CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Quinn~
Sharp-eyed Moira had caught on when he had allayed the little mermaid’s anxieties. He had already known that for all her air of fragility, not much got past the fairy princess. But what else was he to do? Prey species were always uneasy around hunters. Not that mermaids were exactly prey. But their hostess had been transfixed with fear as if she felt threatened by his presence.
Even though there was a no hunting law on West Haven. Even though no decent dragon hunted other shifters. She had felt terror. So he had calmed her. Now it was as good as certain that Moira knew he was a hunter. Of course, sooner or later, she had to know. He would just have preferred later. Much later.
Come to think of it, perhaps that little mermaid had picked up on the low-level arousal he felt around Moira and assumed it was directed at her. There had been long centuries when his ancestors had snatched mermaid brides right off their rocks. Perhaps the hostess’ instincts were oversensitized, but not unfounded. Didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in children or a child bride.
Moira didn’t seem scared. Which was good. But that might only mean she thought of this as some sort of business dinner. Which was beyond depressing. Surely not even a fairy could be that unaware of the sizzle between them?
The food was as good as it had been in his childhood. Moira ate with refined enthusiasm. He had grown so tired of watching Cynthia toy with a salad while he worked his way through a dragon-sized dinner. He had worried that his former fiancée was teetering on the brink of anorexia, although she had been too touchy about her diet for him to vocalize his concern.
There was nothing greedy in Moira’s dainty enjoyment of her crab cakes. She ate with a sensual delight, savoring each bite. Was it normal for a guy to find chewing an aphrodisiac? Not that he needed one around Moira. Her presence was a constant buzz to all his senses. Around her he needed no extra stimulants.
“Look,” she exclaimed delightedly as the last of the light faded from the sky. Her chin directed him to look out the window. “We have two moons tonight.”
He looked. The water lapped against the pier and gently rocked the boats docked there. Fat sea lions were sprawled on the wooden boards. Out beyond the tethered shipping, the waves rippled gently and reflected a perfect image of the full moon. Two moons indeed.
“It’s good luck,” she told him happily. Her whole face glowed as if she were momentarily lit from within. Even her silvery hair had a halo.
“I’ve never heard that.”
She smiled secretively. “Fairy lore,” she said lightly.
Dragons were lucky. But according to his family, they made their own luck.
Belinda returned. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” he said. “Could you please bring me a second plate of crab cakes with fries this time? Moira, would you like something else?”
She had eaten most of her salad, and all but one of her cakes. “I’ll share your seconds,” she murmured. “But I would like more water.”
“Another bottle, please.”
Belinda scurried off. Moira forked up salad. Suddenly the noise of cutlery on china resumed. How could he have forgotten, even for an instant, that he and Moira were the evening’s entertainment for the locals?
“So what did you take the summer off from?” she asked.
“The family business,” he replied.
“And what does the family do?”
“We’re stockbrokers.” He picked the dullest description possible.
“Oh.” She ate the last bite of salad. “So after a summer of painting, you’ll go back to being a stockbroker?”
The diners paused, forks frozen in midair.
“I hope not,” he said. “The idea is to see if I have what it takes to make art my vocation.”
“Talent alone isn’t enough. Do you have an agent?”
He shook his head.
“I know a few people,” she offered.
“So do I. I want to get the art show over before I interview one.”
Belinda returned with more fizzy water and Quinn’s seconds. There was a minute or so of bustle as the server cleared plates and arranged the food between them. But then she left, and the fairy princess inspected the mound of fries and crab cakes between them. For some reason, the Hut was stingy with salad, and lavish with potatoes.
“Go ahead,” he said.
She helped herself to another crab cake and a few fries. “Thank you.”
“I like a woman who enjoys her food,” he told her. The room sighed, and people went back to eating.
“Agents tend to interview artists,” she said gently. “It’s more like looking for a job than hiring an employee.”
Not when you were a Drake. He expected to have his choice of agents as they scrambled to act for a member of a family that annually spent a small fortune on art. Even if he was a self-indulgent, talentless hack, announcing that he was in the market for an agent would set off a feeding frenzy.
“You’ll have to tell me what to say,” he said lightly.
Her eyes narrowed, as if she had detected his subtle evasion. He had better watch his mouth, she picked up on everything. Moira’s gaze drifted back to the double moons. Suddenly, the sea lions lumbered to the edge of the dock in a blubbery mass and plunged into the ocean. The splash made the boats rock wildly at their moorings and broke up the moon’s reflection.
“They’re going fishing,” she said.
“Why the stampede?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea. But they always travel together. Maybe there’s safety in numbers? The strait is full of killer whales.”
“Hmm.” Prey was generally safer in a herd. Ask any zebra. Sea lions were both predators and prey. “How about you? What made you decide to sell your galleries and move back to West Haven?”
Her smile dimmed. Her eyes turned silver. She lied smoothly. “I was born here. I guess I was homesick.”
“I’ll bet your parents were happy to have you back,” he returned.
“My mother and father sailed west years ago,” she said flatly.
Sailing west was a fairy euphemism for dying. He hoped his mention of her parents was not going to prove a date-ending error. “I’m sorry,” he said lamely. “You must miss them.”
She looked ineffably sad, but all she said was, “When I grow weary of life, they should be waiting for me in the West.”
Which meant what?