Berkley Sensation
Featuring: Dr Madison Dartmoor; Ramsey Gallagher
352 pages ISBN: 0425238180 EAN: 9780425238189 Mass Market Paperback Add to Wish List
Ramsey, a dragon shifter, seeks out archeologist Madison
Dartmoor to see if she can help him discover his heritage.
He discovers there are those who want her quiet and are
willing to kill for it. Can Ramsey save her before it is to
late?
I love stories that involve dragons and Rebecca York did
not disappoint me with DAY OF THE DRAGON. I was pulled into
the magical world of Ramsey and Madison right from the start.
Ramsey wants to find out about his heritage and Madison may
be able to help him. When as he goes to talk to her he
finds that she has canceled her lecture, but fate lends a
hand when Ramsey is there to rescue Madison from an attack.
The two begin to forge a relationship. Will she be able to
help Ramsey find what he is looking for? Could Madison be
something that Ramsey was not aware that he was looking for?
These two make a wonderful couple. Madison is a
smart woman who loves with all her heart. Ramsey is a
great man who longs to find himself and puts his trust in
the woman he loves. As Ramsey and Madison try to uncover
the past, it seems that someone is bound and determined to
stop them at all costs. Watching Ramsey and Madison's
relationship bloom during their travels made for a great read.
Rebecca York writes a wondrous tale of magic and love with
just the right amount of adventure thrown in. With many
twists and turns DAY OF THE DRAGON pulled me in and had me
turning the pages to find out what would happen next,
keeping me entertained all the way to the end. This was a
great installment in this series and I am eagerly awaiting
the next book.
Her secrets brought them together. His secrets could kill
them...
Dr. Madison Dartmoor is set to present her career-making
findings at a Las Vegas archaeology summit until a violent
attack at her dig site forces her into silence.
Everyone-including the mystery man who saved her life-wants
to know what she found.
Ramsey Gallagher knows he isn't human. Beyond that, his life
is an enigma, and ever since a battle with his twin brother,
his mental powers haven't felt the same. He can no longer
even manipulate the rolling of the dice. But he's not in
Vegas to strike it rich.
He's there to find clues to his past that only Madison can
unearth. He never expected for her to be so beautiful, or
for her life to be in danger. Now he'll do anything to keep
her safe-the secret to his own life depends on it.
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
Was he dead or alive?
Ramsay Gallagher supposed it depended on how you defined
life and death. He was breathing. His heart pumped blood
through his body, and his brain could process information.
But though a crowd of people swirled around him, he
didn’t feel alive. Not when the mental abilities that he
had taken for granted all his life were lost to him
When coins clattering into a metal tray broke through
his dark thoughts, he turned to his right to see a fifty
something woman in a bright orange dress scooping quarters
from the spout of a machine with flashing lights.
“I told you the slots near the door were the good ones,”
she crowed to the balding man beside her. “They want people
to see the winners.”
Outside it was well past midnight, but time had no
meaning inside the casino. Ramsay looked around the vast
room, struck by the contrasts of crystal chandeliers, marble
floors and bright neon. In ages past, this might have been
the palace of a monarch who had drained the royal treasury
to create a universe of opulence and pleasure for himself.
In fact it was in a hotel called Versailles. But instead of
the Sun King’s courtiers dressed in their best silk and
satin, it was filled with people wearing everything from tee
shirts and jeans to strapless gowns and even a few business
suits.
He stood for a moment watching the crowd, wondering if
he had made a mistake in coming to this strange city. But
his e-mail had brought an announcement of a conference here,
New Frontiers in Archaeology, and one of the seminars had
intrigued him. A Dr. Madison Dartmoor was giving a paper on
the excavation of an ancient tomb discovered in a remote
mountain site in southern Italy, the area where Ramsay had
been born.
Or rather found there as a small boy, wandering alone.
He had always wondered why, and perhaps Dr. Dartmoor could
give him some clues.
Had his parents tossed him away? Had they been forced
to give him up? Had they gotten separated by accident?
He’d have to wait until tomorrow morning for the
seminar. Tonight he strode toward the craps tables.
The dice game, he knew, dated back to the Crusades and
was a simplification of the English game of hazard. The
modern American version had been born in New Orleans around
the turn of the nineteenth century, and he had first played
it there. Black Americans had spread it throughout the U.S.
He reached one of the tables just as a man in a cowboy
hat crapped out, punctuating his failure with a loud curse.
The faux cowboy passed the dice to a guy with a belly
that made him look nine months pregnant. Ramsay felt the
man’s tension, which was hardly less than his own. He
focused on the dice as the shooter flung the small cubes
across the table, where they bounced against the side bumper.
Pair of fours, he silently chanted, willing the
combination to come up. Instead the man rolled two threes.
Ramsay clenched his fists in frustration. A few months
ago, it would have been easy to manipulate dice with his
mind and get them to come up any way he wanted. Now such a
simple task eluded him.
But he had never been one to give up without a fight.
He stayed at the table for several more minutes, trying to
influence the outcome of the action. Finally, when a new
shooter stepped up, Ramsay felt a small stirring somewhere
inside his mind. Gathering every ounce of power he could
muster, he focused on the white cubes, willing a winning
combination.
When they rolled to a stop with a three and four
showing, he felt a spurt of victory. He had been the cause
of the successful throw. He was almost sure of it.
But even that amount of effort had sapped his energy.
He needed to recharge before he tried any more experiments.
He stepped from the casino into the marble and gold
lobby where a three-story-high replica of the authentic
Versailles facade adorned the back of the registration desk,
with parterre hedges and flower beds defining the check-in
lines.
A slender blond woman turned away from the desk,
catching his attention. She was attractive, perhaps in her
late twenties, with straight hair cut just below her chin,
light eyes and an intelligent face that made him want to get
to know her better. She appeared to be alone--and not the
usual patron of this establishment, at least from the people
he’d seen. She was wearing a beige pantsuit, with a green
and white striped knit top under the jacket and an
expression that was a combination of determination and wariness.
When she started talking to a bellman, Ramsay could see
she was worried about a small trunk the porter had just
placed on the cart.
Edging closer, he heard her say, “Be very careful with
that one.”
“Certainly, ma’am. You can go up to your room, and I’ll
meet you there.”
“No, I’ll stay with the luggage.”
The ring of command in her voice sparked his interest.
Obviously, she was used to giving orders. Was she here with
expensive merchandise to sell? Or was she carting a
boatload of money to the gambling capital of the world?
Still intrigued, he strode toward her, watching her reaction
as he approached the cart.
When she stepped between him and the trunk, he kept
walking toward the concierge desk, where a middle-aged
couple was trying to buy tickets for the night’s upscale
circus show performance.
Turning, he saw that the blond and the bellman were
headed toward the elevator.
On the other side of the lobby, partly hidden by a
decorative pillar, two men were watching her. They were
dressed in casual sports shirts and slacks, but their
hard-looking faces and tense posture made him think they
weren’t here on a gambling holiday. They looked more like
Mafia tough guys staking out a mark. One was short and
chunky, with curly brown hair that gave his head the
appearance of a mop. The other was over six feet tall and
bald as Yul Brynner.
Moments after the woman disappeared into the elevator
with the bellman and the cart, Mophead pulled out a cell
phone and made a call. It was a brief exchange
So what was going on, Ramsay wondered as he watched the
men head for the bar. It looked like someone was keeping
tabs on her. Was she in danger?
He should warn her. He started across the lobby, then
stopped in his tracks, since he wasn’t going to find her
room by picking up her scent in the elevator. Besides, her
problems were none of his business.
Still, he stayed where he was for heartbeats before
exiting the hotel onto the famous street called “the Strip,”
lined with massive hotels, each with a theme decor. It was
early April and the night air was chilled, but he welcomed
the bite of the desert wind. The casino had been built with
an opulent French theme. To his right he could see an
Egyptian pyramid, and to his left was a replica of the New
York City skyline. As he started down the street, a volcano
suddenly shot flames into the air.
This was fantasy land. Any fantasy that would draw
gamblers to the casinos.
Turning right, he headed for the low rent part of town
and came quickly to an area of downscale motels and low-rise
apartments.
He walked between two of the buildings, fading into the
shadows, waiting. A man in a white shirt, bow tie and black
pants came from the direction of the Strip, shoulders
slumped after a long shift, Ramsay supposed.
He let the guy pass, then focused on the sound of a
woman’s heels clicking along the sidewalk, coming rapidly
toward him.
A few months ago, he would have been able to probe her
mind. Now he had to rely on his senses as he watched her
approach. Her bright red hair hung in thick waves around
her shoulders. She was wearing a knit dress that rode up
her thighs and clung to her ample curves. A glittery purse
was slung over one shoulder.
He was almost sure she was a prostitute back from plying
her trade along the Strip. She looked to be in her late
twenties or early thirties. Too old for the type of life
she was leading. Still, her steps were brisk and her
posture was erect, signs that her profession hadn’t
undermined her health.
Stepping out of the shadows, he waited for her to see him.
When she did, she stopped short, and he knew she was
evaluating him. She saw a man who appeared to be in his
thirties, with dark hair caught at the back of his neck in a
short ponytail and dark eyes, dressed in expensive jeans, a
black polo shirt and Italian loafers. All signs of his
prosperity. Still, he could be an ax murderer for all she knew.
“Hello,” he said, sending her a silent message. You
like my looks. I’m okay. I won’t hurt you.
Still, she answered, “You’re out of your element.”
“I just got into town. Can you take one more customer
tonight?” He continued to send her reassuring messages,
knowing that any working girl would love to make a little
more money before the evening was over.
When she stepped closer, he led her into the shadows.
Turning toward him, she pressed her hand against the fly of
his jeans, making him instantly hard.
“Fifty dollars for a blow job,” she murmured.
“That’s fine.”
He let her rock her hand against him while his own hands
went to her breasts, lifting and shaping them.
“What’s your name?”
“Yvonne.”
Probably her working name, but he didn’t challenge her
as he stroked his thumbs over the nipples, back and forth,
urging a response from her, knowing that she usually kept
herself detached from the men she serviced. But he wanted
to drag her into a web of sensuality. His mind reached out
to hers, and he was gratified to feel her falling under his
spell.
“Where would you like to be, if you could go anywhere
you wanted?” he asked.
“Back home,” she answered in a dreamy voice.
“Where is home?”
“Santa Monica. I love the beach.”
He sent her an image of sand and ocean, complete with
waves breaking against the shore, rushing up to lap at their
feet and then receding.
She shivered. “I feel the water tickling my toes. It’s
so cool and nice. And the sun is hot.”
“And you and I are naked,” he added.
“Um. You’ve got a great body.”
“Thanks.”
He backed her against the wall, then pulled down her low
top, lapping at her nipples, then teasing himself by nipping
at the tender place where her neck met her shoulder.
He stoked her response, his own arousal rising to meet
hers as he sank his teeth into her neck and began to draw blood.
“Oh! You’re so sexy.”
He let himself go into his own fantasy, imagining he was
with the blond from the hotel lobby instead of the woman in
his arms.
One hand slid downward to the juncture of her legs,
pressing against her clit, urging her to climax.
Her blood tasted wonderful, mingling with her sexual
excitement. He wanted to go on and on, drawing the
sensuality and the life fluid from her. He knew his evil
twin–Vandar–had lived for that pleasure. And long ago the
old Ramsay might have indulged the need to drain the last
drop from this woman. But he’d conquered that impulse.
When she climaxed, he felt a spurt of pleasure.
She raised her head and blinked, looking around the
darkened grounds of the apartment complex. “The beach . . . .”
“A wonderful fantasy.”
Her voice was high and shaky. “What did you do to me?”
“I wanted to make it good for both of us,” he answered.
“You did–for me.” When she reached for his cock again,
he dragged in a shuddering breath, ready to let her perform
the service she’d suggested–until he heard footsteps
approaching.
She stiffened, and he stepped away from her so that they
were standing three feet apart when a man sauntered down the
sidewalk and gave them a smirking look.
The sensuality of the moment had been broken for Ramsay.
He no longer wanted this woman, but he wasn’t finished with
her.
“You will forget me. Forget what I look like. Forget
that I was here. Will you forget?”
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I will forget you.”
“And you want to go home, to Santa Monica. You’re tired
of this life. You want to get a real job. What would you
do if you could pick your profession?”
“I’d like to work in fashion.”
“Good. That’s good. You want to go home and work in
the fashion industry.”
He reached for his wallet and counted out two thousand
dollars, which he tucked into her purse.
“You’ve saved enough to go home,” he said. As she
swayed on her feet, he led her to the steps of the apartment
building and helped her sit down. Leaving her staring into
space, he turned and walked back toward the Hotel
Versailles, elated that he had connected with her on a
mental level–not simply the purely physical.
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