CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Moira~
The bill had come. Quinn had added a generous tip. And paid cash. As he did for his art supplies. Presumably this meant he was careful with money. Or that he couldn’t get credit. She shouldn’t be giving her heart to a man she knew so little about, and most of it not good. But the more time she spent in his company, the more she wanted to spend. She was in such trouble.
“Since the sea lions are gone, do you want to look at the boats?” he interrupted her thoughts.
When Moira said, “Sure,” he looked as if all his Christmases had come at once.
Even though sea lions had been known to lunge at tourists, she wasn’t afraid of them. But it was nice not to have to watch for them. The dock was a floater. It bounced lightly as the wind picked up. Quinn steadied her and rearranged her shawl. Underneath her blouse and wrap, her skin tingled.
“Warm enough?”
“I’m fine, thanks.” Heat spread when his fingers slipped down her arms. She felt chilled when he removed them.
Mystic Bay was a natural harbor. The marina was cradled in the gentle curve of two arcs of rock. Only if the wind blew directly at the harbor opening would the ocean breach the sea wall that guarded the moored ships. The water was dark and the boats bobbed harder than they had an hour ago. The weather was changing. There was no sign of the sea lions.
Quinn offered her his elbow again. She had no trouble keeping her balance in her flats, but she rested her hand on his brawny forearm. Even through the tweed of his jacket she could feel solid muscle. “What do you do to stay in shape?” She blushed when she realized she had murmured her question aloud.
Those big muscles tightened. Relaxed. “I fly,” he said briefly.
“Fly?”
“I’m a dragon,” he said. His arm tensed again as he awaited her reaction.
“Oh. I was sort of thinking bear,” she admitted. A dragon! Talk about your incompatibility factor.
His muscles relaxed fractionally. “What do you know about dragons?”
“Just that they’re supposed to think they’re better than other shifters.” And that they were supposed to hoard women. And gold. And had rapacious appetites. Sexual appetites. Her pussy tingled.
He grinned. His newly trimmed beard parted to reveal white teeth. “We usually are,” he said arrogantly. “I certainly hope you find me the best hunter.”
“Hunter?”
“Isn’t that what you fairies call us?”
She permitted herself a smile at his plain speaking. “Not in public, and not aloud.”
“We aren’t so mealy-mouthed ourselves. We never forget that hunting is what dragons are born to do. Keeps us humble.” His voice was just as arrogant as he finished.
She laughed. “There is nothing humble about you, Quinn.” She had another thought. “There are dragons on West Haven. Are you related to Lloyd Furlong or the Drakes?”
She felt him decide to tell her the truth. “I’m a Drake. Quinn Drake. But keep that between us. I don’t want my name to be judged rather than my art.”
“Why would?” she began and stopped herself. The Drakes were insanely rich. Renowned philanthropists. They made donations on West Haven and in Seattle. Probably sat on the boards of hospitals and colleges. They drove up prices at auctions. The judges would not want to offend a Drake and risk having grant money evaporate. Or they might resent the family’s wealth and downgrade their ratings of Quinn’s entries. A lose-lose situation.
He was just looking at her, waiting for her to figure it out. She nodded. “How does your family feel about your art?”
“They hope I’ll grow out of it. Or get bored. Decide to make my living like a real dragon.” She detected pain in his even voice.
“At Drake Investments?”
“I am – I was – a bond analyst. My job is waiting for me to fail at painting.”
“You won’t. You have real artistic talent.” She began to laugh. “No wonder you plan to interview agents. You’ll have your pick.”
“Yeah.” He sounded disgruntled. “I want my paintings hung in every museum in the world. But not because I’m a Drake. Because they speak to people.” He glared at her. “You have to keep my secret.”
“Don’t you dare try to intimidate me.” She remembered what else she knew about dragons. Weren’t they supposed to be obsessed with virginity? Was that the full extent of Quinn’s interest in her?
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. More like grumpy.
But by the time they reached the end of the pier, he was smiling again. He turned them back the way they had come. Suddenly she noticed the avid faces gazing raptly out at them from the windows of the restaurant.
“We’re being watched,” she whispered.
“I know. They are probably waiting to see if I eat fairies for dessert.” He looked and sounded like a pirate.
Or did she think that because she knew he was a dragon? “Do you?” She was flirting. Flirting with a pirate. Flirting with danger.
“Only if they beg on bended knee.” His voice was suddenly dark with passion – with desire.
She wasn’t ready for anything more than dinner and stroll on the pier. “It’s getting late,” she said. Her voice was an octave higher than usual.
“So it is,” he said regretfully. “And I already had strawberries with brown sugar.” He said it as if, instead of decorously eating their own portions, they had fed each other and exchanged kisses with their fruit.
“You stop that,” she hissed.
He smiled another panty-soaker. “Another time,” he promised as she clenched her thighs and bit back her groan.
They walked silently back to Rosewood Cottage. As they went past, it seemed to her that every employee of the inn with the smallest excuse was performing a task outdoors. Quinn acted oblivious, but she felt amusement ripple through him.
“I’m glad you find it funny,” she said. Now that he was taking her home, inexplicably she felt crabby.
“Comedy gold,” he replied. “I’ve never provided so much entertainment for so many by doing so little.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“As a rule, I am rightly considered to be one of the world’s most boring people.”
“I don’t believe that either.”
“Believe.” His voice was deep, and dark, and resigned.
He escorted her to the foot of her porch steps. Their presence turned on the motion sensitive lights. “I want to kiss you good night, but we have an audience,” he said. “It’s up to you.”
As long as they were in Mystic Bay, they would have an audience. “It’s just a good night kiss,” she said. “Let them look.”
The next thing she knew he had grasped her waist and lifted her to his mouth. Her legs dangled. Her mind whirled. He pulled her close to his body and let her breasts graze his shirt. His mouth and hers touched, pressed. An electric spark snapped between them. He sighed and lowered her – to the third step. He held her lightly until he was certain she was balanced.
Was that all? She tipped her face up. Even on the third step she was still shorter than he was. This time he bent his head, and his hands cupped her shoulders. He kissed her as gently as before, but the same spark arced between them. She pressed back and found his lips plump. His beard tickled as he moved his mouth over hers, pressing kisses all along the bow.
She parted her lips. He licked her lips and withdrew his tongue. He was nothing but a tease. She pursued his tongue back into his mouth expecting to be pounced on. But his remained gentle as she explored. He tasted of strawberries and deeply aroused male. Now, how did she know that?
The sparks kept coming. Her nipples felt as if they might explode. Her clit too. And all he had done was kiss her and squeeze her shoulders. This dragon was dangerous. She pulled back, alarmed. He raised his head. Stroked her cheek. The lights flickered back on as he moved his hand. She hadn’t even noticed them go out.
“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he said. “Lock your door.”
Bemused by those tender kisses, she floated up the remaining stairs without a single protest at his orders. He was as good as his word too, staying on her path until she turned the deadbolt and threw the heavy cast-iron bolts that secured the door top and bottom. Old-fashioned protection, but the best kind.