True. But that was their gig. Saving the world, rescuing everyone from evil. Zac yawned. Damn, this is getting old. Seventy thousand years into his eternity, and he was already wondering what the point was to all of this. There was no end in sight of the monotony—people made problems, tried to destroy themselves, the gods stepped in to save the day, and repeat.
Who knew being so awesome would be so boring.
“Enjoying the party?”
Zac looked down almost two entire feet to find Tula’s sweet pink lips curving into a sweet little smile and her big blue eyes gazing up. There was something about the way she looked at him. She was always so cheerful and lively. So at peace with herself. Frankly, just standing next to her gave him a certain tranquility he’d never known—all right, it gave him that and the urge to fuck her senseless because she was so hard to get. But that was his temptation talking.
He sighed. I’m such a dick. A hot dick, yes, but nevertheless a dick.
He looked out across the dance floor at an ocean of people dancing. “Considering the couple of honor ran out and my brother Belch is nowhere to be found, so the drinks taste like piss punch, I suppose the party is adequate.”
Tula giggled. “Mr. Zac, you do have a way with words.”
He shrugged, feeling a bit beaten down.
“Hey.” She grabbed his arm, sending little surges of tingles through half his body. The lower half. “You okay, Mr. Zac?”
He continued looking away. “Sure. Why?”
“Uhhh…because I wore this disgusting dress for you, and you haven’t said a word.”
He looked her over quickly finding that Tulu, for once, had ditched the schoolmarm gear—muumuus, turtlenecks, culottes, overalls, or Little House on the Prairie dresses. Yes, he used to watch the show. So what? Cimil watched The Love Boat incessantly. Why couldn’t he have a TV obsession? Anyway, tonight she wore a sleek black dress that hugged her curves all the way down to her calves, with a neckline that went so low, her voluptuous bosom was practically pouring out.
He sighed again and looked away.
“What?” she chirped defensively. “It’s not slutty enough for you?”
“It’s fine,” he said.
“Then what’s the problem? You asked me to dress provocatively, so I did. This is my peace offering to you.”
While Tula’s heart was in the right place, trying to accommodate him by looking like a woman who didn’t require any temptation—therefore, hypothetically subduing his urge to tempt—it hadn’t worked.
“Mr. Zac?” This time, she dug her nails into his arm. “Talk to me.”
He looked at her fingernails attempting to break his very resilient skin. She was angry? Didn’t she understand how she was wrecking his life?
“Just go, Tula. Leave me be.”
She stepped in front of him and stared up at his face. “What’s going on with you, Mr. Zac? I’m trying here. I’m really trying.”
“Trying what?”
“To be your friend. To make you happy.”
She was making him miserable. Fucking miserable. Just a few months ago, he’d been banished to L.A., his powers stripped, and he’d been forced to run this ridiculous matchmaking agency as a penance. All of this intended to teach him a lesson about the meaning of true love and how it couldn’t be bought or stolen. It had to be given freely or it wasn’t love. Well, he got that. He did. But that would never change who he was: the God of Fucking Temptation. And knowing who he was, who he’d always be, had given him confidence. Only now, he was beginning to doubt everything. Except his awesomeness, of course.
“You can’t make me happy, Tula.”
“I didn’t mean it like that. I was just trying to make things easier for you.” Her voice, as usual, was filled with sincerity and warmth. “I know you’ve been through a lot, and it makes me feel bad that being near me always upsets you.”
Ugh! Why does she have to be so nice and so…pure of heart? It’s so annoying! “Leave, Tula. You know nothing.” He didn’t bother to look her way when he spoke. Probably because he didn’t want to see the wounded look in her eyes.
“O-okay…” she said sadly.
The moment she began walking away, he immediately felt it—that annoying fucking guilt in his gut. She came near him—good. It felt good. She left; he felt like shit.
“Wait.” He followed after her and caught up quickly, grabbing her by the arm. “I’m sorry, Tula.” He spun her around to face him. “I don’t mean to be so…mean.”
“Then why are you doing it? Why do you insult me and treat me like my feelings don’t matter? You’re no different than he is.”
Tula was referring to her now ex-fiancé, who’d dumped her because she’d insisted on leaving her virtue intact until marriage.
“You’re wrong, Tula. I am far, far worse. At least he dumped you, whereas I cannot seem to let you go.”
The look in her beautiful wide blue eyes toggled between longing and conflict.
Before he knew what he was doing, Zac wrapped his arm around her, pulled her into his body, and bent down to kiss her. Not because he wanted to conquer her or tempt her, but simply because he needed to feel the warmth of her mouth on his.
With their mouths touching, their breath mixing, and their bodies pressing tightly together, Zac fully expected her to push him away. And then knee him. But Tula unexpectedly threw her arms around him and lifted herself onto her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.
Zac could hardly believe it when Tula’s soft, sweet mouth opened to him like a blooming flower, waiting to be entered and explored.
Startled, he jerked back. “Dear gods, woman. Did you just kiss me back?”
Tula’s eyes were filled with soft affection, so delicate and fragile, that he wondered if the wind would blow and take it all away.
“Wait,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t start overthinking this and ruin the moment. “Don’t answer that. Just…come and dance with me.”
She blinked at him and smiled. “I’d like that, Mr. Zac.” He could see the relief on her face. With her, things had to happen in their own time. On her terms. Because she wasn’t looking to open her pure heart to just anyone.
Dammit. I’m not the right man for her. I’ll only hurt her and ruin her and…
He stopped and was about to make up some lame excuse to leave, but then she stepped up to him and dropped her head on his broad chest.
His breath whooshed out. Dear gods. He’d never felt so much want.
“Put your arms around me,” she asked so sweetly.
Gods, please forgive me. He slid his arms around her, pulled her into his body, and the two of them began swaying to the music.
“Zac! Get your dang hands off that human, this lickety splitness!”
Zac and Tula turned their heads to find Cimil in a dress entirely made out of flattened Dr. Pepper cans. And she had on a long red beard.
Yikes. “Cimil, never a pleasure to see you,” said Zac. “My compliments on the redneck facial hair. Very edgy.”
“Wha—” Cimil reached up and felt her chin. “Whoops!” She yanked the thing off. “No wonder Roberto kept calling me Buford.” She threw the thing to the floor. “Okay, now where were we?”
“You were leaving.” He pulled Tula back into his arms.
“Gah!” Cimil wedged herself right in there, separating the two. “Zac, brother,” she growled, “I meant what I said when we hired her. Tula is not for you. She is not a toy. And she will never love you.”
Zac suddenly felt enraged.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Cimil,” said Tula. “We were just dancing. And, yes, he did kiss me, but it was all perfectly innocent.”
“Innocent?” Zac snapped at Tula. “That kiss was not innocent.”
Cimil grabbed his arm.
“Ow!” Zac yelped. “Let go, you she-demon of refreshment.”
“You listen to me, brother. Tula is important. I can’t explain why or how, because that is not the way of the Cimi. You must trust in the
process.”
“You mean your insanity,” he said.
“That too,” Cimil agreed, “but for once in your life, please listen to me. You will ruin Tula’s life because you could never truly love anyone and you cannot make her happy. You’re not like her. You’re not good.”
“What?” he said defensively. “I’m good. I’m a god, which makes me involuntarily good. Most of the time. And who’s talking about love, here? We were just dancing.” Of course, that wasn’t quite the truth, and he knew it. But Cimil’s declaration stung a little; what else could he say?
“Gilbert wants me back,” Tula blurted out.
Both Cimil and Zac looked at the little woman, who wasn’t much taller than Cimil, actually.
“He called me this morning and begged me to forgive him,” Tula elaborated. “And he said he was sorry and would wait for me as long as it took me to be ready.”
“There! You see!” Cimil shoved her finger in Zac’s face. “All is right in the Universe again. Tula is reconciling with the man she’s intended to be with and who will make her happy.”
“Do you think he’ll make me happy, Zac?” Tula asked Zac.
Fuck. She wasn’t really asking his opinion about Gilbert; she was asking about her and him. She was giving him a chance to make his move.
Zac felt a sharp pain in his chest. Cimil was right. He would never be able to give someone like Tula what she needed. He had to stop pursuing her and let her be. That was what was best for the woman. But dammit all to hell, he so wanted to ruin her. Every inch, from her head of blonde locks down to her pretty pink toes.
Zac looked over at Tula and was taken aback by her expression. She looked conflicted. Join the club.
He cleared his throat. “My apologies for interfering with your destiny, Tula. As you are aware, my predisposition to tempt those around me is involuntary.” He dipped his head. “It’s been a pleasure toying with you this evening.” He watched as her expression turned the deepest shade of hurt. “Good luck with Gilbert.” He turned around to a group of three hot women dancing—a blonde in a skimpy gold dress, a brunette in a potato-sack-looking thing to hide her extra pounds, and a redhead who wore a leather bustier. “Well, hello there,” he said to the DUFF. “Don’t you look lovely this evening.” The woman’s mouth sort of just fell open, as did her friends’. “I’d like to shove my tongue down your throat and then take you back to my place and pound you with my giant cock all night long.” He said it nice and loud so Tula would hear. “How does that sound?”
Seducing this woman was too easy, of course. But at least he’d give this cute, plump little lady a night that would change her life and make her friends jealous. And Tula would see he was a bastard.
The brunette nodded, but still didn’t speak. He then grabbed her and kissed her hard, throwing her back into an almost horizontal dip. The crowd on the dance floor cheered wildly as he mouth fucked the living hell out of this woman.
That ought to do the trick. When he put her upright again and released her from the kiss, Tula was nowhere to be seen. Cimil, of course, was grinning with satisfaction. She’d gotten her way.
But there was this moment, a split second, where he could’ve sworn he saw a devilish gleam in Cimil’s eyes. She was up to something, wasn’t she?
Need you really ask? This was Cimil he was talking about. But what was her game?
Perhaps Tula is meant to be mine. But if he was wrong and Cimil was telling the truth, then he would ruin the woman’s life.
He looked down at his date for the night. “Let’s get out of here.” He took her hand and headed for the elevator. Tonight he would not think of Tula. He would only think of himself. As it was meant to be.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tommaso couldn’t believe what a giant ass he’d been. He’d understood perfectly well what that moment a few weeks ago, back in the jungle, must’ve looked like to Charlotte. But that was the reason he’d insisted on going this route. The big epic apology. The grand public declaration of love. He hadn’t wanted there to be any doubt in Charlotte’s mind about his desire to spend his life with her.
He supposed a big part of him knew it from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but there wasn’t an ounce of uncertainty left in his body after she’d so bravely come to find him at the Maaskab encampment. It was her grand gesture that had opened his heart to the knowledge that perhaps he’d been waiting for this moment—for a woman who was as loyal, who loved her family as deeply as he did, and who wasn’t afraid to fight.
And while Char was busy feeling wounded that Emma had pulled him from the fiery pits of mental hell, he had been relieved. There was no amount of gratitude on the planet that could express the importance of what Emma had done. Emma had reached deep inside his heart and tugged on the part of him that loved her still. It was enough to yank him from the dark place he’d been forced to go and prevent him from killing Charlotte—the woman he now knew was meant to be his. Char had risked everything to help him. She’d confronted the crippling fears for him. She was his equal in every way, if not superior in many.
Emma, while strong and beautiful, had never connected with him in such a way. Was it because Emma’s heart had been spoken for from the moment she met Guy? Or was it because he had been waiting for Charlotte all along?
Perhaps both.
But “not meant to be” was “not meant to be” regardless of how one got there. He and Emma were not meant to be.
Neither are you and Charlotte, apparently. He’d been a fool to think he could be the hammer that would break through that brick wall surrounding her heart.
Idiot.
He reached for another piece of empty luggage on the top shelf of his walk-in closet and pulled it down.
“Tommaso!” Charlotte appeared in the doorway, panting hard, startling him.
The luggage slipped from his hands and crashed to the floor. “What are you doing here?”
“I came—” Pant. Pant. “To talk to you.” Pant. Pant.
“Did you run? Because they have things called cars. Much easier way to travel.”
She gave him a look. “I drove. But damn, this house is huge. I need to exercise more.”
He shook his head. “Why are you here, Charlotte?”
She stood upright. “Is this your closet? It’s the size of my entire house!”
No. It was bigger. But how was a man of means supposed to organize such an extensive collection of Italian suits and shoes, silk ties, and custom-made shirts? And still leave room for his woman’s things?
“Technically,” he said, “it is your closet. Or was to be your closet. Now it is just a closet that will soon belong to whomever buys this place.”
Still panting, she looked at him with confusion. “What do you mean ‘my closet’?”
“I bought this house for you. For us.”
“What?”
“That is what men do, Charlotte. They take care of their family. They give them a home and make them feel safe.”
“I’m going to pass on having a discussion about modern gender roles and the feminist revolution, and instead focus on the fact that you bought us a mansion. In the Hollywood Hills. Seriously?”
“Yes. And clearly that was an error on my part, so now it will be sold.”
She gripped him by the arm as he turned to get more clothing from the automatic shirt rack. “Tommaso, why would you do this?”
“I think you already know the answer to that question.”
“Hearing it from Andrus isn’t the same as hearing it from you.”
He turned and gazed into her eyes. She truly looked stunning this evening in her silky red dress. He could hardly breathe earlier at the party when he’d seen her as he’d stepped off the elevator. So unforgettably beautiful.
“What is your point, Charlotte? You made your opinion clear about me.” She’d practically called him a monster, saying that he had wrecked her life and wrecked her.
“Well, it’s your own damned fault,”
she spouted. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe being honest with me might’ve avoided all this? I mean, come on. Why not tell me about Emma and how you felt? Why not tell me that you wanted to propose? But no, you opened up to everyone but me. Instead, I get bits and pieces and half-truths. So that’s why I’m here, Tommaso. This is your chance. Tell me everything. Tell me. Not your friends. Not your ex-heartthrob. Not my sister. Tell me.”
He wanted to, but it wasn’t easy. Not after he’d gone to such lengths to put together that party—ridiculous idea. Why hadn’t he listened to Sadie? She’d warned him that Charlotte was a bit of a recluse.
“The truth is that a few months ago, Cimil prophesied I would meet my mate at that mixer party you went to. And the moment I learned you were going to enter my life, I began telling myself lies. I told myself I would buy my mate a nice house to keep her comfortable. I would care for her and make sure she was safe. And I would do so by staying away because I am the opposite of safe. Everyone I’ve cared for ends up dead. Except for Andrus—he’s impossible to kill. In any case, after I realized you and I weren’t going to happen and I’d be hauled off to prison, I decided to make the most of my life by going to kill off the Maaskab once and for all.”
“So basically a suicide mission.”
He nodded. “Perhaps, but I wanted to make this world a quieter place for you.”
“But aren’t they all going to turn good?”
“For how long, Char? For a year? For a decade? The Universe is in turmoil, but it has a way of working itself out, and then what? How will you sleep soundly forty years from now when you have children and a husband you love?”
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