Desired by the Dragon Read online

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  NOTE TO THE READER

  DESIRED BY THE DRAGON

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT

  BOOKS BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  NOTE TO THE READER

  DESIRED BY THE DRAGON

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  CHERISHED BY THE COUGAR PREVIEW

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO BY ISADORA MONTROSE

  Desired by the Dragon ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2018

  Cherished by the Cougar Preview ©Copyright Isadora Montrose 2018

  Cover Art by Willsin Rowe ©Copyright 2017

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the author, Isadora Montrose.

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers.

  Books by Isadora Montrose

  Bear Necessities

  Bear Possibilities

  Bear Affinities

  Bear Infinities

  Bear Fursuits Books 1-4 Bundle

  Bear Cubs for Christmas (available only in Bear Fursuits Books 1-4 Bundle)

  Bearly Begun

  Bearly Enough

  Bearly Ever

  Bearly Forever

  Bearly Beloved

  Bear Skin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Dragon’s Treasure

  Dragon’s Successor

  Brides for the Bachelor Bears Books 0-4 Bundle

  Bearly a Bride (available only in Brides for the Bachelor Bears)

  Dragon’s Pleasure

  Bear Pause: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Dragon’s Christmas Captive

  Dragon’s Possession

  Phoenix Aglow

  Phoenix Ablaze

  Phoenix Aflame

  Billionaire Dragon Lords Books 1-3 Bundle

  Dragon’s Confession

  Bear Sin: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Phoenix Alight

  Bear Fate: A Billionaire Oil Bearons Romance

  Christmas Flame (available only in Home for the Howlidays)

  Amazon Author Page: https://amazon.com/author/isadoramontrose

  Note to the Reader

  Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty Romances

  The Shifters in Love group is bringing you weekly feel-good romances under the Fun & Flirty label. Every week there will be another feel-good romance for you to enjoy. See them all on the Shifters in Love website.

  Mystic Bay Series

  A match made in West Haven, is a match made in Heaven...

  Welcome to the town of Mystic Bay, Oregon on the magical island of West Haven. For 200 years, this island has been home to sensitives of all varieties. On West Haven, where the paranormal is normal, psychics, sorcerers, fairies rub shoulders with shifters of all stripes.

  Matchmakers Robin Fairchild and Gordon Sullivan are working a little white magic to bring fated mates together. In defiance of island traditions, they encourage romances between shifters and other sensitives.

  I have created an entire new series just for Shifters in Love Fun & Flirty line to bring you the funny, steamy romances you like best. Enjoy a break from the everyday with these lighthearted stories of shifters discovering love in the unlikeliest places.

  Cheers,

  Isadora

  DESIRED BY THE DRAGON

  A SHIFTERS IN LOVE

  FUN & FLIRTY ROMANCE

  Mystic Bay Series Book 1

  by

  Isadora Montrose

  CHAPTER ONE

  Seattle, March

  Moira~

  “What do you mean you’re selling the gallery?” Adrian Whitlock’s salon tan washed out to gray. His air of suave superiority evaporated.

  “I mean that I am getting out of the art business,” Moira met her partner’s demand as calmly as she could.

  She deeply regretted having to close her galleries and abandon her dreams. But even if Adrian was not at the root of her anxiety attacks, she could not continue a partnership with a crook. Whoever heard of a fairy with anxiety issues? The Fae were serene, deliberate, content. Lately she had been a rattled shadow of her former self.

  “You can’t do that,” protested Adrian. “I own half this business.” Waves of somethi
ng dangerous formed spikes in his aura.

  “Not quite.” Suddenly Moira was shivering inside her elegant little black dress and cashmere blazer. She wasn’t cold, but she was afraid. Adrian was dangerous. More dangerous than she would have believed a year ago. First anxiety, now fear. It was more evidence that her decision was correct.

  “We have a contract,” Adrian reminded her, his tone sharpening as he attempted to pierce her impassivity.

  “Read it,” she advised with a smile as false as any of his. Two could play at being two-faced.

  “My lawyer will,” he threatened.

  She strengthened her psychic defenses. Better late than never. “You can waste your money, if you wish, Adrian, but your lawyer will inform you that pulling the plug is entirely my decision. I hold fifty-one percent of the stock in this gallery. One hundred percent of the Portland gallery. But, of course, if you want to make me an offer, I am obliged to listen. You do hold right of first refusal.”

  “I’ll sue,” blustered Adrian. She was glad to see sweat dampen his high forehead. He was beginning to realize his game was over.

  Moira assessed his aura once more. This was why she was so good at her chosen career. She could tell at a glance the genuine from the fake. The good from the bad. Except when it came to those born without consciences. Not even the Fae could help but be deceived by born liars.

  She had been careful to select her business partner from the world of sensitives. Adrian was a psychic with a gift for perceiving the age and provenance of art. It had made him a mover and shaker in the art world. At least in the Pacific Northwest. How could she have gotten him so wrong?

  Even now when it must be apparent that she had discovered what Adrian had been doing, he was projecting a facade of innocent honesty, deceptive in its apparent openness. But it was too late for him to fool her. She had examined the books, pulled the records of all transactions dealt with by her partner, confided in her accountant. The data were against him.

  Adrian was pushing forgeries through her gallery. Had been since day one. Using her good name to deceive a long list of high-powered clients. They were good forgeries, but Fairchild Galleries didn’t deal in fakes or reproductions. And when Adrian’s affluent marks caught on to the worthlessness of the expensive art he had authenticated and sold them, she wanted her name to be long separated from his.

  This fiasco was the price of trust. Just a year ago she had been flattered to have the famous Adrian Whitlock offer to buy into her gallery. With his money she had financed the Portland gallery. The start of her empire. That too was on the market. Fairchild’s Galleries was no longer worthy of its reputation.

  She should have known better. Her first clue should have been that an egotist like Adrian was perfectly contented to let the gallery remain Fairchild’s, instead of wanting his name added. She would have gone for Fairchild and Whitlock like a shot. But he hadn’t even put it on the table.

  Live and learn. If something seemed to be too good to be true, look harder.

  Whitlock would not have been interested in her gallery if not for her spotless reputation for honesty, and her track record of picking the next great artist. He had bought both cheaply. She had a sinking feeling that if she went to the police with her suspicions – all right, her absolute conviction – that Adrian was running fakes through the gallery, she would wind up in jail or worse. It would turn out that he had set her up to take the fall.

  Adrian’s persuasive voice sank in timbre. He assumed a sorrowful expression. He held her eyes with his guileless green ones. The ones she was now perfectly sure were tinted contacts. “Moira, you don’t want to do this. We’re making money hand over fist. Together we can go to the top. Become the finest art gallery in the Northwest. If you’re tired, you can take a vacation.”

  That was the shame of it. They could have ascended to that pinnacle together. Moira looked around at the gallery she had poured so much energy and spirit into. It was a study in pale neutrals. Everything suggested affluence and effortless good taste, and encouraged buyers to imagine the art in their own designer spaces.

  The oak floors had been bleached to the color of sand. Creamy leather covered the elegant benches. Ecru platforms were graced by sculptures made by Seattle’s most talented workers in clay, wood, and bronze. The seafoam walls were covered with salable paintings by artists she had personal discovered and launched.

  Fairchild’s had a wait list a hundred names long of artists begging to be featured. The world could have been her oyster. Their oyster. But she had no intention of revealing her hard-won knowledge to Adrian. Let him think she was still his dupe. It was better he did not know that she had proof of his fraud.

  Rage and regret burned in her heart like acid. But she suppressed those useless emotions. Kept her composure. She was Fae after all. “I have made my decision, Adrian. I’m selling. You have right of first refusal. I get to set the price. I’m getting out of the gallery business and going home.”

  “But you live in Seattle.” He sounded genuinely bewildered.

  Moira smiled. She hailed from a tiny island in the San Juans. West Haven was just a speck among the many islands of that strait. But it was home. She had no intention of telling this con artist anything about her refuge.

  “I thought we had a future together,” he continued plaintively, infusing charm into every word. He smiled his most tantalizing smile. He was good.

  But it was too late for charm. Several months too late. She had had hopes initially, but nothing had come of that first tentative buzz between them. It was as if after he seduced her into partnership, Adrian had lost interest in her. Probably he had. Men tended to when you were both short and round and smart. Or perhaps pretending interest had grown to be too much work. Same reason.

  “Well, we don’t.” She was going home to West Haven. If she hooked up with anyone, it would be one of the trustworthy residents of West Haven. Provided a plump, antiquated fairy, spreading her wings for the first time, was to anyone’s taste.

  Two weeks later she left Seattle with the money from her condo and the gallery securely invested in the Drake Income Fund and poised to grow. She drove her brand-new SUV onto the ferry to Friday Harbor. Look out, West Haven, Fairchild’s Art Supply is about to storm the town of Mystic Bay, population 2,874.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Seattle, April

  Quinn~

  “I don’t understand, Quinn,” Anthony Drake said icily. “You can’t just up and quit. What on earth will our clients think?”

  “That you and Hugh and Edmund will continue to make them rich.” It was a joke to think that Drake Investments needed Quinn’s pedestrian input. He had no flair for the family business. Ten years of trying had established that beyond the shadow of a doubt.

  “For God’s sake, boy, Drakes don’t go running off to live in artists’ colonies. We’re investors. We’re movers and shakers, not flakes. Your mother and I thought you had finally settled down.” Anthony’s polished aristocratic facade showed a few cracks.

  Quinn winced at the low blow. “Nope. I can’t do it any longer, Dad. If I have to read another financial statement, my eyes are going to roll back in my head. If I have to investigate another bond issue, I am going to take to drink. I’m done.”

  “You’ll be bored to tears on West Haven within a month,” Anthony Drake predicted. “It’s fine for a vacation, but after a few weeks of sailing, you’ll crave the stimulation of the city.”

  “Think so, sir?” As much as he enjoyed sailing, he wasn’t going to West Haven to take a sloop out or engage in any of the traditional vacation pastimes of their extended family.

  “I do.” Anthony snorted. Flames flickered around his nostrils. A sure sign that he had lost control of his temper and his talent. “Painting.” Another snort. More flames. “Drakes don’t make pictures. We buy them. Or anything else we want.”

  “How much money is enough, Dad?” Quinn asked quietly. “You knew from the get-go that I only wanted to make myself a
cushion so that I could devote myself to my art.” Painting in the limited hours of the weekends and his annual vacation had never been enough, and now it felt like a straitjacket binding his creativity.

  Between his trust fund and his savings Quinn had sufficient money to last him for the rest of his life – if he lived modestly. Modestly by Drake standards. Even if he never sold a single painting. Of course, he hoped to make a success of his new career. To make a name for himself in the art world. He was enough of a dragon to have that much ambition.

  “I thought you would grow out of it. Grow up.” Anthony waved a hand around his sleek office. “Appreciate your heritage.”

  Anthony’s sophisticated seventy-eighth floor aerie had been expensively decorated in shades of gray that ran the gamut from charcoal to the icy color of a Seattle winter sky. Here and there, chrome and glass gleamed. Blond wood trimmed the furniture and supported the vast slab of polished smoky glass that divided Walter from his visitors. Magnificent paintings graced the pale gray walls. None by Quinn.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows, framed by silvery silk, looked out over the Pacific. On a clear day, you could see far beyond Harbor Island. It wasn’t a clear day, but the view was still spectacular. Just one of the many perks of being the CEO of Drake Investments, Inc.

  It complemented Anthony’s custom-tailored appearance. His pinstriped suit and dark hair, just touched with frost, projected an air of competence, wealth and power. For that matter, so did Quinn’s. He might be taller and broader than his father, but he dressed just as well and just as conservatively. His dark hair was cut short enough to disguise the curl. His square jaw was as cleanly shaven as Anthony’s and only a shade wider.

  No wonder Dad thought Quinn was his natural heir. Quinn had long realized that either of his cousins was a better bet than he was to step into his father’s shoes. Hugh and Edmund were as good as or better than their uncle at investing. Better than their fathers. But Anthony wanted to hand over the reins to his own son. Understandable, but misguided.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. Drake Investments was only ever a stopgap. Painting is my true calling.”

  His father curled his lip. “It’s just a mid-life crisis,” he said. “Does Cynthia know?” he added in desperation.