Page 48 of Horn of Winter

“Over the fact that I was not the only man in this room or the other who was admiring your luscious curves.”

“I have no problems with other men looking.”

“So it would seem.” His gaze rose to my neck. “You’re not wearing your mother’s seeking stone.”

“I took your fears about being burned at the wrong moment to heart and decided to wear a simple gold chain instead.” I still had it with me, because instinct kept insisting I needed to keep it close, but it was currently tucked in a side pocket of my purse. My knives remained safely hidden at home, however.

“And the possibility of deflation recedes, for which I am grateful.”

I laughed. “So am I, trust me.”

Once Leanne returned with our drinks and took our order, Eljin pulled several sheets of folded paper from his pocket and handed them to me. “Lugh said you were after these notes on Borrhás’s Horn. He apparently translated some of Nialle’s worst scrawls for you.”

I smiled and accepted the paper. “When he was on an information roll, he used to resort to a mix of scribble and shorthand. Lugh could always read it, but not many others.”

“My writing tends to do the same; problem is, I often can’t read it afterward, which is why I now use speech-to-text programs. I take it the horn is your latest search subject?”

I nodded. “First official one for the council.”

“Nice of them to start with something easy.”

I tucked the papers into my purse without looking at them. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, you’re a storm witch, and the horn controls the weather, does it not?”

“Not the weather, per se. More the ice within a storm.”

“Which, as a storm witch, you should be able to sense.”

“If I was trained, maybe, but I’m not.” I half shrugged—hoping he’d take it as a sign I really didn’t want to talk about it—then picked up the Glenlivet and drew in its scent. It smelled of apple and pears, with hints of nutmeg and oak, vanilla cream, and white pepper, and was fresh and lively on the tongue. Absolutely lovely, but perhaps a little bit too fruity for my palate. Not that I was going to waste a single drop.

He took the hint, and the conversation moved on, flowing easily between the two of us over the three courses of the meal.

Leanne came back once the dessert plates had been cleared and asked if we’d like a coffee or perhaps a brandy. Eljin met my gaze, eyebrows raised in question.

I smiled and said, “I think we’ll just have the check, thank you, Leanne.”

“I do so love a woman who understands silent communication,” Eljin commented as Leanne walked away.

“More like a woman desperate to get her man into bed.”

He laughed, and, once we’d paid, we headed back downstairs. Eljin helped me into my coat, his fingers brushing across my nape, leaving a heated trail. I shivered, and he laughed again, pressing a hand against my spine as he opened the door, and we stepped outside, keeping to one side of the building’s awning, out of the rain, as we waited for the Uber. As thunder rumbled a promise of more violence to come, Eljin wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me close, pressing my length hard against his. The heat and anticipation surged, then his lips came down on mine, and any awareness of anything and anyone else momentarily slipped away. The kiss was wanton, filled with intensity and passion, and it left me breathless and needy.

It was nothing likeanyother kiss we’d ever shared.

I shivered again when he released me. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes gleamed knowingly as he helped me into the back of the Uber. His apartment was the penthouse suite of a lovely old red-brick church that had retained all its beams and original windows when it had been converted into five apartments a few years ago. It was located within walking distance of the river and the museum, and also happened to be close to the tavern.

He opened the door and ushered me inside as the internal fires continued to rage. I wanted this man as I’d never wanted before, and I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I’d had too much wine. Attraction and desire was one thing, but this wassomething else entirely. Hell, it was close to Cynwrig levels of wanting.

I swallowed heavily and tried—without any real success—to regain control over my hormones as I handed him my coat and walked into the main room. It was a large, double-height expanse, with the lovely old oak trusses painted white to give the room an even airier feeling. Their song, though muted, was rich and warm, a consequence of being one of the few churches that had undergone major renovations without major destruction. On the street side of the building there were two beautifully simple stained windows, and at the other end of the room, a compact but well-equipped kitchen. Beside this was a chrome-and-glass staircase that wound up to the loft bedroom.

His hand slid around my waist again, and I went up in flames. It was a ferocity that was obviously shared, because he wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, holding me still as his lips came down on mine, hard and desperate. For several minutes there was nothing but this kiss, this man, and the wanton hunger that surged between us. His fingers found and undid the zip at the back of my dress, then he hooked his fingers under the garment’s shoulders and slid it down my body, taking my knickers with it. His gaze swept my nakedness, and he swore softly in French. I smiled and, with shaking, desperate hands, helped him undress; his pants, shirt, and shoes quickly joined my dress on the floor.

“The boots can stay,” he growled, then lifted me up, pressed me back against the nearest wall, and sheathed himself deep within me. A low moan of utter pleasure escaped my lips, and I leaned my head backward, eyes closed, simply enjoying this most basic of moments.

Then he began to move, and I wrapped my arms around him, moving with him, increasing our rhythm, riding him hard, desperate for completion. When it came, it was glorious.

For several minutes, we were still, our foreheads touching and our rapid breaths mingling. Then he laughed and brushed his lips lightly across mine. “Well, the intended slow seduction certainly didnothappen, though I am not inclined to apologize.”

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