The Billionaire Dragon's Secret Son (Howls Romance) Page 6

  “What happened to George’s clan?” Poppy asked. “

  Alfie let Charlie slip out of his arms and set him down safely on the floor. “George has made himself powerful enough that there are no ongoing repercussions,” Alfie said.

  “But they all know the Heartsfire Blade was stolen?” Poppy asked.

  “Yes, the very same night you took it. George had to admit he had failed to guard it with his life.”

  “And what happened to George?” What punishment had she caused him?

  “His father lost his seat on the council. George was commanded to find it. To use every means at his disposal.”

  “But he never has?” she asked.

  Alfie shook his head. “Why come here now, Poppy?”

  “That is the same question George had asked me, and I can only tell you the same thing. We lived in the mountains, out of the way. No one knew we were there.”

  “Not even your family?” Alfie asked.

  “No.”

  “So why leave?” Alfie asked.

  “Because bad men came,” Charlie said looking up at the other paintings in the room.

  “Bad men. Men you knew?”

  “Yes,” Poppy admitted. “The same man who I stole your Heartsfire Blade for.”

  “And so the end game is upon us,” Alfie murmured.

  As Poppy looked at the paintings, Charlie slipped his hand into hers. They would be safe here, George would protect them. Yet the thought of having stolen a weapon that could kill dragons, that could kill George, and Charlie, made her question if she had done the right thing coming here.

  Getting on a plane and putting thousands of miles between her and Brax might have been a better idea.

  She only hoped fate had a plan, and that fate was on their side.

  Chapter Ten – George

  His day at work had been very productive. And short.

  George picked up his briefcase, and headed out to the reception desk, where a surprised face looked up at him. “Going home, Mr. Lancaster?”

  “I am, Cherry,” George replied.

  “I can’t remember the last time you left before me,” Cherry said. “It makes me feel so much better.”

  “You work hard, Cherry, and I expect you have a family waiting for you at home.”

  “No, unless you count my three cats. Mr. Cherry left a couple of months after the children flew the nest,” she admitted.

  “That must have been tough,” George said.

  “Not really, we only had the kids in common come the end of it. When they left, we both knew our marriage was never going to last.”

  “Well, have a good evening anyway.” George thought over what Cherry had shared. He was lucky enough to know he would never tire of Poppy. But would she tire of him? Once Charlie, and any other children they had, grew up, he would lose any leverage to make her stay.

  He would end up a lonely dragon, and no amount of cats was going to make that any easier. He had to make Poppy want to spend the rest of her life with him.

  He smiled at himself as he rode the elevator down to the parking lot. He needed to change the inner dialogue in his head. He couldn’t make Poppy do anything, he was fairly certain of that. But what he could do was earn her love, try to show her he was a nice guy.

  That would only work once the past was dealt with. Or more specifically, the man she had stolen the dagger for. He knew the connection now. Leaving the elevator and going to his car, he placed his briefcase on the passenger seat and patted it.

  All the information he had was here. It told him exactly why Poppy had not shared with him the name of the person who she was stealing the dagger for—her brother, Braxton Madison. The only thing it didn’t tell him was why. Why did her brother want it? Or whom was he working with?

  He’d instructed his private investigators to look into the brother’s known associates, but so far there was no direct link to another dragon clan. Which meant that there was likely money involved. A dragon clan had paid Brax to steal the Heartsfire Blade. Brax had used his sister to steal it.

  Which brought him around to his favorite piece of information. Poppy Madison was not a career criminal. His family name would not be tarnished by the blood of a thief who stole for personal gain.

  In fact, Poppy was the opposite. Or had been. Before she disappeared, and she had disappeared approximately four months after the Heartsfire Blade was stolen, around the time her baby bump would have been harder to hide, she had been employed by companies all over the world to do security assessments.

  Those assessments included testing the defenses of some of the biggest national and international companies, private individuals, and government facilities. In short, she was paid to break into buildings and then advise on weak spots, and troubleshoot ways to tighten everything up. It now made complete sense as to why she had so easily got into the mansion.

  He whistled as he drove. He wasn’t sure how much of this he was going to let on to Poppy. He would rather she told him herself, because that would mean she trusted him.

  He drove home, stopped at the gates, and keyed in his code. The gates opened and he drove in, making sure to check the rearview mirror, to ensure no one snuck in behind his car. He’d never have thought about that weak spot. George had lived in the mansion for over two years and it never occurred to him, nor to anyone who wanted to get in.

  Not until Poppy.

  Not until Poppy. And Charlie. George was certain his whole life was about to be turned on its head and spun around and around. He promised himself he was not going do anything rash to ruin things between them. He was so close to having it all. So very close.

  George got out of his car. Unusually, Alfie was not here to meet him. Strange. Alfie had met him as he came home from work everyday since forever, it was one of his many obsessive tendencies. Along with making sure the lawn never got above a half an inch before he mowed it, or that the laundry got done every Tuesday. The old man was bordering on OCD, which was why this break from routine worried George.

  Letting himself in the back door, he set his briefcase down and listened, a bubble of anxiety building up inside him.

  What if someone else had got in? What if Brax was here? What if Poppy coming to him really was a setup?

  Or what if someone had hurt his family? That family included Alfie, who was like an uncle to George.

  He walked along the hallway, and then paused. He could hear voices. Raised voices. He moved quicker, checking each room as he went, keeping his footsteps light and his fists raised. Then he heard it.

  Laughter.

  Not just Poppy and Charlie laughing, but the old man too. What the fuck?

  George doubled back, grabbed his briefcase, and stalked back to the kitchen, battling with his emotions. He was happy they were safe, but a small ball of jealousy sat in his stomach. His family was having fun. Without him.

  Alfie, who was his most trusted friend and confidante, had abandoned his usual duty of meeting his boss, in favor of laughing with two strangers.

  He rounded the kitchen doorway, and stood surveying the scene before him. It was a mess. The usually spotless kitchen had flour on most surfaces, and Alfie was helping Charlie knead dough.

  “Hi there.” Poppy smiled at him. “You caught us.”

  “I can see,” he said, his voice reserved.

  “Alfie said you don’t normally get home until eight.”

  “You spoiled the surprise, Daddy,” Charlie announced excitedly, pummeling the dough.

  “Good evening, sir. I didn't hear the car,” Alfie said.

  “I can’t imagine why,” George said sarcastically, but it went unnoticed.

  “Why don't you go and have a shower and get changed out of your suit, and then you can come down and choose a topping to go on your pizza,” Poppy said.

  “Pizza? That is what you are feeding our child for dinner?” George asked.

  Poppy came around the counter, and walked up to him. Right up to him. “We gave him a choic
e. It’s his first day, and he’s missing all the things we left behind,” Poppy said quietly, but her voice held a warning. She was magnificent; he saw the flash of anger in her eyes, which quickly dissipated. She would fight for this child to the death.

  “I see.” He dragged his eyes away from her face and looked at the small child, who was tearing the dough apart and then thumping it with his tiny fists, while Alfie, who looked a decade younger with a smile on his face, helped.

  “I hope you do,” Poppy responded. “It’s going to take him a while to adjust.”

  “And whose fault is that?” George asked, wishing he could take the words back as soon as he uttered them. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s OK,” Poppy replied. “It is a fair accusation. I hope one day you will see I did what I did because I thought it was the right thing.”

  “Which is all any parent can do,” George admitted, fixing a smile on his face.

  “It is. I’m sure you will learn that too. They don’t come with a handbook,” Poppy said.

  “The same could be true for mates,” George confessed.

  “About that,” Poppy began.

  “You know?” George asked. Had she known all along?

  “Alfie gave me a quick lesson today. We were looking at the paintings.” Poppy pushed a stray hair back from her face, and a smudge of flour appeared on her cheek.

  He instinctively lifted his hand to wipe it away, watching as she flinched from him. “I won’t hurt you. I can't hurt you,” his voice a low growl.

  “So Alfie said.”

  “So what are you afraid of?” he asked.

  “Hurting you.”

  Chapter Eleven – Poppy

  The evening had been a blast, for Charlie at least, and Charlie was all that mattered. George and Poppy had skirted around each other, neither knowing how to act around the other. There were moments when they might be any other married couple at home with their child, and then they would touch, or exchange a look and that world short-circuited, to be replaced by the awkwardness of strangers.

  “You look tired out,” Poppy said to Alfie as they cleared the dishes. “You go to bed, and I’ll tidy up.”

  “No, get away with you, you should spend time with George and that wee boy of yours,” Alfie said, a Scottish accent slipping into his voice.

  “Where are you from, Alfie?” Poppy asked, helping the old man whether he liked it or not.

  “Originally from Scotland, but that was another lifetime ago.” He smiled at her fondly. “You are not the only one with secrets in your past. But mine are old, and set in time. But yours...”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Poppy said.

  “I don't want you to say anything. But I do want you to do something. For that boy of yours, if nothing else,” Alfie said.

  “And that is?” Poppy asked, although she was sure she knew the answer.

  “Let him have a mother and a father. A mother and a father who know who they are to each other. Don’t leave him feeling as if he has to choose.”

  “I’d never make him choose,” Poppy insisted.

  “Sometimes it is not an out and out choice. That is gone from you, since you walked over the threshold into this house. George will never let you go.”

  “I kind of figured that out for myself,” Poppy said.

  “Then make a go of it. Because Charlie, being the bright boy that he is, will know he has to pick a side. You or his daddy. Don't let the wee bairn have to make a choice.” Alfie finished wiping the countertop down. “You know, the dishes can wait until the morning.”

  “I agree,” Poppy began. “Good night, Alfie.”

  “Good night, Poppy. Think on what I said.”

  “I will.” Alfie left the kitchen, and Poppy put on a fresh pot of coffee while she waited for him to say goodnight to George and Charlie. When she was sure he wouldn’t come back and catch her out, she ran the hot water, added dish soap, and washed all the dishes.

  She needed the time to think over what her next move was to be, and it gave George time alone with Charlie. Not the easiest thing to do, when you were used to having sole responsibility for a child. But she didn’t want to be a clingy mom, and she did want Charlie to bond with his daddy.

  “Mommy!” Charlie said about half an hour later, when he came into the kitchen with George.

  “We thought you had snuck off to bed,” George said, although his expression said he thought she might have snuck off somewhere else.

  “Alfie said he would leave the dishes, but I know he likes the kitchen to be clean. I think we tired him out today.” She wiped her hands and set the dish towel back on its hook.

  “He’s used to a quiet life, but he likes having you here,” George said.

  “And do you? Like having us here?” Charlie asked.

  “I do,” George agreed. “It means I get pizza for dinner.”

  Charlie giggled as George picked him up. “But now I think it is time for bed.”

  “Oh, one more ride on your back?” Charlie asked.

  “So is that what you two have been doing?” Poppy asked lightly.

  “Daddy makes the best bear,” Charlie announced.

  “You mean I’ve lost my job as mommy bear?” Poppy asked, looking sad.

  “No! You will always be my mommy bear. You give the best hugs, Daddy gives the best rides!” Charlie looked flushed, his cheeks pink with excitement. At least she hoped that was all it was.

  “Let’s get your teeth brushed and into bed,” Poppy said.

  Charlie groaned but didn’t complain too much. As George carried him upstairs, he rubbed his eyes, and rested his head on his daddy’s shoulder. By the time they reached his bedroom, his eyes were drooping. Between them they undressed him, and brushed his teeth, before Poppy pulled the covers back and George placed him on the bed.

  “Goodnight, Charlie bear,” Poppy whispered, pulling the covers up to his chin and kissing his forehead. She frowned, placing the back of her hand on his forehead.

  “Everything all right?” George asked.

  “He felt a bit hot, I’m not sure if he’s coming down with something.”

  George moved closer to the bed and felt Charlie's cheeks. “Maybe a little hot.”

  “I’ll check on him later.” Poppy kissed him again, but Charlie was already asleep.

  “Good night, Charlie,” George whispered and kissed him too. It was a tender moment between father and son that made her heart ache. They had missed so much time together, and guilt flared inside her. Alfie was right, she needed to make this work.

  Reaching for his hand, she took it in hers, and curled her fingers around his large hand before he could pull away.

  George looked at her, questioning her, but she had no idea what her reply was supposed to be. How could she tell him that she ached for him, a deep-seated ache that only he could cure? The same ache that had lived inside her every day since that fateful night. Yet at the same time, she was scared, scared of letting him in, scared of letting him see her past. Scared of laying it bare for him to pick over and confirm what she had always known. When he saw the bad choices she had made, the things she had done for love. He would throw her out of the house, and tell her their son was better off without her.

  “I made coffee,” she said feebly.

  “I don’t want coffee,” George said.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “What we both want,” he answered.

  She swallowed down her panic, but he was right, the whole evening together had been difficult for one reason, and one reason alone. It had nothing to do with trust; it had everything to do with the sexual tension that was stretched taut between them.

  “I...” she began, but he placed his fingers on her lips.

  “Shh,” he whispered. “No more words.”

  Then he bent down and picked her up in his arms, carrying her to his room, leaving her with no doubt as to what he planned to do to her. Her insides tightened, a coil of pleas
ure, waiting to unfurl.

  George stood up, and undressed in front of her. Poppy could not peel her eyes away if she tried, she wanted to drink him in, to compare this reality to the dream that had been on repeat in her head every night since they met. She swallowed down her longing; her dream had not done him justice, or else he had matured over the years, his body sculpted from hard rock, from his chest, down over his stomach, and lower. Poppy was left in no doubt that he wanted her.

  He came toward her, predatory and hungry, a flash of green in his eyes reminding her that he was otherworldly. That was another brief lesson Alfie had given her today, he had explained how dragons were the most ancient of shifters, able to change from humans to animals, or in George’s case, mythological creatures.

  George hovered over her, his face close to hers. She looked down at his lips, and moistened her own, before looking up into his eyes. Her heart thumped loudly when he fixed her with his mesmerizing stare and then moved, his fingers catching the hem of his overlong T-shirt and pulling it over her head. He dropped the T-shirt to the floor, and then traced the curve of her breast with his fingertips. Damn, he set her world on fire.

  Heat pooled between her thighs, a heat she was very aware of, while an ache grew inside her, an ache that only he would be able to erase.

  George kissed along the swell of her breasts, his fingers moving to unclasp her bra, freeing her, allowing him to lavish attention on her nipples, which were taut buds of sensitivity that his tongue was put to torture. Poppy arched her back and offered herself to him, her hand fisting his hair as she watched his mouth at work.

  Wanting him to experience the same kind of pleasure, she wrapped her hand around his hard length and stroked him, up and down, up and down. His mouth clamped onto her nipple, and he sucked hard, her reflexes making her squeeze his shaft, her hand pumping up and down. She felt the first of his precome leak out, and focused on his pleasure, instead of her own.

  That was made impossible, when he pressed his hand between her thighs and stroked her clit through the fabric of her clothes, his finger pressing against the center of her need.