Page 3 of The Gathering Storm

He let her go and pivoted away, pushing through curious onlookers toward the backroom.

Sigrid staggered into the bar next to Moira. “Pick another fight with me.”

Moira snickered. “Aiming to get kicked out?”

“Aiming for another kiss.” Sigrid sucked her lower lip into her mouth and tasted him. Mmm. Mint and chocolate. A delightful combination. “Is he taken?”

“Not as I’m aware, though his eyes drift often enough to a certain woman.”

Some of the heat ricocheting through Sigrid dissipated. “Who?”

Moira snorted into her water bottle. “Like ye don’t know.”

“I truly don’t. Tell me.”

“And give his secrets away? Not a chance.”

“At least tell me his name.”

Moira shook her head. “Two years, ye’ve been in Tellowee.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ye’ve been coming here for two years and still don’t know the bartender’s name.” Moira capped her water. “I’m for home.”

“Moira—”

Moira grinned. “Good luck with another kiss.”

She slipped through the crowd toward her new husband, and Sigrid glowered after her. First, Moira had called her a liar, then a coward, and now, she refused to name the man that had just kissed Sigrid, her closest friend, near senseless.

And that after winning a bet and earning a babysitter for a night a few months hence.

Sigrid put her back to her friend’s bouncing step and hunched over her lager. It just showed that a Daughter was better off relying on herself, or would if Moira weren’t such a hotheaded, fickle creature. Help one minute, fight the next, and no one could predict which one would come first or what the outcome of either would be.

The backroom’s door smacked open and Sigrid glanced up. A young blonde strode out carrying a tray of plated food. The door paused in mid-swing. Beyond it, Sigrid could just make out the kitchen and another door, that one tightly shut. An idea blossomed in her head. She set her lager down and glanced around. The waitress had her back to Sigrid and was setting steaming entrees in front of women sitting at a table on the other side of the room.

Sigrid slipped quickly through the crowd gathered near the bar and into the backroom. An efficiently organized commercial kitchen spread out to her left. One person manned the grill, a rangy, middle-aged man wearing a grease stained apron over a black t-shirt and jeans.

“Help you?” he asked.

Sigrid jerked her thumb at the closed door. “I need to speak with the bartender.”

The man shrugged and flipped a burger. “He’s probably in his office. Through that door, down the hall, second door on the left.”

Sigrid inclined her head once. “Thank you.”

She twisted the doorknob, pushed the door open, and headed toward the intriguing young man who had dared to steal a kiss from an immortal Daughter.

Will Corbin sank into the cushy chair behind his desk and raked trembling hands through his hair. He’d kissed Sigrid, really kissed her, and blessed Ki, it had been good. After the first kiss, she’d relaxed and opened for him, kissing him back exactly the way he’d been dreaming she would for nearly two years now. Heat thrummed through his blood and his dick stood at half mast. Sweet mercy, if he had his way, he’d go back out there right now, haul her into the nearest private room, and kiss her a third time, just so he could linger over the delicious fit of her mouth against his.

She was probably ready to kill him. It wouldn’t be the first time a Daughter skewered a man who touched her without her explicit permission. Probably wouldn’t be the last, either. Most Daughters had a very low tolerance for men in general, Sigrid even less.

He launched himself out of his chair and paced around his battered desk. What had he been thinking, assaulting her like that? If she didn’t kill him, and that was a likely outcome, she could sue him and ruin the business his parents had worked so hard to build. He halted in front of the worn, leather sofa set to one side of his office and stared at the family pictures dotting the wall above it. His parents on their wedding day. Them holding him between them in front of the newly-opened Omega. Him and his youngest sister kneeling on stools in front of the bar.

Years of sweat and labor and love, gone in one, impulsive caress.

Maybe he would’ve acted differently if he hadn’t wanted her for so long.

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