All he was going to do was sleep near her. It was no different to sleeping on the couch. He would stay on his side of the barricade and she would remain on hers, and they would both get some rest. If the gate called him, he would feel it and awaken.
He shook his hands in an attempt to get rid of his nerves and rounded the double bed to the side nearest the windows. He sat on the bed, pulled the wine covers up to his waist and rolled straight onto his side to face her as he lay down so his back didn’t touch the bed. Her soft breathing filled the silence.
He had been a fool to think he could resist her.
He swallowed again to ease his dry throat, reached over the barrier and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. They shook harder and he smiled at how stupid he was, being overwhelmed by something so simple. She would laugh at him if she knew just how deeply she affected him.
He traced the curve of her jaw and hesitated with his thumb close to her mouth. His trembling increased as he stared at her lips, battling his fierce need to know how they felt. He drew in another stuttering breath and swept the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. His breathing hitched, loud in the quiet room, and he shook right down to his heart.
She was soft and warm, and everything incredible beneath his caress. No woman in his past came close to her. She towered above them all, perfection incarnate, a goddess.
His cock ached and throbbed, rock hard in his trunks.
He had never felt anything as glorious and tempting as Megan.
He reluctantly drew his hand away so she could sleep undisturbed but kept his eyes locked on her. She was beautiful.
Ares settled down on his side of the bed, tucking his arm under his head.
He smiled at that.
It was a strange feeling. He had never had a designated side of a bed before.
It felt good.
Dangerously good.
CHAPTER 10
Megan woke slowly, every inch of her warmed to just the right temperature, the one that always made her want to stay in bed all day. She snuggled into the covers and froze when her pillow moved.
She carefully cracked one eye open and then the other.
A broad swath of bronzed skin stretched taut over defined muscles, evening sunlight playing across it.
Oh, he hadn’t. She eased herself up and realised with horror that he really hadn’t invaded her side of the bed.
She had invaded his.
Unwilling to be caught and have him tease her about the fact that she had been the one to break the rules she had set down, she slowly inched away from him. He foiled her escape by rolling onto his side, tossing his arm around her waist and pulling her towards him until her back was flush against his chest.
Her body got the wrong idea as he curled up behind her, holding her close to him so the entire length of his hard body pressed against hers.
His hand settled against her stomach and he tried to pull her closer, his breath warm as he murmured into her ear, “You’re more than welcome to share my heat.”
“I’m sorry.” She couldn’t manage to get her voice above a breathless whisper.
She placed her hand over his, curled her fingers around, and tried to pull it away from her bare stomach. When the heck had he burrowed it under her camisole? He resisted her, his arm tightening and fingers digging in. She cursed his strength and gave up.
He made a low contented noise in his throat.
“Stay a while,” he mumbled sleepily into her ear. “I just need to feel this a while.”
What Daimon and Marek had told her came back to her, instantly clearing the haze of sleep from her mind.
Ares wasn’t going to let her go.
She could see that now.
The question was, did she want him to?
She shoved that question away, unwilling to consider the answer to it right now. She didn’t know anything about him other than he kept protecting her and the small titbits of information Marek had given her. Just because being around him felt incredibly good, it didn’t mean that it was right or that things weren’t going to turn out just as she feared they would, with him wanting her purely because she was a female within reach.
She tried to prise his hand off her stomach again, unable to think clearly while he was touching her, but he tightened his hold and she didn’t have the energy to fight him. It quickly dissipated, leaving her feeling weak and in need of another day of sleep.
She felt better than she had on waking yesterday, but things had taken a frightening turn when healing the wounds he’d had from paying penitence. She had never experienced such a drain before. It had felt as though she had put her own life in danger by healing his body. She had healed some major injuries before, far worse than what had littered his back, and it hadn’t drained her so badly.
Was it because he was like her? It felt as though it was more than that.
He was more than that.
He wasn’t just gifted like she was. He was something else.
What, she didn’t know.
And she couldn’t deny that it felt good, ridiculously good, to be held in his strong arms, and that she had felt a little pleased by his refusal to release her.
What was she getting herself into?
Neon signs flashed warnings of heartbreak ahead but she failed to heed them. Whenever she convinced herself to keep her distance and save herself, to end everything before it had a chance to begin, he would do something that would tear her defences back down again and leave her aching to be close to him.
She closed her eyes and swore she would just steal this moment. She needed something to keep her going through the next few years alone. It felt so good to be held again, to be with someone who made her feel normal, who made her feel that she could be herself without having to be careful or fear they would think she was a freak.
It was such a relief.
Was the desire she felt for Ares, her need to remain around him, in part a response to that or was she truly attracted to him, not just attracted to the thought that she could be herself without fear?
Was she using him?
That would take the cake. She had worried for hours that he was out to use her and she might be doing the same to him. She groaned.
“You feeling okay?” he said, his voice still gravelly with sleep.
No, she wasn’t. “Peachy.”
He huffed against the back of her head. “You said that last night and you looked close to passing out at the time. You don’t have to lie to me.”
She knew that. She wriggled closer to him and her eyes shot wide. That was definitely a hard-on he had just pressed against her bottom. Sure, she had been alone a long time and she was wearing jeans, but the feel of it was unmistakable, and arousing.
She shimmied forwards and turned on him with a frown.
He lifted his shoulders, the motion nonchalant. “What? Even gods get morning wood sometimes, and waking up to next to a beautiful woman makes it a dead cert.”
Her eyes widened further.
She spluttered, “You’re a god? And it’s evening!”
He smiled, his dark eyes lighting up with amusement, rolled onto his back and stretched, the action pulling the sheet down to give her a glorious view of his torso and the tempting ridge of muscle that hugged his hip.
“I’ve been nocturnal for a very long time.” His smile widened into a grin.
The sheet fell lower, revealing his black underwear. She shot up and stared towards the kitchen, her cheeks scalding hot.
“I need some water.” It sounded like a reasonable excuse to leap from the bed and his arms, and she was parched.
He yawned, rolled out of bed and padded around the foot of it. She tried not to stare as he scooped his jeans up off the floor and pulled them on, tugging them over his firm backside and buttoning them.
“I’ll head out and pick us up some breakfast if you tell me what you like,” he said and she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. It was nice of him to care. He caught it and s
hrugged. “I was just guessing that left over pizza wasn’t your style.”
Megan pushed the covers aside and stood. “You’d be surprised then. I would happily eat day-old pizza for breakfast... but a pastry and some coffee would be nice, thank you.”
His cheeks darkened and she marvelled at the reaction.
Yesterday she had aroused him with just a sweep of her tongue over her lips, and now he was blushing because she had thanked him.
If Marek hadn’t told her that Ares had been alone for a long time, unable to touch anyone without hurting them, she might not have understood why he had such intense reactions. She understood completely though. He had been starved of physical contact, trapped within his own body. She stared into his dark eyes, trying to figure out how it had made him feel, wanting to know.
The shine left them and they narrowed as he turned away, grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it on.
He disappeared.
She sighed and straightened the covers out on the bed. Where had he gone? To get her breakfast? Had he seen in her eyes the questions she wanted to ask him?
She hoped he would come back soon. If he did, she would hold her tongue and wouldn’t probe into the pain he held in his heart. Or at least she would try to hold it.
She wandered through his apartment, snagging her black jumper on the way past the couch and pulling it on over her head. She eyed the pizza on the table as she smoothed her jumper down over her jeans, and then kept going, rounding the armchair and heading towards his motorcycle.
It was beautiful, a classic.
She had seen one like it before and Ares had kept his in perfect condition.
She traced her fingers over the flames on the black fuel tank of the Harley Wide Glide, the sight of it transporting her back to her childhood and better times. There were faint scorch marks in places on the tank and the black leather seat. She smiled at them. Clearly, his bike wasn’t flame retardant.
She ran her hands up, settled them around the grips and bit her lip. It was beyond tempting. She glanced around her to make sure he hadn’t silently appeared in the apartment and then back at the bike. If she sat on it and he caught her, would he be mad? It wasn’t as though she was going to start it up or even move it. She just wanted to sit on it.
He reappeared with a brown bag.
She gasped and jerked away from his motorcycle.
His right eyebrow rose and he offered the paper bag to her, nodding towards his ride at the same time. “You like it?”
She took the bag from him and removed the cup of coffee. There were a lot of pastries. She looked at him. “I really hope you don’t think I eat this much?”
He smiled, shook his head, and swiped the bag from her hand. He dug into it, pulled out a croissant, and crammed it into his mouth. He seemed in a much better mood now than when he had left, and she liked it and the way he had been looking at her today. She didn’t want to ruin it.
“Your ride is beautiful,” she said and sipped her coffee, a sudden thought hitting her. Had he called her beautiful earlier? She stifled the blush that wanted to rise onto her cheeks and focused on the bike. “My father had one just like it.”
“I’m sorry.” His gruff tone made her look over her shoulder at him.
“Why?” She took another sip. “They died a long time ago, and I was very young. My grandparents took me in and raised me.”
He offered her a croissant and she took it. “No brothers and sisters?”
She shook her head. “I sort of envy you for that. I always wanted a brother.”
“They’re not that fantastic.” He smiled again and waved half a pastry around. “You can have them, if you want.”
She smiled. “No, thank you. Keep them. They seem like a handful.”
He shrugged and walked around her, leaned his bottom against the seat of his motorcycle and stroked the fuel tank, a softness to his dark eyes that told her how much it meant to him.
“I always wanted a motorcycle. I wanted to be like my dad.” She set her coffee down on the bookcase behind her and walked her fingers over the bike’s handlebars. “My grandma didn’t like the idea. She always said I was a wild spirit anyway, like my father, and that she didn’t want me getting into trouble. It didn’t stop me from getting into scrapes. I used to hike in the mountains on weekends and get lost. My grandpa had to come searching for me so many times he lost count. One time a bear came at me and I had to shoot it with my rifle.”
“You handled my gun pretty well.” He ate the rest of his pastry and dusted the crumbs off his hands.
Megan shrugged and fixed her gaze on his right hand where it rested on the fuel tank. Strong. Large. Beautiful. Hands made for holding, possessively. Protectively. She heated at just the memory of being in his arms, of feeling those powerful hands on her shoulders, against her back, holding her tucked close to him as he protected her from his brothers.
His enemy.
The world.
“I’ve never shot a handgun before,” she murmured, lost in her memories, in the delicious replay of just how good his hands had felt on her. “I used to go shooting all the time with my grandpa though, back when I was in Canada.”
Thoughts about everything she had left behind all those years ago overshadowed her more recent memories and her chest ached in response. She patted the fuel tank and met his gaze, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes. If she didn’t say something to distract him, he was going to keep pressing about her life, and she couldn’t bear thinking about it right now.
“How long have you had it?” She stroked the tank and her fingers brushed his.
A bolt of electricity raced up her arm and she tensed. His fingers flexed against the fuel tank. Had he felt that?
“I’ve had it since the first model rolled off the line.” He drummed his fingers on the tank as casual as anything but his eyes betrayed him, revealing that brief touch had affected him too. “She’s a beauty. It was love at first sight and I knew I had to have her. My brothers called me crazy, meddling with mortal vehicles.”
He laughed and the warmth of it sent another pleasant shiver through her.
“It’s a 1980 model, isn’t it?” she said and he nodded. “I didn’t think you would have been more than a few years old back then... it wasn’t your father’s?”
He chuckled again. “No... Father doesn’t approve of them... but I am flattered you think I’m a kid.”
A kid? How old was he?
“You ever ride it?” She stared at him while he ran a loving gaze over his Harley. He couldn’t be a day over thirty-eight. Could he?
“Sometimes. I haven’t taken her out in a long time. My power has been slowly taking more control... I guess that isn’t a problem now.” He smiled at her but she saw straight through it to the conflict it masked.
He had said he wanted his power back. Didn’t he want it back anymore?
If he got it back, he would lose his ability to touch again and would go back to living life afraid of hurting others. If she had been starved of physical contact, forced to keep away from others for fear of burning them because of her power and she had lost it, she probably would have been torn too, tempted to let it go in exchange for being able to touch others.
“Would you let me ride it?”
He stared at her and she had the feeling he was trying to imagine her on his bike. She could handle it. He kept staring and her hope slowly deflated. He was going to say no.
He nodded.
“Eat your breakfast.” He pushed away from the motorcycle and kicked his boots off, leaving them in the middle of the room.
“It’s getting dark out. It’s more like dinner.” Her gaze followed him and he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it off.
He let it fall over the back of the armchair, slumped into it, and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table.
She grabbed her drink and turned to take the long route to the couch, but her gaze caught on his left arm and the tattoo that curved over his deltoid and
part of his biceps. She set her drink and the bag down on the coffee table, but didn’t take her eyes away from the elaborate array of swirls and spikes a shade or two darker than his skin.
She reached out without thinking and ran her fingertips over it, tracing the almost shield-like design.
Ares shivered beneath her touch and she smiled inside, loving how fiercely he reacted whenever she made contact with him. The ink was raised, pronounced on his skin. Incredible.
He looked down at it and her hand. “It’s where Ares touched me when I was a baby.”
“You’re not the real god of war then?” She waited for him to laugh and say the god thing had just been a joke and he wasn’t serious this time either, but he just shook his head. She swallowed. “Is he your father?”
The building shook and she gasped.
“Earthquake.” She grabbed the back of the armchair with her right hand and his shoulder with her left.
He shook his head again. “My father hates it when someone asks me that. Ares likes my mother.”
His father had done that? What sort of man had the power to shake the world with his anger? It had been incredible enough when she had thought Ares was like her, just a man with gifts, but now she was beginning to believe that he wasn’t lying.
He was a god.
“Your mother?” And who the heck was she? Things were taking a severe turn towards the weird since she had woken up in the arms of a god this evening and all she could do was let it sweep her along until she reached the end of the rapids and calm water again.
Or a waterfall.
“Persephone. Father would kill Ares for stepping within five hundred metres of her.”
She blinked. “My knowledge of Greek gods is a little rusty... I need to get something straight. You’re saying your father is Hades... as in the god of Hell... the one who forced Perseph—”
“Mother loves my father.” His expression blackened and he shirked her touch, fixing her with a dark glare.
Another raw nerve. Megan decided to leave that one alone in case he ended up feeling a desire to hurl her across the room again.
“My mistake. You’re not the real Ares. Because that would be ridiculous. You’re the son of Hades and Persephone.”
Ares Page 14