Chapter 6

Mikhail leaned forward in his chair and raked his hands through his hair. "Please, Randolph. I wouldn't ask, but"

"Say no more. If the promise of gems draws you out of your little cave in Cornwall, then consider it done. I'll go with you, of course. I'm rather fond of the new American gemologist they brought here. I should like to see her again."

Mikhail's body went rigid. An American gemologist? His little virgin gemologist who smelled like heaven? The one he'd done a poor job of not thinking about for the last hour?

"Gemologist?" Mikhail forced himself to sound neutral.

"Oh yes. A succulent little creature with the biggest brown eyes and legs that go on for days, as the Americans say. I'd love to have them wrapped around my hips, if you understand my meaning." Randolph grinned wickedly.

Brown eyes? Not pale blue? So it hadn't been the woman named Piper Linwood. The small, curvy human with eyes like alexandrite, a bluish-gray that could change shade with whatever she stood close to. He'd taken one look at those eyes, and for a moment he was lost in fantasies of stripping the woman bare and draping jewels over her body. He wanted to see diamonds glinting across her stomach and strings of pearls rising and falling over the mounds of her breasts.

The fact that her profession was studying and understanding such treasures had made his dragon growl in pride and the man part of him hard as stone.

"So tonight we go to the reception." He looked at Belishaw, who was still grinning as though he, too, was lost in personal fantasies.

"Indeed, but you're going to need a suit." Belishaw eyed Mikhail critically. "You didn't bring one to London, did you?" Belishaw was known for his fine taste in clothing: the finest suits, the most expensive Italian leather shoes. Mikhail simply wore whatever was in his closet with little thought to it so long as it was dark in color.

Mikhail chuckled. "You know I did not. Rolling up a fine suit and strapping it to my leg during flight would have ruined it."

Belishaw burst out laughing. "I forgot you Russian imperials are always so rustic. British dragons don't fly anymore, not unless it's an emergency. I only fly now when I need to clear my head."

Mikhail shuddered at the thought of going so long without transforming. The dragon inside him could not go that length of time being caged inside his human body.

"I suppose I am more rustic." He thought of the cliffs by his home and how often he leapt from them, allowing his body to elongate and his skin to turn into scales. There was nothing more glorious than flight.

A pang of longing for homehis true home in Russia, the Fire Hillsslammed into him. He hadn't seen his brothers in two hundred years. He hadn't spoken to them for that long, either. He wasn't sure what to say to them after so long. The last time he'd gone home, his father and mother had been traveling the world. He'd defied his father's orders of exile and come home for that year.

He had brought the Englishman James Barrow with him. Barrow had been a friend and confidant. He had known what Mikhail really was, and rather than be afraid, he'd been curious. Fascinated. Barrow had been a naturalist, and exploring the world of dragons had been one of his greatest joys. Mikhail had worried that his brothers would not open up to Barrow, but they had been welcoming. Grigori, his eldest brother, was a man who lived for duty to his family, and the younger hotheaded Rurik was the Barinov battle dragon. Each brother had a duty assigned to him.

And I am the one who failed mine.

"I can see it, you know," Belishaw said, his eyes peering deeply into Mikhail's.

"See what?"

"Your pain. You came here to bring home a treasure to your family, but you were betrayed by a woman you intended to mate. I know your father blamed you, but you must stop blaming yourself." Belishaw set down the empty glass he had been holding. "It's been five hundred years. Your parents are gone, and from the way you speak of your brothers, they would take you back in an instant, yet you haven't talked to them for two centuries. Who are you trying to punish, them or yourself?"

Belishaw always had a way of reminding Mikhail he had a tendency to play the martyr.

"You are right. It is time I returned home to them," he admitted. His gaze drifted to the fire in the hearth, watching the logs pop and snap beneath the vermillion flames.

"So what's stopping you?" Belishaw's question was more of a challenge.

"Nothing. I will get those jewels back and return with my honor restored."

Belishaw grinned. "Ah. Now things are getting interesting. What do you plan to do, exactly?"

A slow smile curved Mikhail's lips. "My plan is to seduce a gemologist into giving them to me or aiding me in their retrieval."

Belishaw tensed. "Not my brown-eyed creature."

"No. It seems there are two here to help with the auction. You can distract yours all you like. I shall take the one with eyes like alexandrite."

"Then we'd better get you one bloody good suit. No doubt it's been a while since you've seduced a mortal. You're bound to be rusty."

Mikhail winced at the truth. His skills at seduction might be rusty, but from the way Piper Linwood had looked at him when he'd kissed her hand, it shouldn't be too hard to convince the woman that he was interested in her. It would be his greatest pleasure to get Piper alone and show her just how good at kissing he really was.