For The Love Of A God Page 5

Perhaps because it reminded him of another woman whose kisses had driven him mad. His Chloe. His first love.

  He could still see her now. A maiden in his temple. The gentle priestess who always waited for him, who always ministered to him after his debaucheries. He'd loved her innocence, her all-consuming adoration of him. That, more than anything, made him feel like a god. And when he thrust his engorged member into her soft, slick flesh, he'd always felt strangely human. At one with her. He'd loved her ability to tame the beast in him. Loved her gentle touch driving him to dizzying heights of ecstasy.

  Eric's jaw clenched at the memory. How stupid he was then! How foolish. He'd been a degenerate god who'd never had the foresight to imagine his love could so enrage another.

  "Damn you, Nemesis,” he whispered. “Damn you to hell."

  Nemesis, his spiteful cousin. As goddess of retribution, her powers were unique. Yes, Eryx could do many incredible things, but Nemesis was different. She took pleasure in torturing others, leading them to their inevitable destruction for the sake of vengeance. And she had the power to spin vile curses that were binding, even on other gods.

  Why, he'd once seen her curse Dionysus with a hundred years of impotence. And anyone who knew the god of wine and debauchery knew how dreadfully frustrating such a curse would have been.

  Eryx never dreamed she would turn her hateful eyes toward Chloe and him.

  "I should have just bedded Nemesis,” he said.

  He'd always known she was keen on him. He was the god of love, the son of Aphrodite and Ares. He was accustomed to women falling for him. But when Nemesis came to him, five hundred years before the Christian Messiah was even a blip on the radar, he just hadn't been interested. Though she had been glorious in her nakedness and begging for his love, he simply couldn't stomach fucking the spiteful witch.

  She'd made him pay for his indifference. He and Chloe both paid the steepest price. Nemesis had killed Chloe. And Eryx had been sentenced to his own personal torment, an eternity of feeling guilty for having loved.

  For the god of love, it was sheer hell.

  He still recalled Nemesis's words so clearly. “I will slaughter any woman you ever try to love. I will find them, Eryx, and make you regret your ill-thought passion. You could have had me, a goddess, yet you chose a worthless mortal. I will make it so you can never love again. Do you hear me?” Nemesis had crowed. “They will all die."

  And so, they had.

  Over the years, Eryx had been tempted a few times to give his heart to pretty girls who captivated him. Surely, he'd thought each time, Nemesis had forgotten him by then.

  But the goddess had found each one before he could even dream of bedding them and had destroyed them. Just as she'd done with poor Chloe.

  Those women had never even seen Nemesis coming, her retribution had been so swift.

  And as he'd mourned each one, Nemesis had taunted him. “Now, now, my pretty god,” she had mocked. “You didn't think I'd make it easy for you, did you? I know your emotions run deep, Eryx. Women may fall into your bed, but you will never be able to love again, not as long as I live."

  "You are a witch."

  "And you are a fool,” she'd retorted, trailing her slim fingers across his back, taunting. “If I find you've made any woman love you, I shall drag her to hell by her hair and leave her there. And you will suffer her loss for all eternity."

  "Just because I would not bed you?” he'd seethed.

  "Because you would not love me."

  How he hated her. No mortal could ever hate someone so much, but as a god, he hated Nemesis with a power of tidal proportions.

  He should have hidden Chloe away, protected her and the others better.

  Squeezing his eyes shut, Eric banished the memory of his priestess and the degenerate Nemesis.

  But as one memory vanished, another took its place before his eyes. Maia Douglas and her very soft lips. Opening for him. Sighing as he licked and sucked at her tongue.

  "No,” he whispered, his mind raging. “I can't want her.” In wanting her, he would only hurt her. And he'd vowed he'd never hurt another innocent woman.

  "God of love,” he muttered. “God of hell, more like it."

  He glanced at the many open documents on his laptop. He had reporters clamoring to interview the reclusive Eric Lord. There were press conferences to appear at and gala fundraisers to promote. And because he valued his control and authority more than anything, nothing would be complete without his say-so. Sarah had already provided him with a list of people who needed to be e-mailed back. He was a busy man.

  But tortured by the memory of Maia's kiss, the busy man dropped everything and headed for the door.

  "Maybe you should just fuck him."

  Maia looked up from her work and stared at Dino.

  From her desk, Sheila laughed. “He's got a point."

  Maia exhaled. “I knew I never should have told you guys."

  "Oh, come on,” Dino replied, nibbling on an apple as daintily as a six-foot man could. “Eric Lord is crazy hot.” He shrugged between bites. “Besides, you know you need it. You haven't had sex since you were on that dig in Greece and lost your virginity to that skinny sand dweller."

  "That skinny sand dweller happens to be a respected archaeologist.” Maia felt her face turn as red as Dino's apple as she glared at him. It was true. Maia had been flattered when George, her father's protege, had professed his desire for her. He'd been gentle and kind and considerate for her first time ... and left her feeling hollow, wondering if there ought to be more to this sex thing. She wasn't even sure George had made her come. God only knew he'd never made her pant the way Eric did, just by glancing at her.

  "I bet he was no Eric Lord.” Sheila's eyes grew dreamy, as she made the comparison already in Maia's head. “Such hair. Such height. Such a sculpted chest."

  Maia felt herself grow warm at Sheila's enthusiastic description. “We haven't seen his chest. We don't know if it's sculpted."

  "Sometimes you just know,” Sheila replied wistfully. “Besides, Maia, he kissed you!"

  "He's our boss!"

  "He obviously doesn't care!"

  "Anyway,” Dino said. “You can't deny the way he looks at you. All steamy, like he's wondering what your daisy looks like."

  Maia scowled. “Don't be silly. He's barely said three civil words to me since the pub. If he were interested, don't you think he would have sought me out by now?"

  She felt her chest constrict even as she said the words. For two whole days, she'd done little else but mull over Eric's scorching kiss. And as much as she was scared of where it would take them, she'd gone to work the next day dying to see him again. But when he did talk to her, his displeasure just radiated from him. If he liked her, wouldn't he have shown it? Wouldn't he ask her out again? Or did he expect her to show up on the executive floor, offering him her body on a very hefty platter?

  As disturbingly tempting as the thought was, she would never have done it.

  He probably regretted their kiss as much as she couldn't get it out of her head. And now he clearly loathed seeing her. She reminded him of his temporary mental lapse.

  "Anyway,” she continued quietly. “I don't even know if I like him. He took my statue."

  "Sweetie,” Dino said, coming over to put his arm around her shoulder. He tipped her head up and looked into her eyes with great empathy. “You can't fuck a statue. At least not at that angle. You'd at least have to tip it onto its back first, and as a conservator, I can't recommend it."

  "Argh,” Maia growled as Sheila exploded into laughter. She pushed Dino's arm away. “Let me finish my work. And would you both please stop talking about Eric Lord and the stupid kiss which never should have happened!"

  "Maia?"

  They all turned and saw Eric leaning against the door to the conservation office. Grinning at her, eyes hooded.

  Like one frantic body, Dino and Sheila got up and ran from the office, muttering something about break time. Maia gulped, f
eeling very small and very hot. She stared at her desk, wishing she could shrink Alice in Wonderland-style and escape into one of its tiny drawers.

  "I, uh, hope I'm not disturbing your work,” he said, his voice low and sensual.

  She retreated even further into herself. He was so going to fire her.

  Eric stared at her, conscious of her great discomfort. And feeling it himself. After two days of trying to clear his head, he'd hoped the sight of her wouldn't unsettle him, but it did. And he didn't even know why. She was a mess.

  A gorgeous mess.

  She had her dark hair down today, but she had pencils stuck behind both ears, ready to tuck into her hair in case she threw it up into a disheveled bun. Her slim T-shirt was taut against her full breasts, but bore the picture of another silly character. The intellectual Velma from Scooby-Doo.

  Surprise, surprise.

  She was also wearing beige capri pants which showed off her shapely legs, and an intriguing mole on her right ankle. But the pants were covered in dirt from her work. And she had on yet another pair of plastic crocs. These ones bright orange. He could see her purple toenails through the peepholes in the shoes. To top off the whole crazy ensemble, she was wearing a strand of violet love beads around her neck.

  Love beads!

  He drew near. Despite himself, he fingered the beads, letting his fingers graze her collar bone. “Do you even own anything from this era?"

  He backed away when he realized he'd practically barked the question at her. Gods, he was shaking! And he was hard.

  All of a sudden, Eric found it difficult to breathe.

  Maia just stared up at him, her eyes wide. “They're love beads. My aunt was a hippy. She gave them to me. I happen to like the color.” Her eyes challenged him. “Are you planning on changing the dress code now? You've changed everything else."

  She stared pointedly at his suit. His expensive suit. Eric sniffed. His gold cufflinks probably cost more than her whole wardrobe.

  So why did she look so goddamn sexy? He didn't think she could have looked more mouthwatering if she'd been wearing nothing but a thong and heels.

  He licked his lips, feeling parched. “I just came to tell you something. I've changed my mind."

  She felt a tremor start low in her body. About what? Her job? The kiss? Did he want another one? Please God, let him want another one! She forced a measure of calm into her voice. “Oh?"

  He stared at her. Into her. “I'm not sending Eryx to the Hermitage, after all. You can keep your statue."

  He let the words sink in for a split second. Then, as soon as Eric saw the corners of her mouth twitch into an awkward grin, he turned and left.

  He'd made Maia happy. He could tell. He'd taken away her pain, and his own heart was soaring. And it made him feel better than he'd ever felt before. Now, if he could only trust himself to keep their relationship professional, all would be well. He could finish his work, go back home afterward, and forget Maia Douglas ever existed.

  He could go back to being blissfully unaware and uncaring.

  But seeing even a glimpse of joy in her eyes was infectious. He wanted to see more of it. Already, only five seconds out of her presence, he was figuring out how to bring her even more happiness.

  It wouldn't be hard. He'd made some calls. He knew exactly what sort of torment festered in Maia's little heart.

  And he knew how to fix it.

  Yes, it was slightly outside his scope, but entirely possible for one with his powers. He could do this one last thing for her and then forget her.

  He stood, resolved, and headed toward the museum exit.

  Dr. Jim Douglas was about to have a very special visitor.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Seven

  At quitting time, Maia sat by herself outside the museum entrance on the top front step, almost as still as a statue herself. A couple of pigeons waddled over to her, and she waved them off with an absentminded gesture. “Shoo, birds,” she said quietly.

  She was fighting back tears. Had been fighting them ever since he came to see her about the statue. In an attempt to keep the waterworks at bay, she focused on fiddling with the straps on her Holly Hobby bag. It was a pathetic distraction, but the only one she could think of at the moment.

  Eric was letting her keep her statue.

  She didn't know what his motivation was, but he'd relented. And he'd been true to his words too. At the end of the day, she'd watched as he'd had a group of workers wheel Eryx back into the Greek gallery and set him back up on his pedestal.

  And when the job was done, he'd looked at her with an expression she couldn't read. Maybe it was because he felt badly about the kiss, about leading her on. Maybe he'd simply come to understand her point and respected her father's vision for the gallery.

  Then again, maybe he was just playing with her.

  All she knew was she was caught up in a maelstrom of emotion. She'd only known Eric Lord for days, but something about him had reached into her core and messed with the wiring in her heart. She didn't know if she was coming or going. All day she'd wandered around the museum during the course of her work, hoping she'd run into him. But dreading it at the same time.

  And each time they had spoken, she'd felt the same longing deep in her soul—and in her sex.

  Eric Lord rattled her to the core. He shook her very foundations. No man had ever come close to doing so.

  She was in danger of falling hard. For the first time in her life.

  It would have been much easier if she had her father to talk to ... or a mother.

  She stood up and brushed off the seat of her capris. “Go home,” she whispered. “It'll all seem better in the morning."

  Maia was about to step down when she felt a huge push on her back. With horror, she realized she was tumbling down the stone steps and could very well crack her head on the bottom. She threw her arms out, trying to brace herself. Holly Hobby flew up into the sky, and Maia seemed to fly past each step in slow motion. Unable to help herself, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for her brains to smash on the sidewalk.

  Out of nowhere, Eric appeared. And caught her.

  She collapsed into his strong arms, and slowly stared up into his face. Time felt frozen, stuck, as she gazed upon his unearthly beauty. He looked so much like the Eryx of her dreams. So tantalizingly familiar.

  And he was giving her the steamy look Dino had described. The one that made her skin sizzle in anticipation.

  She should jump out of his arms. Now. But she couldn't. He was too damn tall.

  Plus, she didn't want to move.

  His head lowered toward hers. He wet his lips and then parted them. She could feel his breath on her face. It was hot and sweet and made her think of running naked through a Grecian meadow.

  His arms tightened around her legs and back, and then he kissed her. God, he was kissing her again!

  As his lips touched hers, her eyes fluttered closed, completely unable to withstand the delicious barrage on her senses. She wound her arms around him, feeling the strength in his neck and shoulders.

  When his tongue touched hers, she saw a flash before her closed eyes. An image appeared. One of her clad in Grecian clothing, her hair long and braided. And Eric was there, too. Nude, tanned, eager. Laying her down on a cold mosaic floor, lifting her skirt, and spreading her legs.

  In the vision, he was Eryx.

  With a start, she pulled away and shimmied out of his arms. He was breathing heavily and touching his mouth, seemingly unable to meet her eyes. When he finally did look up, the longing still there, he spoke in a hushed voice. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

  "You know,” she said, suddenly angered, “you need to stop kissing me and then apologizing for it. You're gonna give a girl a complex."

  "Maia..."

  "Look, it's okay. I mean, thank you,” she stammered. “Thank you for catching me."

  They stood awkwardly, staring heatedly at each other, not moving until Maia's c
ell phone rang in her bag. Feeling foolish, she excused herself and answered the phone.

  Eric watched as she took the call, watching her face change as he knew it would. Without even asking, he knew it was the hospice calling. About her father.

  "What? That's impossible,” she whispered into the phone. “Are you sure? And the doctor's already seen him? Of course I'll come! Right away.” She dropped the phone into her bag and looked up at Eric, dumbfounded. “I have to go. My ... my father..."

  "What's wrong with him?"

  "He's in the final stages of MS. In a hospice. He's paralyzed and can't talk, but the nurse just said...” She trailed off, in shock.

  "Let me take you,” he said. “You're in no shape to be alone."

  Maia did not argue as he led her to a posh red car. She let Eric help, let him take her things, and put them in the backseat. She even let him buckle her into the passenger seat, which indulged the queer sense of protectiveness he felt for her.

  He stopped for a moment, standing with one hand on the car door. Scanning the area around the museum. Looking for a threat.

  Looking for an invisible enemy.

  Nemesis stared after Eryx and the conservator, safely ensconced in her hiding place inside the museum entrance. Her blue eyes narrowed as she contemplated what she'd seen.

  He'd kissed her. There was no mistaking it. But did he love her? That made all the difference in the world.

  Eryx had had many women over the years. Most of them in the company of wretched Dionysus, the one who had never been able to keep his pants on. Nemesis could forgive Eryx that. After all, he was a god with a god's inclinations. As was she. She'd certainly taken her share of lovers through time as well.

  She just couldn't have him. The one she wanted more than anything. More than life.

  No, what she would not, could not, forgive Eryx for was affairs of the heart. She'd offered him hers, and he'd refused it, blatantly and without mercy. And she would see to it he was never able to offer his own to any other woman.

  Her vengeance pleased her. Amused her. Soothed her dark soul.

  She would just have to discover if this Maia Douglas meant anything to him, or if she was a mere fling. A fling, she could tolerate, but anything more... It wouldn't do.