Dragon's Pleasure (BBW / Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 3)

by Isadora Montrose

  It was an interesting idea that his angry taunt might alter her entire future. And why did the thought of marrying that nasty son-of-a-dragon make her heart sing? She rolled her hair around the barrel of her brush and blasted it with hot air while she thought about it.

  In all the years since the Eldest and the Duke of Estremaura and Mamma and Papa had arranged the match between Felipe Balcazar Mendez and herself, Felipe had never spoken directly to her of their impending marriage. Never. He was considerably older than her. He had been an adult when the match was proposed, while she had been a child of ten. Had he been silent by design? He might have wanted to leave her an out, or more likely to have been avoiding committing himself. She had not been a child in years. He could have spoken.

  While she truly liked Felipe, she recognized that he had a selfish streak. Take him swanning off to Florence this week to participate in yet another polo match, instead of attending the Lindorm party and focusing on wooing her. Not that he had ever tried to woo her. They had never even kissed, except in greeting before company. Yet he had gone to Florence rather than spend time with her.

  Which meant that Ivan’s invocation was her first ever marriage proposal. ‘I claim you by right of capture’ was scarcely romantic. But a dragon’s ancient claim of possession was something far more elemental and primitive than any candlelight and roses proposal of marriage. It was in fact a legal claim. The dragon equivalent of: ‘Na Na Na, I have dibs on this one!’ Except in Dragon Law those words represented an absolute claim that could not be set aside.

  Did they have any force when said to a dragoness born not made? Her mirror had no answers. Uncle Thorvald might know, but she was not ready to tell him just yet. He would be outraged at her and at Ivan. But more to the point — he might laugh at the very notion that Ivan had a legitimate claim. And that was an unbearable thought.

  * * *

  Fucking hell. He hadn’t just been risking his bloody neck fucking Lindorm’s adoptive niece. No, he had to be fucking his friend’s promised wife. Even if Christina was a dragoness born — and right now he didn’t know if he believed that piece of horse shit — she was still Felipe’s dragoness. Nothing was more sacred than a dragon’s mate, and he had betrayed both Felipe Balcazar Mendez and his host. He was a dead man walking.

  Ivan wanted to raze buildings or at least set fire to the earth. But it was no good raging. He had totally screwed up and he could think of no way to make things right. Christina was his, but to claim her was to provoke war. There was no way that Felipe Balcazar Mendez would calmly surrender his mate to Ivan. What dragon would? Particularly when that mate was luscious Christina Lindorm?

  Felipe would kill Ivan before he did that. Ivan was fairly sure of that because he wanted to decapitate his old friend. And he was the one who had betrayed Felipe, not the other way around. What a fucking mess. He couldn’t involve Hugo in this. Not directly. Although if it came to an open break with the Houses of Lindorm and Estremaura, Hugo would be forced to choose between casting out his only brother or joining him in outlawry.

  That faithless bitch had caused this. Why did he still desire her? He had had to stop whaling away on her heart shaped ass because he was getting more and more aroused — and so was she. He hoped she couldn’t sit down for a week. But he feared he hadn’t been severe enough. And thinking of that curvaceous pink and white rump transforming into the jeweled flanks of a dragoness was equally exciting.

  He had adored Christina’s elegantly curved horns and sinuous translucent tail on sight. And her gleaming spines and talons and tail dart. They were all beyond beautiful to him. Could she be telling the truth? Could she really be a dragoness born? And if she was, what possible fucking difference did it make to his present hideous dilemma?

  What the hell was he going to do? All his options were dreadful. Telling Hugo merely passed his distress to his only brother. Confessing to Felipe would result in a battle royal. Confessing to Lindorm was frankly terrifying. And yet it all had to be done. Lindorm first. Then Felipe. And last of all, Hugo. It had been a nice life while it had lasted.

  Ivan showered and shaved and dressed carefully for his interview with Lindorm. If he was going to die he could at least die with dignity. The hickey Christina had given him in St. Moritz still throbbed and burned. She had abused the same spot on the pool deck, and it was more livid than ever. The dollar sized purple blotch at the base of his neck had a life of its own. Although it resolved into a mere bruise when he focused, flames leaped and flickered when he glanced sideways at it the mirror. And he retained it even in dragon form. Christina had fucking branded him.

  He was thankful that the Lindorm’s penchant for formal dinners meant he had to wear a tuxedo and bow tie, which would conceal the evidence of his folly. It was while he was tying it that he remembered his last video call to Felipe. Balcazar Mendez had had his mistress with him in that hotel room in Buenos Aires. That dark-haired female had been sharing his hotel suite for only one reason, and that was not business. Could Felipe be mated and still pursuing other females? It hardly seemed possible.

  And then there had been Felipe’s scornful remark about fat milkmaids. He had resented it on Leah’s behalf, and on his own. But Felipe’s contempt encompassed Christina. Lovely, luscious, round, adorable, sexy as sin Christina Lindorm. Did even that willful, faithless dragoness deserve to marry a dragon who thought she was unattractive?

  There was, moreover, Lord Te Kanewa’s prophecy or advice or whatever you chose to call it. ‘Seek your bride in the Severn Isles.’ Christina was probably Lord and Lady Severn’s daughter, not merely an adoptive child as Anna Lindorm had claimed, but their own daughter — if she was a dragoness born as she had claimed. Had Watatoni seen that Christina of Severn was in truth his destiny? Or was Ivan just the most deluded of fools grasping at the frailest of straws?

  Only when his cell chimed did Ivan realize he had been sitting on the bed in the dressing room lost in his thoughts. He had a notification of the conference he had scheduled with the New York executives of Sarkan Industries. He couldn’t put that off. There were decisions to be made. He pulled himself together and booted up his laptop. He could not neglect his responsibilities just because his personal life was fucked.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When Severn stormed into their bedroom, his resemblance to the god of thunder was more than usually apparent. Anna Lindorm put her book down and took off her glasses the better to assess her husband’s foul mood. It truly was most unfair that she needed reading glasses, when her distance vision was still dragon sharp. But she did not need glasses to see that something had disturbed her husband’s magisterial calm.

  “What is it, my dear?” she asked.

  “Felipe Balcazar Mendez just led his team to first place in the first round of play in Florence,” Severn announced wrathfully.

  “Ah.” Anna picked up her book and then set it down without looking at it. She went to Severn who was standing in the middle of their room looking as cross and thwarted as it was possible for her Viking dragon to look. “What did you think Lord Felipe was doing in Italy?” she asked him.

  “Meeting with Italian bankers — as he said he was.” He pulled her into his arms and set his head on hers and sighed. “What is wrong with that boy?”

  She spoke into his chest. “Knowing Felipe, he probably did meet with an Italian banker, if only to put something in a safe deposit box. Felipe wouldn’t tell a lie, when a half-truth would serve him better.”

  “I would prefer a plain lie to a half-truth,” he grumbled. “I’m not sure I want a liar of any stripe marrying our Chrissy.” He kissed the top of his wife’s head. “How long have you thought Estremaura’s boy was deceitful?”

  Anna relaxed in the safe haven of Severn’s arms. She patted his chest and replied soothingly, “He’s just overly fond of a social lie. He’s always hated to disappoint people. Maybe now, that push comes to shove, Felipe is having second thoughts about marriage. You know Chrissy’s got cold feet t
oo?”

  Severn tightened his arms around her. “Felipe is no green youth but a dragon grown. He’s had sixteen years to get used to the idea of marriage. Our Christina is a dragoness born, how could he not want to marry her?” His deep rumble was full of bafflement.

  “I don’t know.” Anna rubbed her cheek against his heart. “But you have to admit he hasn’t exactly been an eager suitor. When was the last time he visited Chrissy?”

  “He paid us a visit between Christmas and New Year’s Eve,” Severn said promptly. He paused. “He didn’t stay long — did he? A single night wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed. He was invited for Christmas, but he arrived on the twenty-seventh. He had a plausible excuse, but then all his excuses are plausible.”

  “Gunnar doesn’t like him. Never has.” Severn said. He sounded troubled, and Anna did not mistake his meaning.

  “Gunnar has known him all his life — Felipe ought to be like another brother to our baby,” She pointed out. “But you are correct. Gunnar isn’t rude, but he always finds someplace else to be when Felipe is in the room.”

  “Have we been blinded by our wish to see Chrissy safe and happy — and married well?”

  “Probably,” Anna admitted. “But she was content until she graduated from Harvard last year. And more or less herself until she returned from St. Moritz. Since then, she has been restless and discontented. Do you think she found out something about Felipe while she was there?”

  “Something she could not tell her Papa?” Severn demanded.

  “Perhaps she thought you would be unsympathetic?” Anna said.

  “If Felipe has been sowing wild oats, so has she,” Severn said disapprovingly. “She has nothing to fuss about, considering her own behavior. I don’t like either of them playing around, but...” He broke off and shrugged helplessly.

  Anna knew his puritanical disapproval was real, as was his Scandinavian sense that Christina and Felipe were old enough to be entitled to considerable personal freedom. “I’ll have a chat with her,” she said soothingly.

  Severn kissed the top of her hair. “You do that,” he said gruffly.

  * * *

  The call to New York lasted a full hour. The gong had sounded twice by the time Ivan left his bedroom. Lindorm would be in the drawing room having drinks with his guests. He would have to try to get his host alone after dinner. His was no confession to be made before an audience.

  He smelled her. Here in this hallway where her scent had never troubled him before. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when her arm emerged from behind a curtain and halted him.

  “I have to speak to you,” she hissed. She pulled him into the alcove she had created by closing the draperies before the dormer window.

  As soon as she touched his arm, he knew. There was going to be hell to pay, but he was keeping this female. She was his. It was still full day and the little room was bathed in bright light. Christina had bathed and dressed for dinner as he had, and she looked elegant and untouchable, but he knew she was anything but. Her demure aquamarine sheath shimmered in the late afternoon sunshine, luring him despite its high necked modesty. Honey colored curls rioted over her shoulders, tempting him.

  Her heels put her face on a level with his own. Her eyes were round and growing rounder as if she too had made a discovery. Or as if she was finally afraid. Good. She had elected to pull the tail of a dragon and she could take the consequences. He smiled at her. She went as still as a mouse confronted by a cat.

  “Christina of Severn,” he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded ominous.

  “Hmm,” she prompted when he stopped.

  He pushed curls from her face with two fingers and felt the silky glide on his skin as a tingle that flashed through his whole body. “You are mine,” he said softly, warningly. “I intend to keep you.”

  Her mouth opened but no sound emerged. Excellent. He pressed a quick kiss to it and pulled back to look at her. He patted her ass and was pleased when she flinched. Even better.

  “I will fight Balcazar Mendez for you,” he vowed. “You are mine.”

  Her throat moved but she still did not speak. “Has Lord Felipe claimed you?” he growled.

  Her curls moved sideways, but she still didn’t speak.

  “No? Then he is a fool. A thousand times a fool.” Ivan kissed the corner of her mouth and nibbled his way to the fullness of her bottom lip. He nipped it gently and she jumped. He soothed the bite with a stroke of his tongue and resumed his leisurely voyage to the other side of her mouth.

  When he raised his head she put her fingers to his mouth. “That shade of lipstick suits you.”

  The gong sounded again. Dinner would be announced in moments. He held her impudent blue eyes with his while he wiped his mouth with his handkerchief. “Do you have more in that purse of yours?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He pulled her into the dressing room with him and placed her before the mirror. “Fix your face,” he ordered. He went into the bathroom. His mouth was bare, but lipstick decorated his chin and cheeks. It would never do to announce his claim so crudely.

  No one turned a hair when they came down to dinner together. Ivan took his seat between Lady Drake of Jersey and Beatrix van Waals. Another giant silver epergne blocked his view of Christina. She was sitting a little further down tonight between Lord Severn and another tall Lindorm.

  Little Beatrix began to speak in his ear. She was just as pretty and animated as her sister Gretchen, but she wanted to discuss tennis, not horses, as her sister did. Ivan pulled himself together and listened to Beatrice explain why Venus Williams was so much superior to Serena.

  * * *

  After tea Lady Lindorm stood in the center of her drawing room and announced what she had planned for her guests for the following day. She made it plain that she expected universal participation by what she called ‘you young people’ in the scavenger hunt that she had organized.

  “You will hunt in teams of two,” she informed them beaming. “Half of you will pick a name now. Tomorrow that person will be your partner for the hunt. The first clues will be under your plates at breakfast.”

  Ivan felt considerably older than he had before he had arrived at Chateau Lind, but Inge Lindorm handed him the silver basin which contained the slips of paper with names, so plainly he was young, as was Richmond, but not Hugo or Leah. He took one and put it into his suit pocket without glancing at it. What did it matter? He would be dead before Lady Lindorm got to breakfast.

  He crossed the pale blue and cream expanse of rug to where Lord Lindorm was gazing fondly at his wife.

  “Yes, Ivan,” Lindorm barked.

  “If I might have a private word with you, sir?” Ivan asked.

  “Now?”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, sir.”

  “Oh, very well, lad. Come outside. It’s a fine night and the stars are out.” Lindorm opened the French doors and went out onto the terrace.

  But if Lindorm had intended private conversation, he had picked the very worst place for it. As if the opening of the doors had released a pent up desire for fresh air, the occupants of the drawing room streamed out onto the terrace and stood around in the warm evening, drinking in the sliver of moon sailing in the star studded sky.

  Lindorm clapped Ivan on the shoulder. “Tomorrow will do as well,” he said with bluff good humor. Christina appeared at his elbow. He kissed her cheek. “My dear, show Lord Ivan the parterre. It’s quite a sight under a starry sky.” He moved off and soon could be seen promenading up and down the terrace with his wife on his arm.

  Ivan offered Christina his arm. “We have our orders.”

  She bit her lip. “I wanted to speak to Uncle Thor,” she said. But she laid her fingertips on his sleeve.

  “As did I, but we have a reprieve tonight. We may as well enjoy it.” He led her down the steps to the lawn.

  “The parterre is this way,” Christina corrected him. She indicated the front of the house.
“Uncle Thor is right, it is most lovely by night.”

  She sounded like a smug child with a secret. Not at all as though she were Circe leading him to his doom. Possibly she was both innocent and seductress. Certainly he was doomed. “Lead the way,” he rejoined.

  The grass was lush and springy under foot. Christina’s narrow heels sunk into the turf. “Damn,” she swore and stooped. She took her shoes off and carried them over her fingers.

  “You’ll run your stockings,” he warned. All he could think of was how lovely her thighs had looked in St. Moritz, with the lacy tops of her stockings clinging to them.

  She laughed and her soft gurgle was a prod to his groin. “Maybe. I’ll put my shoes back on when we get to the drive.”

  They were talking softly for they still walked beside the flag-stoned terrace on which people were standing, chatting and laughing. A young man vaulted over the gray stone balustrade and strode across the grass towards them. “Where are you headed?” Kian Lindstrom demanded cheerfully.

  “We’re off to see the parterre by night,” Christina replied demurely.

  Ivan glanced at Kian to see if the butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth tone deceived young Lindorm. Apparently, it did.

  “I’ll come with you,” Kian said. He lowered his voice confidentially. “I have to escape from Gretchen before Mamma makes a match of it.”

  “I thought you liked Gretchen,” Christina whispered reproachfully.

  “I do. But she is not my mate.”

  “Hmm. Well, come along with us,” Christina said cordially. She turned back to Ivan. “The parterre was put in when the house was rebuilt in the sixteenth century. But during the Second World War it was dug up to plant potatoes. Aunt Inge had it restored when she married Uncle Thorvald.”