Read 'Til Dragons Do Us Part (Never Deal with Dragons) for Free Online

Gallery in London had burned during the last world war only helped increase the value of his surviving piece.
    I skipped to the second sheet and scanned the items, wondering whether I’d get lucky and find the Tofegaard on Relobu’s list.
    But no. I saw no mention of Bernard Tofegaard
.
“Well,” I muttered to myself, “it wouldn’t have been fair if it were that easy.”
    Simon had managed to snag us the contract—he’d been crowing about the fact that we’d finally managed to beat Prometheus on a bid for what felt like forever—but the victory had come with a very, very short window of time in which to deliver.
    It was too bad. Being handed the piece of art we were searching for would have gone a long way toward meeting our deadline. I made a quick pass through the room just in case the canvas had accidentally been left off the list, and then turned back toward the exit. With no small twinge of regret, I left the room and started my search for a British Parliament.

Chapter Four
    I’d finally located the group of politicians on the wall of the formal banquet hall, and I was inspecting the frame to see how long it might take me to pop it out for transport, when someone cleared their throat behind me.
    “Is there something I can help you with?”
    I turned to find a dark-haired man leaning against one of the heavy wooden columns, surveying me with mild curiosity. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, causing the buttons of his dress shirt to strain as the fabric stretched across his wide frame.
    “Nope. Just enjoying the art.” I turned back to the painting, hoping he’d simply wander away to find another use for his time.
    No such luck.
    I watched from the corner of my eye as the man shifted up from his spot against the column, but instead of continuing through the room, he moved closer, out of my line of sight, until he stood just behind me as I pretended to admire the painting.
    Goosebumps started to form on the back of my neck.
    “A Tofegaard fan, are you?” He was standing so close I felt my hair move as he spoke, and I stifled the urge to fidget.
    Only guilty people fidgeted.
    “Yes, actually, I am. I love how he, ah...” for the first time in my life I wished I’d paid attention as Jeanie waxed poetic about a specific piece of art, “...does this thing with the paintbrush here.”
    I gestured randomly at the painting, hoping I didn’t sound as moronic as I thought I did. I stifled a laugh when I realized my pointed finger was hovering directly over the fat belly of a wigged politician.
    “Yes, that’s a pretty amazing thing he did there. Bernard Tofegaard was a man of many talents. I’ve seen no one capture old men quite like he did.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, and knew without a doubt I was being laughed at. “Anything else that strikes your fancy?”
    “No.” For some reason his amusement struck a nerve, and I turned, intending to ask him why he was so interested in a stranger’s taste in art. But my thoughts stuttered to a halt as soon as I met his gaze. His eyes were a deep and startling blue, the color made even more striking by his dark skin and the fact that they were lined with thick lashes that would seem almost feminine, if not for the face they’d been paired with. No, his face wasn’t feminine at all. And neither was the rest of his body. It was hard and unyielding, a blend of fantastic genetics and proper care that created ridges of muscles in all the right places and caused my girlie parts to stand up and take notice.
    He faced me squarely, studying me as carefully as I did him, and I found myself wondering whether there were any parts of him that were standing up with interest.
    Figuratively, of course.
    He stepped out of the shadow of the column, and I was able to experience the full effect of his face. Sharp nose, strong jaw, and with lips fuller than you’d expect to see on a man, his features seemed to simultaneously compete for