Chapter One
Scrambled or fried?
Cassandra eyed the giant egg in the delivery carton. Not the first time she’d received a package from her aunt and ended up with a yoke.
She scanned the note inside, paying close attention to the instructions.
What did Margaret think she was, an ostrich?
No, she read the instructions twice. Keep it warm. Keep it hidden. This one is not for sale.
Before she could examine the egg closer, the bell above the door jingled. Cassandra closed the lid on the carton.
Movement at the back of the shop caught her attention. She spotted a dark-haired stranger holding a small robin’s egg up to the light.
Tempted as she was, she didn’t dare leave the carton unattended. He tilted his head, revealing the strong cords of his bronzed neck. His shirt unbuttoned just enough to allow a peek at his chest. With his black suit pants he appeared to have gotten lost from somewhere down in the business district.
Such large hands, she mused, to cradle such a small object, like a fragile egg, between his fingers. A slow heat crept up her neck. No, with those wide shoulders, that hawk-like nose, she knew he was no pencil pusher.
She almost took a step around the counter but grasped hold of the carton and sat it down on the floor out of sight.
When her head popped back up, Drake startled her. “Margaret’s got a buyer coming in. Don’t screw this one up.”
Cassandra took a deep breath, her hand still over her heart from Drake’s fright. “I think I know what I’m doing.”
Drake sauntered close to her. His cat-like green eyes flashed for her benefit. His narrow-slit pupil enlarging, hiding his alter dragon ego. “I’ll be keeping my eye on you. She doesn’t want any more slip ups.”
Ever since the last egg deal had gotten blown, Margaret had sent Drake to guard her investment at the gallery in Seattle. Cassandra had been disappointed it hadn’t been Jacques who showed up with the package.
“I go where the boss tells me to go. Just like you do what I tell you to do.” He flicked his finger under her chin. “Secure the package. I’ll return later to check on the deal.”
Cassandra flipped her dark hair behind her shoulder. Drake walked past her. Instead of going through the back as he usually did, he walked past the stranger. He paused, the stranger’s eyes locked on Drake. She watched them both acknowledge the other with a nod.
What kind of dragon did she have to deal with now?
Frozen behind the counter, the stranger approached her after she heard the door close at Drake’s departure. His white spiked hair and pale skin didn’t compare to the dragon before her.
A roman god, with a white tooth-grin that made her insides flutter.
With an accent like velvet against her cheek, she got goosebumps when he said, “I’m looking for a rare piece of work. Perhaps you can help me.”
She slid her foot near the carton, assuring herself it was there.
His kind didn’t come here seeking art. “You’ve come at the right time. What can I help you with?”
Edmund had almost given up.
His trail had gone cold. Then inside this glass and metal structure of one of Seattle’s prominent art galleries, he discovered the display of painted eggs. These were no ordinary eggs to be found in a grocery store or laid in a bird’s nest. These were dragon eggs. As large as a beach ball, oval, and their insides gutted.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He flashed a quick snapshot of the display as a record of proof. His friend Blake, the pendragon of their herd, might need it later when he stood before the draconian counsel for bonding with a human Keeper. It wasn’t enough to bond with a human, but to bond with a blood relative of the ancient dragon riders had been forbidden for centuries.
So was selling live dragon eggs.
“I see you deal in eggs. I’m looking to add to my collection.” Edmund congratulated himself on the approach he took with the sales girl. There was no doubt in his mind that she would raise the alarm if she suspected him of anything else. The last thing he wanted was to have her call her ice dragon back here.
“We have many eggs. Is there one, in particular, you desire?”
Edmund’s gaze wandered over her lush curves. Her high-necked, long-sleeved, blue silk blouse and black pencil skirt told him her intentions were strictly business. An untrained eye would look no further, but under her straight-laced attire she had the kind of figure made to mold against a man.
He was reluctant to get down to business. All too soon things would change between them. That hopeful look would vanish from her eyes, and she’d never trust him or want to see him again.
He forced his gaze from her lips. Behind wire-rimmed glasses, eyes of blue and clear as a mountain stream caught and held his stare before she looked away.
Sensing her unease, he said, “Yes. I’m looking for something—fresh.”
Her thick veil of lashes lowered to hide her surprise at his request. An awkward pause passed between them. He knew he pressed her, but this place reeked of dragon and death. And a hint of Margaret’s sulfuric hibiscus scent.
“The egg. I want it fresh. Not hollow like these.” He swept his hand to indicate the painted shells beside her.
She chewed on her lip mulling over his request.
“Perhaps I came to the wrong place. I apologize if I have wasted your time.”
A flicker in her eyes. Regret.
“No. Y-you’ve come to the right place.” The touch of her hand on his forearm sent a shock of awareness to all the pulse points in his body. The pull of her senses stunned him.
She trembled, feeling it too.
She withdrew her touch. Her voice returned to its prim and proper mode. “How soon are you looking to acquire?”
“Before the tides change. Two months. Tops.”
That wary, watchful look which had hovered at the back of her eyes when he first made his request, returned. He started to strip away those modest layers of hers in his mind. Something about her stirred the gentler side of him.
“I’ll have to check around. See what I can do.”
“Tell your boss I’m willing to pay a small treasure for what I seek. That is, if she can deliver it.”
“And whom shall I tell her is seeking it?”
“Edmund St. George.”
“It will be a pleasure to do business with you, Mr. St. George.”
When she handed him her card, he kept his expression blank. “I believe the pleasure will be all mine, Ms. Balkan.”
“Please, call me Cassandra.”
He took her hand in his, lifted it to his mouth. Cold and dainty, he turned her hand palm side up. He kissed her palm. Heard the intake of her breath. He slid his tongue down her life line before blowing a bit of fire against her wrist.
She didn’t flinch, just stared at him. And continued to stare as someone new walked into the gallery.