For The Love Of A God Page 4

  It took all Maia's energy just to shrug off her friends’ curious demands. Especially after she'd decided the boss's body was indeed very lickable.

  Lord was unlike any museum nerd she'd ever met. He was too golden, too sculpted. He looked like he could ornament an old Greek urn, rather than administering the museum housing the urn.

  He'd driven her to distraction all day and she was exhausted. She'd been holed up in the quiet Greek gallery for most of the day, making it her impromptu lab, working on Poseidon's sculpture. Eric Lord had been there most of the time, too. Talking to other executive big shots, explaining his sacred vision to them. From Maia's perspective, all he really seemed to be doing was waving his hands around a lot and trying to look important.

  But he'd also watched her work. At first, it wasn't in an obvious way, but she'd felt his eyes upon her for most of the time. Silently assessing her. No doubt evaluating her skills, and deciding if she belonged on the scrap heap with Etruscan Mark.

  But then he'd grown more blatant, tried to rattle her concentration. Employing his own breath-stealing brand of handsome-man guerrilla tactics, he'd popped up every so often, peppering her with questions. Questioning her techniques.

  "Aren't you going to use some sort of synthetic resin for your restoration of the sculpture?"

  "No,” she'd shot back. “Or do you want Poseidon to look plastic instead of marble?"

  Concentrated on her work, he'd ignored the dig. “What about Fomblin?” he asked, referring to a product used in many restorations.

  Maia had turned back to Poseidon, her eyes narrowed, analytical. “Not on this baby. The patina is still good. I don't like chemicals. They're too harsh. I don't want any spotting."

  Eric had drawn closer, his eyes on her, on her gentle hands, as she swabbed at the sculpture with a wad of cotton. “What are you using, then?"

  "Distilled water. Sometimes, simple is best. No greasy oils, no chemicals costing you a mint.” Her eyes darted toward Eric and then back to the statue. “Just a little love."

  He'd grinned at her. “Love?"

  "Yeah,” she'd whispered. “And time. So many conservators try to rush the job for anxious administrators. This museum knows I take my time, using uncomplicated methods. No synthetics, no sandblasters for me. Just TLC.” She'd turned to him again. “Didn't you know that's why you pay me the big bucks, Mr. Lord?"

  And then, to her horror, she'd snorted out a laugh.

  But Eric's gaze had held no derision, as she'd expected. Rather, it held what seemed to be reluctant admiration. He'd pointed to Poseidon's cracked nuts. “What about those? I don't imagine H2O and some good lovin’ will help those."

  "No. I will need to fill them in a bit, but my aim is always to be the least invasive possible.” She'd stared up at the sea god's patrician face with awe. “After all, a statue like this shouldn't look brand new. It should look like a piece of history, with all its bumps and bruises, its light and darkness. It should transport us back in time."

  He'd stared at her with an intense look which made her want to scream, faint, and orgasm all at the same time. And then he'd interrogated her for another fifteen minutes. Finally, he relented. “I should let you get back to work. Thanks for explaining your methods."

  And yet Maia couldn't help feeling it wasn't so much of an explanation as a defense. Eric Lord put her on guard. Made her feel vulnerable, exposed.

  Now, at the end of the day, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a beer, and her bed. And not necessarily in that order.

  The only good thing about the long day was she had done some good work on Poseidon. In due time, his crotch would be well-loved and as new as possible.

  She looked around for Dino and Sheila, and then remembered they'd said goodnight about an hour ago. They both had hot dates. She was happy for them, but wondered when it would be her turn to get hot and sweaty with something other than her pillow. Or her non-existent dream man.

  She was on her own. Too bad. It was the perfect night to head to the pub across the street to drown her sorrows, but she certainly wasn't going by herself.

  She was picking up her satchel when she heard a noise behind her. She turned to find Eric Lord standing a couple of feet from her, grinning. Her body was seized by an uncomfortable hot charge of electricity.

  He was so lip-smacking sexy. Downright edible.

  "You did good work today. I know I grilled you a little bit."

  "A little bit? I'd hate to see your idea of a lot. I've never had a director shadow me before."

  "I'm not trying to micromanage. I just like to be involved."

  "It's okay. And, despite my hysterics, you didn't fire me today, so I guess it could be worse."

  "Funny.” He smirked, but his expression soon warmed. “Actually, it was fascinating watching you work. Poseidon himself would be very proud of what you did today, Miss Douglas."

  "Right.” She sniffed. “I'm more likely to get a reaction from Chicken of the Sea than the god of the sea."

  Eric laughed out loud. She didn't know how wrong she was. In the old days, his randy uncle Poseidon would have probably shown his appreciation by screwing her senseless and then dragging her down to the watery depths with him. Dismissing the disturbing image, he said, “Look. We got off to a bad start.” He offered her a guarded grin. “I make it a policy to get to know my staff. No time like the present. How about I buy you a drink?"

  Maia's eyes popped. She blinked. And tried not to resemble the village idiot. “Okay. If you're buying, sure. But it doesn't mean I won't fight you on changing the gallery."

  His lips curled in the same disarming grin again. “I wouldn't expect any less."

  And without knowing quite how it happened, she found herself being led across Yonge Street to the Mad Irishman Pub. As they crossed the busy road, Eric put his hand on the small of her back. For some reason, she felt safe with his hand there. Warm and safe.

  Maybe it was because the cars were just peeling away from them. Even though they were jaywalking, all the cars came to a halt before Eric. It was like Moses crossing the Red Sea. Maia couldn't count how many times she'd almost been hit in the past by unfeeling downtown Toronto drivers. Yet those same drivers couldn't make enough space for Eric Lord.

  It must be his shiny blond hair. His golden highlights were a blinding beacon.

  Dye job, she decided.

  They got to the pub, and he led her to a plush half-circular booth tucked in the back. As he let her pass him to get into the booth, he placed his hand on her back again. Once again, a blazing heat trailed from his fingers through her clothes and right into her pores.

  What was it with this man? She'd known menopausal women who didn't feel so hot to the touch all the time.

  She sat down and blew up her messy bangs with a breath, feeling hot herself. She then watched the waitress drool all over Eric as she handed them menus. Maia made a face, but plastered on a happy grin when she saw him looking at her. They ordered. A Guinness for her and a cranberry juice for him.

  "Aren't you going to have a real drink?” she asked.

  "I'm good,” he chuckled quietly. “I don't drink alcohol."

  Oh God, she thought. Was he an alcoholic? Or a health nut? She wasn't sure which scenario alarmed her more.

  "So,” he continued. “Do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

  "Don't like being so formal with your peons?"

  He stared back at her, obviously holding back a retort. His eyes flashed as if lit from behind. For the first time, she noticed all the golden specks surrounding his dark pupils. They made his eyes seem an even deeper green, like the forest after a storm. It was such an arresting effect. She had to look away for a moment.

  "I hope, going forward, you'll call me Eric,” he said in his deep voice. “Not asshole or moron."

  It was her turn to laugh. “Fine. Then you can call me Maia."

  "Thank you, Maia,” he replied, almost in a whisper.

  Her vagina clenched. It actu
ally seized. Feeling tremendous unease, Maia looked away again. He hadn't said anything sexual or vulgar. He'd only said her name. Yet, for some reason, the way Eric Lord said it made her feel as if he was touching her, caressing her most intimate places. She adjusted the way she was sitting, and angled away from him a little.

  God help her, her panties were wet.

  "You look a little flushed,” he said, staring at her lips. “You okay?"

  She let out a nervous titter and took her jean jacket off. “Yeah. Boy, where is the waitress with our drinks?” She scanned the pub. “So, what were you working on before you graced our presence here in Toronto?"

  He smiled and lowered his eyes. “I was in Greece. My family has a home there. I've been busy doing research for some time."

  Finally, two topics she loved: research and Greece. She seized on one of them. “Really? Where do you live in Greece?"

  He paused, looking back up at her. “Oh, it's quite out of the way. No one would even believe it existed.” He smiled, as if enjoying a private joke. “Let's talk about you. Tell me everything your resume doesn't tell me. How did you end up at the museum?"

  Eric stared at her so intensely it was uncomfortable. And his eyes kept dropping to her lips. She'd never given her lips much thought. They were average lips. But he seemed fascinated by them.

  And before she knew what was happening, she saw his eyes drop to her neckline and then to her breasts. They lingered there, considering.

  Although she was surprised to be the recipient of such attention, she wasn't shocked he would be offering it. After all, despite his professional exterior, his whole persona was practically drenched in the insinuation of sex and heaving bodies. He was probably used to people looking at him the same way. But no one had ever looked at her with such sudden ... hunger. He was looking at her the way she looked at Snickers bars.

  He blinked and the look disappeared, only to be replaced by one of grim determination. His fascination with her many charms was apparently short-lived.

  "Maia?"

  "Sorry,” she mumbled. “Lost in thought. What brought me to the museum? Well, my dad, frankly."

  "Ah, yes. The famous Dr. Jim Douglas.” Eric watched Maia grin, noting the grin did not reach her eyes. Why would the subject of her father grieve her? “He must be happy you followed in his footsteps."

  Her face was suffused with an emotion he couldn't quite make out. “He is. And he was happy I went into conservation, even though conservators don't get any glory. He used to take me to digs all over the world, and I loved it, but I was more interested in preserving history, rather than being the one to dig it up.” She paused, already lost in the topic. “It kills me when I see a bad conservation job. So many conservators in the past have tackled sculpture with heavy chemicals and beeswax, so much so the works end up looking like pristine Barbie dolls. I was taught sculptors create pieces that will age gracefully. And I wanted to preserve that process.” She stopped talking and breathed. “Sorry. I'm rambling. I just think it's crucial to maintain our artifacts for the next generations."

  Eric stared at her, almost at a loss for words. “You're not rambling, and I couldn't agree with you more. I guess it makes us kindred spirits. When I went back to Greece after many years and saw the changes, it grieved me. To see all the modern buildings. All the pollution and the cars zipping along ancient roads. It all seemed so wrong, and made me long for a more innocent time."

  "Why, Director Lord, you sound positively Victorian. The way you talk, it sounds as if you were around for the Industrial Revolution!” She winced immediately, as if she regretted her words. “Sorry. I don't always say the right things."

  He looked at her and laughed quietly. “No, no, you're right. I guess sometimes I just feel like an old soul. Mind you, a lot of change can occur, even in one lifetime.” After regarding her for an uncomfortable moment, he asked, “So, why do you love Greece?"

  She smiled up at him from under dark lashes, flattered by his interest. “My dad's favorite place to dig was always Greece, so I spent most of my childhood there. The ancients have always fascinated me. Even as a little girl, all I ever read were stories of the gods. I learned them inside and out. I was never happier than when I was visiting a museum or had my head stuck in a dusty old book. In a way, it was an escape for me. I've always been a little awkward around ... real people. I guess I just do better with pretend people. Maybe that's why I get so attached to my statues. They don't judge me. They just take me back to a time I wish I could see for myself."

  He was frowning at her. Maia closed her mouth, suddenly aware she had been blabbing again. “There you have it,” she said. “I'm a museum geek. And I get verbal diarrhea when I'm nervous."

  He drew closer to her. Just by a few centimeters, but enough to make her pulse quicken. “You're not a geek, Maia. You're passionate. I respect you. And I really don't want you to be nervous with me.” Then, as if realizing the conversation was drifting into uncomfortable territory, Eric cleared his throat. “Like I said before, your job's safe. For now."

  And then he smiled again, making her heart do a little pole vault in her chest.

  "Why did you fire Mark?” The question spilled out, even though it wasn't her business.

  "Because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's lack of passion. Lack of respect. I've been watching the goings-on at the museum for a while. Mark wasn't contributing. Not like you."

  He moved closer still. She could feel his hot breath on her face. Her heartbeat sped up to an alarming rate.

  Without warning, he cupped her face with both his hands. “I want all my staff to think like you do. When they examine an artifact, I want them to see the way you see. When they speak, I want them to cry out with your passionate cries. When they touch, I want it to be with your reverent caress. I want them to shed the tears I've seen you shed for pure love of the work. I want everyone at the museum to share your passion.” He breathed in. “I want to share your passion."

  His strangely intimate words made her feel unsettled, with a foreign burning in her sex. If he hadn't still been cupping her cheeks, she would have run to the bathroom to splash water on her face, and her crotch for good measure.

  And he still hadn't let her go.

  Seconds later, his thumb moved to her bottom lip, pressing its moist fullness.

  Eric's mind railed. What am I doing? Let her go. Stop touching her soft lips!

  But he couldn't.

  For just a brief moment, Eryx wanted out. He wanted a taste.

  She looked transfixed. He could make it so she wouldn't even remember the kiss. At the same time, he wanted Maia to remember. All of it.

  He lowered his head and breathed in her quick breaths. She smelled good. Guinness, with an undertone of sugary sweetness. Probably the maple cream donut he'd seen her scarf earlier. Would she taste just as good?

  He let his lips graze hers. Their softness took him aback. He was just hard up. He needed a little something to sustain him. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to kiss a woman. One as annoying as Maia shouldn't taste so sweet, but she did.

  And when his lips opened upon hers, she didn't resist. She moaned.

  Gods, she was moaning, and he'd barely touched her! He was on thin ice here.

  Slowly, slowly, he let his tongue slide against hers. As their tongues danced, he reached one hand up and buried it in her hair. His other hand trailed down to her throat, resting near her pulse. It was beating out of control, as if she were a rabbit being hunted by dogs. Her hand came to rest on his arm, and he realized she was shaking.

  What was he doing? He'd give her cardiac arrest at this rate.

  With trouble, he jerked away, hating himself more than ever. He'd sworn he wouldn't become involved. He was a god! Why couldn't he control himself around her? He wasn't even sure he liked her!

  Maia stared at him, her dark eyes haunted. Eric watched as she forced herself to close her mouth. And then she closed her eyes.

  "Maia,”
he whispered. “I'm sorry. That was a mistake."

  He reached into his wallet and tossed a twenty down on the table. And before he was unmanned completely by the torn look on her face, he elbowed his way out of the busy pub.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Six

  Two days later, Eric sat in his spacious office on the top floor of the museum, head in hands.

  He should be happy.

  Things were going smoothly with the project. He had the board of directors eating out of his hand, completely aligned with his vision. He'd reorganized other staff, and several departments were already functioning better, despite some grumbling. He had a superb young assistant named Sarah, fresh out of school, who ensured he had everything he needed.

  In fact, from the idolizing way she looked at him, he suspected pretty Sarah would be willing to give him a whole lot more if he asked.

  However, because he was focused on the work, he was not tempted by his nubile assistant.

  If only he could get that ridiculous Douglas woman out of his head now.

  Like a lion awaiting feeding time at the zoo, he paced his office. What was wrong with him?

  Even though their work invariably threw them together often, he'd tried to avoid Maia for two days. But ever since the kiss at the pub, he couldn't stop thinking of her. The kiss had surprised him as much as her. Surprised him with its sheer innocence and lustful intensity. He'd known right away he was capable of seriously damaging that girl if he wasn't careful. What he hadn't expected was to be so gripped by hunger as well.

  It was just a kiss. He'd stolen thousands of them over the years, usually when he was on a bender with Dionysus. None of them had ever meant anything to him.

  So, why did this one?

  Perhaps because he hadn't needed to steal this kiss. She'd wanted it as much as he had, and it excited him. Made him wonder if a second kiss, gods forbid he lose his self-control again, would drive him as wild with lust.