CHAPTER TWENTY
Quinn~
Dragons were hoarders. It went with the territory. Oh, these days they didn’t call it hoarding. They had collections. Collections with no end. He had grown up in a house full of masterpieces. Works of art from every period, the accumulated acquisitions of generations. The famed Drake Art Collection. Moira showed no sign of thinking this urge to collect was normal.
He rushed into speech, attempting to make her understand. “I’ll make sure your portraits get moved someplace safe.”
“Like a vault.”
She did understand. “Exactly like a vault.” He needed a treasure house for her portraits. Maybe the vault at Shoreside?
“And will you rent one to stick me in too?”
That had to be a trick question. Maybe she didn’t understand after all. “Those paintings are private. I don’t want to share them with anyone. But I also don’t want to paint over them. That would be like effacing you. They have to be stored away from profane eyes.”
“Hmm.”
“Not that you are not a treasure. But I draw the line at sticking you in a treasure chest.”
“Do you?” Moira’s voice was very dry.
“You don’t hoard your friends,” he assured her. It was one of the first rules taught to dragonlings. Spoken aloud to Moira, it sounded like lunacy instead of an essential life lesson.
“And we’re friends?” she asked skeptically.
“Certainly,” he assured her. He smiled. “And something more.”
“More?”
“There’s passion between us, Moira Fairchild. I want you. And I think you want me. Am I wrong?”
“No. Not exactly. But it bothers me that you ditched your fiancée and now you’re pursuing me.” Her eyes were the color of storm clouds again. “Are you on the rebound?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Can you be sure? I know you mortals are swayed by your emotions.”
“Well, sure.” Where was she going with this? “Isn’t everyone?”
She shook her shining head at him in gentle reproof. “Not fairies. We deal in logic and rational thought.”
“Huh.”
“It seems illogical that you cared enough for Cynthia to wish to marry her, and now you have no feelings for her at all.”
He told her the truth. “Ah. Well, the thing is that Cynthia found me boring. After a while that gets old. It’s hard to keep feeling the passion when the other person keeps putting out your fire.”
Moira’s feathery brows snapped together. Her nose wrinkled the tiniest bit. “What does that mean?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Logically, Cynthia seemed to be everything I needed in a bride. She had looks, education, a similar social background. My parents liked her. And we seemed to click. Right up until I put a ring on her finger. After that she got less and less interested in me and doing the things I like to do.” Including fucking. But that was a tad crude to mention to the fairy princess.
“I suppose,” she said reluctantly. “I guess we will have to wait and see if you get bored with me.”
“Never,” he assured her. It was literally inconceivable to him. Comparing her to Cynthia was not like comparing apples and oranges but like comparing dirt and diamonds. There was no comparison.
Her face didn’t change, but her eyes turned darker. She was uncertain. Worried.
He hurried into speech. “We’ll go as slowly as you want,” he told her.
“And you’ll put those pictures of me someplace safer?”
“This very afternoon. I’ll put them in the vault at Shoreside. Do you want to come with me?”
“To your family cottage?”
“Yes. We can take the sailboat out – if you like sailing,” he suggested hopefully. She was dressed for sailing. More or less. And they had lots of sweaters and life jackets in diminutive sizes – for his cousins’ children.
“Of course I like sailing. I was born on this island. I learned to sail, before I learned to walk.”
It took some doing to cram all Moira’s portraits into the cottage vault. Fortunately the Drakes were used to storing their art collection at the end of each summer and the underground safe-room had been built with extra spaces. Since none of his portraits were framed, by removing a couple of the framed ones, he could fit them all in.
“You are making room by moving Renoirs?” Moira demanded incredulously.
Quinn shrugged. “Your privacy is far more valuable to me. We’ll put these back upstairs.”
“What if someone steals the Renoirs?” she worried.
“They’re insured. Besides, who on the island is crazy enough to steal from dragons?”
“No one, I guess.” She looked around. “What is all this stuff?”
“Traveling hoards,” he confessed. “We dragons like shiny stuff, and we feel most comfortable when we have our treasures handy.”
She laughed delightedly, turning in a circle like a fascinated child. “Are those gold bricks real?” She indicated a stack of gold bullion.
“Of course.” Why would they bother with anything else?
“You must be suffering in Willow Cottage without any treasures to keep you company.”
It did not seem wise to mention that he had brought a small traveling hoard with him. He had hidden it deep in the woods where the Old Ones would guard it. “There is only one treasure I want,” he said looking into her eyes.
“You’re good. Very good. How many women have you seduced with that line?” she inquired brightly.
“None. I’ve never seduced a woman in my life.”
Her eyebrows fluttered like birds. Fairy disbelief. Shift. What could he say to convince this cynical fairy of his sincerity?
She placed a small hand on a barrel-topped chest reinforced with iron bands. “What’s in here?” she asked as lightly as if she had not just insulted him.
“Jewelry mostly.” He opened it. A king’s ransom glinted in the light. Precious stones of every color. Gold of every shade from palest yellow to old rose winked at them.
“Why on earth would you need any of this here on West Haven?”
“It helps us sleep better.”
“Really?”
“Best cure for insomnia is pearls under the pillow.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.” Abruptly she lost interest in the glittering rings, bracelets and necklaces. “Let’s lock up and go sailing before we lose the light.”
Bemused, Quinn did as she asked. She wasn’t acquisitive enough for a dragon. But then Cynthia had a magpie’s interest in glitter and baubles, and he had grown weary of her greed. Could a fairy who looked at a dragon’s hoard without desiring any of it, be his heart’s desire?