For The Love Of A God (11 page)

"Hmm.” Dino looked impressed. “Has he called?"

"No.” Sure, it was only lunchtime, but she'd thought Eric might have called her extension or popped by her desk to say ... something. After all, he'd stayed with her all night long. Like a guardian angel. And that had felt really good too.

Safe. Right. Perfect.

Maybe it was too much, too soon. Maybe she'd scared him away with her crazy talk. God only knew what she said in her sleep.

"I tell you, Dino,” she said as they approached the museum steps, “he's ... done something to me. I can't explain it. I feel I've known him forever. It's lunacy."

"Who cares? As long as the sex is good."

She thought of how he'd nibbled her nipple and almost lost her footing on the steps. “I swear I'd give my right arm to hear him whisper those dirty words in my ear again."

She felt rather than saw Dino stiffen as they took the next step. “Well, baby, this might be your lucky day."

Maia looked up. Eric was at the top of the steps, frowning down at them, hands on hips.

He looked mad. His eyes were trained on the spot where her arm linked with Dino's. Surely he knew Dino was as gay as the day was long, and not the least interested in sampling her wares.

She saw Eric's lips move. For a split second, she swore she heard him utter the word, “Mine."

What the...?

As absurd as the notion was, Dino seemed to notice because he slid his arm away from Maia's. “Hello, Mr. Lord,” he said, patting Eric's lapel as he passed. “Nice Mr. Lord. Good-bye, Mr. Lord.” With a frantic glance back at her, Dino disappeared into the museum.

Determined not to fall apart, Maia climbed the steps after him, conscious of Eric's heated gaze. “Hey,” she said, trying to be casual.

"Hey, yourself."

She reached for the door the same time he reached for her arm. She inhaled as the fiery bolts of lightning shot through her again.

Okay, so the sizzle thing hadn't been a fluke.

"Where've you been? I was looking for you."

"I've been around,” she said, suddenly peeved. “I just went out for my break."

"Oh.” He turned her around so he could scowl at her some more. “Is everything okay today? No strangers lurking around?"

"No,” she replied, mortified. He did think she was insane.

But the relief passing over his face was still almost tangible. “Good.” He looked down at her ice cream. Even though his face remained serious, his eyes smiled. A little. “What a huge sundae."

Now he thought she was a cow. An insane cow.

"Listen,” he said to the batty bovine. “Are you going to the gala fundraiser Friday night?"

She snorted. “Right. I don't really do gala fundraisers."

"Of course not.” He dropped his gaze to her
Hello Kitty
tunic. “Well, you'll do this one. With me. I'll pick you up at eight. Oh,” he said, wiping at her chin with his thumb, “try not to dribble anymore butterscotch on your chin."

Sweet Jesus. Her mortification was complete.

He released her face, inhaled and exhaled, and walked away. Even as he retreated, she could see the tension in his large frame, in the stiff curve of his shoulders and his clenched fists.

Seriously. What the...?

Maia's mind raced. He'd asked her out on a date. A real date, not just a quick, accidental grope. Well, he hadn't really asked her. He'd told her. In a very arrogant fashion. Like he owned her.

But she wasn't mad, as she probably should be. She was more excited than the day her father announced he would take her to the Acropolis for the first time.

Maybe this date would give her an opportunity to discover if the sparks she felt for the director were more than just fleeting pyrotechnics.

She walked into the museum, feeling suddenly lighter and heavier at the same time. And then it hit her.

Eric was the director of the whole effing museum. Director. The brass nameplate on his door said so. And she was his date.

And Friday was tomorrow.

She ran off in a panic, looking for Sheila and Dino, almost spilling the remainder of her melting sundae.

Great Poseidon's crotch! She had nothing to wear.

For the fifty-seventh time that evening, Maia fidgeted in her form-fitting, borrowed gown. As she waited for the clock to tick eight o'clock, she adjusted the flimsy fabric once again.

Thank heavens she and Sheila were basically the same size. Except in the boob department. Maia was the more blessed there—or cursed, in her opinion. As a result, she was practically spilling out of Sheila's bodice. When Dino had come over to do her makeup earlier, his eyes had popped out of his head.

"Sweetheart,” he'd purred. “Those gorgeous titties! If I didn't swing the other way, I'd have you up against the wall. Eric Lord will not be able to see straight after he claps eyes on you."

"Dino!"

"Say what you want, princess. You are a recipe for premature ejaculation, if I've ever seen one."

And despite the fact that she'd blushed at his vulgarity, she'd also felt really good.

But now he and Sheila were gone, off to ready themselves for the ball. And she was stuck waiting for Eric. Wondering if Dino hadn't been too heavy-handed with the blush, or if Sheila hadn't given her one too many spritzes of some concoction she insisted was a Calvin Klein perfume. Maia sniffed her bare arm. For someone who only wore baby powder, she worried she smelled very much like the inside of a cat house.

She wandered toward her full-length mirror and checked herself out quickly. God. A red, red dress. Hair spilling over her right eye in waves she could never hope to achieve again on her own. More eye makeup than even a New Jersey housewife should be caught dead wearing. All in all, she looked garish. A swarthy, low-rent version of Jessica Rabbit.

And yet, when Dino and Sheila had finished with their handiwork, there had been tears in their eyes. Of course. They'd known her for years and had never seen her wear anything other than comic book characters on her chest. Or dirt. Or crumbs of food.

There was a loud knock at the door. Maia's head shot up. Geez, even his knocks sounded impatient.

One last time, she looked quickly at herself in the mirror. Her look screamed, “Whore for hire!” but it would have to do. She grabbed her sequined bag and swung open the door.

Their eyes met. And they both just stared, wide-eyed.

Eric's cock shot up like one of Poseidon's dolphins, shooting toward the surface of the water. His mouth went dry. His palms were sweaty. He felt like a randy teenage boy. A mortal one, for fuck's sake!

She was breathtaking. Of course, even when she was dressed in her quirky wardrobe with no makeup she was beautiful. But this, this vision before him, was a different animal entirely.

She looked as if she'd been poured into her slinky red dress. He couldn't stop staring at the tops of her boobs. A generous portion of her chest was on display, creating some mighty delicious cleavage. It reminded him of their interrupted lovemaking session, of how perfect it felt to take her nipples into his mouth. And her tight dress looked as if it would only take a flick of his finger to send it plummeting down to her ankles. Those tasty nipples were a mere flick away.

As much as he felt insane with the need to yank her bodice down, it also seemed a shame to mar the picture before him. This was a new Maia Douglas. With her smoky dark eyes, styled hair, and those red lips, she looked like a goddess. And he'd seen a few goddesses in his time.

Only the goddesses he knew didn't generally blush so delightfully at their partners.

Maia couldn't speak, couldn't move. When she'd first met Eric, she'd known he was a total knockout. The most orgasmic man she'd ever met. How he'd ever managed to kick it up a few notches, she didn't know.

He was in a tux. A gorgeous tux draping so intimately over his muscles it looked as if it were fashioned by horny magic elves. The black silkiness of the fabric made his green eyes pop and showed up every single blond highlight on his head. Which was amazing because he'd slicked his wavy hair back with a really delicious smelling gel, so she really shouldn't be able to see his highlights, but she could ... and she was babbling, even in her own head.

It took everything in her power not to haul him into her apartment and rip his clothes off and suck the life out of him like a vampire at a bloodbath.

He gave her a little, intimate smile, making her knees knock. “Come on, beautiful.” He took her hand and squeezed. “I'm going to want at least one dance with you before I have to start wrestling the other men off you."

She blushed so hard, she was sure she resembled her elderly Aunt Hilda that time she figured out the latch on her dad's liquor cabinet. She let him lead her out the door. And when she heard him muttering, more to himself than to her, her blush deepened.

He was saying something about trying not to kill any man who even looked at her.

Yup, Eric decided upon entering the gala with Maia. He was going to kill someone tonight.

He scanned the area. The banquet room was beautifully decorated. Between the orchids and fairy lights and sumptuous furnishings, Eric knew he should probably be paying his respects to the organizers. But he didn't care about all of that, even if he was the big cheese here and was expected to mingle and schmooze.

Because they hadn't been in the banquet room for more than five minutes before Eric spotted at least ten men he wanted to beat to a fine pulp. To pummel with his bare hands.

His date was creating quite the stir.

Of course, most people associated with the museum knew Maia or her father. None had ever seen her look like this, apparently. Their newfound appreciation was a little too evident for his liking. He'd seen several young, as well as old, men from the staff ogling her, their eyes wide with unexpected lust.

It was making his blood boil.

He couldn't keep himself from glaring at a handsome member of the board—Jeremy something-or-other—as he pulled Maia aside and chatted her up. While looking as if he wanted to eat her up.

Eric reached for her arm again, a little too caveman-style, and she turned to him with a questioning look. He didn't care. No one would be eating her up tonight.

Except him.

Shit, he thought. Why had he even invited her to this shindig? He was supposed to be leaving her alone. For her benefit, as well as his. What if Nemesis decided to make another appearance?

Or, even worse, what if Eric forgot himself again and took a sip of champagne? He couldn't bear the thought he could mistreat Maia, that he might hurt her. She'd be better off with that schmuck Jeremy.

The problem was she made him feel protective. Too protective. Possessive. As much as he knew he was no good for her, in any way, he couldn't bear the thought of anyone else being with her either.

So, he'd demanded she join him tonight. His godlike impulses be damned.

But the sight of other men dribbling all over her was killing him as effectively as a sharp Spartan pike through the heart.

The band began a Spandau Ballet cover. Perfect. Eric reached for her hand and yanked her away from the slobbering Jeremy. “My turn."

She waved at the board member as Eric dragged her onto the dance floor and enfolded her in a tight grasp. He tried to steady his breathing, but it was no good. Just about defeated, he buried his head in her neck. She smelled so good. Some new perfume which went straight to his head and made his balls tighten in anticipation.

"Hey, you can let go a little,” she joked, whispering into his lapel. “I won't fall down. Even though these heels are clearly an instrument of torture and meant to destroy lesser women like me."

He held her even tighter. Lesser women. Impossible.

"Eric, are you okay?” She looked up at him, concerned. He was so pale.

"I'm fine,” he responded, his voice constricted.

"You don't look fine. Aren't you having a nice time?"

"Yeah,” he lied. “Awesome.” It was fucking torture, was what it was. Seeing her in a sexy dress and not being able to do anything about it. Gods, he'd never wanted to make love to anyone like this.

She made a little noise of uncertainty. “Hmm. I think you're lying."

He raised his head to look at her. And tried hard not to kiss her when he glimpsed the innocence in her dark eyes. “Lying?"

"I think you're miserable.” Her red lips parted in a small smile. “I think these functions make you as miserable as they make me. Only you're the boss, so you have to be on all the time. That's got to be hard."

"You're partly right."

"I knew it."

"But you're partly wrong, too.” He stared at her for what seemed to be the longest time. And then he bent his head to her ear and whispered, “Maia, I
am
miserable. Miserable because I don't want to be here. What I really want is to take you home to my place. I want to slide you out of that hot little excuse for a dress, and I want to lay you on my bed. And, more than anything, I want to finish what I started the other night."

She just stared at him, apparently unable to respond. There was an uncomfortable hitch in her breathing, as if she were trying hard to regulate it. She sagged into his arms, evidently winded by his suggestive declaration, so he held her tight to his chest.

He gazed into her eyes, feeling such desire, but such regret. “But I can't. And so, I'm completely and utterly miserable right now."

Her eyes lowered, unfocused, as she peered at a spot on his lapel. “Oh."

"Have I shocked you?” he asked as they danced, moving his thigh between her softer thighs.

"Yeah. You have since day one,” she blurted out. “But I have a question."

"Hmm,” he murmured into her neck. He let his hand trail down her lower back, seeking, until his middle finger came to rest over the sweet divide of her ass.

"Why can't you ... you know, do what you want?"

"It's a little complicated. It's just better for you if we don't have a repeat of the other night. Trust me on this, Maia.” He couldn't let Nemesis hurt her. He just couldn't. But he couldn't stop touching her either.

Her nervous laugh erupted against his hard chest. “Right. So you say, but your hand is still on my ass."