Naked Dragon Page 21

  “Dish,” Lizzie said, unable to hide her grin, and well, it was really hard not to brag about an especially gifted lover, but McKenna wasn’t the type to kiss and tell.

  “I’ll take whatever it is Bastian and I have, for however long we have it,” she said. “And damn the consequences for once in my life.”

  “Good. I’m happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for me, too.”

  “I know Bastian is . . . unusual,” Lizzie admitted, “but the kids love him, and Steve can wiggle his toes without pain, which his doctors said would never happen. He sincerely believes that Bastian is healing him.”

  “Bastian is a healer, Lizzie. He’s different, yes. But he’s a good man.” McKenna pulled her truck into her driveway. Whose car is that?”

  “I don’t recognize it, but it has kid seats in the back.”

  “Don’t lift the grocery bags, Lizzie. I’ll send Bastian out.”

  “Thanks.”

  The pregnant woman on her porch looked familiar but McKenna couldn’t place her. “Hi,” the woman said. “My name is Melody Seabright—”

  “The Kitchen Witch!” Lizzie gasped. “I watch your cooking show all the time. I’m Lizzie Framingham, and this is McKenna Greylock. She owns the Dragon’s Lair.”

  “Won’t you come in?” McKenna asked.

  They went inside, which really made McKenna wish her kitchen didn’t look so faded seventies.

  “Let me come to the point,” Melody Seabright said. “I’m in a bind. I’ve lost my Halloween location and I saw your ad. I love the paint job outside. Talk about gorgeous. I love your hook: the Dragon’s Lair. You’re a local business, and I try to feature locals whenever I can. I’d like to shoot my Halloween Kitchen Witch cooking show from here. It’d be free publicity?”

  “But my kitchen sucks,” McKenna said. “Seriously, I’m embarrassed to have you see it.”

  “That’s not as much of a problem as you think. We have a location budget for cabinet fronts, countertops, standard, but you choose colors. I’ll throw in wallpaper or paint. Your choice. It’s a bit more than usual but we go international on Halloween.”

  “Are you kidding me? Free publicity and a new kitchen?”

  “That’s the location budget. Do you do the cooking yourself?”

  “Uh, no,” Lizzie said, raising a finger. “That would be me.”

  “Then I’d like you both to be on my Halloween show, if you’re interested. Lizzie, we’ll pay you. McKenna, care to take your pay in new appliances? Standard white?”

  “As much as I’d like to,” McKenna said. “I could use the pay with setting up the business. Is that ungrateful of me? I feel like a jerk taking money and free publicity, but if I have a choice . . .”

  “No, you’ll both get the stipend. Lizzie, do you have any special Dragon’s Lair meals that you plan to serve your guests?”

  “Yes, I make a great dragon stew.”

  Melody raised a brow. “How do you make a dragon stew?”

  “You make him wait,” McKenna said.

  FIFTY

  Melody Seabright chuckled. “A dragon joke and a recipe? Say yes. Because if you have the recipe, we’re using both on the show.”

  “I do have a recipe,” Lizzie said, “of my own creation. It’s a stew of beef and pork, with New England fall and winter vegetables, tomatoes are key, and thirteen secret herbs and spices that we grow right here. I call it dragon stew because it makes a roaring good meal.”

  “Perfect. Any signature desserts?”

  Bastian came into the room, a frazzled plumber looking like he’d had another run-in with an electrical panel. She introduced him to Melody.

  “Someone is driving into the yard,” Bastian said. “I saw the car from upstairs, parked out front, and a man taking pictures of your house, Kenna.”

  McKenna looked beyond the kitchen porch. “Huntley, damn it.” She locked the screen door and waited on the kitchen side. “Melody. I’m sorry,” she barely had time to say before the dirtbag appeared on her porch.

  “You don’t have any business here,” McKenna said when they stood face-to-face with the screen between them.

  “A nice paint job doesn’t mean you have the house up to code or the money to pay your back taxes, McKenna. I’ll give you two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the place, today. That’s my final offer. If you wait two weeks, it’s mine.”

  She shook her head. “Huntley, I know that you don’t play poker with the building inspector. But I do believe that you’re as dishonest as you imply. My land will never be yours. Never. I intend to pay everything on time.” She shut both doors and turned to her guest. “Melody, I’m sorry you had to witness that,” McKenna said. “He’s trying to force my hand.”

  “That was a bit of a drive-by,” Melody said.

  Huntley knocked and called her name. “I have a better idea,” he shouted. “If you don’t open the door, I’ll shout it so the world can hear.”

  “Feel free to shout your head off.”

  “Marry me,” Huntley shouted through the door.

  McKenna whipped it open. “Shut up!”

  Huntley grinned, the picture of innocence. “You know we had fun together when we dated.”

  “Two damned dates because you wanted my land. You’re proposing for the same reason.”

  “No, I want to marry you because you’re . . . you’re—”

  “Beautiful. She’s beautiful,” Bastian snapped, coming up behind her, “and she has a heart to match.” He moved her to the side and slammed the door in Huntley’s face. Then he rounded on her. “You dated that blackheart? How could you?”

  “I didn’t see his evil until the second date, so shoot me. I poured a mojito over his head and walked.”

  “I still can’t believe you dated him. I thought you had better judgment than that.”

  Bastian was angry enough for her to see the beginnings of claws and wings. “Look at me,” she said, cupping his face so his inner beast would calm. “I was stupid,” she admitted, “but not for long.”

  His beast receded.

  Melody cleared her throat. “I know I’m an outsider, but give a girl a break. We’ve all dated our share of frogs. Didn’t you, Bastian? Be honest.”

  Bastian crossed his arms. “Dragons do not consort with frogs.”

  “Dragons?” Melody asked.

  Steve had rolled in during the embarrassing scene. “Bastian painted the rooms with the dragon scenes,” Steve said, “so McKenna made him her resident dragon, for the guests, you understand. Lizzie’s making him a scaled cloak.”

  “A red one,” Bastian said, relaxing.

  Thank goodness he was calming, McKenna thought. “We’ll bring the dragon out for certain celebrations,” McKenna said, “like for Christmas and the Summer Solstice, to keep the spirits of both my parents happy, the Catholic and the Celtic.”

  “I plan original menus for each,” Lizzie said. “Maybe you’d like to come, Melody? Bring your husband? I mean as a guest, not to tape a show.”

  “Do come,” McKenna said.

  “The Christmas event sounds fun, but I’d love to shoot a program around your Summer Solstice celebration. It’s something I’ve never done, but this is Salem.”

  “Great,” Lizzie said.

  Yes, great, McKenna thought, if she kept the place long enough to celebrate anything. Talk about a save. Lizzie and Steve carried it so far, they came up with two more events to bring in guests and locals.

  Bastian had calmed, but to be fair, he didn’t understand how dating worked here. She’d explain later. “Again, Melody, I’m sorry you had to witness that scene with Huntley. He’s been browbeating me on a regular basis, but a marriage proposal? That was desperation. At least you understand now why I need to get paid more than I need new appliances, though I’d rather it not be commonly known.”

  “When do you get your first paying guests?”

  “On October twenty-sixth, the day after my possible foreclosure, but it’s a
family reunion, so I’ll have a full house. A couple of days from now, the deposit will be mine, because it’ll be past the cancellation date. If the slop hits the fan, however, and I do lose the place, I can pay their deposits back with the money I’ve been hoarding for the mortgage and taxes.”

  “Maybe if you go to the bank, they’ll accept the promise of your guests’ full week’s stay when you give them the deposit,” Steve said.

  “Will my paychecks help, McKenna?” Bastian asked. “I never cashed any. Take the money for taxes.”

  “That’s a generous offer, Bastian. Thank you, but you should keep the money.”

  “No, I want it to be my investment in the Dragon’s Lair.”

  “Your investment already exceeds any paychecks I might be able to afford.”

  “Melody, make out the check for my stipend from The Kitchen Witch show to McKenna,” Lizzie said.

  “No,” McKenna snapped, putting her foot down. “You need that money for the babies.”

  “I needed a roof over my babies’ heads. You gave us one.”

  “Listen to Lizzie,” Steve agreed. “You know she’s always right.”

  McKenna’s eyes filled as she looked down at her blurry cat for a minute. She picked up Jaunty, her heart overflowing with her friends’ generosity. “I feel like such a loser.”

  “Because your friends care so much about you?” Melody asked. “You should be celebrating your good fortune. McKenna, I spent a lot of time not taking money from my father. I know what a waste of time it is. Stubborn isn’t necessarily the right way to go, and, Lizzie, did you say babies, plural?”

  “T-twins,” Lizzie said. “You?”

  “Twins. Our fifth, a surprise—well, a shock—turned into our fifth and sixth. Logan has been a zombie since we found out. My doctor says that we mature moms release more than one egg at a time.”

  “We sure do,” Lizzie said with a sigh.

  “I’ll end up with an even number of boys and girls. What about you?”

  “Yep,” Lizzie said. “That’s what we should have, too.”

  “Lucky us,” Melody said, a bit distracted by the keeping room fireplace. “Possible new shoot plan.” She walked over to the keeping room hearth and sat in one of the rockers in front of it. “Lizzie, can you cook your stew on the hearth, here?”

  “Absolutely. It’ll taste better.”

  “It’d give us more vintage nostalgia and all we’ll need are Halloween decorations. This hearth definitely says dragon’s lair, doesn’t it? We can set up a plank table beside it as a work space for the shoot.”

  “We have one of those,” McKenna said, thinking of the one in Ciarra’s cave, which seemed only fitting to use, since she started all this. “It belonged to one of my ancestors.”

  “Yes!” Melody said. “Then we’ll chat about your ancestor during the show. This way, McKenna, I’ll give you the location budget with your stipend.”

  “Melody Seabright, something tells me that you’re bending over backward here after Huntley’s maniacal visit.”

  Melody rubbed her baby belly. “Something tells me, McKenna Greylock, that I couldn’t bend over backward if my life depended on it right now.” She’d eased the tension, snap, like that.

  “Lizzie, what else can you cook on the hearth here?”

  “Yankee cornbread to go with the stew, and the Dragon’s Lair special apple upside-down pumpkin cake, fresh from our apple orchard and pumpkin patch.”

  “Melody,” McKenna said, sliding her arm through Melody’s. “Would you care for a tour of the Lair?”

  “After the pictures I saw on the ’Net? Absolutely. Where’s that purple dragon?”

  “Iverus. Right this way.”

  FIFTY-ONE

  McKenna and Bastian occupied the parlor sofa, him with his head in her lap.

  “I can’t believe that a television crew is coming to shoot an episode of The Kitchen Witch from my bed-and-breakfast,” McKenna said. “Talk about a gift from the universe.”

  “I cannot believe that plumbing is such a pain in the dragon rump.”

  “Have Whitney and Wyatt been helping you?”

  “As much as Jock and Dewcup do. Where is Jaunty?”

  “I think she’s hiding from Dewcup.”

  “Is Lizzie feeling all right? Steve has been getting nervous.”

  “Lizzie is tired of carrying those babies around, which won’t last much longer.”

  “Speaking of things not lasting,” he said, raising his head. “Did you buy what we needed?”

  “Impatient dragon. Yes, we have condoms. Take me to bed?”

  “You do not have to ask twice.”

  McKenna stood beside her bed as Bastian knelt to remove each shoe as if they were Cinderella’s, instead of serviceable farm boots. Then he watched her as he slid his hands up her legs, before his head disappeared beneath her dress.

  McKenna squeaked and pulled the dress up, holding it so she could see him, her face growing warmer than his fiery breath as he kissed her and pleasured her there with his mouth.

  He looked up, violet eyes dancing, his mane of sooty hair endearingly messy, and she’d swear that her heart pounded from her chest and lay at his feet.

  She’d be foolish to give him her heart. Yet, every day, there went another piece of it, and wasn’t Bastian the one to catch it?

  She’d take him any way she could have him. Yes, something was missing, the love she’d never dare share with him, and not having it made her sad, like falling a long distance and enjoying the thrill, though you know you’ll hit bottom, eventually, but you don’t care.

  Despite that, her gratification swelled, as only Bastian could expand it.

  He kissed her through her practical cotton panties, rushing warmth to pool there, and he rested his cheek in that very spot, before he turned his head and opened his mouth against her, whispering her name like a prayer, his hot breath permeating the fabric against the wet lips of her sex.

  McKenna caught her breath, closed her eyes, and wove her fingers through his long, thick hair.

  Sliding his palms up beneath her panties, he cupped her bottom, skin to skin, and splayed his hands to stroke and tease her with his thumbs, near her center, but not near enough, which didn’t keep pleasure from rising—sweet, subtle, slow—a pure and elemental ascension, in harmony with the thrum of her heating blood.

  With a shuddering sigh McKenna gasped her pleasure and rode the wave he created until the hungry dragon rose up to face her, looking like the vengeful angel she imagined on the day of his arrival, wings poised to embrace her, as he took her mouth once more.

  He swallowed her sighs of satisfaction, drew more, until he was so much a part of her, heart and soul, she might bleed if he moved away.

  While her knees threatened to buckle under her, he opened her bodice, adoring the tender skin there with his magick touch, freed her arms from her sleeves, and slid her dress down her body, the palms of his hands skimming, arousing, until her dress pooled at her feet.

  Nuzzling her neck, he took her hand to help her step over the dress to face him—her lover. Yes, she had a lover.

  Wearing only her bra and panties, McKenna wished they were lace or silk, or even new, and not Rubenesque, yet Bastian regarded her with a dark fire hunger that seared her to the deepest recesses of her soul.

  He stepped back to regard her like a connoisseur and she waited for disappointment, for the light in his eyes to dim, but they got brighter.

  She shook her head. “Damn it, Bastian, are your eyes as bad as your hearing is good?”

  “Kenna, I saw the spirits in the night. Jock lit them for you, not me. My vision is better than most magickal creatures.”

  “Then what’s this? Don’t you see what I see when you look at me?”

  “The question is, when you see yourself, why do you not see the beauty I do? Wait here. I have something for you.”

  She sat on the bed as he left, and she wondered if he’d ever be back.

  If he di
d return, she’d soon stand naked, no shower spray to blur the view, before the man she lo—liked a whole lot. To her surprise, he did come back, and he handed her a sketch.

  “It’s Ciarra,” she whispered. “Bastian, the sketch beautiful. She’s beautiful.”

  “As Ciarra is beautiful, you said, and I agree. One of the most beautiful women you have ever seen.”

  “She’s stunning.” McKenna couldn’t get over her ancestor’s beauty.

  “Here,” he said. “Another.”

  “This one’s good, too. There’s something different about it, though.” McKenna compared the two. “Her eyebrows, maybe. No, not the brows. Bastian, you gave her green eyes in the first sketch and blue in the second. Ciarra’s eyes are blue.”

  “No,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I know has green eyes.”

  “No, I remember they’re—”

  “You see it now, do you not, the uncanny resemblance between you? You look more like Ciarra than any of her descendents, more even than her granddaughters. You, my Kenna, are beautiful, by your own admission. No arguing. I will not hear another word to the contrary.”

  “Bastian—”

  He crossed her lips with a finger. “I am a big clumsy oaf, and you are a stunner with a heart to match.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  “Real women, Kenna,” Bastian tried to make her understand, “wholesome, healthy, lusciously sexy women, do not look like Creamsicle sticks, nor would they taste as sweet, because the lush has been sucked out of them. They are dry, bony caricatures of women. They suffer daily. They starve. Did you see that program where the girl wanted to be sick to lose weight? She ate a skinny pill when she felt faint? That is life? I do not think so.”

  His Kenna sighed, and he liked the way it raised her breasts. “I suppose,” she whispered.

  “Now maybe you will see what I do when I look at you. A beautiful woman with a heart to match.”