Page 71 of Ale Storm

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.

“All right.” The blackberry-ale-loving dwarf hopped down. “Are you unloading the wagon, Chef, or are we?” he asked Jildarin. “We charge five extra silver for door-to-storeroom service.”

It took another minute of daunted—and maybe flustered—staring before Jildarin squared his shoulders and nodded to himself. “Yes, very well. It is good that you’ve brought these. I will have many options when selecting dwarven alcohols to incorporate into a meal fitting a king. Yes. I will pay the unloading fee.”

“Right.” The dwarves unlocked the tailgate with a clang. “Where do you want them?”

“Take the wagon around to the back. The ales will have to go in the storeroom.” Jildarin grimaced.

Rylana had no trouble imagining him wondering if there would be room for him to turn into his dragon form and sleep once the many kegs were stacked inside.