Accidentally...Over?: Accidentally Yours 5

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Table of Contents

An Excerpt from
Vampires Need Not… Apply?

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Copyright Page

In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

To my family. Thank you.

Humble Groveling Goes Out To

Thank you again to Beta Team Accidental (Kim, Vicki, Karen, Ashlee, and Nana). Your LOLs, Whats?, and Huhs? always make these books far more coherent for the general public.

Mimi Jean Street Team: many grovels for so many fun discussions and contributions to the man-parts vocabulary! You’re like my coffee break of laughter every day!

As always, thank you to my editor, Latoya Smith, and the entire team at Hachette! Many grovels for your hard work!

Elise H.: thank you for bringing the word
hangry
to my vocabulary. It just so perfectly describes how I feel at 11:00 a.m.

Cassie: I can always count on you for naughty brainstorming!
Privie
goes on the list of world’s best new words.

Ebook Piracy Note from the Author

Ebook piracy is NOT a victimless crime.
Just ask us working moms! Please buy our books; don’t steal them or share illegally. This author does not authorize ANY “free download” sites or share sites to distribute her books.

Warning

This book contains excessive use of the f-word by an overly cocky deity, corny references to sitcoms, a unicorn, the answer to life’s questions, some very steamy jungle sex, inappropriate use of caramel topping, and poorly phrased Latin curses. In other words, Cimil approves.

Final Accidental Note from Cimil, Goddess of the Underworld

Well, my little people-pets, I must say that this journey has been a fun one. However, all things must come to an end, even for us fabulous deities. And though I know not (yes, I do; that’s a lie!) where this last leg of our voyage will take us, I have a few guesses. Would you like to hear them? But of course you would! Because I’m awesome, and you love hearing anything I have to say.

A. Minky, my unicorn, finds the light of Eärendil, learns to mass-produce it, and saves the planet with green energy. (And she marries Legolas. Their children have pointy ears and a uni-fang.)

B. Clowns all around the world rise up from centuries of oppression by my hand and take the gods out with their horrifying, unnatural smiles.

C. I save the day by winning a mean game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, thereby restoring the Universe’s faith in the power of the gods.

D. My stupid jokes finally catch up with me, and I am sent to live on another planet occupied by outrageously tiny, furry men with minuscule ding dongs.

Well, there you have it, my fun little humans. I hope you enjoy. And just remember, YOLO!

Mine Forever,
Cimil (Just… Cimil)

Prologue

Death is trying to seduce me.

I always suspected he would come for me after I survived the accident, and now there’s no doubt. And death isn’t some ominous creature that carries a bloody scythe, his face obscured by a black cloak, his spindly fingers protruding from the cuff of his dripping sleeve as he enters your dinner party, points to your plates, and declares in a gravelly voice, “You’re all dead. It was the canned salmon.” Oh no. This is no snarky Brit skit, and he’s no monster.

Death is a sex god.

He’s tall, built from indestructible solid bricks of muscle. His cheekbones are chiseled works of art, and his full, sensual lips are meant for doing anything but killing. Like I said, sex god.

How do I know this? He’s been watching me, whispering in my ear while I sleep, quietly hiding in the shadows while I eat, while I work, while I shower.

So for once, I’m turning the tables.

I follow the sound of his footsteps through my beach cottage, out my back porch, and then pick up his large footprints in the sand. I crouch behind the tall, dry grass blanketing the massive sand dune. The crashing waves mask the sound of my thumping heart and heavy, frantic breaths. I’m sweating like mad as the tropical morning sun beats down on my back, and I spot my stalker splashing in the waves.

He stands, and I can barely breathe when I look at him.

Though he’s nearly transparent, the outline of his naked body glistens with drops of ocean water reflected by the sun. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. Shoulders that span the width of two normal-sized men, powerful arms and legs that make me wonder if he’s not actually carved from rock or molded from steel, and incredibly sculpted… jeez, everything. There’s not an inch on this beast—not a neck, an ab, not a pec or a thigh—that isn’t constructed from potent, lethal-looking muscle. Well, except his hair. Though I can’t see the color, it’s beautifully thick and falls to his shoulders. I imagine it’s a warm shade of brown, streaked with reds and golds. Because he’s utterly beautiful and that’s the kind of hair a beautiful man would have. Yes, he’s a god, not the bringer of death. And I can’t help but wonder why he’s made that way. Is it so that when he comes for me, there’ll be some sort of consolation—getting to see his face? I don’t know, but I’m not ready to see it yet. I want to live. I want to grow old. I want to fall in love. Just once before my time is up.

Yet somehow, I want him, too. Why? That’s gotta mean I’m
loca
, right?

My eyes study every poetic detail of this “man,” hoping to find answers. But there’s nothing. Nothing that will help save me from him.

Suddenly, I see his chin lift and his head turns in my direction.

Can he see me?
Oh my God. He’s coming right for me.

I bolt from my hiding place and make a run for it. I know if I make it to my house I’ll manage to lock the doors, but that won’t stop him. There is nowhere to hide from death, but I run anyway.

I make it to my back porch and reach for the door, but I slip on something.
Shit. Really? A banana peel?

My body crashes to the hard cement. My head cracks on the sharp edge of the porch’s step, and I can’t move. All I feel is my beating heart and heaving lungs, burning with fear.

“Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?” His deep, melodic voice washes over me, and I love how it soothes my soul.

I look up and try to focus my eyes, but he’s difficult to make out. His dripping hair catches only a few rays of morning sunlight.

“You’re so beautiful,” I croak. “But I changed my mind; I don’t want to die. Please don’t take me away.”

I feel his warm hand brush against my cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”

Why does he say that? Why is he lying to me? It doesn’t matter now, because I’m already dying. The darkness begins to swallow me.

“Shit!” I roll from my bed and fall to the floor with a thump.

Sonofabitch! Why do I keep having these dreams?

One

Camp Uchben. Sedona, Arizona. Near the Estate of Kinich Ahau, ex–God of the Sun. February 1

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo. Catch an invisible deity by the toe. If he hollers, don’t let go. Just give him Ashli and watch him—oh, dammit, what rhymes with go? Ho? Crow? Potatoooo?

“Cimiiil? Are you listening? Cimil!” Roberto the Ancient One rapped his pale knuckles on the thick glass of the holding cell. “Have you not heard a word I said, woman?”

From her cot, Cimil looked at the very large, very angry vampire standing outside her cell and wiggled her fingers. “Howdy, Bob!”

Dark, lethal eyes gazed back with frustration. Or was it lust? Maybe both?
Yes! It’s lustfration! My fave!

“I sincerely hope,” he said, “that you were not in the
midst of devising yet another escape from your cell. It would foil everything.”

Escape? Not even a magical flea—Minky, her unicorn, hated those—could escape this three-story underground prison built to contain the most powerful of creatures alive: the gods themselves. Now, as for the foiling?
Well…

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Because I am your mate,” he said. “And you are the Goddess of the Underworld; you cannot help your evil ways.”

“Good point.” She sat up and sighed happily, tugging at the hem of her fuzzy pink tank dress. “So wassup?”

“I am here to tell you the first task is complete. And now we will have sex. Hard. Hot. Savage immortal sex.”

“Sex? What? And why are you speaking? You vowed not to speak until this was over. It’s not over.” Cimil feigned a sudden interest in her jail cell, twisting a long lock of hair around her finger. She knew how that drove him crazy. Her long red hair was his fave. Or was it her ass? Or perhaps both?