And he wanted me. Wow.
I slowly padded over to the bed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but what happened last night?”
He cocked one brow, “You don’t remember?”
I shook my head and gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure it was…great. The best toe curling sex ever—but…no, I don’t remember a thing.”
His smile melted away. “Bloody Christ! Neither do I.”
***
From the living room, I heard Nick scream the f-word in fifty different languages and then, “I’m going to fucking kill her!”
That got my attention. I hoped he didn’t mean me.
Nick appeared nude in the doorway holding the bottle of champagne upside down.
Now I desperately wanted to hear what he had to say, because, let’s face it, this was a serious situation. Nonetheless, I found myself dumbstruck by his perfectly chiseled abs that rippled for miles. My eyes traveled over his belly button and lower stomach, not a strand of hair to be found until they reached nirvana: a patch of dark brown hair just above his…
That can’t be real. Can it?
It was long and thick, and larger than any penis I’d ever seen or imagined.
Nick cleared his throat.
My gaze darted back to his face.
“Sorry, I was just…just…”
…ogling your giant man-sicle.
Change subjects! The bottle. Look at the bottle. Why is he holding it up?
“I’ve had a lot more than that before, but didn’t black out,” I offered.
“That’s because our champagne had something extra in it.”
He rubbed his finger over the opening of the bottle and then sniffed the drop of liquid. His sour expression drove the point home.
“Someone roofied the champagne?”
He ranted as he stalked over to the dresser and pulled out some clothes. “Typical, fucking Cimil. I should have known better than to trust her. That manipulative, conniving, heartless, fucked up…”
As he delivered every expletive known to man, my brain did the mental math. This situation was beyond bizarre. I mean, why would his very own sister drug us? And if he thought she was so insane and untrustworthy, why would he ask her to help him find a mother for his child?
Unless…Unless…Holy. Frigging. Hell. Unless she really is crazy.
“Nick, why did you ask Cimil to help you?”
If gorgeous looks could kill, I’d be a pile of dust. “Help me?” he scathed. “You think I asked her to drug you?”
“No. I mean…with that other thing.”
“What…other…thing?” his tone signaled that he teetered on the edge of massive rage.
Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad.
I plunked down on the edge of the bed and threw my hands over my face. “I knew it didn’t make any sense. Why didn’t I listen to myself?” I whispered.
“What the devil are you talking about, woman? What did my sister do?”
“Idiot! You’re an idiot, Penelope.” I shook my head from side to side, berating myself aloud. “How could I have been so stupid? Attractive, intelligent, wealthy—not that I care—but he could have any woman he wants—probably most men, too.”
Nick crouched down in front of me and tipped up my chin to meet his glare. “I repeat. What in the devil’s name are you talking about, woman?”
A lump of dread stuck in my throat. “Your sister? The baby?”
“Bloody hell.” His hand snapped back as if I had cooties. “Baby?”
I had the distinct feeling my entire body was about to shatter into a million pieces. “The one she said you wanted to have with…me?” I gulped.
His eyes moved to the black stone pendant around my neck. “Son of a bitch! I’ll bloody kill her!”
“Wait!” I screamed. “Where are you going?”
“To wring Cimil’s neck!”
Holy shit. Had this dream just turned into my worst nightmare? “Are you telling me you didn’t know anything about this? Or the one million dollars?”
Shirtless, he swiveled to face me. An intense heat exuded from his direction. Was it my imagination?
“One. Million. Dollars?” he growled.
“Yes! How can you not know about this? I get five hundred thousand for showing up. The other if we actually have a baby.” I slapped my hands over my mouth. “Oh God. That came out all wrong.”
“She paid you to sleep with me?” His roar rattled the windows.
I adjusted the towel, making it tighter around my body. “First of all, you and I aren’t sure we actually did the deed, but it wasn’t like that.” I reached for him, but he pushed my hand away. “Hey!”
He took two steps toward me and leaned down, putting us nose to nose. “Then, like what?” he snarled.
Was this really happening? And where did he get off snarling at me? At me!
“I agreed to hear you out, but not sleep with you. Christ!” I snarled back.
“You set me up! Admit it!”
“Oh my God! You actually think I had something to do with this? How can you say that? She came to me! She told me she was helping you. There was never any talk about sex. Ever!”
“Then why the hell did you come up here?”
“I told you…To listen to you. That was all! I agreed to keep an open mind.”
“No! You came here to obtain my seed,” his voice reverberated in my ears.
Oh my God! What a barbaric jerk! And what kind of man calls his semen his “seed.” What a frigging ego! I stood in front of him, refusing to let his size intimidate me. “I came up here because…I thought you would be more comfortable talking somewhere private.”
His unblinking stare called my bluff.
“Okay! I admit I wanted you! Are you saying you didn’t want me back? ’Cause it sure the hell felt like it!”
“I—I…” he blinked. “I would have used precautions.”
At least he threw me that bone.
“Well, we don’t even know if we…you know,” I mumbled.
He narrowed his eyes again.
“Okay,” I admitted, “odds are slim we didn’t go to Lambada Land considering how we woke up, but we really don’t know—”
“Drop the act,” he scolded, and then reached for a neatly folded navy blue sweater in his dresser drawer.
I held the white towel to my chest, wishing to God I had on a suit of armor to protect me from this painful conversation. Or had at least used a condom last night—if we’d even done it. Not that I was afraid of getting any diseases; that Welcome Handbook Cimil had absurdly given me yesterday morning included her brother’s latest blood work and physical results. It was almost as odd as the list of Dos and Don’ts:
DO NOT ever open the door for anyone who refuses to identify himself or herself.—Hello. I’m from New York City. How naïve do you think I am?
If you smell the stench of rotting animals, DON’T walk the other way…RUN!—Okay, that is just weird.
DO tell Cimil how fabulous she looks when you see her.
DON’T hide behind garbage dumpsters…
The bizarre and useless list went on and on. But at the very least, the stupid handbook gave me the assurance that Nick was disease free. Now, if only it had told me…
What the HELL is going on!?
He pulled the sweater over his head. “You’re obviously a part of Cimil’s absurd scheme,” he grumbled. “And she paid you, no less.”
My blood officially boiled then. He’d insulted me in every way possible, short of calling me a whore.
No, actually, I think he just did!
I felt my face turn a shameful shade of red. That made me even more livid. I wanted to throw something at him. Something big, heavy, maybe even sharp. Oh yeah.
I threw the only thing I had: the towel. “You and your crazy sister can go to hell!”
Nick’s body froze, and his eyes locked on my breasts. Before I could regret my decision to throw—yes, of all things—a soft,
fluffy towel to demonstrate my anger, he had crossed the room and pulled me into his body. He dipped his head but held his lips one centimeter away from mine. I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid or extremely turned on.
He huffed in frustration, released me, and grumbled at the pendant.
The last thing I heard was Kinich slamming the front door behind him.
I tore the necklace off and threw it. “Take it! I don’t want your stupid necklace!”
CHAPTER 8
Two Weeks Later
What a difference a few weeks and a substantial amount of money can have on someone’s life. Mine, for example, had changed in ways I thought only possible in dreams. My mother had left the previous day for Sweden to begin her treatment. I’d quit my horrible backbreaking job, and taken a position as a karate instructor at our neighborhood martial arts academy. I’d missed the deadline for the spring semester at NYU weeks ago, but planned to apply for a third time and start in the fall.
For the first time in years, it seemed my life was looking up. Except that I couldn’t forget my night with Kinich, nor could I remember it—a thought that preoccupied me every second of each day. Even when I slept I dreamed about the man, especially his smell—like a tropical beach filled with fresh, clean ocean air, coconuts, and exotic plants. He smelled like sunshine.
Then there was his body. I couldn’t stop fantasizing about the hard lines of his golden skin or the sound of his voice as he groaned my name. I repeatedly saw images of his fierce eyes boring into me as he pushed himself deep inside my body.
But that was a dream, not a memory.
Wasn’t it?
For as many hours as I’d racked my brain, trying to remember any smidgen of detail from those missing hours, I came up woefully short. The only evidence of my conduct had been my slightly sore body, but not sore in places one would expect after having a wild night with a man as well-endowed as Nick—umm—Kinich. Still can’t decide. But could it be possible that we’d simply had a wild, kinky make-out session with heavy petting, and then passed out?
If only I could remember something. Anything. Because at this point, the only thing I knew for certain was that the darn man had embedded himself in my mind, and I hated him for it. But not only him, I hated his lunatic sister, too.
I’d actually stopped by Cimil’s several times to tell her so, only to be turned away by her grumpy maid—a short, sassy woman in her sixties—who insisted her boss was away indefinitely, and not hiding as I suspected.
In any case, now that my anger had subsided somewhat, I wasn’t sure what I’d say if I finally saw her. “I hate you for changing my life?” Because, as painful as the situation might be, I couldn’t ignore the fact that my mother meant everything to me. And now, she might live. That was a fact. That made everything else water under the bridge. Everything except…I was late. Twelve days late. Oh yes. My night with Nick had been at peak ovulation.
“What were you thinking?” I said aloud, spinning my ring, the one my mother gave me—damn thing wouldn’t come off—while I stared at the little white plastic stick sitting on the edge of the sink. The two minutes had passed, but I couldn’t bear to look.
Chicken! Go over there and pick it up.
But…but…
The phone rang, and I practically jumped from my skin. It was almost 9:00 p.m., just about the right time for my mom to be checking into her hotel.
I scrambled to my bedroom and answered. “How was the flight?”
“Penelope?” said the deep voice on the other end.
My heart dropped to the floor. That voice. Oh, demon wafers, that voice. I wanted to weave it into a blanket and wear it wrapped around my naked body.
“What do you want, Nick?” I responded.
Awkward silence. “To apologize.”
Too little, too late. “How very big of you.” My mind flooded with images of his face. I couldn’t help but start to feel pliable and needy.
Thankfully, my rational side kicked in, countering, He treated you like scum, Penelope. He called you a liar. He had zero sympathy for how his sister manipulated you.
“I have to go.”
“Penelope. Wait.”
I didn’t respond.
“Are you…?” he said.
I knew what he was asking. I had the same question, and the answer was in the other room displayed in that little clear-view window with a plus or minus sign. And if it showed a plus, then what? I certainly didn’t know how I felt about the situation, but I knew two things: He had no interest in having a baby, and I was a full-grown educated woman who was ready to accept the consequences of her actions.
It was true that Cimil had treated us to a lovely bottle of Dom Roofie, but I couldn’t overlook my contribution to the situation. I’d decided to go to his hotel room. Me. No one else.
“Penelope, my treatment of you was less than honorable, but you should know that I returned to the room almost immediately to tell you so. You were already gone.”
Sure. Right. And I thought I was a bad liar.
“And then you waited two weeks to call,” I chided.
Silence.
“Look,” I finally said, “you don’t need—”
“Cimil has been unreachable, and I did not know your last name or where to find you so I had to hire someone. I was given your number ten minutes ago. Apparently, Penelope is a very popular name.”
He’d gone looking for me? I felt my anger tick down by about ten notches. “Oh.” Now I didn’t know what to think or exactly how to feel.
Um…that’s called confused, genius.
Yes. Confused. He’d come looking for me, wanting to apologize, and I had to admit it made me feel…good. A little too good. But that didn’t change my situation or the fact that I wanted nothing to do with him and his psycho family.
“To answer your question, there’s nothing to worry about, if you know what I mean,” I lied. Or maybe I wasn’t lying. Wouldn’t really know until I faced that little white stick.
“Are you still wearing the necklace?”
So that’s why he’s calling? To find out about his stupid necklace?
My anger dialed right back up again.
Well, if he hadn’t found it lying in the middle of the floor where it landed after I hurled it at him, perhaps it had grown legs or walked away with the hotel maid. Serves him right!
“No. I left it at your hotel.”
“I see,” he said, sounding mildly disappointed, followed by a long pause. “May I see you?”
Wait. He still wanted to see me? So this wasn’t about the necklace? I felt so…
Confused?
“Why? Why do you want to see me? I’m just some seed thief.” Dammit. I hadn’t meant to sound that bitter, but I did. Oops.
“I bought you flowers,” he grumbled.
“Flowers? Why?” This is when I’m supposed to say that flowers wouldn’t buy him a ticket to forgiveness. But my ego said otherwise.
“I am told this is how men apologize.”
“What kind of flowers?”
Idiot. I can’t believe you asked him that.
Okay. But this was important. Red roses were a world apart from begonias.
“Monkshoods,” he replied.
What the heck was a monkshood?
Wait. Penelope, are you seriously worried about what type of flowers he bought you? Let’s do a little fact check. Crazy sister. He treated you like garbage. Men like him don’t date women like you.
This, my dear, is a booty call.
Gasp!
“I’m going to have to say no,” I replied.
“The word ‘no’ only counts if it comes from me.”
There was a loud knock at the front door.
Smug jerk! He’s already here!
We lived in a secure apartment building, so I assumed he’d snuck in while someone was leaving.
“How dare you! You can’t just come here uninvited!” I threw down the phone on the bed and marched to the front door.
I yanked it so hard it flew open and practically walloped me in the shoulder. By the time my brain registered that it wasn’t Nick, it was too late.
So I screamed instead.
***
Kinich’s shock from Penelope’s refusal to see him was still reeling in his head—What? She doesn’t want to see me? Me? I am a god, for Christ’s sake!—when he heard Penelope’s gut-wrenching scream erupt in the background.
“Penelope!” he roared into his cell and immediately ran for the door of his hotel room. It was the one and only time in his entire existence that he would have exchanged all his powers to be a vampire who could sift. She was a good twenty minutes away by car, ten without traffic.
Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he scrambled barefoot to the elevator and jabbed at the call button.
Fuck! He couldn’t simply stand there waiting for a goddamned elevator.
He slammed his fist into the wall, leaving wires hanging from the gaping hole. “Fucking hell.” He bolted for the stairwell, descending ten steps at a time. When he finally reached the lobby, he was unnervingly close to losing control and unleashing his power. Not good. That would have left the few thousand people within a four-block radius looking as though they’d been sizzled in a microwave.
Kinich roared instead. Penelope was being murdered—by whom or what, he did not know—but there was nothing he could do to save her.
Dammit! He was a fucking god! He channeled the power of the sun. He could compel any human with his voice! But he wasn’t powerful enough to save one goddamned mortal? A mortal he’d now become reluctantly fascinated with—a fucking first for him at a really bad fucking time.
When the Yellow Cab pulled to the curb, he focused his energy on four simple thoughts: The traffic would clear—all of it—the driver would obey him, he would save Penelope, and come hell or high water, he would never, ever be stuck in this fucking situation again.
“Drive or I’ll castrate you!”
***
Kinich burst into Penelope’s apartment through the front door, which was left ajar. A broken potted plant lay in the center of the living room floor next to her Italian mosaic tiled coffee table. All of the lights were on, and a purse had been left sitting on the armchair in the corner of the room.
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