Sunburn (5 page)

She couldn’t stand them.

They weren’t horrible, but both men spent the entire plane ride bragging about how much money they made and how big their villas were and how she should really try some delicious Chateau de Fart pinot noir. Because Patience had come from a family with zero money, it was a huge turnoff. Sadly, Gilles and Claude seemed fascinated by her and wouldn’t get the hint she wasn’t interested. They kept engaging her, and she was too nice to tell them to take a hike.

She had a strong suspicion they had a thing for fat women and wanted her to be the ham in a Claude and Gilles sandwich.

It was the only reason she’d resorted to drastic measures involving the lecherous barkeep.

“Mon Dieu,”
Claude drawled, eyeing Patience’s bikini. “Miss Patience, you make Carla Bruni look like a troll. And I know because I was at no fewer than six parties with her last season.”

“Right,” she murmured back. “Supermodel first ladies are usually such trolls.” She looked back to the bar, not even knowing why.

The bartender was glaring at Claude, his lips tight. Even from a distance his eyes resembled cut diamonds. And they looked as if they were trying to slash into the Frenchman.

Gilles Trudeau perched himself at the bottom of Patience’s lounger. He smiled at her orange-tipped toes. “You have pretty feet,
chere
. I love when a beautiful woman has beautiful feet. Put us out of our misery. Have dinner with us tonight.”

“I’m having dinner with my boyfriend.”

Gilles spared the blond man a glance. “The bartender?
Chere
, why would you settle for warm wieners when we offer you filet mignon?”

Patience breathed in and out. “The term is ‘hot dog.’”

Claude sat next to her, just close enough to make her squirm. He eyed her shoulder. “Such delicate skin. You don’t want to burn,
p’tite
. Where’s your sunblock? I’ll put it on for you.”

Patience scooted her ass over a couple of inches. “I’m fine, thanks. I can put on my own sunblock.” She searched in her bag for the bottle.
Damn. Where did it go?

“Use mine,” said Angie, offering up her bottle of SPF 0 oil, the one that promised a tan as dark as Corinthian leather or your money back.

“No, thanks. I need something stronger. I must have left it in the room. I’ll burn without it.”

Gilles put out his hand and grinned. “I’ll take you back to your room,
chere
.”

Patience struggled to be polite. “I’m good. They probably sell some at that souvenir booth over there. I’ll just get another bottle.” Grabbing her wallet and then kicking aside her hated heels, she escaped before the randy Frenchmen could follow. She darted a look back but they’d already started chatting up another chubby girl a few chairs over. She shook her head, mystified.

Good. Let someone else be their ham today.

To get to the souvenir booth, she had to walk past the bar. She dared to look up. Her pretend boyfriend was gone. He’d been replaced by a Mexican bartender. Heaving a small sigh of relief, and also a strange sensation of disappointment, she carried on the few extra feet to the colorful booth that sold Mexican pottery, coconut necklaces, and picture frames. It was kitschy but cute, and she contemplated picking up a couple of knickknacks for acquaintances back home.

She approached the booth, only to find the blond bartender manning it. Her eyes almost popped and she blurted, “You!”

He grinned, but there was still a tightness around his eyes, as if he were sizing her up. “Hello, Patience.” His strained expression said volumes about what he considered to be the unsuitability of her name.

She tried to ignore the sucker punch in her gut, the one that hit her as soon as his deep, velvety voice caressed her eardrums. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the bar?”

His smile grew wider, showing off his perfect white teeth. “I’m everywhere.”

“Clearly.” She forced herself to look away from his gorgeous face, feeling light-headed because of the suns dancing in her eyes, the suns that seemed to come from him. To distract herself, she touched a few of the painted bowls on display. Not that it snuffed out those blasted suns.

He stepped closer. “Do you see anything you like?”

She choked on her saliva and coughed like a victim of the Black Death. He rushed to calm her, putting his hand on her back, massaging. She recovered upon feeling his touch and was hit by the bizarre, fleeting notion his touch made her recover. As if he’d healed her.

Utter nonsense
. Yet as much as it was nonsense, her head swam with the bizarre possibility.

“Better?” he asked quietly, his face serious now.

She stared into the man’s eyes. They were blue, so very blue. “Uh, yeah, thanks.” Curiosity got the better of her and the question poured out. “What’s your name anyway?”

He breathed in. “Apollo Delos.”

“Oh, wow,” she said, breaking into a grin. “Just like Apolo Anton Ohno! I loved him on
Dancing with the Stars
!”

He got a curious look and let out a strange laugh. “Yeah. Just like him.”

Unsure of what to say, because she never conversed with stunning men like him, she returned to her original train of thought. “Do you sell sunscreen here? I forgot mine in my room, and I burn easily. Thirty years and not a single suntan in my life. Other people in my family ended up with lovely olive skin that tans at the drop of a hat, but I got stuck with skin the color of paper. I think the mailman might have been my father.”

Stop babbling, you enormous fool
.

His diamond eyes stared at her shoulder, and he frowned. He moved his hand, as if to touch her, but only pointed to her shoulder. “You’re starting to get pink there already. We don’t sell sunscreen at this booth. We do in the main lobby. But I do have my own stash.” He pulled out a bottle of SPF 60, which was odd because he radiated a perfect glow that seemed natural, as if he’d been born with the arms of the very sun caressing him. “You’re welcome to it.”

“Oh,” she murmured, suddenly uneasy, as if sharing sunscreen with the man were tantamount to sharing bodily fluids. “It’s okay. I’ll go to the lobby.”

“No,” he replied with a definite shake of his head. “I don’t want you to burn. Besides, you’ve got no shoes on. Turn around, Patience.”

She should have walked away. She should have said “no” and made for the lobby. She should have cried, “Steer clear! This woman is hard up and might explode!” She didn’t. Instead, she turned around as he’d suggested.

Apollo breathed in and out, as if he weren’t sure he should touch her. He then squirted some sunscreen into his hand. He moved her ponytail aside with his clean hand, and she sucked in a silent breath and held it. She closed her eyes, imagining his large fingers raking through her hair, and waited. He rubbed his hands together, coating them in the thick lotion. And then he touched her shoulders. Moving in slow, sensual circles over her skin. Her skin erupted in goose pimples, and his hot breath was on the back of her neck. She felt his glittery eyes burning into her.

She had to say something to cut the tension. It was so thick it was almost debilitating. “What happened earlier … well, I just want to say ‘thanks.’ I shouldn’t have asked you to lie. I put you in a bad position. Claude and Gilles…”

He grunted. “Our Speedo-loving friends?”

She giggled. “Yeah. They’re a little pushy.”

“Hmm. Don’t mention it. If they bother you, come to me. Okay? I’d be happy to give them an old-fashioned ass-kicking.”

Really?
Why would he care? No doubt he was just being polite.

“Do you mind if I move your bikini strap aside?”

Patience fought to stand upright as a pang of lust made her womb bottom out. She clenched her thighs, hoping she wasn’t drenching her bikini bottom with the moisture between her legs.
Try to sound casual
. “Oh, sure.”

Apollo moved aside the strap of her bikini top so he could slide his fingers underneath. He was just covering the whole area in sunblock, but it was as if he were peeling all her clothes off.

And she was startled and terrified at how much she wished it were true.

“Patience,” he whispered, and she wasn’t sure if he was murmuring her name or urging himself to be patient.

From out of nowhere came several female squeals. All of a sudden, they were surrounded by eight, no, nine ravishing young women, all in skimpy resort uniforms that said Muse Crew. They clustered around them, and Apollo’s hands slid from her body. She bit back the weird ache that accompanied the loss of his hands.

And then she just stared as the young women groped and hugged him.

“Apollo,” one of them cried. “It’s time for beach volleyball. You promised to referee the game. Come!” The others tugged on his muscled arms.

He frowned, his expression unreadable. “Patience, I…”

“Thanks for the sunscreen. You really should sell some at this booth,” she said, cutting him off. Before she felt any more inadequate in the presence of those nine goddesses, she escaped back to her deck chair, very much worried her ass was hanging out of the teensy bikini bottom.

She spent the afternoon lost in thought, tortured by the memory of Apollo’s hands on her skin. As well as the imagined notion he was indulging in a game of naked beach volleyball with those nine examples of womanly perfection.

* * * *

The Travel Chick

The Pool at Helios

Howdy, travelers!

I’m currently blogging from the pool here at Helios Resort. My friends are nice and full from their third helping of nachos and margaritas. I’m watching my figure, but I allowed myself to sample the nachos, and I have to say they were delish. The perfect amount of spicy peppers to leave you feeling nice and hot.

Which is good because I’m in need of a little distraction right now. Oh, there are plenty of things to do here at the resort. Beach volleyball seems particularly popular. I just don’t think I want to join in right now.

I would like to say this resort caters to the average person, but I’m not sure. There is a proliferation of young, nubile women here, to say nothing of insanely attractive bartenders. I’m wondering if I’ve stumbled into one of those resorts that caters to singles looking for a hookup. Time will tell, I suppose.

Oh, the pool. Right. It’s beautiful. It’s decorated with Grecian columns, and the water is just right.

That’s all I have to say for now. I need more nachos.

Chapter 3

Apollo walked through the kitchen inspecting the food before it was set out for the dinner buffet. His chefs stood in a line, awaiting his approval. He breathed in the delicious fragrances of porterhouse steaks grilled to perfection, buttered shrimp, and cilantro-laced seviche.

And for some reason, all he could smell was the cocoa-butter sunscreen as it absorbed into Patience’s soft skin.

Fuck
. He hadn’t got the frustrating blogger out of his head all day.

No. He’d made a promise to himself long ago that he wouldn’t get obsessed with another woman. He’d learned his lesson with the traitorous Daphne, a lesson driven home several more times over the centuries by other partners who hadn’t accepted him for who he was.

That was why he’d always kept things light with women since. Sex was fine; hell, it was welcomed. He was a god, after all, with a god’s desires and inclinations.

But nothing deeper was allowed. No lingering looks. No sweet caresses. No infernal declarations that only led to heartache and betrayal.

No love.

And the gods only knew, even deceitful women didn’t deserve to be loved by him. What a sentence that would be.

He looked up at his head chef Alejandro.
“Muy
bien.”

“Gracias, Senor Apollo.”

Apollo stalked out of the buffet kitchen and smack into his sister. He forced a smile. “Were you waiting to ambush me?”

“Who is she?”

Apollo huffed. “You really don’t pull any punches, do you?”

“Who was that woman, Apollo?” Artemis demanded. “Remember? The one you were fondling by the bar?”

“Oh,
that
one.” He laughed, as if he fondled scads of women poolside every day. “She’s no…” He’d been about to say, “She’s no one important,” but for some reason it felt like a lie and the comment stuck in his throat. “Let’s just get you a table.”

Artemis stood her ground. He nudged her, but she would not be moved, and as a goddess, she was strong. “Brother, who is she?”

His answer exploded, surprising him as well as her. “I barely know myself! She’s just some woman, okay?” He walked off to make sure the juice station was ready, each pitcher filled to the brim with colorful nectars of papaya, mango, and pineapple. Artemis followed, annoying creature that she was. “Why do you care?”

“Because I care about you,” she replied. “Do you like her?”

He turned around, almost knocking over a container of guava juice. He righted it, and then glared at his sister. He wanted to snap, “No, I don’t like her,” but again, the comment was untrue and wouldn’t pass his lips.

Damn his inability to prevaricate!

“She’s The Travel Chick.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t like her. Her blog makes mincemeat out of resorts like mine. I don’t want to like her.”

“It’s okay if you do, Apollo. You’ve been alone too long. Maybe you should try—”

“Oh, no,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m not going down that road again.”

“Brother, they won’t all react the same way. Look at Eryx and Dionysus,” she said, referring to their cousins, the former gods of love and wine. “They found happiness with their wives. Their mortal wives. Love can happen for those like us.”

“I don’t need it to happen.”

He didn’t. He’d spent ages grieving the women he’d lost through time. Daphne may have been the first, teaching him how cruel women could be when he was just a young god, but she hadn’t been the last. There had been Marpessa, who had rejected him because she’d been convinced he’d turn her aside when she got old, despite his love. And Castalia, who’d drowned herself in a spring to get away from him, as she had also been afraid of the god’s love. To say nothing of Cassandra, Coronis, and Acantha. All of them preferred death and obscurity.