Page 16 of Ale Storm

“Is that why we’re doing inventory together?” she asked lightly, glancing toward Gniknik. He was studiously ignoring them and had almost finished unloading his container. “Have you counted the boxes of baking soda yet?”

“There are four. And I believe that Loxvonla and Foxvonla, in particular, might change into two-legged forms to enter the city and look for you. They might even encroach upon my lair. That would be presumptuous.” His voice lowered, almost to a growl. “And dangerous for one who I’ve not invited to enter.” Hand still resting on her shoulder, he brushed his thumb along the side of her neck, sending a hot zing of pleasure through her.

“Like me,” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. “You invited yourself in.”

“Yeah, but I think you don’t mind that so much now. You did buy me a bedroom set, after all.”

“I do not mind.” Despite the narrowed eyes, he didn’t look displeased. His intent gaze remained locked on her, and her entire body heated. Those tiny brushes from his thumb were electric, and she caught herself scooting closer. “You will remain in my lair,” he said.

“I will,” she whispered. Then, deciding that sounded far more subservient than she preferred, she added, “It’s a very comfortable bed.”

Jildarin looked toward it contemplatively, and her earlier thoughts—her earlier fantasy—sprang to mind. Then his gaze shifted toward their company in the storeroom.

“We will complete the unloading of your contraption, Gniknik,” Jildarin said. “You will leave now.”

“Sure thing, Chef.”

After glancing at them, Gniknik trotted into the hallway without looking back. Jildarin’s gaze returned to Rylana. Was he also contemplating what they might do in the bed?

“Perhaps, after spending time with him, she will change her mind,” Jildarin said.

Rylana almost blurted, “Who?” before remembering they’d been discussing Sylin and Zilek.

“I don’t think so,” Rylana said, surprised Jildarin cared.

“I want another female on my brother’s mind. He will not lust after you.”

“Oh,” she said in understanding and set the ledger and pencil on a crate. “I think he’s more into elves,” she added before remembering that Zilek had remarked on her curves before. When she’d worn a dress to his wine-club meeting, his gaze had lingered a few times. “Well, maybe he’s into most females. He went into the wine cellar with the orc bouncer, after all.”

“His tastes are varied, but he will not lust after you.”

“I’d rather he not.”

“You are⁠—”

Mine. That was what she thought he would say, what she wanted him to say, but a delicate throat clearing came from the hallway.

“Sorry to disturb you, Chef,” Gniknik said, “but there are two dwarves here to see⁠—”

“I am not interested in seeing any dwarves,” Jildarin interrupted, frowning toward the hallway. His grip tightened on Rylana’s shoulder, and he drew her closer.

Rylana rested a hand on his chest, feeling his hard pectoral muscles through his chef’s jacket. She wasn’t interested in seeing any dwarves either. She wanted to go wherever Jildarin wanted to take this.

“Uhm, yes, Chef, but they’re actually here for Bookkeeper Rylana. Something about an antique horn that belongs to their king.”

5

“Their king?” Rylana gaped at Gniknik for a moment, then lowered her hand from Jildarin’s chest and stepped back.

His grip on her shoulder tightened even more, as if he wouldn’t let her go, but then he released her and also took a step back. His expression pensive, he looked toward a crate in the corner. The dreaded book on courting—or whatever the heck it covered—rested on top of it.

“That’s what the dwarves said.” Gniknik spread his arms.

“I’d better see what this is about.” Rylana thought about getting the horn but decided to leave it in the desk drawer. “Do the dwarves have red hair, by chance?”

“They do have red hair,” Gniknik said, “but that is true of many dwarves.”