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“Well?” he demands.

I stare at him.

His violet eyes follow me as I take a cautious step backward.

“Well, what?”

“Touch me, little mortal.”

I fold my arms.

“Wow. Three thousand years trapped in stone, and nobody taught you manners?”

His mouth curves.

“You are a remarkably insolent woman.”

“And you’re a remarkably bossy lawn ornament.”

His eyes narrow.

“Lawn ornament?”

“Would you prefer decorative paperweight?”

“I am Morpheus. God of Dreams and Desire.”

“Congratulations. I’m Calla. Goddess of Not Taking Orders From Naked Statues.”

His gaze drops to my mouth.

“An intriguing title.”

I shouldn’t be smiling.

I definitely shouldn’t be noticing the way the muscles beneath his cracked marble chest seem to move when he breathes.

But apparently, my survival instincts have taken the evening off.

“Please,” he says.

I blink.

“What?”

“Touch me. Please.”

Oh.

Well.

That’s unfairly effective.

I approach the pedestal.

“Just so we’re clear, if this turns into some kind of ancient curse situation, I’m going to be extremely annoyed.”

“Darling, I assure you, I am worth the inconvenience.”