Windburn (Nightwing# 2) (3 page)

For Ella to have such an outburst, she must have been beyond frustrated. She never lost her cool. Poor Ella.

“Listen, why don’t you come work at Linden and Burke? I can get you a job in the office. Your parents know my mother and the Burkes. Surely, they’d allow you to work for us, family friends and all.”

Her bright blue eyes glistened. “You think they’d hire me?”

I scoffed. “Are you kidding? My mother owns half the company. Hell, I run the place these days. Of course, it may be something clerical.”

Ella leapt out of her chair and squished me with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, Sorcha!”

“Don’t thank me. You may still be bored, and you’re entirely too overqualified to be a secretary. Still, it will get you out of the dungeon.”

She beamed, more excited about answering calls and filing paperwork than anyone should be.

Jessen scooted back from the table and picked up her purse. “Sorry to break up this party, ladies, but I’ve got to go. Lucius is taking off early so we can spend some time together.”

“Hmmm. Right. Spending time together. In bed?” I winked.

“Stop it.”

We laughed, standing to leave.

“Why didn’t he and his dad come to the groundbreaking ceremony this morning?”

Jessen talked over her shoulder as we headed for the door. “Lucius said his dad wanted Lorian to keep the lead on this job. We’ll be there at the opening of the club, though.”

“Cool. Well, ladies, I think I’ll do some shopping before I head home.”

“What for?” asked Ella.

“I’ve got a little work excursion tonight. I need an outfit that’ll turn a certain Morgon rock-hard.”

Jess frowned. “Be careful, girl. Lorian’s a bit untamed.”

“Don’t I know it?” I gave her my wickedest grin. “And I have no intentions of taming him. I want him wild and unchained.”

Jess smirked as we stepped out of the café into the blustery cold. I tied my trench tight, looking up at the sky. Gray cloud-cover promised snow soon.

Jess gave me a hug and whispered in my ear. “Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.”

The brawny Morgon at the door glanced at my ID then took a
long
look at me. Yes, I’d taken extra care with my appearance. Chocolate-brown liner and gold shades of shadow highlighted my green eyes, bringing out the flecks of amber. I’d styled my hair until it fell in silken waves to the middle of my back. My charcoal trench tied at the waist, bare legs from mid-thigh down to my six-inch heels the exact color of my hair, promised a tantalizing sight beneath.

After looking his fill, which I didn’t mind, he handed back my ID.

“Mr. Nightwing and your party are waiting in his office. Take a left down the hall when you walk in, last door on the right.”

Interesting. I knew the Nightwings owned half the Morgon clubs in the Gladium Province, but I didn’t know Lorian managed The Torch.

Music pumped from the dance floor off to the right. I took a left down a long hallway. I walked into the office without knocking. Ragnor swilled a mug of beer next to a black marble-topped desk. Behind the desk, Lorian sprawled like a king on his throne.

“Hello, gentlemen.”

“Sorcha.” Ragnor tipped his glass, taking a long swig.

Lorian didn’t speak a word. His eyes said everything, drinking me in, lingering on my legs, my hair.

Before I’d fully entered the room, Willow came in behind me.

“Hi, all. Sorry. Am I late?” She wore a sweet mini-dress in a glittery fabric, wrapping her thin frame in loose elegance. It suited her pretty femininity well.

Lorian stood, removing his black leather jacket and slinging it over the desk. “We’re not officially on the clock.” He glanced at me. I raised a questioning brow. “But I thought we might set a few goals for tonight.”

Hmph. I had only one goal. I let my eyes drift over said target—dark gray T-shirt hugging his chest and biceps and tucked into jeans with a black belt. Black hair cropped short, but not severe. A hard, square jaw cutting a more angular shadow by afternoon stubble. I longed to run my fingers along that scruff and feel the roughness.

Lorian caught me ogling. I gave him my innocent smile. He straightened his shoulders into a stiff posture before he spoke. “I’d like to focus on two things with both Morgons and humans in mind—building structure and entertainment for opening night.”

Fallon opened the door, decked out in clothes more casual than his formal office attire, looking pretty damn hot.

“Good evening.” He smiled, glancing at me first. “You ladies look lovely.” Fallon was the kind of man who could switch personalities from serious professional to smooth charmer in a heartbeat, depending on the time of day. This time, the charmer greeted us with suave finesse.

Willow and I smiled and murmured our thanks before Lorian cut off the niceties.

“Time for work.” Lorian filled him in on the game plan, then we all started for the door.

I spun to Lorian at the back of our group. “Do you mind if I leave my coat and bag in here?”

“Not at all.” He gestured toward the desk.

I moved to his side, dropped my bag, and untied the trench. Unwrapping and draping it across the desk, his gaze burned into my back.

I’d chosen this dress on purpose. For him. Knowing the deep scarlet fabric, the same shade as my hair, hugged my hips and cinched tight my waist and bust, I’d hoped to lure one man in particular. If I was ever going to make the man break his tight leash of control, this would be the dress to make him snap.

I spun and sashayed out, Lorian close behind.

As we mingled into the crowd, Lorian called over my shoulder. “Ragnor, I have a table for us upstairs.”

Ragnor nodded, took two strides into the central open space, and flew up and out of view. Fallon followed, then Willow. I started for the opposite direction, the wall off to the left, when a hand wrapped my wrist.

Lorian frowned. “Where are you going?”

Irritated, I rolled my eyes and nodded toward the wall. “The stairs.”

I took a step expecting him to release me from his vise-like grip. Instead, large hands gripped my waist, searing through my dress. I flinched and would’ve toppled in the heels if he hadn’t pulled me against his body. With one great beat of black wings, he lifted us both, stepping and pulling us through the opening in the railing on the second floor. My pulse pounded. My blood raced. Before I could even relish the sensation of his heat against me, it was gone.

He steadied me. I stepped out of his grasp and snapped my chin up. “The next time, ask me before you do that.”

He arched a dark brow, but said nothing. We joined the others at a tall round-top near the balcony. I sat at the high stool in front of the railing. Fallon sat across from me. Willow and Ragnor beside him.

“Why didn’t Gallacius come tonight?” I asked.

Ragnor snorted. “He didn’t think there was anything he could gain from an outing here.”

“No matter.” Lorian pulled the stool behind me away from the table. He sat and hooked a boot on the lowest rung of mine. “His job doesn’t require him to be here.”

Fallon faced me. “So tell us what doesn’t work here from the human perspective.”

The Torch was built like a cave with tables, bars, and a dance floor. Like all Morgon clubs, the center of the building opened all the way to the ceiling where Morgons could enter and exit through a skylight or top floor terrace.

“Number one,” I pointed to the winding stairwell against the cavernous wall, “
that
is horrendous for human women.”

Fallon’s brow lifted. “Stairs? And why is that?”

Leaning my body back, I gripped Lorian’s knee for support and hiked my leg across the railing, propping my ankle on top. Knowing I had his full attention, I let my skirt slide up a fraction more than I should’ve to reveal the curve of my upper thigh. Naughty, but I wasn’t averse to using hardcore tactics to get Lorian at this point. Pretending it was normal to bare myself in such a way, I pointed to my heels. “That’s why.”

Lorian’s muscles tensed under my fingers. I bit back a triumphant smile.

“Morgon women tend to wear more practical footwear. I’m assuming for take-off and landing.” Willow nodded in agreement. “Human women like pretty heels, like these. Do you realize how difficult it is to walk up multiple flights of stairs in things like this? Especially after I’ve had a few drinks? I imagine it’s a shocker when you notice very few, if any, human women make it to the top floors of Morgon clubs.”

I shifted sideways and crossed my legs.

“Yes, you’re right.” Fallon tapped a finger on the tabletop. “I noticed that the other night at Acropolis. I was checking out the interior for my final designs. No human women were on any floor above the third.”

“Love that place. Very glitzy, and the drinks are awesome. But it’s still got the same problem.”

Willow leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “What’s the solution?”

“It’s pretty simple. Put in an elevator.”

“An elevator?” Fallon leaned on the table, too. “In a club? Seems rather odd.”

“That’s because you’ve never needed one. The human-designed clubs are never more than two or three stories high because they walk everywhere. The Morgon-designed clubs only consider the need for flight. If you want Spire Maiden to accommodate both, you need to consider the needs of both.”

Lorian must’ve given in to popular majority as he didn’t dispute my name for the club.

Ragnor scratched his chin. “Won’t humans get annoyed going up and down an elevator in a nightclub when they’re in a party mood?”

“If you tuck it away around back and out of sight, I’d say you’re right. But, there’s an opportunity here to make our place even more unique. I’d put in a glass-encased elevator right in the middle of the dance floor. This way, people going up or down can enjoy the view and still feel as if they’re part of the party rather than in a closed-off room like most elevators. It would be a showpiece and a pretty cool way to see the venue, especially with Morgons in flight.”

Fallon smiled, revealing a dimple on one side. “Wonderful idea.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Nightwing. Would you like a round of drinks?”

A buxom blonde with sage-green wings like Belka’s stood at Lorian’s shoulder, so close her breasts brushed him when she picked up an empty glass left on the table. An accident? Yeah, right. He pretended not to notice.

“Yes, Deva. Ragnor and I will have another beer. Willow?”

She ordered a fruity cocktail. Fallon passed, but gestured to me.

“And you, miss?” Deva kept her tone light, almost sweet, but her eyes shot daggers. This girl despised me. Her gaze kept flicking to Lorian. Perhaps she was one of the faction who hated human women hanging with Morgon men. There were plenty on both sides who still wanted to regress back to the days of complete segregation. When I was in school, there was an organization on campus who actually held rallies in the commons area, protesting the mingling of humans with Morgons. KORC—Keep Our Race Clean. I would always laugh as I walked straight through their sad, little gatherings.

I gave her my don’t-mess-with-me-bitch smile. “Brevette on the rocks, please.”

The girl swished off with a distasteful glare over her shoulder. Lorian leaned forward. “Kind of a strong drink, isn’t it?”

I angled my body closer. “Not for me. I like my alcohol like I like my men, hot and burning and of the highest caliber.” Everyone knew Brevette was the most superior whiskey, imported from the Primus Province.

Ragnor interrupted our conversation. “What else about the structure would bother humans?”

I gazed out over the railing and considered. “Do you see the way there are bi-level platforms and stone steps going up the wall? And the shadowy niches off the stairwell?” The inside spiraled up like a mountainside with cave-like indentions and hollows where couples might find more privacy. I’d frequented these cozy little rooms for a rendezvous or two. “This seems to be a typical architectural detail in Morgon buildings.”

Fallon nodded. “It’s because we tend to want to move up. Part of our Morgon instincts. And we always prefer stone over steel.”

“You’ll still need this sort of detail in Spire Maiden. But, I would be careful. Humans aren’t used to walking on uneven surfaces, and we don’t have wings to catch our balance if we fall.”

As if to prove my point, a guy stumbled as he climbed the rough stairs set in stone leading to a mini-bar behind the stage area. His friend caught him by the arm before he fell over the edge.

“See.”

“We’ll need some sort of barricade or support,” added Ragnor.

“Not having wings makes us much more vulnerable to a hazardous fall, especially when you add alcohol into the mix. I’m surprised you haven’t had a serious accident yet in one of your clubs.” I aimed the last at Lorian.

“Here we are.” Deva set the drinks on the table, mine last, giving me another evil-eye.

I glared at her. “Do you have a problem with me?”

Willow flinched. Lorian froze.

Deva’s eyes widened. “Um, no.”

“Good.”

With eyes cast down, she scurried off.

I lifted my glass, staring at the honey-hued whiskey on ice. “Do you think she spit in it?”

Ragnor snorted a laugh. Lorian didn’t, narrowing his gaze. “Some Morgon women shy away from confrontation. Like Deva.”

“That wasn’t a confrontation.” I said to hell with it and took a gulp.

Lorian leaned forward. “Why did you provoke her?”

“Provoke
her!
Look, I don’t give a shit if Morgon women are passive-aggressive or whatever else their personality defects might be, but she’d better keep her evil glares back in her skull or I’ll show her my definition of confrontation.” I took another gulp. Everyone stared like I was some sort of anomaly they’d never seen before. I couldn’t tell if they were shocked or fascinated. Perhaps both. I added, “No offense to you, Willow.”

She shook her pretty head and sipped her fruity cocktail. “None taken.”

Lorian changed the subject with a shake of the head. “We should discuss entertainment. Should we split the stage evenly between Morgon bands and human ones? Or should we give humans more stage-time? I’m concerned that even though the club is advertized to attract both, humans who know it’s a Nightwing enterprise will avoid the place because of it.”