*
Maxen stalked upto Fury’s in a rare mood. The kind between fluster and foul. The worst kind. He’d only felt this way once before, nineteen years ago, the day his mother had perished.
Christ.
Don’t think about that. That . . .
He cursed.
Calliope was not his mother.
However, he had left for only a few hours to take care of some business, and when he’d returned, her shop had been closed. Very well. But he had knocked. And knocked. And finally, slipped his key into the lock to go and hunt her down. Moral? No. But he wasn’t in the moral business. He hadn’t entered her lodgings upstairs, though,unlike last time. Something her innocent head hadn’t thought to question.
He had knocked.
But no Calliope.
Prince, yes, sniffing at the door, but no owner. Damn it. The clock would be striking seven in the evening. Where would she have gone? He pushed through their tavern door with a scowl. Reaper had a network of little urchins all around Brighton. They’d find her in an hour. But how the hell had she slipped away withouthimbeing notified?
“Reaper, I need you to—” Maxen stopped dead in his tracks.
There she was.
Calliope Turner.
Standing at the bar.
Inhisdamn tavern.
At the center of his world.
She turned as if she’dfelthim before she heard him, her eyes widening the smallest fraction.
But dear Christ.
Breeches hugged her shapely legs like she’d been born for them. His gaze skipped to the grey cap that failed to hide her hair, several curls spilling free, refusing to be tamed. But it was the ale she’d taken a sip from, leaving her lips glistening, that struck low, hard, and straight at his cock.
Not even her boot had clobbered this hard.
And every one of his brothers present had their eyes on her. Not one of them seemed to have attempted to stop whatever she was up to here. No, they had served her ale.
Did he even bloody exist?
And Calliope? She looked pleased. No. More than that.
She lookedcomfortable.
“What,” he bit out, stepping forward, “in God’s name are youdoing here? And what in God’s name are you wearing?”
She grinned up at him. “Maxen.”
The sound of his name on her lips, thoseglisteninglips, stoked more heat in his loins. He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. Damn it. She had no right to look unbothered while he had no patience for this burn in his body. He stalked over to her. “I asked you a question.”
“I’m here on a matter of business.”
“Inthat?” He gestured to her ensemble.
She glanced down at said ensemble before lifting her far too innocent gaze back to him. “It’s my business guise.”
