Chapter Two

ALEX

I'd been reluctantly impressed when I'd seen the Circus for the first time. Impressed, because the circle of tall houses built of cream-coloured stone was beautiful. Reluctantly, because only rich people could afford to live somewhere like this, and I didn't know why rich people wanted anything to do with us.

The Fortescues' house was enormous. At some point, two of the old terrace houses had been knocked through to create what felt like a mansion. The size of the place meant they could accommodate all ten of us without any problems. Well, when I say no problems, I mean they had space for us all. As for the problems…

They were a bunch of bankers. I'm no linguist, but banker and wanker are strikingly similar words. Bankers are parasites on society, gorging themselves on other people's hard-earned money and contributing nothing.

That's not the attitude most people expect from a dragon. But the legends about dragons have become twisted over the years. There are some of us, like my family, who aren't interested in gold or jewels. Those big banker families, the Mortimers, the Fortescues, the Swifts and the Carews, take centre stage in the dragon world. There's no denying that they also wield power in the human world. Abimelech Mortimer has the prime minister practically in his pocket. But we're not all like that. And my family can trace our line so far back that I'd be inclined to say we're the real dragons. The gold-hungry ones came later. We value other things. More important things.

The gulf between us and the gold-hoarding dragons meant the Fortescues' invitation had surprised us all. Margaret had gathered the senior members of the family together to tell us about it, and I think I'd spoken for everyone when I'd asked why they'd invited us.

"That's the interesting thing—I don't know," she said, greying eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm going to accept the invitation and find out what they have in mind. And if it means our youngsters meet dragons in a different gene pool to the families we usually mix with, that's all to the good."

So, there we were, a bunch of Cornish dragons rubbing shoulders with rich, entitled bankers, each of whose haircuts probably cost more than I made in a year. We don't have a heap of money to go around, which might also be why Margaret wanted to know what the Fortescues were proposing.

Two days after our arrival, I was sick to death of the most stuck-up, self-important bunch of dragons I'd ever met. They were holding yet another drinks party, allegedly to welcome us. My only comfort was the fact most of them looked as pissed off as I felt. So much for instant love blossoming. They were as rich as Croesus, entitled and arrogant, and we were normal. It was never going to happen outside of a Hallmark movie. And thank Godwe weren't in one of those.

I guess it wasn't a surprise that one of them mistook me for staff. The bartender, who"d been working hard serving drinks all evening, had disappeared somewhere, so I slipped behind the bar to help myself. At least the guy who asked me for a drink said please. And once I'd had a good look at him, I didn't mind giving him a hand.

I'd have happily given him more than that. He was a couple of inches taller than me, which would put him at six three, and I'd always had a thing for tall men. His hair was a mid-brown with lighter streaks tousled through, and he had thickly lashed brown eyes and a face that would have been pretty without such a square jaw. Not that I mind pretty, but with his build, pretty wouldn't have looked right. He was muscular, like most dragons, and the green Henley he was wearing was tight enough across his broad chest and around his biceps to get my interest. I liked what I saw, very much. And I liked that he checked me out, right up until the chief wanker showed up. Charlie Fortescue was the most unpleasant person I'd ever met.

When Charlie let loose with his usual delightful small talk, I'd have stayed out of it if it hadn't been for the look on the hot guy's face. A joke's only a joke if everyone's laughing, and the guy Charlie was sniping at looked dazed and somehow lost.

Before Charlie could blow his top at me, the guy distracted him, and they left together. I was disappointed that the guy was leaving without giving me his number. Because watching his arse in tight dark jeans as he left the room… I'd do him in a heartbeat. Or have him do me—I'm vers.

Sadly, that wasn't why I was here, enduring the company of filthy rich bankers. I had to stop lusting and start thinking.

NATE

James Fortescue's office was at the far end of the landing. When there was no answer to his knock, Charlie opened the heavy walnut door and pulled me through, closing it firmly behind us.

We stood there for a moment, looking at one another. I'm not sure what he was studying so closely. I was older, a bit less pretty, a hell of a lot tougher—and that was because of him and the way he'd ended things between us—yet as I looked at him, part of me was still that twenty-five-year-old who'd been so desperately in love. I'd thought Charlie was my soulmate, and it had never occurred to me that he thought anything different because we were inseparable. Not so much Charlie and Nate as Charlie'n'Nate. We went everywhere together and did everything together. Everything except the succession of twinks he'd been screwing in our bed when I'd been working late.

In some ways, he was the same. He still had the heartbreaking good looks and the pouty mouth that had made me so many promises. Or so I'd thought. Now, I realised that I'd believed his kisses to be promises when they'd just been kisses. He was different, too. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut paper, his cheeks were slightly hollowed, and there was a glitter in his eyes even through the haze of alcohol. He seemed almost frenetic.

"God, it's good to see you," he said at last, cupping his hands around my jaw and leaning in to kiss me.

I stepped back sharply. I had to. If I'd waited an instant longer, our lips would have met, and I didn't think I'd have the strength to push him away. My mind told me that he was a bastard, that he'd never loved me the way I'd loved him, but my heart? Apparently, my heart was still his. And I hated that fact.

"What the hell's wrong with you? You know how good we were together." He leaned against me, whisky fumes washing into my face. "You know how I made you scream and how you loved it."

He was swaying, and I grabbed him by his upper arms, holding him upright before he collapsed in a drunken heap. "Come on, Nate," he coaxed. "Let's have some fun."

He fumbled with his belt, and I stared at him, looking for the charming and intelligent guy I'd been in love with. My wild, headstrong, arrogant Charlie had turned into a drink-sodden mess. When we were younger, we'd drunk enough to keep a distillery in business for a decade or two, but that was a rite of passage for most uni students. And it had never—well, rarely—been at inappropriate times.

"Charlie." I had to say his name twice to get through to him. He relinquished his clumsy attempts to undo his belt and squinted at me.

"You're plastered," I told him. "Go and drink some water, or you'll have the head from hell tomorrow morning. And while you're at it, find me a drink."

"And then you'll suck my dick?"

"Bring me a drink, and you'll find out."

With a grin that was a shadow of its old self, he lurched out of the room. I closed the door behind him, leaning my forehead against the cool surface for a moment, everything inside me raw and hurting. But I couldn't begin to sort through what he'd raked up—this was the best opportunity I'd ever have to investigate the Fortescues. I'd never dreamed it could be so easy.

I glanced around the room. Tall sash windows looked out over the Circus, and a mahogany desk dominated that end of the room. The only thing on the desk was a PC monitor, incongruous with the antique Chippendale furniture.

Crossing the room swiftly, I glanced back at the door to check I was still alone and tried the first desk drawer. It was locked. Damn it to hell. I tested each in turn, casting frequent glances towards the door. My grandfather was terrifying, but his dragon was hidden behind the subtlety of a serpent. James Fortescue's civilised veneer was much more fragile. It was as if his dragon was always roaring, deep inside him. If he caught me…

All the drawers were locked. I jiggled each of them in case the locks hadn't engaged fully. Nothing. I even felt about underneath the desk, hoping that a key was taped there. As I straightened up again, disappointed, I bumped the desk, causing the screensaver on the PC to stop running.

Surely he wouldn't keep his desk locked but his computer unsecured? I leaned over, surprised to see that he had. The browser window was open on his email, and I scrolled hurriedly down the screen for anything obvious, like ‘Hacking report on Mortimer banks' or ‘Evil Plan'. Unfortunately, most of the emails appeared to be daily reports on stock and bullion prices.

I scrolled further, my hand sweaty on the mouse as I strained my senses for anyone approaching. My breath caught. There was an email with the subject line ‘Le Mort d'Arthur'. Of course, it could be an email about the book of the same name, with a typo in the title, but Charlie had sometimes bastardised my surname and called me Mort. Ella had picked up on it, and for a time it had been a common nickname for me among their family.

As I clicked the mouse, the door opened.

In my panic, it took me two attempts to close the email. When I finally dared to look up, instead of the furious, dangerous blue eyes of James Fortescue, I found myself staring in shock at the dark-haired bartender. He looked just as surprised to see me.

"I was looking for a place to take a break," he said. "From all that bartending." As if I didn't remember who he was.

I couldn't blame him for wanting to get away from the throng in the drawing room if he had a break. "I'm killing time waiting for Charlie to come back," I said, and wished I didn't sound so guilty.

Thankfully, he didn't question my excuse. Instead, he closed the door behind him and moved towards me, looking around the room in open curiosity. "So this is where the millionaires rake it in to upgrade their yachts."

Not really, if he meant wealth generation. That happened in the Fortescue-owned private bank in Bristol, but there was no doubt this was the dragon's lair. I moved around the desk so he wouldn't see what I'd been doing. He swerved past me until he stood where I'd been, staring at the screen so damningly filled with James Fortescue's emails.

"What do you think bankers talk about for fun?" he asked. Unbelievably, he stretched his hand towards the mouse I'd just relinquished.

I should stop him. He could be anyone, with anything in mind, but if I was able to read that email…"No idea," I lied cheerfully. "Let's take a look."

He opened the highlighted email.

Preliminaries successful. Ramping up next week. Tom.

That couldeasily apply to the cyber-attacks on the Mortimers' banks. On the other hand, it could be from someone learning how to play golf.

"Not exactly a banking meme," I said. "Open another."

The bartender clicked through a couple of reports of meetings. They were concise, as I'd expect from someone communicating with the CEO of Bristol's largest private bank, but none was as cryptic as the ‘Mort d'Arthur' one.

The previous page of emails revealed nothing further. Before I could suggest it, he searched for other emails with the same title. As he opened the first of eight resulting emails, I heard heels clacking on the wooden floor outside, heading towards the door.

Shit. His muscles tensed, he poised to fight or flee, and I reached past him, clicking frantically to close the email and delete our search. And then I was staring hopelessly at the door as the handle began to turn. This was it. If James Fortescue didn't flame us both to ash after hearing where we'd been found, I'd be returning ignominiously to London, and Bim would learn that I'd failed his task within an hour of my arrival. I'd be back in my old life, with no hope of anything changing, except this time, I'd be under the cloud of Bim's disapproval, too. Perhaps James Fortescue would be a better fate.

"Mmph." I was suddenly pressed back against the desk, the muscular bartender plastered against me, his mouth hot on mine. His tongue slid between my open lips, sending heat straight to my cock. While I was still frozen, caught between shock and sudden, savage arousal, he began to explore every inch of my mouth, waking me from my trance. The heat, the power, the suggestion of leashed strength was—oh God. I clutched at him and kissed him back just as thoroughly.

My arse was propped on the desk, my legs open where he was settled between them, pushing against me as his tongue teasingly fucked my mouth. He was no more muscular than me, yet somehow he felt it. He kissed like a force of nature. I sank deep into it and into him and forgot everything else.

A piercing whistle interrupted us. He raised his head from mine and stepped back, dark eyes wary.

Ella had her fingers in her mouth as if she was about to whistle again. When she saw she had our attention, she folded her arms and glared at us. "What the hell do you two think you're doing?"

Oh. He'd been giving us an alibi. Somehow, his kiss had destroyed all higher brain function.

She didn't wait for an answer. "Apart from the obvious, I mean. Of all the places—you know better than anyone you shouldn't be in here uninvited, Nate, and as for you." She was furious with me but addressed the bartender with utter contempt. "This is private property and you're trespassing. Get out."

Without a glance at me, he headed for the door. I watched him for an instant, broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips and an arse that Shakespeare would have written sonnets about. A pointedly cleared throat brought me back to myself.

"Charlie said to wait here," I said, hoping the vagueness in my statement would cover the bartender's presence. I had to conceal his snooping so he wouldn't betray mine. "Have you seen him?"

Ella shook her head in exasperation. "No, I haven't seen Charlie, and even though he's an idiot, you know better than to come into Daddy's study." Manicured fingernails tapped against her arm as she considered me. "What's going on, Nate? Earlier, you said you and Charlie weren't on again, yet here you are, waiting for him. But you're also snogging that guy." Her eyes widened. "Oh. You were both waiting for Charlie. For God's sake, what does my brother have that has guys falling over themselves to be with him?"

That would be looks, wealth, and a dick that didn't seem to have heard of a refractory time. Not that I was going to tell his sister that.

I had to make this convincing. "I'm in Bath to research my book, but when I saw Charlie…" I let it trail off. That way, she could put whatever ending she wanted on my statement.

Her eyes softened. "Oh, Nate."

"I still haven't seen your father," I said quickly, not wanting to get into that conversation. "Do you know where he is?"

"I came in here looking for him," she said. "He's probably trapped somewhere by Margaret, the Cornish dragons' leader. She loves to talk. And for some reason, Daddy lets her." Her brow wrinkled. "I still can't work out why he's invited them here."

As if in answer, James Fortescue's hulking figure filled the doorway. All dragons were big and fairly muscular, but James's size compared to most of us was like a draught horse among saddle horses. His younger son was the same, while Charlie and Ella took after their mother. James was older now. The hair that had been salt and pepper the last time I'd seen him had turned fully grey. His physical sense of threat hadn't diminished in the least, however.

"Gossiping again, Ella?" He strode into the room.

I removed my arse from his desk extremely swiftly, making sure I bumped obviously against the edge as I did so, in case the screensaver hadn't come back on yet.

"Nate," he said neutrally. "This is a surprise."

I never had been able to read him. "I came to see you, sir, to let you know I'd like to stay in Bath for a while."

I paused. That didn't explain why I was standing in his private study.

"I told Nate to come to the party, and we've been looking for you," Ella filled in the gaps, bless her. Whatever differences had lain between her and Charlie at times, they'd always closed ranks to defend one another against their father's wrath.

"Well, you've found me." James sat down in one of the leather armchairs in front of the fireplace. Tilting his head, he invited me to take the other. "Let's hear why you've chosen now of all times to visit my city."