Page 29 of The Gathering Storm

Casey scuttled through the nearly full tables, empty tray held high. She passed Will on her way into the kitchen and flashed him a saucy grin. “Welcome to the madhouse.”

He grunted, patted her shoulder as she bounced by, and slid behind the bar, automatically filling the spot on the opposite side from Eric. Sigrid was sitting at a table placed against the far wall near the doors. George Howe sat beside her, nodding solemnly as she spoke. Their heads were, unusually enough, bent together. Will snagged a clean mug and held it under a tap of DuckRabbit stout. Work, probably, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Sigrid even acknowledge her assistant in public.

Fifteen minutes later, she rose and eased through the crowd, and settled against the bar near Will, waiting patiently for him to finish with another customer. As soon as he was free, she slid her palm across the bar and gifted him with a rare, soft smile.

“Hello, Will,” she said, pitching her voice above the rumble of conversations and an old Stevie Ray Vaughan tune blasting from the speakers. “I must renege on my promise to dance with you tonight. Young George is in need of my counsel.”

Will braced his palms against the edge of the wooden bar and arched an eyebrow. “Everything ok?”

“It seems he has been abandoned by a Daughter.” Her hand curled into a loose fist against the bar. “You and I will dance another time.”

Her voice lilted upward on the last word, forming a hesitant question. Will studied the placid expression on her face, not much different than the one she usually wore, and the proud set of her shoulders under a deep red, fitted sweater. Was she really asking, or was the inflection an accident?

“Sure,” he said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

She shook her head, sending the end of her long, pale blonde braid slithering over her shoulder. “I am committed to a shopping trip on the morrow and expect to be out of town all day.”

“Tuesday, then.”

“Not Monday?”

“I’m off.”

“Ah.” Her eyelids fluttered down, hiding her blue, blue eyes. “Perhaps you could join me for supper on Monday night, if your plans allow.”

His heart picked up an extra beat. Will considered her for a moment, even as he warned his wayward heart to behave. “You’re asking me out?”

She laughed, a breathy rush of air more than sound. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy a homecooked meal.”

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“If you like.”

He nodded slowly. Dinner at Sigrid’s house, just the two of them? Anticipation joined the heat stirring in his gut, and his dick, ever ready for an opportunity, stirred to life behind the fly of his khakis. Sweet Mother, would it always be this way with her?

“Sounds good,” he said.

She smiled at him, patient as a hunter tracking game, and finally he took the hint, leaned across the bar, and pressed a soft kiss to her ripe mouth. Her fingers slid across the back of his hand, caressing him in gentle strokes, a reward for his compliance, and the heady taste of her soared through him, filling him with the hard need to draw her close, to take more, and give everything he had in return.

Her hand tightened on his for one brief moment, then she slid away, breaking the kiss, and wove gracefully through the crowd toward the table she shared with George.

Will rocked back on his heels, satisfied to his core. A second date. How in Ki’s name would he make it until then?

An unfamiliar Daughter slipped into the spot Sigrid had vacated, snaring Will’s attention, and he sprang back to work, busying himself as his mind turned over the upcoming date and the varied possibilities it offered.

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