to sheltered virgins, because he required one if he hoped to breed firelings. The lovely Christina was no innocent. She was obviously a woman of the world. Just the type he most enjoyed.
But as delectable as the lovely, voluptuous Christina van Waals was, Ivan was now a dragon with a noble mission. At the very next session of the Grand Council of the Guild of Dragons, he was going to declare his Mate Hunt. With the eyes of every great dragon house searching for the right maiden for Lord Ivan Sarkany, he would soon be matched and mated with a virgin. No more lush beauties for him. He swallowed the last drops of his scotch and left the bar to change for dinner.
* * *
Christina pulled off her clothes, dropped them on the bed, and padded into the bathroom. The gleaming white and gray marble and the pale blue tile work appealed to her Scandinavian sensibilities, as did the glass wrapped shower. She stepped under the hot spray and adjusted the six nozzles so that scalding water beat on her shoulders and thighs and butt. She sighed with pleasure at the massage and increased the intensity. After a full day on the slopes, a dragoness needed this.
She prepared for dinner as carefully as if she had a companion waiting in the hotel dining room. The full length sapphire blue gown she tugged over her head had been created to emphasize her narrow waist and generous hips and bosom. There was no point in a lavishly designed body if you hid it. Nothing was ever going to give her a fashionably slender figure and she had long since learned to celebrate the one she had. A glance in the mirror confirmed that the dress was a masterpiece of seaming. She looked lush and seductive. Yet untouchable. Perfect.
Dragon's Pleasure (BBW / Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 3) Page 5
