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In the Dragon’s Lair

MM Paranormal romance (Wings over Albion, book 2)

by Joy Lynn Fielding

In the Dragon's Lair - Joy Lynn Fielding - Wings Over Albion
Part of the Wings over Albion series:
Editions:Kindle: $ 4.99

Nate Mortimer is hot, funny, and kissing him is like falling into the sun.

He’s also the last man I should ever be with.

He’s smooth, wealthy, and practically dragon royalty. Me? I’m just a dragon from the Cornish countryside. Or so I like people to think.

I’m investigating the Fortescues, one of the richest, most powerful dragon families in Britain. Problem is, I’m not the only one who’s undercover. Every time I turn around, Nate’s in my way.

Can I trust him? He has his own issues with the Fortescues. Those dragons are dangerous, and his plotting could draw me into a lethal power struggle. His emotional baggage and troublesome ex? Also problematic.

And none of that helps me keep my mind—or hands—off him.

If I’m not careful, falling for the wrong dragon-shifter could cost me so much more than just my heart…


“Is there a reason you’re interested in an empty old theatre?” I asked Nate while Ella was busy taking off her coat.

“I’m researching for a book I intend to write.”

“One about making millions off the backs of others in a banking empire, I’m guessing,” I said, promptly wanting to kick myself as his eyebrows raised. I was supposed to be getting close to him, not letting him know what I thought about his lifestyle. “I mean, what’s it about?”

“Nate’s going to write a best-seller about Jane Austen’s torrid love affair with the actor Robert Elliston,” Ella said, sliding her arm through Nate’s to press her cheek against his shoulder.

“I didn’t know Jane Austen had an affair,” I said.


“She didn’t,” Nate said, then paused. “Well, she probably didn’t. Though I suppose it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility if she was extraordinarily discreet about it. For my purposes, all that matters is that she’s known to have relished Elliston’s performances. She was so impressed by him that she worried he might leave Bath when he inherited some money. Anyway, Ella—you know this place. Lead on.”

We spent the next hour or so wandering around, exploring thoroughly.

“Do you think Jane Austen was a theatre groupie?” I asked as we walked into one of the dressing rooms.

Nate’s face lit with humour. Ella’s, however, was full of scorn. “Don’t you know anything about her?”

I didn’t care what she thought of me. Nate was still grinning, and it was a good look on him.

“I’m going to have to put that in the book,” he said. “I should call it Greasepaint and Blowjobs: The Secret Life of Jane Austen.”

“Honestly.” Ella rolled her eyes and stomped off.

That gave me a chance to finally talk to Nate. “Sorry about last night,” I lied through my teeth. “It seemed the best thing to do in the heat of the moment.”

He smiled at me, a different sort of smile from his amused grin, and it sent all kinds of messages to my cock. “Are you really sorry?” he asked, and for the first time, I understood what people meant when they said someone purred when speaking. “I’m not.”

“Maybe we should try out something for your book,” I suggested. “Get some of the groupie logistics nailed down.”

“I hope it’s more than logistics that are going to be nailed,” he murmured, moving forward, an almost hypnotic sway to his stride.

“Nate!” Ella’s shout echoed down the corridor outside. “You need to look at this.”

The moment was well and truly broken, though my cock still hadn’t got the memo.

“Coming,” he yelled back, and then winced. “Or not,” he added, with a rueful sideways glance at me before heading out of the room.

I followed, enjoying the sight of his arse once again. I didn’t know what to make of Nate Mortimer. My dick knew what it wanted to make of him, and that was a sweating, panting, ruined mess. But I hadn’t spent enough time with him yet to work out who he was. When Charlie had cornered him at the bar, he’d been…vulnerable? Something other than a smooth entitled banker, anyway. I’d warmed to him when we’d joked about Jane Austen giving blowjobs. He would be easy to like. And just now, he’d definitely been open to getting laid.

But he was a banker, so I had no interest in puzzling him out. I simply needed to get him talking so I could find out why one of the Mortimer family had been poking about in James Fortescue’s study.


About the Author

Joy Lynn Fielding lives in a small English market town, where she indulges her passions for vintage aircraft, horse riding and gardening (though not all at the same time).

Joy tends to wax lyrical about the fascinating facts she discovers during her research for books. Thankfully, she has a very patient Labrador who has a gift for looking interested in what she’s saying while he waits for the food to arrive.