Page 11

Apparently, my subconscious has excellent taste in dirty talk.

“Wow. Straight to the inappropriate comments, huh?”

“You began by discussing what lies beneath my garments.”

“Fair point.”

He steps away from the altar, and the shadows retreat from his face.

My breath catches.

It’s him.

The statue from the museum.

The same arrogant jaw. The same impossibly perfect mouth. The same powerful body I’ve spent hours examining beneath the laboratory lights.

Except now his damaged face is whole.

And those eyes.

Silver-violet, bright and unsettling, fixed entirely on me.

“You recognize me,” he says.

I nod slowly.

“You’re the statue.”

His expression darkens.

“I am not a statue.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You were doing a pretty convincing impression of one earlier.”

“I am a god.”

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”

“A god who has been imprisoned for centuries.”

I glance at the surrounding temple.

“Well, congratulations on your escape. Although I have to say, this is a little elaborate for a first date.”

He approaches.

I hold my ground, mostly because I’m curious what my imagination plans to do next.

“You touched me,” he says.

I blink.

“Excuse me?”

“In the place where I am imprisoned. You placed your hand upon my face.”

“Oh. Right.”