by Addison Fox
And why did she have the overwhelming urge to kiss him?
It would be so easy, really, to just reach up, grab a handful of that black T-shirt and hang on for dear life as his mouth ravished hers, over and over and over. . . .
Oh God, she’d done it again. More jumbled thoughts, like an incoherent mishmash in her brain, tumbled like clothes in the dryer.
Had it finally happened? Was she just having the nervous breakdown her grandmother had predicted years ago?
Of course, a nervous breakdown didn’t change the fact this man standing in front of her had saved her from two thugs last night. Nor did it change his having told her how to kill one of those thugs.
Now he was here?
At the museum?
Traveling overseas with her?
The mushy, soupy haze of her thoughts cleared as, with surprising speed, clarity descended.
Was she really so desperate she was blindsided by sexy bedroom eyes and a bit of kind regard for a dead colleague?
Forcing the tone she lovingly referred to as her “Haughty Harrison” demeanor, she stared down her nose at him.
“Who the fuck are you? And what are you really doing here?”
Chapter Five
Enyo listened to the report with half an ear, the shade of her new manicure far more interesting than the increasingly whiny tale being spun before her. No one had managed to truly capture bloodred, but this new shade from OPI came close.
She had to admit—only to herself, of course—that while humans had minimal uses, their ability to manufacture cosmetics did elevate a rare few.
This human standing before her, on the other hand, was no permanent use to her whatsoever.
Temporarily, however . . . Wyatt Harrison was spewing more information than Mount Vesuvius on a good day.
“Get to the point, darling. I’m aging here.”
“You never age, my Queen.”
Ah . . . another point she’d admit to no one. Flattery did get you somewhere. If nothing else than a stay of execution.
“Don’t avoid the question. Get to the point and tell me why it took you almost two months to tell me about the prophecy.”
His gaze immediately dropped to the floor, a gesture that irritated her despite her requiring it. “As I told you, my Queen, I wanted to make sure it was something truly tangible before wasting a minute of your precious time.”
One perfectly arched brow shot skyward in a move more reminiscent of her mother than she’d prefer to acknowledge. “And you expect me to buy that?”
“Well, yes, your Highness. It made no sense to drag you into it if there was nothing worthy of your attention.”
“I believe I made my wishes very clear when you first contacted me, claiming you had information I’d value. I will decide what is and what isn’t important. Did I not?”
He bowed his head in supplication. “Yes, you did.”
“So, let’s begin with your niece. Did you tip her off to our discussions?”
Wyatt’s head shot up, his eyes going wide. “No, I did not!”
“Well then, how did she manage to secure protection from my Destroyers last evening?”
“Protection?”
“Yes. I had two of my best men ready and waiting to bring her to me and she had protection.” Wyatt didn’t need to know that his niece’s protector was likely one of Enyo’s immortal enemies. He didn’t need to know there was anyone who could possibly challenge her for dominance and superiority.
Themis and her damn Warriors. She’d bet every last drop of power she possessed Ava’s defender was a Warrior.
“Yes, protection. There was a man with her.”
A loud snort passed through his quivering lips. “My spinster niece hasn’t had a man . . . well, ever, if I were to guess.”
“She’s a young woman. Single, from what you’ve told me.”
“As if that matters. She’s a workaholic in drab clothes, with no personality and no spark. And besides, if she was seeing someone, my mother would have shared the news.”
“Well, someone is protecting her.” Even though she knew he wasn’t nearly as well connected as he claimed, Enyo couldn’t resist playing with Wyatt for a bit. At best, she’d get some new information and at worst, she’d have a bit of sport—sort of like burning ants under a magnifying glass.
It had been one of her most favorite games as a child.
“Truly, my Queen, it isn’t me. How could you think that?”
“You did keep the news of the prophecy from me. How am I to know I can trust you?” Without warning, she shifted, moved up so close she could smell the fear that layered over him in a thin layer of sweat and laid a finger on his neck. Heavy, pounding waves of static shot through her limbs, out one long fingernail into his neck.
She watched his pudgy body shake under the assault; watched as his eyes bulged, his nervous system unable to respond to the attack.
Without warning, the current stopped as she lifted her finger from his neck. His body convulsed into a heap at her feet, his cheek on the ground as he huddled into fetal position.
With the toe of one high-heeled foot, she lifted his downward-facing cheek until he looked up at her. “Now perhaps you’d care to review your story?”
Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he huddled and shivered at her feet. “My Queen. She doesn’t know. My niece doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know what?”
“Ava doesn’t know she’s the answer to the prophecy. It was in my brother’s writings, but my niece has no idea. No knowledge.”
The answer?
Ava Harrison was the Key to the prophecy?
Oh, this was rich. And so unexpected. Who knew Wyatt would break so quickly? She should have started the torture weeks ago.
Enyo processed his words, the ramification of them so delicious she could barely stand it. Since learning of the prophecy, she’d simply wanted to get her hands on the stones, and she knew Wyatt’s niece was the quickest path to them. She’d assumed finding the Key to the prophecy would have to come later.
But this. Well, this news changed the game. Changed the strategy. Created a completely different method of handling it.
“She really has no idea?”
Wyatt struggled to sit up, nearly there when a wracking cough rattled through him, dropping him back at her feet. “None . . . none at all.”
“How can she not know?”
Wyatt shook his head as he managed a sitting position this time. “Russell was killed before he could tell her. Even if he’d lived, I’m quite sure my brother would never have told her.”
“So what does she think about the stones?”
“She thinks they’re the subject of myth. Nothing more.”
Oh, this was just too rich; the mad irony of it was the best part.
Almost.
With a tender caress, she reached down and laid a hand on Wyatt’s back. Bright, soothing waves of energy filled him, the pain filling his face shifting to ecstasy in mere moments.
“Darling. Forgive the outburst.”
A bright smile spread across his face as he stood up to his full height, facing her. “Yes, my Queen.”
“Now then. I want you to help your niece. Be the supportive uncle who is oh so excited for her success. Once the stones are all here, in New York, we’ll put our new plan in place.”
“Plan? What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to know Ava’s plans. All of them. And I need you to give them to me.”
The light of rebellion—or was it remorse?—filled his eyes; a silent “but” that she immediately wanted to squash.
Eyes on the prize. Eyes. On. The. Prize.
With a sigh, she tamped down on the anger and closed the deal.
“Only you can do this, Wyatt.” She glanced again at the red polish, then lifted a finger to trail it down his chest, her nail making a raspy noise as it dragged across the fabric of his thin shirt. “You’re the only one who can handle this
.”
His chest puffed higher under the pad of her index finger; the mutiny in his eyes vanished as if it had never been. “If it pleases you.”
She flicked the edge of her fingernail over the tip of his nipple in one harsh scrape. “It pleases me.”
A flash of desire glazed his eyes at her motion, so she did it again, adding a static charge to the movement. As if on cue, the fabric of his pants—just visible past his doughy stomach—showed a noticeable growth.
“Then—then it pl-pleases”—his eyes closed as she shot one more charge straight through his nipple in a harsh burst the fat little pervert clearly enjoyed—“pl-pleases me.”
She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Then make it so.”
Without waiting for his response, she disappeared from the man’s office to her dining room on Mount Olympus. Without missing a beat, she reached for the always-full bowl of ambrosia on her table and helped herself to a generous scoop. With a small chuckle, she glanced at the perfection of her manicure as she gripped the spoon.
Men really were so easy.
“I love it when you get that smug expression,” a male voice spoke from behind her.
Enyo held the shriek back, but barely. Leaping from her chair, she assumed a battle stance and faced her intruder.
The large, bare-chested figure moved toward her, his firm pecs, rippled abs and long, long legs far more appetizing than the sweetest ambrosia.
Ajax.
Her Warrior.
Dropping her raised fists, she pasted on her best sneer. “I gave you a job to do, and since the subject of said job is likely under the protection of one of Themis’s little boys, I suggest you get out of my sight.”
Ajax shrugged. “So the Destroyers fucked up. We’ll get her.”
“My, my, aren’t we the cocky one.” Enyo’s eyes grazed over the firm bulge in the front of his jeans. “In more ways than one.”
“I’ve got it under control.”
“Yes, well, it seems we’re at an impasse there. I’d like you to take a more personal interest in this situation. Get your head in the game, Ajax. You’ve been flitting in and out. I’ve barely seen you since this whole prophecy thing started. Are you even interested in the stones?”
While he was a delicious sight for the eyes, that she even needed his help at all still chafed at her. Damn the bargain her idiot father had struck with Themis and this weakened state of hers.
Thank the gods Ajax had no idea just how much she really needed him and no idea her power was growing weaker by the day.
“Of course I’m interested. Enyo darling, this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. You get these stones and you’ll be invincible.”
“She’s the one.” At his raised eyebrows, she continued. “Ava Harrison is the answer to the prophecy. She’s the Chosen One.”
Ajax moved closer, his sky blue eyes narrowed. “Who told you?”
“Her oh-so-loyal uncle. Nothing like a bit of familial greed to expose all sorts of delicious information.” She took her gaze off him to reach for the ambrosia. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I figured you were in need of a fix.”
Enyo let out a small sniff as she swallowed the mouthful of ambrosia. Relaxing into her favorite pose—arrogant, pampered goddess—she glanced back at her manicure. “I can fix myself, if I need to. Those vibrators the humans are so fond of do a rather nice job.”
With a flash, he had her back flattened against the far wall of her dining room. Heavy, gilt-framed paintings rattled at the force of their landing. “Are you sure you really mean that?” He ground his hips into her, the proof of his erection far more enticing than a piece of plastic.
She let out a small sniff, her pretend pique something she’d picked up watching Gone with the Wind. “You think that impresses me?”
In one smooth move, he had her gown up and a jean-clad leg pressed against her clitoris. His movements were harsh, punishing, as one clever hand slammed down between them, rubbing the small center of her sex into immediate frenzy. The tight bud throbbed with need as a delicious quiver settled in her muscles. His teeth scraped against her jaw as his voice penetrated the haze of lust like a sharp razor. “Since your eyes are already dark with passion and I can feel your wetness covering my palm, I suggest you provide me with an answer if you’d like to come, my sweet.”
“Never.” She fought him, fought the insistent tug of her body. He really was too full of himself for this to continue. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—let anyone have this much power over her. “I don’t need you.”
“But you want me.”
“I have my vibrator.”
“Fuck the vibrator.” His hand pressed harder, his fingers so far in her sex she could feel all her muscles clenching around him. “You will come for me.”
Her breath came out in pants as her muscles fought for release, but she held on. “You first, darling.”
With speed that rivaled Hermes, she had her hands at his waist and his jeans pulled down over his hard buttocks. She dragged her long nails along his sex, satisfied when the movement caused him to jerk, slipping slightly away from her as his eyes closed on a wave of need. Without giving him time to regain any leverage, she squeezed the base of his cock with one hand as her other reached for the pleasure-pain vulnerability of his twin sacs.
She dimly registered the harsh scrape of his day-old beard on her cheek; she felt his balls tightening as her other hand continued to drag on his cock. She knew the moment she’d won, his breath heaving out on a long, low groan as his body shifted into the defenselessness of release.
Only when she knew she’d won did she allow her body its own release. Eyes closed, she leaned her head against the wall as Ajax covered her, his head drooping at her neck as he exhaled deeply into her collarbone.
Men really were so easy.
Brody had seen Ava’s eyes go wide as they were introduced and at that moment, knew he was sunk. The woo-woo mind shit that worked on every other freaking human being on the planet—including heads of state and corporate raiders—hadn’t held.
Not one fucking bit.
“I’m your new travel companion, sweetheart. That’s who I am.”
“You can wipe the cocky cowboy routine. You were there. Last night when I got mugged. You followed me. And you made me kill that guy.” Ava’s stony gaze blew ice at him, but it was the shaking of her hands that suggested all wasn’t as it appeared.
She remembered everything.
“Are you okay?”
“Why’d you follow me?” Her stormy gaze didn’t let up, but the softening of her voice suggested he may have gotten through.
“I didn’t follow you. I was protecting you. Big difference.”
“Protecting me? From what?”
“The nasty assholes who attacked you on the street, for starters.”
What the hell was he doing? He needed to calm her down, not rile her up. If he could get her calm, he could try the soothing vibes again. She was agitated last night. No wonder they hadn’t fully taken.
Arms folded against her chest, she stared up at him with mutiny shining brightly in those chocolate brown depths. “Beyond my better judgment, I’m giving you exactly two minutes to explain who you are before I call security.”
“I am security. Security detail for the exhibit.”
“So your whole archaeology background is a fake?”
He couldn’t stop the words before they were out, the vehemence he felt at the idea he hadn’t been responsible for his own accomplishments coming out in a burst. “No!”
“Well, how did you get to be an archaeologist-slash-bodyguard?”
“My archaeology background makes me perfect for this job. I understand the exhibit and I can also manage security needs. My employer is very progressive. We’re not just hired muscle. We’re experts in our field.”
He saw her gaze dart across his shoulders and down his arms and couldn’t hold back the grin.
“I can see y
ou agree on the muscle.”
A small grimace edged her lips as her eyes snapped back up to his.
The same feeling he’d had the night before, standing outside the deli, came back to him.
He was enjoying himself.
If she’d had any lingering confusion earlier, it was gone as she rapid-fired questions at him like an attorney. “And why would a well-respected archaeologist want to come out of the field to run security detail on a museum exhibit?”
“Money.”
“Of course. How silly of me. You’re a mercenary archaeologist.”
Ava settled back on the edge of a makeshift table, plywood stretched over two sawhorses. Before he could protest the mercenary part, that ugly gray sweater went flying through the air as she tumbled off the edge of the unsteady desk.
He reached for her just as she shifted to sit up, the two of them barely avoiding slamming their heads into each other. Instead, the air between them stilled as their foreheads, then cheeks, then mouths, came into close proximity with each other.
Damn, she smelled good.
He took a deep breath, the urge to press his lips against hers nearly overwhelming. Instead, he extended a hand to touch her, unable to stop himself even if he wanted to.
And he didn’t want to.
The pads of his fingers met the soft yarn of her sweater—that gods-awful ugly sweater.
“Dr. Talbot?”
“Hmmm?” He dragged a fingertip down the length of one arm, then back up, his finger shifting to trace her collarbone at the open neckline of her blouse. With slow, deliberate strokes, he traced the curve of her neck, marveling at how small she was and how delicate.
As his palm covered the length of her neck, he used the pad of his thumb to brush over the soft edge of her jaw. Where had this come from? This insane need to simply touch her?
To memorize the feel of her?
To simply be with her?
He shifted his gaze to her chocolate brown eyes, their stormy depths hitting him square in the gut. He saw desire—thank the gods, yes, he saw desire—but underneath was something else.
Fear.