Chapter 19
With a busy dinner service in full swing when Rylana returned, she got pressed into assisting the waitstaff.
That involved numerous trips up and down the stairs with trays of food and empty plates.
Her previous concern about her new life—living across the street from a bakery while working for a chef whose every meal was delicious—making her soft was fading.
Of course, every time she passed Gniknik on the stairs, he was muttering to himself, scheming up some kind of automaton that could navigate the ascent to make food delivery less arduous.
Finally, as the diners thinned, only a handful of tables remaining full as people enjoyed the last of their wine, Rylana had a chance to say more than two words to Jildarin.
Naturally, he’d been busy working in the kitchen, spatters on his chef’s coat, flour dusting his dark trousers, and a smear from a red sauce adorning his arm.
That didn’t keep him from appearing as handsome as always, radiating determination as he completed meals to satisfy the diners while glancing thoughtfully at three dwarven cookbooks open on the counter to one side.
Rylana caught him gripping his chin and gazing down at a page as Rolf carried out a couple of cheese plates, the final round being served that evening.
“Are there any rockball recipes in there?” she asked.
Jildarin gazed at her. “Several, yes. It is a common dwarven meal that employs ground meat, nearly any kind of alcohol, and a pulverized flour made from stonenuts to add density. Sometimes a lot of density. Dwarves in general enjoy food with heft, but rockballs are considered pedestrian fare. Though the ingredients can be refined, such meals are often a mixture of whatever days-old meat is available and a thick beer-gravy used to somewhat cloak the dubious quality.” He curled a disdainful lip.
“Well, the king digs them.”
“The dwarven king?”
“I’ve been doing some research.” Rylana waggled her eyebrows at him. “Did you know there’s a former dwarven ambassador living in the elven enclave?”
“I did not. He is no longer employed in that position?”
“I think his current position is making Plant Master Chalora happy.”
Jildarin’s brow creased in puzzlement.
“Never mind. His name is Shalikon, and he said he dined at the royal table a number of times and assured me that King Ekton loves rockballs.”
Jildarin stroked his chin as he eyed the cookbooks again.
“That is useful information, especially since the diplomat we spoke with this morning has not yet sent me the requested details on the king’s dietary preferences.
” He flipped through the pages to one that had rockballs in the title and nodded to himself.
“She doesn’t want you to succeed as much as I do.” Rylana grinned at him, but Jildarin’s gaze was intent when it swung back to her. Intent and appreciative.
“You do want me to succeed. And you support me in my ambitions. You have become my most loyal and trusted ally, and you are…” Jildarin stretched his hand toward her, then looked at her chest.
“Sexy and alluring?” Rylana asked, a thrum of warmth spreading through her as she again remembered his touch that morning. With most of the patrons leaving for the night, maybe he would put aside his research, and they could spend a night in his lair without stacks of crates between them.
Jildarin’s gaze returned to her face. “Yes.”
The intensity in his emerald eyes made her flush with more heat—and anticipation. He took two steps toward her, and she lifted her arms, eager to embrace him. But he halted and looked toward another book—the cursed tome on human courting customs.
“It would be unwise for us to mate before… I have not fulfilled all the steps to observe the proper protocol.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“I…” Jildarin looked back to her, his gaze sweeping down the length of her body, and desire and anguish mingled in his eyes.
Rylana didn’t want to create conflict within him, but there was no real reason for them to pay attention to anything in that book, other than that he was using it as a guide to make sure he did everything in the proper human way.
But she wanted him, damn it. And she knew from his incendiary gaze that he also wanted her.
Before she’d decided if it was wise, she caught herself unbuttoning her shirt. He tracked the movements of her fingers, his attention rapt.
“Jildarin,” she whispered. “I want to mate with you. I want you to take me, like an elk stag with a female deep in the primordial forest.”
Drawn by her increasingly visible skin, he’d taken two more steps, but he paused again. “You were listening to my brother give me advice.”
“I think we’ve established that I’m a notorious eavesdropper. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t telling you anything stupid.”
“And that was… not stupid?” Jildarin sounded like he didn’t believe it.
“No, it was hot. It is what I want.” Leaving her shirt dangling open, she pushed her bra down so that he could see her bared breasts and hoped they would make him want her so much that he would forget the book.
Since he was decently educated on the subject of arousal, he would clearly be able to see that she spoke the truth, that she wanted him.
“They are beautiful,” he whispered huskily. “You are beautiful. I want to satisfy you and reward you for your loyalty.” He closed the distance between them and surprised her by not only touching her but pressing her back against the wall. “And I want to claim you. This human body aches for you.”
“I feel the same,” she said, the last word lost in a gasp. Sensations of pleasure swept through her as he stroked her breasts.
She gripped his shoulders and turned her mouth toward his, intending to rise up to kiss him.
He kissed her first, crushing his lips to hers, fiery desire making him mold his body to hers.
She pressed into him with equal eagerness, wanting to quench the painful ache he’d spoken of and let him feel tremendous pleasure.
And, oh, how she longed for the same. She ran her hands from his shoulders, down his arms, and pushed them under the hem of his chef’s coat until her fingers met taut muscles and heated flesh. Magnificent. He was—
A clatter came from the dining room, and they froze, probably both remembering at the same time that they weren’t alone on the premises.
A thud sounded. The front door.
“Chef Jildarin?” Gniknik called back. “Your delivery is here.”
Rylana scowled toward the hallway. What kind of delivery came so late at night?
Jildarin also looked toward the hallway, but he didn’t step back. His body remained pressed against her, trapping her against the wall, and she didn’t want to be untrapped.
“I do not want to stop,” he said in a growl, his body so hard and tense that he almost seemed dangerous. Maybe she should have been scared, but…
“I don’t want you to either,” Rylana whispered. “Send them away. Or we could go into the storeroom. Or the alley. Anywhere.”
“Chef Jildarin?” Gniknik called, closer now. “The dwarf says you have to sign for it.”
Jildarin clenched his jaw, but, with visible effort, he stepped back and released her.
Rylana groaned in frustration. Then, realizing her chest was bare and Gniknik was on the way, she darted into the pantry.
“Chef?” Gniknik asked uncertainly from the doorway.
Rylana had hidden in time, and she hurried to tug her bra back up and button her shirt.
“Yes,” Jildarin said, then cleared his throat, sounding like he was trying to get himself under control.
It touched Rylana that she’d affected him that much, but why, oh why, couldn’t they have finished? She was as tense and sexually frustrated as he.
“I will come to approve the order and carry it in,” Jildarin added.
By the time Rylana was fully dressed again, Jildarin and Gniknik had disappeared.
Not that curious about the late-night order, she was tempted to find water to splash on her face.
Cold water. She was as aroused as she had been the night she’d accidentally overconsumed the dragon spices that prompted libidinous desires.
But… whatever order Jildarin had placed would have to be recorded. The delivery driver might expect to be paid, and there could yet be negotiations. Jildarin needed her to be a good business partner and bookkeeper, not a horny potential lover. Or not only that, anyway.
Rylana pushed her hands through her hair a couple of times, then walked out front. The last of the diners had gone, and Rolf and Zalani weren’t there, but Gniknik stood in the open doorway. Jildarin had walked into the street.
When Rylana joined him outside, she ended up gaping. A huge wagon pulled by eight horses had arrived, kegs stacked high and completely filling the back.
“You said you wanted the sampler,” one of two dwarves standing near the horses and facing Jildarin was saying. “This is the sampler.”
“I expected small kegs,” Jildarin said. “And not so many of them. There are— There must be a hundred.”
“Dwarves make many kinds of ale, all with subtle and delicious variations. Look at this sweet one.” The dwarf put a boot on a wheel spoke to pull himself up and pat one of the kegs.
“It’s a blackberry ale. Usually, we don’t get all elven by adding silly berries and such to our brews, but I have to say this is the perfect blend of sour, sweet, tart, and rich to satisfy a dwarf—or even a dragon—on a warm summer night. And this one here—”
“You don’t have to tell him every variety we brought,” his partner said. “It’s late, and we included a pamphlet.”
Jildarin, who’d battled mighty dragons, as well as countless other enemies, looked daunted as he stared at the wagon. Those huge kegs were piled three high.
He turned a help-me look toward Rylana. She could only spread her arms.
Mya, who had left her apron on a hook for the day, stood in front of the closed bakery door, as if she’d been on the way home when the wagon arrived.