Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
“For now, I guard her with my life. She is—” Ravenous sexual hunger clawed at Rathbone, stealing his thoughts. It was a sensation one female caused.
Confused, he returned his gaze to the throne. His jaw dropped. There, standing between the golden seats, stood Lore, wringing her fingers.
Did he truly see her? Or was she nothing more than a mirage?
Inside him, hope flared. “Lore?”
She gazed upon Rathbone as if he were the sole male in existence. A soft smile bloomed even as a lone tear slid down her cheek. “Hello, my love,” she rasped. “There’s much we need to discuss.”
Her lilting voice filled his ears for the first time in centuries, and he jolted. Mirage or not, she was here. Lore was here. With him. A swell of anticipation proved stronger than any pain he’d suffered since her loss, destroying centuries of apathy in seconds.
He croaked, “Leave us, Hades. Now.”
“Trust me, I’d rather be anywhere else. I’ll go and smooth things over with Taliyah. But you and I will speak again.” With that, Hades vanished.
Rathbone barely registered the male’s statements. Eight long strides brought him to his beloved mate. “Are you truly before me?” He reached up, intending to cup her exquisite face. His fingers misted through her, and a roar of fury sped along his tongue. He needed to feel her. Recalling how much the slightest display of anger frightened her, however, he clamped his teeth, so only choking sounds escaped. “Are you real?”
“I’m here. I’m real.” She offered him another smile, even as a second tear descended.
The sight shredded him. “Do not cry, beauty. Whatever’s wrong, I’ll make it better.”
Watery baby blues pleaded with him. “Then you must act quickly, my darling. Time is running out.”
5
Happy to be alone, Neeka stripped down to her diamond necklace and rushed through a cold shower. Using Big Red’s assortment of products didn’t help douse the fire raging through her. Worse, the scent of spiced juniper berries added fuel to the flames.
She might need a total memory wipe to cool off. How else could she forget a naked Rathbone and the colossal red rocket he’d pointed in her direction. He was pierced from tip to base, exactly as rumors claimed. Ribbed for a woman’s pleasure.
The air grew thick yet steamy, making breathing more difficult. How she’d stopped herself from gawking at the prehistoric beast and his mighty club, she wasn’t sure. She only knew her heartbeat had yet to slow.
As she rinsed soap from her skin, her gaze caught on her forearm, where she’d scripted he-licks-her. What did it mean? To let Rathbone lick her? Because okay, if Past Neeka insisted. Present Neeka owed the girl big time for scoring this job assignment.
But. That couldn’t be right. Neeka did not, would not, could not, should not ever mess around with a so-called married guy. Even though he wasn’t technically married.
Was he?
Upon emerging from the massive stall, she doctored the clothing he’d provided, cutting wing slits in her new shirt, and turning the sweatpants into shorts more miniscule than the last pair.
As she dressed, she directed her thoughts to things that mattered. Why had she been so dirty? She thought she remembered digging somewhere for something, but where and for what? Why? And dang it, how had her scheme to distract him with another lover and avert disaster failed so miserably?
She’d intended to convince Rathbone to date around. To form an attachment to a non-evil immortal. Someone exceptional, so he’d cease longing for Lore. At least long enough for Neeka to cobble together a better plan. But nooo. He maintained a stable filled with well-satisfied mistresses, proving a new love interest wasn’t the answer to her dilemma. And they were well-satisfied, weren’t they? She bet they spent hours in comas of bliss.
Ignore the envy. What was she supposed to do now? Besides finish her search of his bedroom to learn more about him. No witnesses meant no reason not to do it.
In a blaze of motion, she browsed the contents of his other drawers, opened trunks, and scanned any new document she came across. Well. He owned a wealth of boxer briefs decorated with wild prints. From cartoon animals to smiling cupcakes and stick people. But he’d never worn a single pair, as evidenced by the tags he had yet to remove. He collected house slippers with animal faces, ate cookies in bed, printed pages from romance novels, and watched human dramas as evidenced by the shows recorded on his TV.
What a surprising, complicated male. Merciless killer, ruthless king, devoted husband with multiple lovers, collector of the most amazing underwear, closet romantic, and sweet tooth aficionado. Color Neeka fascinated. And disappointed. He’d lost serious sex appeal points with that stable confession. If he were her male—which he wasn’t—but if he was—which he would never be—she would insist on fidelity.