The Gathering Storm

by Varna, Lucy

  He got in the truck, slammed the door shut. Cranked his truck’s engine and let it warm, and waved at Ethan as the other man pulled away. The game had held Will’s attention long enough for him to forget about the night ahead. Now that it was over, anticipation roared into him full force, and with it every doubt he’d ever had.

  He shook them off as soon as they popped into his head. Wallowing in what ifs was unproductive, especially when his mind drifted into the negative. Much better to consider the positives, like what Sigrid would be wearing and whether she’d let him kiss her again.

  No, he would kiss her. He had to put his foot down at some point with her, and that was as good a place to start as any. He would kiss her, if the time was right, and when it was, he’d coax her into touching him, leading her where he wanted her to go instead of waiting for her to set the pace.

  Daughters usually didn’t let a man lead. Too bad. He wasn’t going to sit back and let her toy with him any more than she already had. If that meant breaking tradition and going against everybody’s expectations, tough. Damned if she’d break his heart the way she had every other one of her lovers.

  Will put the truck in gear and eased out of the parking lot toward home, busily planning exactly how he could bring Sigrid around to his way of thinking.

  Sigrid adjusted the rose and Asiatic lily centerpiece placed in the center of her dining room table. The mixture of red and pink flowers, touched here and there by purple waxflowers and multi-colored lily of the Incas, warmed the space as much as the two flickering candles set on either side. Soft piano music played on the TV, a random sampling of composers courtesy of Pandora, and a fire crackled in the living room’s fireplace. Everything was perfect.

  She smoothed a hand over the black dress she wore, soothing her nerves. It was new, this dress. She’d found it yesterday during her planned shopping trip with two of her daughters and their families, one immortal, the other not. When she’d seen it displayed in the boutique’s window, her mind had fallen to Will. Would he appreciate the dress’s tailored cut, the soft drape of fabric across the tops of her breasts, the easy swish of the flared skirt above her knees? Would he wonder what she wore underneath, and attempt to discover that for himself?

  A laugh stuttered out of her, unbidden. When had she ever worried over a man’s attention? When had a man ever mattered enough to consume her thoughts, as Will did?

  The doorbell rang, knocking Sigrid out of her reverie. She checked the time on the slender watch fastened around her left wrist among silver bangles. Punctual, exactly what she would expect from a Son of his breeding.

  She smoothed her dress down one last time, fixed a haughty expression on her face, and marched to the door, her heels tapping with each step across the hardwood floor past the carpet protecting the dining room floor.

  She swung the front door open wide, letting in the evening’s chill. Will stood on her stoop, protected from the flurrying snow by the wide porch separating the house from the yard. He wore a black wool coat buttoned up over dark brown slacks and held a custom sized wine bag in one hand. Snow melted in his thick blond hair and a smile shone from his light green eyes.

  She stepped back, allowing him entrance, and frowned at the flurry of nerves jumping in her stomach. Before she could subdue them, Will slid a hand around her waist, bent his head, and pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. She relaxed against him, accepting his touch and the heat it stirred within her, awash in the pleasurable slide of his lips against hers.

  He nipped her lower lip, kissed the slight pleasure-pain away, and drew back, a warm smile curving his mouth. “I brought the wine.”

  She shoved the door shut, so rattled by the unexpected greeting, it was all she could do to thank him and take the bottle from him while he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door.

  He pried the bag out of her suddenly numb fingers and placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her gently into the room beyond. “Something smells good.”

  Dinner. Yes, of course. That’s why he was here, after all, to partake of a meal. “Butternut squash soup, roast chicken, and winter vegetables, and for dessert, a chocolate and raspberry tart.”

  “Sounds delicious. Where do you want the wine?”

  “Here.” She took it from him again, steadier now that she’d gotten used to this newly polished Will with his suave style and poised grace. “Would you like a tour before the meal?”

  “Please, but could you do me a favor?”

  She paused halfway between him and the kitchen, and arched a single eyebrow. “Yes?”

  He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels. “Could we dispense with the formality and just enjoy the night?”

  “I thought we were.”

  A wicked grin flashed across his face. “Yeah, but I don’t want to spend our time rocketing back and forth between kisses and polite chitchat. Maybe we could find a middle ground.”

  As long as it included the kisses.

  The thought popped into her head out of nowhere and, unaccountably, warmth touched her cheeks. She swiveled away from him, hiding the blush, and set the wine on the kitchen counter. When she was certain the color had faded from her cheeks, she returned to where he stood, still grinning, and looped her arm through his.

  “Be at ease, Will, here in my home.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  He slipped his hand out of his pocket and joined it with hers, twining their fingers together in a loose tangle. His palm was warm against hers, his touch gentle, and his attentiveness unwavering as she introduced him to each room within her home, the kitchen and living areas, the study and the many books she’d gathered over her life, as time and money allowed. The weapons lining the hallway, the guest bedrooms upstairs and down, and her personal space, the one room that was hers and hers alone.

  His gaze lingered on the feminine yellow bedspread decorated with splotches of red roses, on the filmy curtains layered over the windows along two walls, on the antique sleigh bed and matching furniture, and his green eyes darkened as they glanced from her bed to her.

  Would he lead her there tonight?

  His thumb slid over hers, a sensual glide of warmed skin, and desire swirled within her, taking her breath.

  “We should probably eat now, yeah?” he murmured, and she took the opening he gave her, somehow both glad for the reprieve and disappointed by the reminder.

  Over the meal, they chatted about her work and his, skirted around his childhood, and landed squarely on hers halfway through dessert.

  “Amma doesn’t talk much about growing up a Viking,” he said.

  “It was a difficult time.” She scooped up a sliver of the tart with her spoon and allowed it to melt on her tongue before continuing. “I’m a few years older than your grandmother.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “She told me. Amma did. She told me a lot of things.” His gaze was steady on hers, knowing, and just a little discomfiting. “ ‘For thou seest the fate that to gods and men is given. What sign is fairest for him who fights, and best for the swinging of swords?’”

  Her spoon clanked against her plate and her eyes widened. “Reginsmol.”

  “I took a class on Vikings in college and, of course, we studied some of the eddas and sagas here at Tellowee.” His shoulders rolled under his crisply pressed, eggshell colored shirt. “Some of it stuck.”

  But to remember such an obscure passage from the Ballad of Regin, and from an older translation at that, an outdated translation in which the scholarship had long since been corrected by other, more modern scholars. Sigrid struggled for a moment, torn between remarking on Will’s usage and being impressed by the depth of his knowledge.

  Before she could decide either way, Will pushed back from the table and held out a hand to her. “Dance with me.”

  She blinked up at him, caught unawares by the sudden subject change. “Dessert—”

  “Later.”<
br />
  The roughly spoken word slithered along her skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She placed her hand in his and rose, and went willingly into his arms. “I’ve never danced to Satie before.”

  Will tucked her against his chest and brushed his cheek along hers, suffusing her in heat and the masculine tang of his cologne. “I like his gymnopédies. They’re soothing and sensual in a quiet, melancholy sort of way, like you.”

  She laughed into his throat. “No one has ever accused me of being soothing before, or quiet.”

  “On the battlefield, no. Probably not at work, either.” His shrug cushioned her face briefly between his shoulder and cheek. “But here, you’re feminine and beautiful and everything a man could want. I love your dress.”

  She’d bought it for him. The words clung to her throat, refusing to escape.

  “I waited as long as I could, I swear,” he said, then his mouth was on hers again and his hand slid up her back and tangled in her hair, and it fell down out of the careful coif she’d tucked it into, and she didn’t care, couldn’t think or breathe or feel anything beyond him and the heat he gave her.

  He tore his mouth away from hers and trailed desperate kisses down her throat. One hand slid into the bodice of her dress and eased the fabric off her shoulder, and his mouth continued there in gentle nibbles and licks, burning her as surely as fire.

  She clutched his head to her and trembled under his touch, biting her tongue to keep from begging, pleading, Sweet Mother, please let him never stop. His arms tightened around her waist, bending her back, and his fingers tugged her dress down, then her bra, baring her breast to his gaze. He murmured something low and guttural, and licked her nipple, once, twice, and she gasped his name into the air between them, punctuating the sonorous melody surrounding them.

  His breath blew across her wet flesh, tightening her nipple under his attention, and the words slipped from her. “Please, Will.”

  “Always,” he said, and the world tumbled ‘round as he slid an arm under her knees and lifted her high against his muscled chest. His long strides carried them into her bedroom, away from the music inciting their passion. He laid her gently on the bed, flicked the bedside lamp on, and covered her body with his, easing his way between her thighs.

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen tonight.”

  His words took a moment to penetrate the haze of desire ensnaring her in its grasp, and when they did, she froze. “You have no desire for me?”

  He huffed out a laugh as his fingers smoothed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Can’t you feel how much I want you?”

  She could, there in the juncture of her thighs, where his erection prodded her core through the layers of their clothing. “Yet you have no intention of easing your arousal.”

  “Not tonight, no. Tonight was supposed to be about getting to know you, figuring out what you want from me and if I’m willing to give it.”

  His words stung more deeply than they should have. “If you’re so unwilling, why are you here?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” His sigh feathered over her skin, the tip of his nose touched hers. “We can dissect it another time, ok? Let me touch you for a while. Please, baby.”

  His quiet plea, an echo of hers only moments before, melted the hurt, erasing it completely. “Yes, Will. Touch me.”

  “I’m going to. Merciful Ki, you’re so beautiful.”

  As was he. She opened her mouth to say so, and lost the words to his kiss. It was greedy and hot and rough, and she welcomed it, welcomed him and the desire he coaxed from her, and the heat, Sweet Goddess, the heat overwhelmed her. It rose within her, surrounded her, was her, and she marveled at what he’d given to her, and was giving to her still.

  His hand slid under the skirt of her dress, paused at the top juncture of her silk stocking and the bare skin of her thigh above it, and his breath hitched audibly. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  She laughed and urged his hand higher, laughed again when his next words were garbled against her skin. His fingers slid across her thigh and under the lace thong she’d worn just for him, and found her wet heat so easily, she would never have guessed it was their first time together.

  Abruptly he backed off the bed and yanked at his tie, his gaze hot and dark and ferocious in his need. “I’m taking you just like that.”

  Her hands fell to the bedspread and tightened on it. “Let me touch you. Let me undress you.”

  He shook his head once. “You touch me and I’ll never last.”

  He jerked the tie over his head, ripped open his shirt, popping buttons off, and tugged at the belt holding his slacks in place. As soon as it was undone, he unfastened his slacks and crawled back onto the bed, still half dressed, settling himself between her thighs.

  “Next time,” he breathed into her skin, and a moment later, he curled his hand around her thong and yanked hard, breaking the fragile fabric, and then the tip of his erection prodded her core and he eased into her, stretching her with every delicious thrust of his hips against hers as he worked himself into her.

  “Sorry, baby,” he murmured. “Waited too long.”

  She wrapped herself around him, cradling him to her. “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  The words were lost to him, she thought, lost in the sensual heat carrying them both along the music drifting into the bedroom.

  He thrust once more, grunted as he seated himself fully, then propped up on one forearm beside her and captured her gaze with his. “Ok, I can think now.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “We must be doing it wrong, then.”

  “Oh, we’re doing it very right.” As if to prove exactly how right they were, he eased his hips back and thrust into her, hard. “I was desperate to be in you, and then that dress and the stockings and the garter belt.”

  “Too much?” she asked archly.

  His mouth curved into the dimpled smile she was beginning to love. “Just right. Ready, love?”

  Yes, she thought, but he was already there, moving his hips in a slow rhythm, echoing the gymnopédie they’d begun their dance with. His gaze never faltered on hers and his hand slid down her arm and captured her hand, and pinned it above her head, holding her in place as the storm built quickly around them, lifting her so high so fast, her breath faltered. She clung to him, arching into each of his thrusts, and tightened her body around him, willing him to go faster, harder, more, always more with him, every moment better than the last.

  And it was, so much better, so good. He shifted above her, resettling himself, and let go of her hand only to find her thigh and pin it high against his side.

  “Sigrid,” he whispered, and his mouth found hers again, unerringly, and all the need he’d roused joined the centuries of loneliness within her, tangling into a desperate knot only he could unwind.

  “Will, please,” she cried, and he complied, pushing her up and over the edge in three, swift shoves. Her body pulsed around him, begging for his own release, and there, too, he willingly followed, releasing into her in hot waves she rode until he pushed himself into her one last time, giving her everything he had, and more.

  Will’s breath panted out of him and his heart raced beneath his undershirt.

  Which he still had on, along with his pants and shoes and every other stitch of clothing he’d worn for his dinner with Sigrid.

  Except the tie, of course. That he’d had the foresight to remove.

  He laughed into her hair and eased to her side, slipping out of her delicious heat into the cooler air of her bedroom. “Should I apologize?”

  She curled into him and tucked herself against him, and her lips twitched into a smile beneath the smudged mess he’d made of her lipstick. “Do you regret what we did?”

  “Never.” He kissed her once, hard on the mouth, and smoothed her skirt down over the wicked silk stockings she’d worn. “As long as you’re ok. Did I hurt you?”

  Her smile melted into low, husky laughter. “No, dearest
Will.”

  The endearment shot straight to his heart, piercing it with a hope he’d only rarely dared to indulge in. “Let me get a cloth.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He shushed her with another kiss, gentle this time, tender, like a lover should be, in the beginning anyway. Later, maybe they could be rough, but for now, he wanted to show her something different, something better. He wasn’t a mundane mortal to lose control the way he had. A Son knew better. Discipline always, even in the bedroom when passion drove a man into primal behavior.

  He knew how to treat a woman. The need to prove that to her burned within him as brightly as the desire she stirred so easily.

  Why had his heart had to settle on a battle-hardened Daughter?

  He shrugged the question off and eased away from her, careful of her lying so calmly beside him. Her bathroom was a reflection of her bedroom, warm yellows and reds, and precisely arranged to suit her exact needs. Will snagged a washcloth out of the tiny linen closet beside the toilet, ran it under hot water, and trudged back into her bedroom, ignoring the loose sag of his own clothing.

  She’d turned over on her back while he was gone, and watched him now through the narrowed slits of her eyelids. One hand rested flat on her stomach. The other fell toward him, palm up. She shifted her legs restlessly against the bedspread, and the soft shush of silk on silk brushed along his dick as if she’d stroked it.

  Blessed Ki, he had it bad.

  He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and nudged her thighs apart, rubbed the warm, wet cloth over her sex, cleaning her, and checked to make sure that no, he really hadn’t hurt her.

  If he had, she probably would’ve killed him by now.

  The thought should’ve scared him, or resigned him to his fate, as their first stolen kiss had done. Instead, it only pushed his need for her higher.

  He drew away from her, exasperated. Hadn’t he already charged in too quickly, fucking her when he’d meant to take his time, draw her out, enjoy the attention she’d granted him?

  Her hand caught his in a firm grasp. “What’s wrong?”