SUN GOD SEEKS…SURROGATE?
The Accidentally Yours Series
Book 3
Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
www.mimijean.net
Copyright © 2012 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design Copyright © 2012
http:/DigitalDonna.com
ISBN-10: 061567965X
ISBN-13: 978-0-615-67965-5
CONTENTS
Praise for Mimi Jean’s Books
Other Best-selling Work by Mimi Jean
Dedication
Warning
Cimil’s Mandatory Pop Quiz
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
Note from Mimi J
IN THE WORKS
Glossary
Character Definitions
Not the Gods
Which Gods didn’t Make the Cut?
Contact Me Me Online
About the Author
Cimil’s Pop Quiz Answers
Praise for Mimi Jean’s Books
(From my awesome readers! Not some kooky unknown critics.)
“A thrill-ride of EPIC proportions…and that is just the guy in the book.” — Jean B.
“Mimi girl, your books made me PMP (pee in my pants).” — Name removed to protect reader’s social life.
“Mimi Jean, your books got me into a lot of trouble with my husband…and I loved every minute of it!!!” — Kassie B.
“Mimi's books sizzle, they make me laugh and fall in love with love every time I read them.” —Ashley Swartz
“Incredible book! I was up all night reading and laughing my buttocks off!! Keep them coming Mimi...!!!” — Kimberly DiNino-DeCenso
“You keep me up all night wanting to reread each book over and over. I think your writing is addicting and I love it.” — Ashlee R.
“The gods will have you saying Fifty Shades of what??” — C. B. Wells
“Give me some black jade and a god for the weekend. No Payals or Maaskab need apply. P.S. Someone please find Cimil a garage sale and something pink to keep her out of trouble. Maybe.” -— Dy
“Who needs a man, when you can have a god!” — Ally K.
Other Best-selling Work by Mimi Jean
The Accidentally Yours Series
Accidentally in Love with…a God? Book 1
Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? Book 2
Dedication
This novel is dedicated to Javi (God of All Things Manly), Seb (god in training), and Stefano (dictator in training). You make it all worthwhile. Now, please, please stop breaking everything. Naughty boys!
VERY SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Naughty Nana (spiritual cheerleader extraordinaire), Phoenix (my writing buddy who’s now come over to the dark side of PNR! Yes!), Dina Rubin (awesome, professional editing), Digital Donna (yes, I think we’re finally done with this cover. LOL), Cassie (for ensuring my pop culture references were relevant to twentysomethings: Ninja Turtles, Gunther…really?), Coffee Beans and Love Scenes (world-class virtual book tour support), Vicki Randall (thank you for the abundance of enthusiasm, input, and watching my back), MY FACEBOOK buds (OMG! I don’t know you, but I love you—in a non-creeeepy way, as Ashley would say. Not only do you crack me up, but you wow me with your 80s sitcom knowledge), and all of the NICE, NICE PEOPLE (like you, Ute Carlin and Kim McNicholl!) who beta-read, sent e-mails, tweeted, and posted reviews (you ROCK!).
Warning
This book contains sexual content (for some of you, not enough. I know. I’ll try harder, I promise), adult language, hot men with unrealistically large physical characteristics, female whining (Whaaat? I whine all the time. It’s a healthy form of venting!), silliness, snarkiness, sarcasm, and blatant abuse of the English language.
Cimil’s Mandatory Pop Quiz
Well, hello again, my little People Pets!
Now, I know you’ve been patiently waiting for this sequel to BOTH Books One and Two, but you must first pass my fabulous little Pop Quiz.
Oh, yes. The gods have spoken. And by gods, I mean me. Because I’m the only one who counts. No, really. The gods can’t count or do any sort of math. Don’t ask. Leprechaun curses aren’t funny.
Anyhooo, no cheating! (Especially you, Ashlee...) And I will know if you do. Because I know everything. Except how this story will end…
Demon crackers!
Cheers to me,
Cimil, Goddess Delight of the Underworld
***
1. An ancient society of warriors and scholars who serve as the gods’ eyes, ears, and muscle.
A. The Smurfs
B. The were-Smurfs
C. The Uchben
2. A female descendant of the gods. Not immortal, but does carry the gods’ bloodline.
A. Snooki
B. Betty White
C. A Payal
3. An evil cult of dark priests, descending from the Maya.
A. The Republican Party
B. The Democratic Party
C. The Maaskab (aka Scabs)
4. Evil vampires whose favorite flavor is innocence.
A. The Obscuros
B. The Osmonds
C. The Osbournes
5. Now that Chaam, the God of Male Virility is locked away, I lead the Maaskab army.
A. The Dos Equis “Most Interesting Man in the World”
B. Kathy Griffin
C. Gabriela, Emma Keane’s grandmother
6. Mimi Jean’s favorite slang term for a man’s private part.
A. Man-treat
B. Man-sicle
C. Man-fritters
SEE ANSWERS – On Last Page
PROLOGUE
Wondering which screw in her head had come loose this time, twenty-four-year-old Emma Keane strapped a parachute to her back in preparation for yet another fun-filled jungle mission.
“Dammit! Stop wiggling!” she barked over her shoulder. “And th
at had better be your flashlight!”
Well, actually, it was a cranky, rather large warrior named Brutus strapped to her back and wearing the parachute because she had yet to find time for skydiving lessons.
Dork.
In any case, looking like a ridiculous, oversized baby kangaroo wasn’t enough to stop her from making this nocturnal leap into enemy territory—Maaskab territory. She had scores to settle.
Emma sucked in a deep breath, the roar of the plane’s large engines and Brutus’s growls making it difficult to find her center—the key to winning any battle. And not freak out.
Funny. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d end up here, an immortal demigoddess engaged to the infamous God of Death and War, she would have said, “Christ! Yep! That toootally sounds about right.”
Why the hell not? She’d lived the first twenty-two years of her life with Guy—a nickname she’d given her handsome god—obsessed with his seductive voice, a voice only she could hear. Turned out, after they finally met face-to-face, their connection ran blood deep. Universe deep, actually. A match made by fate.
Emma rubbed her hands together, summoning the divine power deep within her cells. One blast with her fingertips and she could split a man right down the middle.
“Careful where you put those,” Guy said, cupping himself.
Emma gazed up at his smiling face and couldn’t help but admire the glorious, masculine view. Sigh. She knew she’d been born to love him, flaws—enormous ego and otherworldly bossiness—and all.
His smile melted away. “Please change your mind, my sweet. Stay on the plane, and let me do your fighting.”
“Can’t do that,” she replied. “The Maaskab took my grandmother, and I’m going to be the one to get her back. Even if I have to kill Tommaso to do it.”
Guy shook his head. “No. You are to let me deal with him.”
Emma felt her immortal blood boil. She’d trusted Tommaso once, and he’d betrayed her. Almost gotten her killed, too. But she’d known—well, she’d thought—it wasn’t Tommaso’s fault. He’d been injected with liquid black jade, an evil substance that could darken the heart of an angel. That’s why, after he’d been captured and mortally wounded, she’d begged the gods to cure him.
Then she did the unthinkable: she’d put her faith in him again.
Stupid move.
He’d turned on her a second time, the bastard. Yes, his betrayal—done of his own free will—was her prize on that fateful night almost one year ago when her grandmother showed up on their doorstep in Italy, leading an army of evil Maaskab priests, her mind clearly poisoned.
“If Tommaso hadn’t helped her escape, we could’ve saved her,” she said purely to vent, because she really wanted to cry. But the fiancée of the God of Death and War didn’t cry. Especially in front of the hundred warriors riding shotgun on the plane tonight.
Okay, maybe one teeny tiny tear while no one’s looking.
“Do not give up hope, Emma.” Guy clutched her hand. “And do not forget…whatever happens, I love you. Until the last ray of sunlight. Until the last flicker of life inhabits this planet.”
Brutus groaned and rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed by the sappy chatter.
Emma elbowed him in the ribs. “Shush! And how can you, of all people, be uncomfortable with a little affection? Huh? You bunk with eight dudes every night. That’s gross by the way. Not the dude part. I’m cool with that. But eight, big, sweaty warriors all at once? Yuck. So don’t judge me because I’m into the one-man-at-a-time rule. That’s messed up, Brutus.”
Brutus growled and Guy chuckled.
In truth, Emma didn’t know what Brutus was into or how he and his elite team slept, but she loved teasing him. She figured that sooner or later she’d find the magic words to get Brutus to speak to her.
No luck yet.
Accepting a temporary defeat, she shrugged and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She took one last look at her delicious male—seven feet of solid muscle with thick blue-black waves of hair and bronzed skin. Sigh. “Okay. I’m ready,” she declared boldly. “Let’s kill some Scabs and get my granny!”
She glanced over her other shoulder at Penelope, their newest family member. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight ponytail that accentuated the anger simmering in her dark green eyes. Pissed would be a serious understatement.
Emma didn’t blame her. What a cluster.
“Ready?” Emma asked.
“You better believe it,” Penelope replied. “These clowns picked the wrong girl to mess with.”
Guy frowned as they leaped from the plane into the black night.
“A true friend is one soul in two bodies.”
—Aristotle
“A true friend is two souls in one body.”
—Kinich Ahau, God of the Sun
CHAPTER 1
Penelope. Approximately Three Weeks Earlier
“Sorry, but did you just say…? You want me to what?” I stared at the flaming redhead who’d trotted into the crowded café off the snowy New York street, helped herself to the chair across from me, and swiped her finger through the creamy froth of my eagerly anticipated cappuccino.
Rude!
Didn’t matter that the woman was disturbed, which she clearly was; the pink scuba mask on her head was a dead giveaway, as was the hot-pink mink coat.
“You heard me, Penelope,” she said, rapping her glittery pink fingernails on the tabletop. “Five hundred thousand dollars—okay…I’ll make it one million. But not a penny more!”
How the hell did she know my name? And had she really offered me money for what I thought? Was today April Fool’s? No. It was November 30th.
Then it dawned on me. I was being Punk’d. Wait. That show was canceled. Yes, Ashton had moved on to corny camera commercials, a sitcom, and a very unflattering Ringo Starr beard.
Well, double dammit, whatever was going on, I didn’t have the patience for this today; I’d just received bad news. The worst kind of bad news.
I dog-eared my book, Spanish for Linguistic Tards—never too late to learn another language, you know—and slapped it down. “I don’t know which of my friends orchestrated this crappy prank, but I’ve got work in twenty minutes, and it’s going to be a long, long night—”
“Hold your jicama!” she interrupted, shoving her index finger in my face as her phone squawked. She quickly dug through her oversized pink fuzzy handbag and pulled out the device. “Wassup? Yeah. Yeah. Oooh my…” The odd woman, who appeared to be in her thirties, continued her egregiously loud banter while stroking the lapel of her furry coat.
I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if anyone else inside the bustling café was witnessing this obnoxious display. Oddly enough, not one person was.
Whatever. Didn’t matter. I’d already decided to go find my pre–night shift triple-skinny cappuccino (hold the weirdo finger) elsewhere.
I pushed away from the table, and she latched onto my wrist, instantly igniting a surge of numbing static throughout my entire body. Every muscle ground to a halt. Except my pounding heart. That worked just fine.
She narrowed her eyes and then made a little no-no wave with her scrawny, pale finger.
“Yeah. Uh-huh. Oooh. Nice,” she continued chatting on her phone while I experienced the world’s quietest panic attack. “I’m thinkin’ we go with the chicken fingers.” She shook her head a few times. “No, silly. Real ones. I just love crunchy food.” Pause. “How the hell should I know what to do with the chickens? Make them some special shoes.” Pause. “Yup. Yup. Clothing is optional. Except for the clowns. They get too carried away with the ball jokes. Seriously. It’s disturbing. Even for me.” Another pause. “We can talk about it later, Fate. I gotta take care of this girl before she throws a hissy.” Pause. “Yes. It’s that girl. This is gonna be drama-licious!”
She ended her call and sighed happily in my general direction. “Gods, I rock. I should be a ride at Six Flags. They should name a country after m
e—wait! No. The planet. They should name the entire planet after magnifique moi!” She suddenly snapped back her head, and locked her eyes on the ceiling. “Oh yeah? You just try it!”
I couldn’t move my head, but from the corner of my eye I noticed a little black dot.
A fly? She’s talking to the fly?
She then pointed right at the little bugger. “That’s right! I’ll take you down. I’ll cut you, bitch!”
The fly buzzed away.
The woman shrugged and then leaned into the table. A wide, evil grin stretched across her elfin face. “Okillee dokillee, Penelope. Let’s not play games—for the next five minutes, anyway—Pin the Tail on the Donkey is my favorite, though. Just in case you were wondering.” She snorted. “I like it when they squeal.”
Her paralyzing grip didn’t allow a response, but I was all ears; this woman scared the crappity-crap out of me.
“I know everything about you,” she continued. “You’re Penelope Trudeau. You were raised right here in good ol’ N-Y-C. You’re mother has been fighting a mysterious illness for the past year, which is why you’ve put off going to grad school even though you’ve been accepted to several excellent programs.”
Who the hell was this woman? She recited every fact about my life, including how I was a size eight—or size ten after the major holidays and sporting events—had a black belt in karate, was afraid of spiders, and had no intention of celebrating my twenty-fifth birthday tomorrow. Birthdays freaked me out.
“My brother and I mean business, Penelope. This isn’t a joke. Though…”—she snorted twice—“did you ever hear the one about the porcupine who married the sheep?”
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