Loving York

Book 2 of the Warwick Dragons

Welcome to the world of the powerful Warwick family. These womanizing dragons are about to meet their matches.

York Warwick, dragon shifter, widower, and owner of the most renowned bank in the world, is adamant that working twenty hours a day is normal. No, he doesn’t need to open his heart to love again, no matter what his meddling mother believes. He’s done with love. So what if he likes spending time with the stunning antique dealer his mom has hired. It’s just because she’s a daredevil in five-inch heels…and his mate.


Josie Essa isn’t a thief. Okay, so maybe that’s exactly what she is. But by day, she is nothing more than an antique dealer who was hired by none other than Johanna Warwick. Josie quickly finds herself caring for the family—especially the hot, grumpy York, who has an obsession with her high heels. Too bad she’s falling in love with the man she has to steal from…


Between her secrets, his past, and the blackmailing snake shifter who could destroy Josie’s life, the fragile relationship York and Josie are trying to build seems to be doomed from the start. But maybe—with a bit of luck—truth can set fate right and bring the destined mates together.


Chapter 1

Josie

This is what life is all about.

The adrenaline was pumping in her veins at warp speed. Josie could have sworn that she could hear her blood singing a happy tune as she snuck around the corner, and came face to face with her mission. 

The Johannes Galileo painting.

She smiled at the old canvas that was worth upwards of fifteen million dollars.

Rich people and their art. Insert eye roll here.

Josie didn’t get it, she really didn’t.

The painting was nice, sure. It had vibrant colors, and the brush strokes were imperceptible to the naked eye. Speaking of naked, the girl in the portrait was a stone-cold fox, even with her tit hanging out of her gown.

The painting’s price tag made no sense to her. Josie knew wealthy people. She understood how their minds worked. She had dealt with enough of them through the years to get it. These people could drop fifteen mil on a painting, but they expected to be worshiped like fucking saints if they gave 0.1% of that to charities in a year.

But hey, if someone wanted to pay her good money to steal that painting, who was she to say no? Especially when the person who had hired her was a known and respected conservationist. In a few short months, the painting, which had been missing since World War II, would be anonymously donated to a museum.

Righteous justice.

That’s not what made Josie steal.

There were about a million reasons why Josie Essa did what she did, and not all of them were monetary. She did need the money. Desperately. Medical bills didn’t pay themselves.

Medical research needed to be funded somehow. Rich pricks with their tit paintings didn’t donate enough to help the regular people of the world. So long as they weren’t affected by things like Multiple Sclerosis, they sat on their piles of money like hoarding dragons.

Besides, most of the wealthy people she stole from were shifters. Those humans could literally shift into animals. They didn’t get sick. They just didn’t get debilitating, degenerative diseases that cost three limbs and seven vital organs to treat per month.

That’s how it felt, anyway.

If it wasn’t for Josie, her Gammy would have died a long time ago. Just like her sister had.

If it wasn’t for the stuff Josie stole, the MS research center would be severely lacking in funds.

Those were the moral reasons. The ones that always had her believing it would be just one more job. One more hit. One more heist.

The other part of it was that Josie Essa was a bit of an adrenaline junkie. She lived for the risk. It was an added bonus that she was very good at thievery. Though she very rarely stole paintings. Jewels were her specialty.

Mia, her best friend and partner, inched beside her, silently on the tips of her toes. They communicated with well-practiced hand gestures. Josie assessed the heavy gold-leaf frame. It was old but not as old as the Galileo painting. That meant they could leave the frame and take only the canvas. It made their escape that much easier.

Two twenty-something-year-olds walking down the streets of the French Riviera holding a priceless painting didn’t exactly scream here on spring break. Not that spring breakers could afford the French Riviera.

Josie silently motioned to Mia to give her the metal tube that was tucked behind her back. She placed it on the ground, making sure the metal didn’t make a sound against the shiny, white marble flooring. Mia handed Josie a small toolkit, and with steady hands, she produced a small set of scissors to cut through the electric wiring of the alarm that was attached to the Galileo nudie pic. 

Josie hadn’t even touched the naked chick when the loudest, most obnoxious alarm started blaring. Her heart leaped in her chest, and she went into action.

The Johannes Galileo painting was right fucking there. Inches away from the very tips of her fingers. She wasn’t going to let a pesky alarm stop her from getting her payday.

“What the hell?” Mia roared over the earsplitting sound, looking down at her watch. “We have seventy-five seconds to get out of here.”

Josie didn’t answer. She cut the wiring, not being meticulous or careful. The alarm was already tripped. What more could happen? The homeowner would be more alarmed?

She snorted at her own joke as she carefully rolled up the painting and slid the rolled-up canvas into the long, black metal canister.

“Fifteen seconds,” Mia warned.

“Grab the painting,” Josie shouted. “Go. Follow the pink thong protocol.”

It was a dumb name, one they had come up with while drinking one too many cranberry vodkas in college.

“What?” Mia shouted. “No. We can’t separate.”

“Sure we can,” she answered. “We’re doing the fake-out. You go with that, and I’ll carry this. They won’t know who to follow. Go.”

With a nervous backward glance, Mia booked it to the door, swinging the canister over her back and securing the cross-body strap.

Josie ran in the opposite direction, weighed down by the stupidly heavy wooden frame.

“Put it down, little girl,” one large flat-faced man commanded as he stepped in front of her.

She sidestepped away from him only to come face to face with two other pissed-off guards who glared at her. Jeez, what was this? The testosterone and steroid conventions? These guys were huge to the point of looking like cartoon characters. Didn't they know ‘roids shrunk peckers? She would have opened her mouth to throw the quip at them, but it would be pointless.

There was no finer way of putting it: Josie was fucked.

The three guards circled around her. She should have panicked when the three men started busting out of their clothes, but she knew what was happening.

“Fucking shifters,” she mumbled to herself, putting the frame down at her feet before raising her hands up in the air in a defensive move. The three men were replaced by three giant jaguars, growling at her with their long-ass yellow fangs shining with saliva. They wanted to have a nice witch feast, judging by the look in their eyes. 

“Nice kitties,” she purred, scanning the room for the closest exit or a Ficus.

She could do a bit of damage with a nice Ficus or even a bamboo plant.

“If you think you can outrun shifters, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Josie’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. A man, lanky to the point of being in desperate need of a few steaks, advanced toward her. His exaggerated height did nothing to help his appearance. His hair, brown and slicked back, looked wet with whatever product he had used to tame the ‘do into compliance. It did not suit him. His eyes were brown, but there was something off about them.

They were slit like a goddamn snake.

Josie grimaced at the sight of the shifty bulbous orbs. Why this snake shifter preferred to keep his snake eyes in his human form was beyond her. It was not sexy or appealing.

At all.

But the eyes had their purpose. At least they had told Josie what she had suspected. The snake shifter was none other than Milo Steiner.

The man she had been trying to steal from.

“Where’s my painting?” he asked, slithering toward her.

“Painting? What painting? I’m looking for the bathroom.”

This line was always used by ladies in heist movies. It never worked, but Josie had always wanted to use it. Fortunately, she was the best thief out there. She’d never been caught before, so she had never actually been able to use the line.

It was lackluster at best. So not worth the hassle of getting caught.

Milo snapped his fingers, and one of the jaguar’s pounced on her, pitching her to the ground.

Having a two hundred pound big cat on top of her had not been how she had wanted to spend her day. She was supposed to be halfway out of town with Mia right about then. At least her best friend was far away by now, safely away from Milo and his kitties. Mia wasn’t like her; she was human.

Josie had an unfair advantage, being a witch. Even if her powers were itty bitty bits of nothing since her witchy relatives had an obsession with making babies with human lads. She had some control over the earth element.

Not that it was much of an advantage when she was being pinned down by a jaguar. There were no potted plants anywhere that she could use as a weapon.

Seriously, would it have killed the shifter to have at least a cactus? Didn’t he know snake plants existed? It would have been right up his alley.

“Your associate made off with a very rare Johannes Galileo, though I suspect you know just how much that painting is worth. You’ll bring it back to me.”

“Unlikely,” she snapped back, her voice breathy. You try breathing with a jerky jaguar crushing your lungs. “That thing belongs in a museum.” Listen to her! Not only had she used the cliched bathroom line, but she was straight up quoting a certain sexy archaeologist. If only she had a whip like he did, she’d whip the kitties straight off a high cliff.

Milo laughed at her as she struggled.

“Think you could give me a ball of yarn so the cat leaves me alone?”

The animal in question growled at her, his foul breath assaulting her nose.

“Off,” Milo commanded, sending the shifter away.

Not far, though. The shifters all sat on their haunches, watching her carefully as she stood up. At least her legs were stable and secure. She didn’t want to be shaking in her boots because of these idiots.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Josie Essa of Buffalo, New York. I’m going to let you go. In return for my generosity, you’re going to return the Galileo, and you will steal something for me.”

Josie scowled at him. “I don’t work for free.”

“It’s not for free, Josie. I’m letting you live if you do this.”

This was exactly why Josie hadn’t wanted to take this job. It was one thing to steal jewels. Art was a whole other ballgame. Arts people were complete whack jobs. She had only taken the heist because Mia had promised her it would be an easy in-and-out thing where they could make a cool two million each.

It had been silly to think that it would have been that simple.

“If I say no?” Josie asked her captor.

Milo laughed. Did the jerk really think that made him cool? It really didn’t. He sounded like a wheezing old man. “You can’t say no, Josie Essa. I know who you are, and I know who you work for. If you don’t retrieve the vase for me by next week, I will splash your identity on every newspaper, magazine, and website. You’ll never be able to work again, and your family’s little shop will be closed forever.” He snapped his fingers again as if he had remembered something. Maybe he’d forgotten how douchey he looked, and he was about to have a come to Jesus moment and let Josie go.

Ha. 

Not likely.

“If you don’t do this, I’ll track you and your little friend down, and my guys will have kill orders. I’ve got no use for a human, and a witch with barely any powers. I might just have them kill your grandmother, too. Just as an added incentive for your continued cooperation.”

For the first time since the alarm had started blaring, Josie was scared. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She wouldn’t have cared if she died, not really, anyway. She couldn’t let that happen, because her death would kill her Gammy. That wasn’t a metaphor. The sweet old lady needed her. Josie couldn’t have that. And she couldn’t let anything happen to Mia.

At the very least, keeping her day job, and her family’s antique shop open and doing one heist for Mr. Snake was better than death-by-jaguar.

“One job,” she warned. “Then we’re even.”

“Of course,” he slithered.

That mother fucker was lying.

“What’s the job?” she asked. She’d deal with one problem at a time.

“I want you to break into Warwick Bank.”

Fuck.

She was going to die.