Mr. Peterson raiseda handauthoritatively. “That won’t be necessary.”
Hmph.
Taking a sheepish step backward, I nodded in understanding. “Of course.”
Instead of leaving, I stood there racking my brain with ways to bridge this gap between him and the man who had wanted to send a token of his love.
Icouldn’tvery well snap my fingersin front of him and make all his romantic fantasies come true on the spot. Instead, I pulled out the last trick I hadupmy sleeve.
“One more thing.” I lifteda fingerin front of me. “The gentleman who ordered these for you wanted me to tell you that this time next year, he hopes to deliver these personally.”
A deliberate pause before dropping theclincher, “With, I quote, a side of whipped cream on his ‘dessert platter.’” My suggestive wink was deliberate to allude to the shared discretion in the true meaning behind those words.
Beat… beat.
There it was, the desired Double-Tap. I resisted the urge to blow on my polished nails with a sense of smugness.
“Well, you have a lovely Valentine’s Day, Mr. Peterson.” I waved at him as I smiled, asense of prideevidentin the way my hips swung side to side in a giddy, dancelike motion.
The soft click of the front door behind meevidencedthe retreat of the butler back inside with his lover’s promise singing in his soul.
I strutted to the driver’s side of my truck, jerking the door open. Before getting in, I looked up at the goddess, Nyx. In a childlike manner, I stuck my tongue out at her while making a squinty face with one eye closed.
Take your negativity and shove it. Love has prevailed!
Hoisting myself into the driver’s seat, I was prepared to pull away when I noticed the clipboard with the delivery receipt on it.
“Dammit,” I whispered in irritation.
He had forgotten to sign for the package.
With a heavy sigh, I snatched up the clipboard and headed right back over to those overbearing double doors.
My finger impatiently pressed the doorbell several times, cutting off the lyre’s smooth and graceful notes with more ragged tones.
Pl-pl-plin-plu-pla-ling.
On the other side of the door, there were several bangs, heavy thuds, and approaching footsteps. The door swung open.
“Sorry, I just need you to sign…” My words dissolved into silence as I came face to chest with a towering man.
With the slowness of a woman regretting her choice of flat footwear, I tilted my head back. My eyes trailed up the row of buttons of his white dress shirt, thetop two buttons at the collar left undone to expose the bronzed-olive skin beneath it. The hollow of his throat, the bulge of his Adam’s apple, and the dark stubble just starting to break through on his chin that matched the rest of his hair.
Swallowing past the beat of my heart lodged in my throat, I dared to continue looking upwards. Past the full lips pressed into a firm line. Up to the straight set of his nose, except for a small deviation that suggested surviving at least one break.
Then, my eyes met his.
I had expected darkness. Instead, I was met with a dynamic shade of brown that stole the air from my lungs. The earthy pools reminded me of a battleground moments after war’s carnage hadceased,the soil soaked with blood of fallen warriors who haddepartedfor the afterlife. Volatile. Cold. Soul capturing.
He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.
The scent of the gods waftedoff ofhim in suffocating waves. Notes of thunder, sharp citrus, and cool flames of immortality filled my lungs.
Without looking behind me, I could almost feel the vindicated stare of the statue of Nyx boring into me.
I may have even heard her snicker in the gust of wind that blew the clipboard straight from my fingertips.
The man—thegod—before me spoke with a gravelly voice that sent violent shivers down my spine and confirmed his recognition of my true self.
