Accidentally...Over? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
The young man with short brown hair—yes, yes, topless and bulging everywhere—wearing a red Monkeyccino’s visor stared with a dopey grin, ogling her. “Hi. How are you today, miss?” he said in English. Guess it made sense that employees of a strip café called Monkeyccino’s would speak “American.”
“I’ve been better. Thanks. So is he here?”
He continued smiling. “Who?”
“Fernando.” What was this guy on?
“Which one? There are five Fernandos,” the young man said.
“Five? Five?” She thought about it for a moment. Fernando would be twenty years older now so that would make him… “Well, this Fernando is about thirty-nine. He’s worked here for twenty years, maybe?” If he still worked there, that was.
The man grimaced. “You’re serious?”
Ashli felt the blood drain from her face into her toes. “Yeah. Why?”
“Señor Fernando died ten years ago,” he said apologetically. “In a hurricane. His five sons inherited the café.”
Shit. “What? Dead?” And he’d named his five sons after himself? Okay, that was just weird. And slightly narcissistic. But still, poor, poor Fernando. “Are you sure?”
The young man nodded.
Oh no. This was all her fault. Had she stayed around, he would have gone on to be a teacher like he’d planned.
No. Either way, you wouldn’t have been there. Had she stayed, she would have died.
Ashli placed her hand over her heart. “Dead. He’s dead.” She looked at the young man. “You’re sure?” she asked again.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Ashli bolted for the back door toward the beach. She started running, her tears streaking across her face. It was all gone. Everything and everyone.
I made a mistake coming here. A big one.
Fifteen
Máax paced across the tiled living room floor. He’d desperately wanted to follow Ashli, but he’d already pushed things too far. Not only had he lied about the prophecy—and it was only a matter of time before she found out—but he’d also withheld his true intentions: to make her immortal. It was just as good as a lie in his book. And if he followed her now, she’d think him a complete chauvinistic bastard. He couldn’t have that. Not when their days together were now numbered. Although, he supposed, they always were. He’d broken so many sacred laws, now including making Ashli immortal without the gods’ permission and traveling back to his realm from which he was banished—no regrets, of course—that he’d probably be sentenced to entombment for two eternities. Maybe three. His only means to change that fate would be for the gods to modify their laws regarding mandatory punishment. But that required something nearly impossible: a unanimous vote.
Not likely. The gods never agreed unanimously on anything.
You could always blackmail your brethren. He scowled at himself for merely entertaining the thought. The kind of secrets he kept were the sort that could destroy a person, or deity in this case. And he would never betray an oath or hurt his family simply to save his own skin. The mere thought was repugnant. No. He’d known the fate he’d accepted when he’d broken their most sacred laws. He wouldn’t try to wiggle out of it at someone else’s expense. That’s not the sort of man he was.
Of course, if they didn’t stop the apocalypse, none of that really mattered.
Infernum. He sighed. There was no hope of him having a future with Ashli, was there? Well, at least Ashli was out of immediate danger.
“Máax. Where the devil’s turd are you?” a deep, familiar male voice called out from the direction of Ashli’s kitchen.
Ah, hell. Máax prayed it wasn’t who he thought because he’d hoped to have a few days with Ashli, at least.
Máax silently tiptoed closer for a look.
Fucking fantastic. It was Niccolo DiConti, General of the Vampire Army, and two of his biker-looking vampire soldiers.
Of course, what did he expect? The Uchben knew Máax had arrived at Ashli’s house with Ashli, which meant everyone knew everything. There were no secrets among the Uchben.
“I know he’s here,” one of them whispered. “I can smell his overbloated ego.”
“Coming from a vampire,” Máax said, “I find that remark marginally amusing.”
A devious smile flickered over Niccolo’s lips. “Ah, Máax. If it isn’t my favorite invisible deity.” Niccolo’s European accent tinged his comment with natural sarcasm. “Don’t you look well.”
“That joke is as saggy as your thousand-year-old Italian ass. By the way, Cimil’s favorite flea market just called and would like you to return their Armani knockoff.”
“This is Hugo Boss. My wife says his suits make my ass look centuries younger. Do you really think it looks old?” Niccolo turned, lifted his blazer, and showed Máax the back of his pants.
Oh, gods. He was serious. “What do you want, vampire?” Máax asked.
Niccolo’s long dark hair pulled into a ponytail contrasted with his luminescent eyes. Eyes that flickered between apple green and aquamarine like a godsdamned happy meter. Did he have to be so pleased about coming to take Máax away?
“You know very well I’m no longer a vampire; however, it’s no skin off my unfanged teeth if you prefer to call me that. I happen to like vampires very much.”
The story of how Niccolo ceased to be a vampire was a very, very long one—involved Cimil, say no more—but his wife and coruler, Helena, was a new vampire.
“I repeat, what do you want?” But Máax already suspected the miserable truth.
Niccolo straightened his black tie and then gave his two men a knowing nod that sent them outside. “You and I both know why I’m here; the gods, your brethren and my allies, are calling for your immediate incarceration. And from what I understand, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I’ll explain myself when I’m good and ready, Niccolo. In the meantime, tell my brothers and sisters to…” Oh, what is that expression Cimil uses? Ah! “… Suck it.”
Niccolo laughed. “I love these modern phrases. Suck it. Circle twerk. Ear boner. Carpe noctem.”
Máax cocked one brow, not that Niccolo noticed. “I see you’ve been spending excessive amounts of time on UrbanDictionary.com.” It was also one of his brethren’s favorite places to learn new human phrases.
“Life as an immortal”—Niccolo shrugged—“it’s a journey.”
“I’m glad you see it that way because I’m going to tell you to fuck off.” Máax needed to sort things out with Ashli. Hell, if he was lucky, they might even make up. He’d heard that making up produced the best sex.
Niccolo sighed. “I am taking you, Máax. And the girl. Deal with those apples.”
Máax shook his head. Niccolo’s use of colloquialisms was always a bit off. Why did he insist on trying to be cool?
Never mind that, man. Think. What are your options? He could take Ashli and run, but his brethren would eventually find him; the gods’ connections allowed them to sense each other’s presence unless they took measures to block it. Obviously, Máax had no powers so he’d more or less be a sitting duck.
He could fight Niccolo and the vampires, but without his powers, he could not stop the vampires from sifting Ashli or himself away. Basically, it was a no-win situation. That said, he did like the idea of cracking a few skulls.
A fight it is.
Máax punched Niccolo squarely in the jaw, and he went flying across the kitchen, smashing into the cupboards.
Niccolo quickly picked himself off the floor. “Oww. What the hell did you hit me for?” He rubbed his jaw and pouted. Yes, pouted. But in a manly ex-vampire sort of way.
“Like I said,” Máax explained cooly, “you’re not taking us. Tell my brethren I will come and answer for my actions when I’m ready.”
Niccolo’s two vampires sifted into the room, hissing for a fight.
“No!” Niccolo held up his hand. “This is between us two duds. Wait outside.”
“Dudes. It’s dudes,” Máax said.
<
br /> “Whatevers.” Niccolo flew toward him, fist cocked, but Máax sidestepped. Niccolo crashed right into the kitchen table. Máax laughed, thinking it would take the large man a moment to rebound, but Niccolo zeroed right in on the sound of Máax’s voice and pounced.
Máax fell to the floor and a fist landed right on his cheekbone. His vision twinkled with tiny little stars.
“Son of a bitch.” Máax threw Niccolo off and sprang up. Niccolo, too, popped up off the floor and stood with fists ready for action.
Panting, Niccolo said, “I understand your position, Máax; however, I cannot neglect the fact that I have a mate and a daughter who will both cease to exist if the apocalypse isn’t derailed. So the sooner you come with me, the sooner we can all figure this out.”
Great. Now Máax felt like a veritable douche. “Niccolo, I sympathize, but I’m not leaving with you.”
“Then we will take the girl. I’m sure you’ll come on your own, then.”
Máax’s blood fizzed. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”
“We would never harm her, Máax, but come to your senses. The end grows nearer with every passing second, and if you’ve truly derailed our last hope for salvation—”
“Very well. I will come with you, but I want twenty-four hours.”
Niccolo scratched his chin, mulling.
“Otherwise,” Máax added, “I will continue fighting. And you have to ask yourself how many of your suits and men you’re willing to sacrifice for a mere one day of difference.”
Niccolo ran his hand over his dark hair and blew out a breath. “I can give you until tonight. Four hours. But that is the best I can do, Máax. Then we will take you to the gods and sort out this shizzle.”
Máax cringed. Someone really needed to keep this ex-vampire away from UD.
“Agreed,” Máax said. “Now, fuck off.”
Niccolo dipped his head—“Aloha, mi amigo”—and left out the back door.
Great. Now what? He had four hours to work things out with Ashli, which included coming clean about his lie. But if he didn’t set the stage properly, she would never understand, never forgive him.
He turned to start cleaning up the mess they’d made and stubbed his toe on the leg of the kitchen table.
“Ow. Matrem fututor.” Gods, I miss clothing. Especially shoes. Of course, his feet would be getting a long, long rest once his brethren got a hold of him. They would show zero mercy now that they knew he’d brought Ashli forward against Cimil’s instruction. Of course, Cimil’s prophecy made absolutely no sense. It had been impossible to keep Ashli alive in her time. Cimil’s prophecy was useless. Or a trick. Maybe.
Yet somehow, he didn’t give a damn. Given the opportunity, he’d do it all over again. Sure, he wanted to throw himself at Ashli’s feet like a giant sappy mortal and beg for mercy. Not for immortalizing her without her permission, mind you, but for being such a colossal prick. Not that he could help it. After all, he was who he was. A deity. Ergo, prick.
But what was the point to ask forgiveness: (a) He was a god. Gods did not ask for forgiveness. (Yes. Giant pricks, the whole lot of them.) And (b) there was absolutely nothing—not her anger, not his impending punishment, nothing—that could possibly inspire regret for what he’d done. He’d gotten her out of immediate danger.
Great. So I ask again, now what?
He rubbed his unshaved jaw. Damn, he needed a shave. Where was a unicorn when you needed one?
Ashli burst into the kitchen through the back door, tears staining her exquisite face: pert nose, catlike eyes, and a mouth that held one of those permanent pouts. Just looking at her lips made him harder than a diamond wheel.
“Máax! Máax?” she screamed.
He rushed to her side. “Sanctum sanctorum cacas. Please don’t tell me you almost died again?”
“More Latin? Really?” She wiped the tears from under her eyes, eyes that were once a gorgeous hazel but now had the mark of the gods. Turquoise, just like his. A small price to pay, he supposed.
“Forget it,” she said. “Just send me back. Right now! I don’t care if I die; I can’t stay here.”
“Hell no.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“That was English so I know you understood, but let me repeat it. Hell. No.”
Ashli knew that the words coming from her mouth might seem outlandish and rash, but who cared? It was her life, and she didn’t want to live it in this place. There was nothing left for her. Nothing but goddamned Monkeyccino’s!
“What do you mean, ‘Hell. No’?”
“Ashli.” Máax’s hand slid down her arm. “I realize things are different here, but give it some time, I’m sure—”
“Monkeyccino’s? You turned my café into a twig and berries buffet! No. Take me back right now so I can undo it.” She found his hand and attempted to tug him toward the door.
“Ashli.” He stood firm. And dammit, with his enormous size, making him go anywhere he didn’t want to go would be like moving a tree stump with a pair of tweezers.
Maybe he’s ticklish. She jabbed for his armpit and missed.
“What are you doing, woman?” he asked as she attempted to locate the strategic spot.
Bingo! She slid her hand under his arm and began wiggling her fingers.
“Ashli? Why are you molesting my underarm? While I admit I enjoy it, the behavior is a bit peculiar.”
Ugh! It wasn’t working. She dropped her hand. Of course! Why would gods be ticklish? They were too powerful for that!
“Ashli?”
She made a little snarl. “You have to take me back.”
“I do not want to do that, and even if I did, I cannot. The tablet I use to access the portal in this time is currently located in Arizona.”
Grrrrr. “You’re lying again, aren’t you?”
“Why have you taken up growling?” he asked. “You do realize that is my move, yes?”
“Don’t you change subjects, you lying sonofabitch.”
“Perhaps I deserved that,” he replied, “but I promise you—”
“Prove it.” She pointed outside. She wanted to see the truth with her own eyes. Trust was a fragile thing, and he’d broken hers.
“Very well,” he grumbled.
They went outside to the spot where he’d buried the tablet twenty years ago. He dug down a few feet and sure enough, nothing.
“I’m certain the tablet washed into the ocean during one of the many hurricanes,” he said.
“Then take me to Arizona.” She didn’t want to stay a moment longer.
“Your request makes absolutely no sense, which means that either you are not telling me everything or you have gone mad. Or you are drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. Or mad.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she turned away. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She was stronger than this.
Okay. No she wasn’t, but she really, really wanted to pretend.
“Ashli,” Máax said with a sweet, sympathetic boyfriendy kind of voice, “tell me what is troubling you.”
“That house,” she sniffled, “and that café were the only things I had left of my parents, Máax. And now they’re gone. It feels like I lost my family all over again.” She turned toward him. “Why didn’t you tell me everything would change?”
“If I had known how much they meant to you, I would have explained that things may be different twenty years ahead. But I am unused to thinking that way. After living tens of thousands of years, I no longer attach myself to material things. I barely notice them.” Máax’s hand cradled her cheek and sparked tingles all over her face. “I am sorry. I did not understand.” He pulled her into his body and held her close. That might have felt comforting except for the fact he was buck naked. Somehow those two didn’t go together.
She pulled back and cleared away her tears. Máax was silent for several moments, but she heard the faint sound of his beard being scratched. When would that man shave?
“I will take you to Ariz
ona on one condition,” he said.
“What?” she asked quietly.
“You take a swim with me. And you do more of that thing with your fingers. Okay. Those are two conditions, but so be it. I am a god, and this is my prerogative.”
Was he out of his mind? A swim? At a time like this? And he wanted to be tickled? “Hell. No,” she said, to use his own words.
He laughed in an arrogant, pleased sort of way.
“I don’t see what’s so funn—”
Máax pulled her into him and pressed his warm lips against hers. The kiss instantly dissolved her anger. His touch, his smell, the way his velvety, strong lips slid against her mouth made her forget why she’d been angry. Or worried. Or that he’d asked her to tickle him—weird.
Wait a second!
She pulled back and slapped him.
“Ow. What the diabolus!” he barked.
“You can’t do that kissing thing! It’s cheating,” she hissed.
Máax laughed with that deep, deep seductive voice. “Perhaps. But can I help that our connection is so powerful, my little time kangaroo?”
Time kangaroo? What the— He pulled her back—to his naked, naked, hard body… sigh—once again and seized her mouth. She struggled, but he hung on. Dammit, the man knew it was only a matter of moments before…
Oh, gods, he’s so, so delicious. Can’t resist.
Why did kissing this man, a man she couldn’t see, do this to her? He melted away any spark of resistance and worry, any apprehension and fear, with one lousy kiss. Okay. It wasn’t lousy. It was, hands down, the most elating experience of her life. Being touched by Máax was like being touched by a… by a…
A god?
Yes, her god. All hers.
“Please, Ashli,” he whispered between kisses.
She slid her hands over the hard swells of his, well, perfectly defined pecs, enjoying the sensation of him. Everything about Máax was so fiercely male. He made her feel feminine and delicate, but strong and sexy. But dammit, the man was so infuriating!
And sinfully male.
And so confusing.
And so heavenly!
And so dangerous. Yes, he was a danger to her soul. He was the kind of man who could blind a woman with his raw masculinity, his control and determination. But how could he be a threat to her when he also felt like her center of gravity? Her home.
“I’ve been better. Thanks. So is he here?”
He continued smiling. “Who?”
“Fernando.” What was this guy on?
“Which one? There are five Fernandos,” the young man said.
“Five? Five?” She thought about it for a moment. Fernando would be twenty years older now so that would make him… “Well, this Fernando is about thirty-nine. He’s worked here for twenty years, maybe?” If he still worked there, that was.
The man grimaced. “You’re serious?”
Ashli felt the blood drain from her face into her toes. “Yeah. Why?”
“Señor Fernando died ten years ago,” he said apologetically. “In a hurricane. His five sons inherited the café.”
Shit. “What? Dead?” And he’d named his five sons after himself? Okay, that was just weird. And slightly narcissistic. But still, poor, poor Fernando. “Are you sure?”
The young man nodded.
Oh no. This was all her fault. Had she stayed around, he would have gone on to be a teacher like he’d planned.
No. Either way, you wouldn’t have been there. Had she stayed, she would have died.
Ashli placed her hand over her heart. “Dead. He’s dead.” She looked at the young man. “You’re sure?” she asked again.
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Ashli bolted for the back door toward the beach. She started running, her tears streaking across her face. It was all gone. Everything and everyone.
I made a mistake coming here. A big one.
Fifteen
Máax paced across the tiled living room floor. He’d desperately wanted to follow Ashli, but he’d already pushed things too far. Not only had he lied about the prophecy—and it was only a matter of time before she found out—but he’d also withheld his true intentions: to make her immortal. It was just as good as a lie in his book. And if he followed her now, she’d think him a complete chauvinistic bastard. He couldn’t have that. Not when their days together were now numbered. Although, he supposed, they always were. He’d broken so many sacred laws, now including making Ashli immortal without the gods’ permission and traveling back to his realm from which he was banished—no regrets, of course—that he’d probably be sentenced to entombment for two eternities. Maybe three. His only means to change that fate would be for the gods to modify their laws regarding mandatory punishment. But that required something nearly impossible: a unanimous vote.
Not likely. The gods never agreed unanimously on anything.
You could always blackmail your brethren. He scowled at himself for merely entertaining the thought. The kind of secrets he kept were the sort that could destroy a person, or deity in this case. And he would never betray an oath or hurt his family simply to save his own skin. The mere thought was repugnant. No. He’d known the fate he’d accepted when he’d broken their most sacred laws. He wouldn’t try to wiggle out of it at someone else’s expense. That’s not the sort of man he was.
Of course, if they didn’t stop the apocalypse, none of that really mattered.
Infernum. He sighed. There was no hope of him having a future with Ashli, was there? Well, at least Ashli was out of immediate danger.
“Máax. Where the devil’s turd are you?” a deep, familiar male voice called out from the direction of Ashli’s kitchen.
Ah, hell. Máax prayed it wasn’t who he thought because he’d hoped to have a few days with Ashli, at least.
Máax silently tiptoed closer for a look.
Fucking fantastic. It was Niccolo DiConti, General of the Vampire Army, and two of his biker-looking vampire soldiers.
Of course, what did he expect? The Uchben knew Máax had arrived at Ashli’s house with Ashli, which meant everyone knew everything. There were no secrets among the Uchben.
“I know he’s here,” one of them whispered. “I can smell his overbloated ego.”
“Coming from a vampire,” Máax said, “I find that remark marginally amusing.”
A devious smile flickered over Niccolo’s lips. “Ah, Máax. If it isn’t my favorite invisible deity.” Niccolo’s European accent tinged his comment with natural sarcasm. “Don’t you look well.”
“That joke is as saggy as your thousand-year-old Italian ass. By the way, Cimil’s favorite flea market just called and would like you to return their Armani knockoff.”
“This is Hugo Boss. My wife says his suits make my ass look centuries younger. Do you really think it looks old?” Niccolo turned, lifted his blazer, and showed Máax the back of his pants.
Oh, gods. He was serious. “What do you want, vampire?” Máax asked.
Niccolo’s long dark hair pulled into a ponytail contrasted with his luminescent eyes. Eyes that flickered between apple green and aquamarine like a godsdamned happy meter. Did he have to be so pleased about coming to take Máax away?
“You know very well I’m no longer a vampire; however, it’s no skin off my unfanged teeth if you prefer to call me that. I happen to like vampires very much.”
The story of how Niccolo ceased to be a vampire was a very, very long one—involved Cimil, say no more—but his wife and coruler, Helena, was a new vampire.
“I repeat, what do you want?” But Máax already suspected the miserable truth.
Niccolo straightened his black tie and then gave his two men a knowing nod that sent them outside. “You and I both know why I’m here; the gods, your brethren and my allies, are calling for your immediate incarceration. And from what I understand, you have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I’ll explain myself when I’m good and ready, Niccolo. In the meantime, tell my brothers and sisters to…” Oh, what is that expression Cimil uses? Ah! “… Suck it.”
Niccolo laughed. “I love these modern phrases. Suck it. Circle twerk. Ear boner. Carpe noctem.”
Máax cocked one brow, not that Niccolo noticed. “I see you’ve been spending excessive amounts of time on UrbanDictionary.com.” It was also one of his brethren’s favorite places to learn new human phrases.
“Life as an immortal”—Niccolo shrugged—“it’s a journey.”
“I’m glad you see it that way because I’m going to tell you to fuck off.” Máax needed to sort things out with Ashli. Hell, if he was lucky, they might even make up. He’d heard that making up produced the best sex.
Niccolo sighed. “I am taking you, Máax. And the girl. Deal with those apples.”
Máax shook his head. Niccolo’s use of colloquialisms was always a bit off. Why did he insist on trying to be cool?
Never mind that, man. Think. What are your options? He could take Ashli and run, but his brethren would eventually find him; the gods’ connections allowed them to sense each other’s presence unless they took measures to block it. Obviously, Máax had no powers so he’d more or less be a sitting duck.
He could fight Niccolo and the vampires, but without his powers, he could not stop the vampires from sifting Ashli or himself away. Basically, it was a no-win situation. That said, he did like the idea of cracking a few skulls.
A fight it is.
Máax punched Niccolo squarely in the jaw, and he went flying across the kitchen, smashing into the cupboards.
Niccolo quickly picked himself off the floor. “Oww. What the hell did you hit me for?” He rubbed his jaw and pouted. Yes, pouted. But in a manly ex-vampire sort of way.
“Like I said,” Máax explained cooly, “you’re not taking us. Tell my brethren I will come and answer for my actions when I’m ready.”
Niccolo’s two vampires sifted into the room, hissing for a fight.
“No!” Niccolo held up his hand. “This is between us two duds. Wait outside.”
“Dudes. It’s dudes,” Máax said.
<
Máax fell to the floor and a fist landed right on his cheekbone. His vision twinkled with tiny little stars.
“Son of a bitch.” Máax threw Niccolo off and sprang up. Niccolo, too, popped up off the floor and stood with fists ready for action.
Panting, Niccolo said, “I understand your position, Máax; however, I cannot neglect the fact that I have a mate and a daughter who will both cease to exist if the apocalypse isn’t derailed. So the sooner you come with me, the sooner we can all figure this out.”
Great. Now Máax felt like a veritable douche. “Niccolo, I sympathize, but I’m not leaving with you.”
“Then we will take the girl. I’m sure you’ll come on your own, then.”
Máax’s blood fizzed. “Don’t you fucking touch her.”
“We would never harm her, Máax, but come to your senses. The end grows nearer with every passing second, and if you’ve truly derailed our last hope for salvation—”
“Very well. I will come with you, but I want twenty-four hours.”
Niccolo scratched his chin, mulling.
“Otherwise,” Máax added, “I will continue fighting. And you have to ask yourself how many of your suits and men you’re willing to sacrifice for a mere one day of difference.”
Niccolo ran his hand over his dark hair and blew out a breath. “I can give you until tonight. Four hours. But that is the best I can do, Máax. Then we will take you to the gods and sort out this shizzle.”
Máax cringed. Someone really needed to keep this ex-vampire away from UD.
“Agreed,” Máax said. “Now, fuck off.”
Niccolo dipped his head—“Aloha, mi amigo”—and left out the back door.
Great. Now what? He had four hours to work things out with Ashli, which included coming clean about his lie. But if he didn’t set the stage properly, she would never understand, never forgive him.
He turned to start cleaning up the mess they’d made and stubbed his toe on the leg of the kitchen table.
“Ow. Matrem fututor.” Gods, I miss clothing. Especially shoes. Of course, his feet would be getting a long, long rest once his brethren got a hold of him. They would show zero mercy now that they knew he’d brought Ashli forward against Cimil’s instruction. Of course, Cimil’s prophecy made absolutely no sense. It had been impossible to keep Ashli alive in her time. Cimil’s prophecy was useless. Or a trick. Maybe.
Yet somehow, he didn’t give a damn. Given the opportunity, he’d do it all over again. Sure, he wanted to throw himself at Ashli’s feet like a giant sappy mortal and beg for mercy. Not for immortalizing her without her permission, mind you, but for being such a colossal prick. Not that he could help it. After all, he was who he was. A deity. Ergo, prick.
But what was the point to ask forgiveness: (a) He was a god. Gods did not ask for forgiveness. (Yes. Giant pricks, the whole lot of them.) And (b) there was absolutely nothing—not her anger, not his impending punishment, nothing—that could possibly inspire regret for what he’d done. He’d gotten her out of immediate danger.
Great. So I ask again, now what?
He rubbed his unshaved jaw. Damn, he needed a shave. Where was a unicorn when you needed one?
Ashli burst into the kitchen through the back door, tears staining her exquisite face: pert nose, catlike eyes, and a mouth that held one of those permanent pouts. Just looking at her lips made him harder than a diamond wheel.
“Máax! Máax?” she screamed.
He rushed to her side. “Sanctum sanctorum cacas. Please don’t tell me you almost died again?”
“More Latin? Really?” She wiped the tears from under her eyes, eyes that were once a gorgeous hazel but now had the mark of the gods. Turquoise, just like his. A small price to pay, he supposed.
“Forget it,” she said. “Just send me back. Right now! I don’t care if I die; I can’t stay here.”
“Hell no.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“That was English so I know you understood, but let me repeat it. Hell. No.”
Ashli knew that the words coming from her mouth might seem outlandish and rash, but who cared? It was her life, and she didn’t want to live it in this place. There was nothing left for her. Nothing but goddamned Monkeyccino’s!
“What do you mean, ‘Hell. No’?”
“Ashli.” Máax’s hand slid down her arm. “I realize things are different here, but give it some time, I’m sure—”
“Monkeyccino’s? You turned my café into a twig and berries buffet! No. Take me back right now so I can undo it.” She found his hand and attempted to tug him toward the door.
“Ashli.” He stood firm. And dammit, with his enormous size, making him go anywhere he didn’t want to go would be like moving a tree stump with a pair of tweezers.
Maybe he’s ticklish. She jabbed for his armpit and missed.
“What are you doing, woman?” he asked as she attempted to locate the strategic spot.
Bingo! She slid her hand under his arm and began wiggling her fingers.
“Ashli? Why are you molesting my underarm? While I admit I enjoy it, the behavior is a bit peculiar.”
Ugh! It wasn’t working. She dropped her hand. Of course! Why would gods be ticklish? They were too powerful for that!
“Ashli?”
She made a little snarl. “You have to take me back.”
“I do not want to do that, and even if I did, I cannot. The tablet I use to access the portal in this time is currently located in Arizona.”
Grrrrr. “You’re lying again, aren’t you?”
“Why have you taken up growling?” he asked. “You do realize that is my move, yes?”
“Don’t you change subjects, you lying sonofabitch.”
“Perhaps I deserved that,” he replied, “but I promise you—”
“Prove it.” She pointed outside. She wanted to see the truth with her own eyes. Trust was a fragile thing, and he’d broken hers.
“Very well,” he grumbled.
They went outside to the spot where he’d buried the tablet twenty years ago. He dug down a few feet and sure enough, nothing.
“I’m certain the tablet washed into the ocean during one of the many hurricanes,” he said.
“Then take me to Arizona.” She didn’t want to stay a moment longer.
“Your request makes absolutely no sense, which means that either you are not telling me everything or you have gone mad. Or you are drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. Or mad.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and she turned away. She didn’t want him to see her cry. She was stronger than this.
Okay. No she wasn’t, but she really, really wanted to pretend.
“Ashli,” Máax said with a sweet, sympathetic boyfriendy kind of voice, “tell me what is troubling you.”
“That house,” she sniffled, “and that café were the only things I had left of my parents, Máax. And now they’re gone. It feels like I lost my family all over again.” She turned toward him. “Why didn’t you tell me everything would change?”
“If I had known how much they meant to you, I would have explained that things may be different twenty years ahead. But I am unused to thinking that way. After living tens of thousands of years, I no longer attach myself to material things. I barely notice them.” Máax’s hand cradled her cheek and sparked tingles all over her face. “I am sorry. I did not understand.” He pulled her into his body and held her close. That might have felt comforting except for the fact he was buck naked. Somehow those two didn’t go together.
She pulled back and cleared away her tears. Máax was silent for several moments, but she heard the faint sound of his beard being scratched. When would that man shave?
“I will take you to Ariz
“What?” she asked quietly.
“You take a swim with me. And you do more of that thing with your fingers. Okay. Those are two conditions, but so be it. I am a god, and this is my prerogative.”
Was he out of his mind? A swim? At a time like this? And he wanted to be tickled? “Hell. No,” she said, to use his own words.
He laughed in an arrogant, pleased sort of way.
“I don’t see what’s so funn—”
Máax pulled her into him and pressed his warm lips against hers. The kiss instantly dissolved her anger. His touch, his smell, the way his velvety, strong lips slid against her mouth made her forget why she’d been angry. Or worried. Or that he’d asked her to tickle him—weird.
Wait a second!
She pulled back and slapped him.
“Ow. What the diabolus!” he barked.
“You can’t do that kissing thing! It’s cheating,” she hissed.
Máax laughed with that deep, deep seductive voice. “Perhaps. But can I help that our connection is so powerful, my little time kangaroo?”
Time kangaroo? What the— He pulled her back—to his naked, naked, hard body… sigh—once again and seized her mouth. She struggled, but he hung on. Dammit, the man knew it was only a matter of moments before…
Oh, gods, he’s so, so delicious. Can’t resist.
Why did kissing this man, a man she couldn’t see, do this to her? He melted away any spark of resistance and worry, any apprehension and fear, with one lousy kiss. Okay. It wasn’t lousy. It was, hands down, the most elating experience of her life. Being touched by Máax was like being touched by a… by a…
A god?
Yes, her god. All hers.
“Please, Ashli,” he whispered between kisses.
She slid her hands over the hard swells of his, well, perfectly defined pecs, enjoying the sensation of him. Everything about Máax was so fiercely male. He made her feel feminine and delicate, but strong and sexy. But dammit, the man was so infuriating!
And sinfully male.
And so confusing.
And so heavenly!
And so dangerous. Yes, he was a danger to her soul. He was the kind of man who could blind a woman with his raw masculinity, his control and determination. But how could he be a threat to her when he also felt like her center of gravity? Her home.