The God and the Siren (Loki Romance)

Chapter Two

"You didn't seem too happy with Daniel yesterday," Pepper remarks while cutting up some vegetables across the counter.

"Nooo, I was not," I shake my head, swaying my hand back and forth as the half-drunk wine swishes around its glass. "I don't know if it's going to work out between us if he keeps this up. He can be kind of a dick when he's not trying to be all mushy."

I sniff the air a bit, smelling the delicious aroma of Pepper's enchiladas in the oven. They've been in there for about forty-five minutes or so, and the smell has finally begun to permeate the vast penthouse. The prospect of food alone is enough to make me happy, but that, combined with Pepper's playlist blaring music from the television, makes for an obscenely relaxing and enjoyable atmosphere.

"Wait—sorry," I mumble, throwing a leg up easily onto the tall bar stool beside me. "I think I was supposed to help you, or something?"

"Don't worry about it." She waves a hand. "Just make sure you leave some wine for when the boys get here."

"Speaking of the boys..." I roll my eyes down absently to my extended leg—clad in the single pant of a thick pair of high-waisted leggings. Matched by a red, long-sleeved crop top that hugs my curves. Plain and simple. "I think they're probably going to be a lot more fascinated by the dwindling beer stock."

Amusement streaks across Pepper's expression. "Thor's brother likes that wine you're drinking."

I arch a brow, setting the glass down as I look toward her bemusedly. "The rude one likes the wine?" The one that embarrassed me in front of everyone? By treating me like I was some sickly thing reaching out to shake his hand?

She nods. "Yup, the very same."

"Well then," I tilt my head demonstrably as I reach for the wine bottle—lifting it slowly into the air. "Oh, no," I muse sarcastically, letting the wine pour into the glass. "We're running out."

Pepper snorts, and turns to the cupboards behind her. The doors creak slightly as she opens them and takes out a pile of plates, spinning to set them down in front of me.

"Be a doll," she says, bending back toward the oven to check on the enchiladas.

"With pleasure," I say, leering at the music remote as I stand from the bar stool. "But first..."

I take the remote and point it to the large, flat screen TV by the fireplace, maneuvering through the songs. I cock my head back toward Pepper for confirmation, still pointing it at the screen. "You don't mind, do you?"

I wait for a moment as she sets the enchiladas down on top of the stove, and glances at the TV. False-offense spreads over her expression, and she lifts a hand to her chest. "You have to ask?"

I smile, hitting the play button, followed by the volume key—until the music is sufficiently loud enough to dance to wildly. 'Lonely Boy' blares throughout the penthouse, bouncing off the glass windows. I replace the remote with plates in my hands, and dance my way over to the table, setting them down one by one with a little bump in my step. My curls fly easily around the place, and I glance over at Pepper—seeing her hair also fluttering about her shoulders as she bobs around the kitchen to the beat.

What a great goddamn night. And notably deafening, since I don't hear the click of the elevator doors behind me.

With a final spin and hum to the tune, I stop abruptly at the far end of the table—nearest to the kitchen—facing the sight of five figures emerging from the elevator. Tony, Thor, Heimdall, Loki and Sif. Amidst the friendly faces, my eyes fall on the dour expression stretched across Loki's regal features. In the quick instant that he glances in my direction, tension flutters through his jaw—followed by a quick, studying rake over my face, and an expression of restraint when he finally looks away.