Read What a Goddess Wants Online
Authors: Stephanie Julian
Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Paranormal, #Fiction
What a Goddess Wants (37 page)
“Hey, Mom, everything okay?”
Tivr stuck his head out the door from the back room, sharp gray eyes narrowed in concern, short dark hair spiked in every direction.
Her child looked as though he’d just stepped off the stage of a metal concert in his sleeveless black T-shirt and ragged, skin-tight jeans. With muscles any bodybuilder would be proud of, Ty appeared to be only twenty or so in human years.
In reality, he’d been born more than two millennia ago.
Which, yes, made her even older. And no, she’d stopped counting birthdays long ago.
“I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Just dropped a bowl. And covered your ass with Catene.”
His lips quirked in a smart-ass grin she loved with every fiber of her being but his eyes… oh, those eyes held their own secrets. “Yeah, uh, thanks. How’s she look?”
“Beautiful, of course.” She let Ty drift in the breeze for a few minutes before she took pity on him and switched the subject. “Are you here to go to the game with me tonight?”
Thank the Blessed Mother, there was a Railers game tonight. The minor-league hockey team filled her winter nights with hot guy-on-guy action.
She loved hockey. Loved the speed, the agility. The fights.
The men.
Brawny, sweaty, messy. They let their hair grow, though no one would ever accuse them of being feminine, not with perpetual five o’clock shadow and bulging muscles. They skated with the grace of a ballet dancer and fought at the drop of a glove.
Who didn’t love hockey? Especially these past two seasons—
Ty shook his head. “Can’t go tonight, sorry. Told Caeles I’d cover for him in here. The band has an early gig but he’ll be here later for your set. I’m sure you’ll find someone to take.”
As Ty ducked back into the kitchen, Lucy knew he was right. Every night, she surrounded herself with people. Men, women. Mostly her
lucani
. They brightened her nights and helped keep the loneliness at bay.
After so many millennia, the nights could become interminable. Yet, for the past two seasons, she’d looked forward to each game.
Because of him.
Her chest tightened and she had to work to draw in a breath. How ridiculous was it that just the thought of him could make her sex clench and her lungs tighten with desire.
Brandon Stevenson. Six two, two hundred. Born 6/10/76. She could recite his stats in her sleep, which was a pitiful thing to admit, she realized.
Brown eyes the color of dark chocolate. A crooked smile that could taunt another player into throwing down his gloves or make a woman’s heart race. Dark blonde hair cut short enough to be conventional but long enough to run fingers through.
She entertained dreams of stripping his sweaty uniform from his body, piece by bulky piece, exposing broad shoulders, ripped abs and strong thighs. And every other piece of gorgeous flesh in between.
Railers No. 17 ignited something inside her that she hadn’t felt in… Well, never.
It confused and confounded her.
Vaffanculo
, she’d never even met the man. Truth be told, she’d been reluctant to approach him. Didn’t want to discover how truly deep her attraction to this
eteri
, this regular human, was.
Coward
.
Yes. With good reason.
Her powers had steadily declined over the centuries, as had all of the Forgotten Goddesses. They were still immortal. But now they were useless.
Case in point, five months ago, when Charun, the Etruscan God of the Underworld, had begun to terrorize Sun Goddess Tessa in her dreams. Her sister goddesses had been unable to help her.
Now bright, sweet Tessa had been missing for weeks. Lucy sincerely hoped Tessa and her Cimmerian bodyguard, Caligo, had holed up somewhere safe. With a bed. Tessa needed someone to take care of her.
Lucy had been taking care of herself for years. She wasn’t frightened of Charun. Bullies tended to pick on weaker prey and Lucy had never been weak.
But she was obsolete.
Her wolves no longer worshipped her, not as they once had. And both of her sons were of an age where they didn’t need her. Ty hadn’t for longer than she cared to remember. Caeles, adopted when he’d been only a few days old, hadn’t truly needed her for almost two decades, the blink of an eye in an eternal lifetime.
And even though her boys still paid lip service to her maternal instincts, she knew the truth.
She had become obsolete in more than one way.
Sighing, she checked the clock. Only an hour until she could leave for the game.
And watch the man who made her hot and wet between the thighs for the first time in a very long time.
***
“Hey, old man, you get that bump checked out last night? You got knocked into the boards pretty hard. Your old, brittle bones can’t take a beating like they used to.”
“Stevie, you need to take more care. We wouldn’t want to lose you now, not when you’re actually playing better than you have been in years.”
Brandon Stevenson tossed his bag in his locker and gave a finger to the twins. Jason and Thomas Fransechetti were barely twenty-one years old. Baby-faced bruisers who weighed more than two hundred pounds, stood six feet tall and had blazing wrist shots from opposite wrists.
The Terrible Twosome, as they’d been dubbed by the Railers, were identical except for the length of their wavy brown hair—Jase’s cut short and Tommy’s to his shoulder. The only other way to tell them apart was by their scars. But they had to be naked to see them.
The puck bunnies made a habit of cataloging those scars.
“Fuck off, children, and let the adults get ready for the game.” Brand swallowed a smile as the boys followed him anyway. “Or do you need me to tie your skates for you?”
“Fuck you.” Jase’s fist shot out to Brand’s shoulder. The kid didn’t pull his punches but Brand shrugged off the hit like it was a fly. At thirty-five, twenty-five of those years spent on the ice, his body had sustained more damage than a professional boxer. He knew how to control pain.
“Maybe Grandpa Stevenson needs his nap.” Tommy chimed in. “Or maybe you just need to get laid. Christ, how long has it been, anyway? Why don’t you come out with us after the game? We’ll hook you up good.”
Brand rolled his eyes and shoved his elbow in Tommy’s chest. “The girls you pick up can barely spell their names. Why the fuck—”
“They don’t need to be able to spell. They only need to—”
“Jesus fucking hell, don’t you two ever get tired of fucking? You’re like little fucking machines.” Goaltender Shane Conrad walked into the locker room and smacked Tommy on the back of his head. “Have some respect for your elders. At least get Stevenson a woman his own age. ’Course, that’d mean you’d need to hit the early bird specials to find any.”
“Hey, who you calling little?”
Brand shook his head as the guys continued to ride each other with increasingly obscene gestures and suggestions as they geared up for warm-ups before the game.
But he couldn’t hide his smile.
For the past two seasons, this locker room in the bowels of the Reading arena had been home. Unlike a lot of the younger guys who moved up and down from this league to the American Hockey League and, if they were really good, to the NHL, Brand had become a fixture here with the Railers.
But not for much longer.
Pulling his practice jersey over his head, he shoved away the depression that wanted to pick and poke at his brain. He couldn’t allow it to fuck with him, not before a game.
At thirty-five, this was his last stop as a player. He’d been playing professional hockey since he was eighteen years old. He’d played for the ECHL, the AHL and, for one season, the NHL, first for the Washington Capitals then the Toronto Maple Leafs.
He’d had a good run, but he was getting too old to play. He didn’t recover from injuries as fast as he had. Some mornings, his entire body ached for no reason.
All good things must end.
But what the hell would he do?
No wife, no kids. No skills beyond the ice, except those behind a bar. He could go home to Maine, take over the family business from his parents but…
Hell, you’ve never even met the woman.
Didn’t mean he hadn’t been fantasizing about her for months.
From the first moment he’d seen her in her seat at the arena, he’d wanted her. And not just for some wimpy date, where they had dinner and drinks and he kissed her good night before going home to jack off.
No, he was talking down-and-dirty, do-me-in-the-backseat, up-against-a-wall, inferno-hot sex. She looked like she could handle it. She wasn’t some twenty-year-old puck bunny who hung out at the bars after the game, hoping to snag a player for the night.
No, she looked to be thirty-something, at least. A real woman with a decent career, if her clothes and her bearing were any indication.
She wore jeans, sleek and sexy and perfectly fitted to her gorgeous, female curves. The woman had a rack to die for and an ass he wanted to get his hands on, preferably while she was naked.
She always wore sweaters that were feminine and pretty, not bulky and concealing. Or slutty. She never slouched and her attention was always focused on the game.
The only part of her that hinted at a wild side was her midnight black hair that waved over her shoulders and down her back like a rough ocean. She never had it pulled back in a tail. He wanted to sink his hands into it, drape it over his naked body and feel it caress his thighs as she—
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of her going down on him that he now had stuck in his head.
Her name was Lucy Aster. He’d asked the ticket guys who she was and, after they’d busted his chops for at least five minutes, they’d come up with a name.
And an address that had turned out to be bogus. Which had intrigued the hell out of him. Why—
“Hey, Stevenson, let’s go.”
With a start, he realized the guys were heading out for warm ups.
Shit, he needed to focus. Or he’d find himself checked headfirst into the boards tonight.
A few more hits like the one he’d taken the day before and he could kiss his career good-bye. For good.
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