Heat for Hephaestus

by Sotia Lazu

  His sharp intake of breath feels like a slap to my face.

  “I’m sorry if I led you on.” The car in front of us slows to a stop, and Hephaestus pulls on the handbrake and turns to me. “This was just... dinner. And dessert, obviously. But I didn’t... I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” What sounds like genuine contrition turns the knife in the wound of his rejection.

  But he’s into me. I can feel it. I see it in his eyes. Why won’t he do something about it?

  “Are you married?” I ask. “Engaged? Seeing someone?” Not gay. Not the way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me. “Have you taken a celibacy vow?”

  His eyes harden, and the lines framing his beautiful mouth deepen. “Nobody ever just turns you down, huh, princess?”

  “Fuck you.” I unbuckle my safety belt and open my door, ready to jump into the stalled traffic, but he’s quick as lightning, reaching across and slamming it shut again.

  How long are his arms?

  Not the point.

  “Let me out.” I glower at the side of his face, but his focus appears to be on the car ahead. “I don’t want to be here with you,” I say.

  He clasps the buckle of the safety belt and secures me in place without sparing me a sideways glance. “We’re nowhere near your hotel, and you have no clue how to get there. We’ll get your galaktobureko, and then I’ll take you to Palaia Fokea and you won’t be in a car with me ever again.”

  The way his tone wilted on again? That’s why I don’t believe his lack of interest is real. I’ll respect that he doesn’t want to act on his attraction for me, but that attraction is real, and the mixed signals are sucking the air out of the car.

  I cross my arms over my chest and sink back into my seat. Not gonna talk till he drops me off. And tomorrow, I’ll send one of the girls to get the car.

  Can’t be Noella, since she doesn’t speak English. Better, since she finds him delicious, and I can’t be that magnanimous, to serve her to him on a silver platter. Maria looked at him like he was her favorite, forbidden Mars bar. Supersized, too. And Sylvie... Her you-only-live-once attitude means she’ll go after what she wants, and if she decides that’s Hephaestus...

  Can’t believe I’m being territorial over a man with no inclination to be mine.

  Makes so much more sense to be upset at him for presuming to know my life. “I’m not a princess.” Damn it, not two seconds have passed since I decided not to talk to him again. But it’s important that he knows this. “I’ve worked for everything I have. Fought, at times.”

  Isn’t he gonna comment? Apologize, perhaps?

  When he doesn’t say anything, the words start spilling out, unfiltered. “I’m an engineer.” I train my gaze out the window, so I don’t have to see his surprise and possible dismay. Women shouldn’t be engineers; Papa said so. It’s the main reason I don’t usually flaunt my studies. But something inside me wants Hephaestus to know I’m not just a pretty face—with spectacular boobs, if I say so myself. “Not a car engineer. I have a BSc in Energy Engineering from Politecnico di Torino. My father cut me off when he found out I lied about studying to be a nurse, so I had to make ends meet. I was lucky that my roommate was a photographer. She booked me some catalog work. Nothing career-defining, but it was steady work, and I made enough to cover my expenses.”

  Modeling was the most liberating thing I ever did for myself; I was allowed to be a woman, finally, and people saw value in it. “The same girl introduced me to Instagram in its early days. After years of meeting other people’s expectations, I could finally choose the angle—the narrative—that suited me.” People loved it, and companies noticed.

  “So you’re gorgeous, don’t shy away from work”—Hephaestus makes a right turn, and the car rolls to a stop—“and you’re fucking smart, to boot.”

  His words sound positive, but his tone is one of annoyance, and it rubs me the wrong way. “I also speak four languages.” If I’m gonna intimidate him, I’m going for broke, even though the conditioned little girl in me screams that I’ll never get a man this way. He knows enough that I’ve already lost him.

  A thud makes me look at him.

  His head is thrown back against the headrest, and his eyes are closed. “Fuck.”

  “Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?” I ask.

  He chuckles and raises his head to meet my gaze. “It’s a why-me fuck.”

  So not a good fuck. Well, fuck him—not. “I’m sorry for burdening you with my woeful past.” My cheeks are burning, and my eyes sting. How far is that fucking hotel, anyway?

  Hephaestus tilts his head and heaves a sigh that rocks the small car. “You’re not burdening me. I just... You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I...”

  My heart slams against my ribcage, as if to shake me out of my shock. “You’re not attracted to me?”

  “I can’t be.”

  I worry my bottom lip with my teeth. “Is it a medical issue?”

  His startled laugh crackles along the bare skin of my arms. “I wish it were, Princess.”

  Ugh. Didn’t he hear anything I said? “Non hai capito una sega! I told you, I’m not a princess,” I bark.

  His hand hovers above my knee for a second, before he closes his fingers around the gear shift instead. “But you should be. You should have everything you want. Everything you truly want. And you don’t want me.”

  I press my lips together, to keep from screaming in frustration. I’m not a child, to be told what I want. When I have my ire under control, I say, “You don’t get to decide that.”

  The bitterness in his response is undisguised. “No, I don’t. Unfortunately, neither do you.”

  “What does that mean?” I try to meet his gaze again, but he faces away and signals with his hand for a car to pass, before setting off again.

  “Do you still want dessert?” he asks.

  “Actually, I feel pretty fed up.”

  I don’t speak again till we’re in front of my hotel—not even when he points out other eateries I could visit with the girls. Whatever his reasons, he’s made up his mind, and I’m done trying to sway him.

  This time he doesn’t enter the underground garage, but drives up to the main entrance.

  “Thanks.” I hook my bag over my shoulder, undo the belt, and pull on the door handle, but the door doesn’t open. Did he break something when he slammed it shut before?

  “Hold on.” Hephaestus is out of the car in no time. He rounds to my side and opens the door. I haven’t let go of the handle, and I practically pour out of my seat face first, but he swoops in with an arm around my waist and stops me from kissing the pavement. I’m tall and not used to men handling me like I have the weight of a feather. I plant my palms on his hard, wide chest, fingers splayed, so I regain my balance, but the man is set on throwing me off kilter.

  His hold tightens, crushing me to him. My arms give way, trapped between us, but my fingers are digging into his well-worn T-shirt like they have a mind of their own. I look up at his hard jawline, and then higher, to the full lips pressed together in a thin line. He doesn’t seem happy to be holding me like this. So why doesn’t he let go?

  He’s close enough to kiss. I know how his mouth will feel, pressed to mine. I know if he kisses me, I’ll get lost in him.

  Please, kiss me.

  “Thanks,” I mumble again.

  That’s all I have time to get out, because he slants his mouth over mine in a brief but demanding kiss. My eyes drift shut, as I inhale his scent. I don’t even mind the garlic or traces of motor-oil, his masculine cologne wrapping tendrils of desire around me. His lips are warm and soft, and I part mine, needing more of him.

  But his kiss is gone too soon, and so is he.

  I open my eyes at the sound of his door, slamming shut.

  “What was that?” I yell after him, as he disappears around the first corner.

  What the cazzo was that? He can’t just kiss me and run off.

  Chapter Eleven - Hephaestus

  W
HY THE FUCK DID I do that? I was so close to getting away scot-free. Can I claim it’s a Greek custom or something?

  Won’t need to. Won’t see her again. I mean, I’ll see her once, to hand off the minivan, but she’ll be with her friends. She’s not going to want to discuss my erratic behavior.

  Will I? Maybe I should apologize. Blame it on the beer?

  Or man up and tell her I couldn’t resist a single taste of her lips, even though I have nothing else to offer her.

  I slam my hand on the wheel, and the horn screams me back to my senses.

  Kissing her was stupid. I’ll apologize, give her her keys, and wave her off. She’ll be free to live her life, and I’ll... grow old and die alone. Eventually. Or maybe I’ll fade away? My brothers are certain it’s the former, and that I’ll eventually be reborn—hopefully less stubborn—but I’m not sure what happens to Olympians who don’t ascend. C says it’s not pretty, but he can’t possibly know. The time was never right for our ascension before, so if we were reborn, we went through life as mortals.

  I don’t want to think about ascension now. Not with the ghost of Laura’s lips on mine, her sharp inhale of breath echoing in my ears, the curve of her breasts pressed against me.

  A drive with the windows open, the evening air slapping my face, should cool me down. The Glyfada Olympian Suites is a couple kilometers from here. I could crash there, but I want to fix the minivan tonight, in case they come by first thing in the morning. Not that it’ll take me more than a couple minutes.

  I tighten my grip on the wheel. Will I lose my magic touch if I forgo the bond? I can’t remember a time I didn’t have it; it’s a part of my identity, though it grew stronger after I came of age.

  Won’t think of that, either.

  I turn on the music as I get on the freeway, and Dimitri Mitropanos’ gruff, growly voice blasts from the speakers. He sings of seeking love lost, and I join him. Alone in the car is the only time I sing. No reason to hold back, when there’s no one around to cringe at my unyielding bass.

  I belt out the lyrics, complete with sweeping gestures with my right hand, for emphasis.

  “I seek you in Thessaloniki at daybreak,

  Your gaze is missing from dawn’s colors.”

  And of course Laura’s eyes flash through my mind, even though I wouldn’t normally associate their color with dawn.

  They are gorgeous eyes, with those thick, long, dark eyelashes. I can easily imagine them turned up toward me, as she takes a step closer.

  But in my imagination, she’s not dressed in cutoffs and that revealing blouse. She’s wrapped in red see-through linen, her legs bare on the polished marble, and midnight-black hair cascading down her shoulders in tight ringlets.

  Fuck. At this point, I know too much to act like I believe this is my imagination. It’s a memory of my soulmate, from my first life. I’ve dreamed parts of this before, but the woman never had a face till now. And I never before thought of her as my soulmate.

  Now I clearly see Laura’s teeth digging into her full bottom lip, as her breath hitches in her throat.

  When was this? Who was she? Why does my heart clench and my stomach churn when she smiles?

  I know she’s not Aphrodite. No clue why I’m so certain, but Aphrodite and I were just good friends, trying to make the best out of Zeus’ punishment. He forced us together to make her regret her relationship with Nerites, as well as to mock me by linking my life to that of a woman who wouldn’t look at me twice.

  Joke was on him. She and I were the best partners in crime. Through pain over life’s misfortunes and our common hate of the father of gods, we forged an unbreakable connection.

  My chest fills with warmth at the memory of her smiling face.

  “She likes you, Hephaestus. It’s plain as day.” Her words ring clearly in my head, as if she were sitting right beside me.

  Who is—who was—she talking about?

  The tightness around my ribs returns. Chokes away my breath.

  I’m almost home. I’ll fix Laura’s vehicle and have one of my brothers drop in tomorrow, to arrange delivery. I don’t want to see her again if I can avoid it. I don’t want to feel this... this void that echoes with familiarity. She’s hurt me before. My subconscious recalls it, even if my conscious mind doesn’t.

  I could punish her, by tying her life to mine.

  No. I won’t be like Zeus, and I definitely won’t use this excuse to keep her close. The mere thought makes me feel sick, and I can’t—by definition—get sick.

  Not sick. Is this what dizzy feels like? Lightheaded. It’s... not my head. What’s happening?

  I should pull over, but instead, I almost drive my foot through the floor. Need to be horizontal as soon as possible, because the weirdness increases with every passing minute. As I roll up to my garage, a wave of childlike giddiness washes over me. I switch off the engine and all but hop out of the car. I don’t have time to unlock the main door, so I press the button on the key fob, to raise the garage door instead.

  All my giddiness has turned to gloom before the door is all the way down again. I’m alone. Unloved. Rejected.

  How can he have rejected me?

  He?

  Fuck, that wasn’t my thought. Laura is in my head. I’m feeling what she is. Catching glimpses of her thoughts. And she’s drunk again.

  Doesn’t have a drinking problem, my ass.

  Sinking into the bond that’s obviously already being established is beyond tempting, but I won’t invade her privacy more than I already have. I raise my mental defenses a heartbeat too late. Something more slips through the bond, and it’s lust. Desire that can only be matched by what I felt when she was close.

  She’s turned on this very moment, and now so am I.

  No reason to fight that.

  The couch is in the next room, beckoning me to make myself comfortable and take matters—and my cock—in my own hands, but I need to wash the day off my skin. The whole day, except for Laura’s touch... The taste of her lips...

  I’m hard as nails and definitely plan to do something about it, but I can do so in the shower. Upstairs.

  I cross the garage space to the staircase and take the steps up two at a time. I shove the door open hard enough that it bounces against the wall. As I stride toward the bathroom, I kick off my work boots. I peel off my shirt and drag the overalls down my ass and legs, not bothering with the side buttons. It takes some wiggling, but I step out of the pile on the floor and into the shower.

  The water is cool on my head and shoulders, and chills a path down my back, though it has no effect on my hard-on. I turn the faucet all the way to scalding hot. I can take the heat. I was forged in fire.

  Well, that didn’t sound cocky at all.

  The water is more to my liking as I work my body gel into foam and lather every square centimeter of my body, except for my dick. I imagine Laura’s hands caressing me. Rubbing me. And when I finally close my fist around my shaft, I can see her smirking up at me. Biting her lips as she tugs on my length. Flicking her tongue over them when she twists her wrist on the down-stroke, her eyes burning into my soul.

  I’m close to spilling when reality slams into me.

  I can’t see her again. The bond is looming, possibly tightening its hold on us even as I think of her now.

  I stop moving my fist, but my hips don’t stop pumping against it until I blow my load to the sound of my heart breaking.

  I rinse off with cooling water and reach for the towel. The dark lines etched around my fingernails stand out against the fluffy white cotton. Grease is near impossible to completely wash away without strong detergent.

  Laura should be with a man with clean fingernails.

  No longer sleepy, I shave the shadow off my head and go downstairs to fix her car, the memory of her perfume twirling around me.

  Chapter Twelve - Laura

  CAZZO, what’s all this noise?

  Banging. On the door. In my head. Argh.

  I open my eyes
and sit up. Why was I asleep on a sofa? Hephaestus’ sofa? The room swims before my eyes. Tilts. My stomach obligingly follows its motion. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the world to steady itself.

  The noise doesn’t cease. It’s giving me a headache. Or worsening my hangover. Yuck.

  Someone’s knocking on the door. Of my hotel suite with the previously fully stocked mini-bar. Where Hephaestus let me spend the night alone, after I almost threw myself at him.

  After that kiss...

  The memory of his kiss—quick and garlicky but with a hunger that made me shiver—drives the night’s alcohol fumes out of my brain. With newfound clarity, I stand and call out, “I heard you. Hold on.”

  Alcohol is still in my breath. Ugh. I got drunk twice in one day. Must be some kind of record.

  A record I won’t break, because I wasn’t lying when I told Hephaestus I don’t have a drinking problem. I never drink, damn it, and this man made me forget that.

  I forgot many things last night. My diet, my room number, my self-respect. Can’t believe how... available I acted, even after he turned down my initial suggestion to keep him company overnight.

  I take two steps toward the door, barely touching the wall to keep steady and stop. I’m naked. And still horny, despite my best efforts. I came twice before I passed out, my buzz so intense, I fantasized Hephaestus pleasuring himself in front of me. My imagination was generous with him, by the way. His cock was long and thick, and narrower at the tip—perfect to enter every tight place. I can picture him now, circling the root of his cock and gliding his fist up, twisting his wrist. His orgasm face will be emblazoned in my mind for the rest of my days. His clenched jaw... Those dark eyes, squeezed shut... His throat exposed, as he threw his head back...

  Even in my fantasy, he didn’t fuck me.

  Another knock on the door. Gentle, this time. More like tapping.

  What are the odds Hephaestus changed his mind and came back?

  “I said, I’m coming.” Only I said it in Italian, both times. “Hold on,” I yell in English. And head straight for the bathroom.