Sunburn (12 page)

He whipped off his boxers, cutting off the words in her throat. For a moment, Apollo just stood there, nude, his eyes challenging her.

He was glorious to behold, and she couldn’t look away. Everything about him demanded her acute attention. From the way his strong shoulders gave way to perfect biceps and triceps, to the way his ribs were covered in delectable muscle. His waist narrowed, with two gorgeous cuts of brawn right above his hips. And the delights of his crotch made her mouth water. He had the same beautiful blond hairs there, catching the light in the room. Trailing toward a cock that moved for her. It was so big, it was out of this world.

And it looked delectable.

She now understood why all those old sculptors labored to recreate his image in marble. He was so gorgeous, he just demanded a statue.

Without saying another word, Apollo opened the door to the balcony and stepped into the shower. Patience just lay there, immobile and frustrated with want, and stared as he turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

Her eyes took in his incredible ass, and she swallowed as she glimpsed the flexing muscle there. It was so perfect, she wanted to frame it. She’d never forget its distinct curves.

He found the right temperature and stepped under the coursing water. He closed his eyes and got his hair wet. She gulped as it turned from golden to the color of wet hay. He reached for his shampoo, and she knew she should look away.

Look away, you sex-crazed pervert!

But she didn’t want to look anywhere else. She could barely move or think or breathe. Apollo, god of the sun, was bathing in front of her. In fact, she had the strong suspicion he was bathing
for
her.

He lathered up, and the white stream of bubbles dripped from his head over his shoulders, hips, and legs. He rinsed his hair, and she reeled in bed, feeling as if she were floating on air and not on a solid foundation.

And then, to her surprise and delight, he took a bar of soap and turned to her. Through the glass window separating them, he stared at her, daring her to hold his gaze. With excruciating slowness, he rubbed the soap over his chest, lathering the sparse hairs there. Keeping his eyes trained on hers, he moved the bar over his nipples, and they tightened. He then moved the soap over his flat stomach toward his pubic area. Still gazing at her, his face concentrated, he moved the bar around his scrotum, sudsing the whole area for her viewing pleasure.

And then he dropped the soap. With purpose.

Patience watched, desperate to touch herself, desperate to have him touch her, as he gripped his cock and pumped. She stared, rapt, overcome by the desire etched into his face as he pleasured himself. Like a student in some weird Sex Ed class, she looked on, mesmerized, learning and absorbing which sorts of strokes made him shudder. Which touches made his knees buckle.

Somehow, as she observed those long, slow strokes, Patience felt at one with Apollo. As if she were seeing not only his most intimate moment but also into a piece of his soul. A part of him he’d saved just for her. As his breath hitched, hers did too. As his movements grew jerkier, she almost heard his heart beat. She concentrated on his hand and his glazed eyes, so focused on her, and somehow believed in that moment she knew him better than anyone had ever known him.

She continued to watch until he came, as a juicy stream of cum exploded from him, streaking up his stomach, only to be washed away in the shower. And she wished she could have licked it away instead.

Resting his hand on the wall for support, Apollo stared back, apparently equally rapt. After a few more tortuous moments, he turned off the shower and grabbed a hanging towel.

Before he reentered the room, Patience turned over and brushed away a tear that appeared out of nowhere in her eye. She had no idea why she should be crying, except for the aching sense of loss in not being able to join him in that shower.

The balcony door opened, and she heard him step back into the bedroom and stop. “Patience,” he whispered. “I know you’re awake.”

She couldn’t reply. What had she done? Normal people didn’t so such things. But she’d been unable to look away. Mortified, she pretended to be asleep.

And being who he was, Apollo didn’t bother her again. She heard him throw on some clothes, heard the scrape of the corner chair on the floor, and heard him settle on it. He turned the light out, and she lay awake in that big bed by herself.

Awake for hours.

Chapter 9

When the next morning came, Patience was miserable with aborted passion and withheld lust. She lay in bed for long minutes, waiting for any sign Apollo might be awake.

God help her if he wanted a morning shower too. She couldn’t watch again. She’d end up in the loony bin!

Waiting for any signs of life from the corner chair, she heard nothing. Finally she decided she couldn’t wait any longer to hit the bathroom. As quietly as she could, she lifted the covers off her legs and commenced what she hoped was a stealthy, ninja-like scootch out of the bed.

“Good morning,” he boomed in a happy voice from out from the corner, scaring her. “Did you sleep well?”

She dared to sit up and look at Apollo. He was indeed still in the chair, but dressed in sporty swim trunks with a blue floral design and flip-flops. Bare-chested. Looking totally refreshed. And grinning like the sexiest piece of man candy she’d ever seen.

“Sure,” she muttered, rubbing her makeup-smeared eyes. “Just peachy.”

He was at her side in a second, a warm hand on her cheek, his eyes creased with concern. “Was the bed uncomfortable?”

“No.” Her crotch was uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get much rest.” He looked at her for a moment and then smiled. “You’re cute in the morning.”

Oh God. What must my breath be like?
“I think you need glasses, Mr. Olympus.”

He laughed. “It’s true, you know. I only tell the truth. At least, I can’t lie outwardly.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s my curse.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I literally cannot utter a lie. It’s just part of my role.” He dropped his gaze to her bare legs and ran it up and down their length. “So when I say you’re cute, I mean it.”

Patience felt such a scorching wave of heat, she was sure her whole body was blushing.

“Listen,” he said softly. “Last night…”

Oh no, she couldn’t go there again. Patience jumped out the bed. “Sorry. Have to pee!” She fled into the bathroom.

When she reentered the room after fifteen minutes, after having peed and bathed, he was waiting for her with a full room-service breakfast. Bacon. Eggs. The whole mouthwatering deal.

“Let’s eat,” he said, still annoyingly bright and cheery. “Today, I’m taking you off the resort. We both need a break from this place and from the demons that haunt it. So, in order to continue our ultimate Mayan Riviera experience, I’m taking you to Tulum beach. We can look at the ruins, or just worship the sun. Sound good?”

Patience stared. Why did she feel she was already worshipping the sun? “Um, okay.”

“You’ll love it, I promise. The beach at Tulum is one of the most picturesque in the world.” He looked at the meal. “Now, can I butter your toast?”

She gazed at him, dazed by his sunny beauty. “Thanks.”

You can butter my toast any time you want.

* * * *

They spent the morning wandering the Mayan ruins at Tulum. Rather than take one of the overcrowded tours, Apollo gave her a personal tour and told her about the Mayan history. She seemed fascinated, smiling and nodding at his stories, making comments that proved how hard she’d been listening. She seemed a little spooked once or twice, but that was only because she’d clued in on the fact he was around while all that history was occurring.

Okay, maybe being with someone like him could be daunting. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hard on all those women from his past. Still…

Around lunchtime, he led her toward the beach area. Tulum was built on a palm-tree dotted cliff overlooking a small but pristine beach area. To get to the actual beach one descended a rickety set of old, wooden stairs. The stairs had been there for years themselves, withstanding the saltwater mists and tropical storms, and most tourists approached them with a wary eye and tentative step. Patience was no different.

She gasped upon seeing the beach for the first time. “It’s incredible,” she said on a sigh. And then she looked at the steps, her brows arched. “But we have to walk down those steps? They look ready to collapse.”

“Come on,” he teased, grabbing her hand. “Thousands of visitors come here each year. If the steps can hold them, they can hold us too.” He pulled her close, slid his left arm around her waist, and held her other hand in his.

As he gripped her body, he experienced a pang of warning.
You’re getting too close. What was that sex show you gave her in the shower anyway? It was fit for the red-light district in Amsterdam. Just find the fucking demon and stop fantasizing about what it would feel like to bury yourself to the hilt in her soft body!

But she felt so good. And even though he’d hated himself for masturbating in front of her, the urge to fuck her had been so great, he’d had to do something to alleviate the burn.

And she’d liked it. He could tell. She hadn’t been able to drag her gaze away from him. Patience O’Connor might like to play the prim professional woman, but he suspected there was a sexual lioness underneath all that austerity.

Maybe it was time to explore her other side, prophecies and demons and past betrayals be damned.

They reached the bottom of the staircase with a final creak and Patience let out the breath she’d been holding. He turned her to face him. “See? Told you I’d keep you safe.” Of course, with his powers, he could have flown with her to the bottom, but the stairs were part of the Tulum experience. Plus any excess flying would have freaked out the tourists.

“I think I might have peed my pants on those stairs.”

Grinning, he ran a finger over her furrowed brow. “You can stop frowning now. Hey,” he said, noticing a long scar on her forehead right under her hairline. He hadn’t seen it before. “That’s a nasty scar. How’d you get it? In the car accident with your mom?”

Was this why she was always touching her hair?

Her face paled and became a blank slate as she turned to a nearby palm tree and fingered one of its broad leaves. She then looked off into the distance. “Let’s hit the beach.”

He watched as she walked away, true turmoil in his gut. She might be disguising her emotions, but he’d seen the brief look of despair in her eyes.

And there had been another emotion in her eyes too. Fleeting, remembered terror.

Someone had hurt her. Not some evasive wraith from Hades. A flesh-and-blood person had done something bad to Patience. He’d left his mark, and it was hurting her still.

Hell, it was hurting him.

Apollo was surprised at how badly he wanted to punch something. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to uproot the fucking palm trees. By Poseidon’s barnacle-infested ass, who was this bastard who hurt her?

He followed her down the beach, intending to get to the bottom of the matter. Then he’d find the little shit and return the favor.

He caught up. “Patience, wait.”

She was intent on avoiding the subject and avoiding his gaze. She pulled their towels out of her beach bag and indicated a spot on the sand. “Is this a good spot?”

Apollo looked around. There were tourists everywhere, and he really wanted to be alone with her so she’d feel comfortable talking. Damn.

What to do?

He was inspired by a sudden idea. Glancing at the sky, he summoned a terrible, black rain cloud. It soared into view with a crack of thunder and the whole beach darkened with the impending storm. Instantly, the tourists headed for the hills, leaving the beach deserted except for them.

“Oh no,” Patience cried. “We’d better head back.”

He held her elbow. “Wait a minute.” As he spoke, the rain cloud settled right over the stairs to the beach, discouraging any other tourists. And at the same moment, the sky cleared over him and Patience, leaving the beach as welcoming and sunny as ever.

Her eyes grew wide. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

He grinned. “What’s the use of having special powers if you can’t play with them?”

“It’s not fair to those people,” she argued.

Fuck fair
. “Don’t worry. I’ll reverse the spell shortly.” He laid out their towels and urged her to sit. “Now, tell me how you got the scar. I want to know, Patience.”

She sat and gathered her legs into her chest and held them there. She was so pretty in that moment. Tangerine-colored toenails on ten wiggling toes. Her dark waves caught up in a high ponytail. That deadly orange bikini under her shorts and T-shirt. The bright straps peeked out under her shirt.

If only she didn’t look so sad.

Staring ahead, she spoke. “I was engaged two years ago. Thought I’d found my soul mate. Foster was sweet and protective and so handsome. I thought I’d hit the jackpot.” She looked at him, her mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “He was in sales, but with the recession he lost his job. He’d never been fired before. He took it really hard, didn’t know what to do with himself. He hung out in bars a lot, drinking. And because I was doing okay, he didn’t really get up off his backside to look for a new job. He discovered he was happy being a couch dweller, and I indulged him for a while because I thought he was just going through a rough patch.”

“I take it the rough patch lasted a little too long.”

“You could say that,” she concurred. “I thought if I just encouraged him a little more, just pushed him in the right direction, that he’d bounce back. But he drank even more. For me, with my background, that should have been enough to send me packing. It should have been a big, honking red flag. But foolishly, I stayed, thinking it was wrong of me to bail on him in his hour of need. Just as I thought I could fix my mother, I thought I could fix Foster.”

“I take it he didn’t want your help.”