For The Love Of A God Page 2

  Just in case...

  "You're such a spazz,” she told herself as she pulled her long brown hair into a messy ponytail on top of her head, affixing it with two crisscrossed pencils. “Get to work."

  She turned and seated herself before Poseidon and let out a sigh. With a gentle hand, she cupped the water god's balls and inspected the extent of the cracks. She'd have to fill them in a little, as well as beginning a general cleaning of the statue. He was starting to show his age.

  Soon, between conducting her inspection and making notes, she was lost in her work, oblivious to everything else around her. Once again, she gingerly touched Poseidon's testes.

  "How about inspecting mine?"

  Maia jumped when the deep voice whispered in her ear. She snapped her head around, almost wrenching off the statue's balls in the process. “Who's there?"

  There was no one. Beyond the entrance, Wally was still mopping, but had headphones on now and was mopping to the music on his iPod. He hadn't heard her cry. The gallery was empty, peopled only by the many statues.

  And right in front of her stood the statue of the god Eryx, still bearing the same grin as when she first saw him years ago. The grin which now appeared decidedly randy from her perspective.

  "You,” she breathed, feeling her heartbeat regulate after her scare. “If any of you old rocks could find a way to talk, I should have guessed it would be you.” Dismissing the voice as a symptom of overwork and stress over the incoming director, Maia turned back to Poseidon.

  Even with her back to Eryx, she felt a warm sensation along her spine. As if she was being watched.

  Doing her best to ignore it, Maia continued her work.

  Within minutes, she knew it wasn't working. Her back was burning.

  She should have expected it. She felt the same way each time she was in the presence of the Eryx statue. It wasn't just her love of antiquities making her heart palpitate each time she saw him. Ever since she'd thought he'd winked at her all those years ago, she'd developed a ridiculous crush on the gorgeous statue. In a way, she thought of him as her own.

  Of course, he'd always been her favorite of all the Greek gods. She loved the stories about him and couldn't help falling a little in love with him from an early age.

  The statue merely enforced the feeling. She loved the perfection of it. The way his curls fell about his strong face. The clean lines of his muscled abdomen and legs. Even the enticing length of his marble erection, as if the sculptor had wanted him captured in a state of eternal arousal.

  He was the sexiest goddamn statue she'd ever seen. Michelangelo's David was an effeminate pansy by comparison.

  She shook her head. It was pathetic, how she mooned over him.

  Over it.

  She could never tell anyone Eryx was one of the reasons she'd chosen to remain with the Toronto Museum, rather than working for another. Since the first time her father showed her the sculpture, she'd felt oddly connected to it. It had been her inspiration as she planned her education and career. She looked forward to seeing him every day, even took extra shifts whenever she could. Just to keep an eye on him and make sure no other conservators got their mitts on him.

  Let administration think she was just a devoted worker. She'd keep her strange infatuation a secret.

  Frowning, she turned back to face Eryx. He looked so proud on his pedestal, so vibrant. As if he might simply walk off it. His shoulders were squared, and his face angled down toward the viewer. Although he was made of white marble, Maia had no trouble picturing what he might look like in color. Somehow, she just knew those thick curls would be honey blond. Those flashing eyes would be green and his nude body would be tanned. His generous penis could fill her, stretch her ... a velvety pillar of lustful strength.

  "Oh, man, I need to get out more.” She ran a hand over her hot forehead. “This place is playing tricks on my mind."

  She heard a deep, manly laugh.

  Automatically, her eyes shot back to Eryx's statue. Why was it the laugh seemed to come from his direction?

  "Okay, I've had enough. I'm outta here.” She folded up her stool and walked right up to Eryx. “You don't fool me, buster. I know you winked at me all those years ago. Now you're talking to me? Maybe I am losing my mind, but if you have something you need to say to me, just get off your perch and say it. Stop messing with me."

  Then, feeling foolish for admonishing a piece of marble, she turned on her heel, and left.

  As a flustered Maia exited the Greek room, Wally turned out the lights and dragged his mop toward Textiles and Costumes.

  In the darkness of the Greek gallery, a pair of white eyes watched Maia's retreating form with suspicious curiosity. Hidden deep inside the cold marble shell of the statue, the god Eryx pondered the odd conservator. “What a funny little woman."

  But as she hurried away, his eyes dropped to the funny little woman's rounded ass. Frowning, he forced himself to look away from her wiggling jeans.

  Inhaling deeply, he surveyed his kingdom, his Gallery of Greece. It would be his tomorrow when he made his first official appearance at the museum. This evening, he had just wanted to slip in unnoticed, to get the lay of the land. His powers enabled him to do so.

  Eryx could change his form. He could fly. He could swim like a dolphin. He could assume different shapes with ease. He could fuck with such wild abandon his partner would quiver with an ecstasy she'd never imagined. And he'd indulged that particular power many times throughout the centuries, usually in Dionysus's depraved company.

  He just couldn't make love ever again. Couldn't allow himself to seek a deeper, spiritual connection which came from being with a woman who actually meant something to him.

  Not after what happened before. Not after Chloe, and the others. He refused to let Nemesis torture another poor creature because of him.

  Besides, it was too painful. When his heart broke, it took forever to heal. Literally. It was his curse.

  For the god of love, it was sheer hell not to be able to love. And so, just to be safe, he'd stayed away from women altogether as much as possible. Tried so hard not to get distracted by a lovely pair of legs or ample breasts. As long as he could keep Dionysus's liquor out of his gullet, it was easier. But under the influence ... he was as base and selfish as any other god in the pantheon.

  Instead, he'd channeled his considerable energies into his work, trying to make a difference in the lives of mortals. He was done with his capricious ways. Done with screwing with them, and screwing them, just because he could.

  So why had he noticed the conservator's fleshy bottom?

  He considered what he knew of her. Maia Douglas. Expert in Greek antiquities and mythology. Daughter of a renowned archaeologist. And from what he'd seen tonight, she was as loony as those old guys who talked to themselves on the subway.

  She talked to statues. Talked to his statue. What was that all about?

  "Of course,” he whispered to himself, “in fairness, I was watching her.” It was no wonder she felt paranoid. The fervent gaze of a god could be a distracting thing.

  He just didn't understand why he was so distracted by Maia Douglas. All he'd wanted tonight was to sit quietly in his museum and absorb the atmosphere. His statue had provided the perfect vantage point. But rather than contemplate how he would improve the gallery, he'd ended up playing with the mortal Ms. Douglas. When he'd seen her cup Poseidon's nuts, he hadn't been able to resist making a comment.

  The look on her face had been so prudish, so amusing. In another lifetime, she would have been just the sort of woman he would have enjoyed corrupting.

  Except he wasn't attracted to her. Gods, no. With those scruffy jeans and her bird's-nest hair? No, thank you. He knew exactly what sort of woman Maia Douglas was. She was a scholar. Head in a book. Probably never even known the touch of a man.

  And yet, just wondering about her sexuality had his stomach in tight knots.

  No, he told himself. Don't.

  He decided on the
spot he didn't like Maia Douglas. Couldn't like her. For her good, as well as his own. Besides, she looked a little too full of herself. And if there was one thing Eryx still enjoyed about being a god, it was taking mortals down a peg or two. Ms. Douglas undoubtedly deserved to plummet down a few pegs.

  He'd be sure to pay some particular attention to her work as soon as he started. Maybe ruffle her feathers a little.

  Besides, he was in his new museum and could do what he wanted.

  Night had fallen. The museum cleaners were having their supper break in the basement. The gallery was a shadowy empty hub. It was the perfect time for Eryx to transition.

  Not a soul would witness the astonishing sight of a fine white mist enveloping the statue of the god of love. No one would see as the mist began to travel, taking the shape of a tall man standing next to the marble artwork. The white fog began to mutate, turning into muscled, tanned flesh. A handsome face took shape. Eyes the color of a verdant forest appeared. The head was crowned with curls the color of golden barley. And full, manly lips spread into a smile of eager anticipation.

  Security cameras would not capture the image of a naked man in the Gallery of Greece. They would not register the sight of him snapping his fingers, magically clothing his hard body in a designer suit.

  And no one would notice as the man slipped out of the museum. On the front steps of the building, Eryx scanned the length of Yonge Street and took a deep breath. His nostrils were filled with the fragrance of sauteed onions and street meat. His eyes took in the weaving mass of color which was the shoppers rushing to and fro. He took a step and joined the crowd in the summer night.

  It was time to put his alter ego Eric Lord to work.

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  Chapter Three

  Maia arrived at the museum on Sunday morning, way before opening, and was astounded at the number of staff in the cavernous foyer. She could hear angry whispers as people huddled in small groups. A couple of women from Etruscans and Romans were crying quietly. Others just looked spooked.

  Before she ever got past the foyer, she spied her friends Sheila and Dino. They were colleagues in the conservation office and had worked with Maia for years. In all probability, they were her only real friends. She hurried over to their little huddle.

  Sheila Flynn's blue eyes were ablaze with excitement. “He's here!"

  "Who's here?” Maia lazily slurped some extra-strong coffee from her eco-friendly travel mug, hoping it would wake her up.

  "Maia, honey,” Dino Di Iorio said, his tweezed brows arched. “You look like shit. And I just know it's not because you got fucked last night."

  She turned to him, eyes wider than they had been all morning. “Do you have to be so vulgar all the time?” She frowned and sipped more coffee. “Besides, how do you know I wasn't ... screwed last night? Maybe I was. And maybe it was fantastic."

  In a sense, it was. But it had all been in her head, as it had been for weeks.

  "Ah, honey,” Dino commiserated. “Did you have another sexy dream last night? About your statue?"

  "He's not a statue in my dreams, trust me,” she answered quietly. Her sleep had been perforated by intense, sexual dreams featuring the god Eryx. It had been happening for weeks, and she couldn't remember the last good sleep she'd had.

  Last night's had been particularly vivid. She'd been wearing an ancient Greek costume, a peplos. He had come to her, removed her clothing, and made love to her with his glorious nude body. Done things to her she'd never done with anyone. Eryx had been so blond and beautiful and hungry for her. Insatiable. When she'd woken up, her panties were down at her ankles and she'd somehow wriggled out of her ratty Monkees T-shirt. And she'd woken up in a frustrated sweat, her body uncomfortable and aching with aborted passion.

  "Well, at least you're getting some action,” Dino said.

  Sheila shook her head and her auburn spiral curls bobbed. “Hello, people. Back to the topic at hand. He is here."

  Maia looked at the groups of staff members wandering listlessly through the foyer. She could see the nervous looks on their faces. For a moment, she forgot about Eryx and his Greek god body. She felt a distinct chill down her spine, and her head was starting to pound. Something was wrong. Her quiet sanctuary, her museum, never bristled with such anxious electricity. She didn't like it one bit. “What are you talking about?"

  "The new director! Eric Lord,” Sheila whispered. “Don't tell me you've forgotten. He's already fired someone, and he hasn't even sat in his chair yet! Didn't you get my text this morning?"

  "No,” Maia said, stunned. “I've been unplugged for the last ten hours.” It was true. She'd spent her evening thinking about Poseidon's testicles and about the strange voice she'd heard coming from the Eryx statue. And then, of course, she'd been a little busy with the god himself, in her dream.

  She shivered as she remembered the dream again. He'd been so sensuous, so persuasive. With a shiver, she realized she could still feel the softness of Eryx's blond waves as they brushed against the skin on her neck and her stomach. Between her thighs. She could still see his green eyes clearly as they searched hers, aching, pining. And his touch...

  She banished the raunchy image and forced herself to concentrate on Sheila's words. “Okay, wait. You said he's already fired someone. How do you know?"

  Dino piped up. “He canned Mark from Etruscans and Romans. We all saw him leave first thing, box in hand. He was walked out the door by security."

  Maia stared at them, incredulous. “Mark? He's been here for twenty years. He's published, for God's sake!"

  "And now he's redundant,” said Sheila. “Look, Maia, there's more. People have been whispering all morning. There's a rumor he's been asking for you."

  Maia felt her heart start to palpitate. “What could he possibly want with me?"

  Sheila was about to say something, but her face paled. Maia watched as Sheila's eyes, then Dino's eyes, slowly travelled to a point over her shoulder. Behind her, Maia could hear the clicking of a man's dress shoes on the floor. Her heart fell promptly into her crocs.

  Then she got mad. Who was this Eric Lord anyway? What made him think he could arbitrarily fire Mark, a respected leader in his field? And what made him think he could come after Dr. Jim Douglas's daughter? She'd give Eric Lord a piece of her mind.

  Maia turned with a huff, hands on hips, ready to put the dictator into his place. But when she saw the man approaching them, her hands dropped. And then her jaw dropped.

  If the elastic on her Hanes underwear hadn't been so strong, her panties would have dropped too.

  It was him. Eryx. Or, at least, the closest she'd ever seen any man come to the image she'd created of him. The image haunting her delicious dreams. As he walked toward them, she gawked.

  He was everything she'd ever imagined Eryx would be. Wavy, dark blond hair. Arresting green eyes. A tall, perfectly built body. A sensual face with full lips, although they were currently taut, giving him a serious expression. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and had the wardrobe to match. His suit was dark and elegant, cut from an expensive cloth, and his pale green tie accentuated the unique color of his eyes. Everything about him was smooth and calm and seemed calculated to make you trust him.

  Or fear him. The perfect executive.

  He looked so slick. Even with his hands clenched into fists, so tightly she could see the whites of his knuckles. Even with flared nostrils, almost as if he were breathing her in.

  She felt her eyelids flutter as he drew close. She could already smell him. He smelled like ... heaven. Like her dreams.

  He stopped in front of her and stared down at her for a moment before speaking. “Miss Douglas?"

  Maia's heart was pounding. She had trouble breathing. And when she tried to respond, the only thing which came out of her mouth was a loud, “Holy crap!"

  She listened to her cuss reverberate through the marbled foyer.

  Mortified, she clapped her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to have
such an outburst. But his voice sounded like the voice of Eryx. Deep and resonant, like the voice she'd heard in the Greek gallery. Like the voice haunting her dreams.

  The man paused. Someone snickered. She thought she saw the director's eyes light up with sudden amusement, but she wasn't sure. He was frowning so hard at her.

  "Permit me to introduce myself. I'm Eric Lord. May I steal you away from your colleagues for a moment?” He began to walk away, expecting her to follow.

  "Don't you mean ex-colleagues?” Maia whispered the comment, but realized too late Lord had heard her. She didn't think it possible, but he looked even sterner as he turned back to glance at her. His brows were so knit together, he might have been creating an afghan up there.

  Maybe Eric Lord just didn't get enough fiber in his diet.

  The man inclined his head with impatience. “Let's take a walk to the Greek gallery, Miss Douglas."

  She shot a parting look at Sheila and Dino and walked away with Lord. Her face colored bright red as she heard Dino say in a not-so-quiet voice, “Did you see the man's ass?"

  Embarrassed, she snuck a peek at the director. A faint light of amusement seemed to be back in his eyes. He was biting his bottom lip, as if trying not to smile.

  As his teeth released their hold on his full lip, she felt a queer little quiver run through her.

  God, he looked just like Eryx. It was all there. Even the honeyed stubble dotting his strong jaw. The stubble which had been rasping against her inner thighs in her recent dream.

  Maia gulped as he turned to her. “So,” he said. “I hear you're our resident Greek expert."

  She held her head up. Uncanny resemblance notwithstanding, sexy, god-like features notwithstanding, she wouldn't let this man intimidate her. He'd fired Mark! Okay, so Mark hadn't done any real work in about fifteen years and was coasting on his dated reputation, but he had a wife and kids. “Yes. I know the Greek exhibit better than anyone working here presently."