Accidentally...Evil? (Accidentally Yours)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Horsefeathers! Maggie popped up. What was she thinking? She’d become completely engrossed in this conversation. “I need to use the powder room.”

  Chaam tilted his head to one side. “Powder room?”

  “I have to, you know, listen to the call of nature?”

  Chaam looked from side to side. “You hear them, too? How very odd. Perhaps it is a side effect.”

  What? Heavens no. She wasn’t crazy. “Uh, I have to empty my bladder.”

  “Oh. Of course.” He gestured toward the jungle. “You may use any tree you like.”

  This was her chance. She headed straight for the dark jungle.

  “Any tree where I can see you,” he added.

  Drat! She stopped and found herself staring straight up a wall of solid, unnerving man. How had he moved so fast? “You, you can’t honestly th-think-think that a lady would allow a man to watch her.”

  “I am not a man. I am a god, and there is little I haven’t seen except for these rooms made from powder you speak of. How do the walls stay up?”

  Ugh! Impossible, crazy, gorgeous man. “Magic. I can explain later, but right now, I need privacy.” She smiled as sweet as apple pie with ice cream on top. “Please?”

  Chaam considered her request for a moment. “If you are not back in one minute, I will send the jaguar after you. You cannot hide from that nose, and he is all too desperate to do anything to please me. He has his eye on a very fine female he’s been unable to woo.”

  Woo? Now the animals were wooing each other? Oh boy. He really was insane.

  “I understand.” She scurried off into the brush, praying those crazed animals were not waiting in the shadows like he’d said.

  Maggie. Are you forgetting? They stared at you for three hours like furry sentinels.

  Damn it, Maggie. You need to run. Now.

  So she did.

  Twenty Minutes Later

  “I told you not to run.” Chaam wrapped her twisted ankle in strips of linen he’d made from tearing apart his shirt.

  Maggie huffed, crossed her arms over her chest, and lay back in the hammock strung between two large trees near the campfire. “Well, what the deviled-ham sandwich did you expect? You hold me prisoner, tell me you’re going to rob me of my innocence—”

  Hunched over her ankle, Chaam bucked. “I never. Ever. Said I would force you.”

  “But you—”

  “Woman, I merely stated the facts, and I will gladly state them again. I plan to be inside you tonight.” He leaned over her face, his breath hot and sweet in her nostrils, filling her with every erotic thought known to womankind. “But you will beg me for it,” he whispered.

  She clamped her eyes shut. “Wh-why do you say those things?”

  He brushed his fingertips over her lips. “I always speak the truth without shame or remorse. And with time, you will learn to do the same. Meanwhile, do you need to be reminded of the vision?”

  She shook her head no.

  “I think you do. I think you need to see our naked, sweat-slicked bodies twisting together like two hungry serpents, to see my hands gripping your hips as you straddle my cock.”

  Maggie’s eyes flew open. How could he say such vulgar things? “I assure you I did not dream that. You’re a despicable monster.”

  Chaam straightened his back, made a little bow, and gestured gallantly toward the jungle. “Very well. If this is your opinion, then you may go.”

  Was this a trick? “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll let you go.”

  “Just like that?”

  He nodded. “In exchange for a kiss.”

  “Huh?”

  He tsked at her. “Do not play stupid. That is my price. A kiss. Prove that you did not feel what I feel, that you did not see what I saw, and I will let you go.”

  Oh hell! But she had seen it. She had! Ugh. This situation was insane. Think. Think. Think. She’d already kissed him once and survived with her wit and virtue intact. Yes, she could handle another.

  “Fine. I’ll kiss you, then you’ll let me go,” she replied.

  He yanked her from the hammock and held her so tightly that her toes dangled in the air. The sensation of their bodies pressed together, that warm, smooth, bare chest pressed against her palms, was intolerable. Tension, tension, so much delicious tension. Oh gods, she was about to sail that ship again.

  This man didn’t fight fair.

  She shot him a scowl. Oh! And he knows it! Every inch of that wickedly gorgeous face had male smugness written all over it.

  “W-well,” she said, “what are you waiting for? Kiss me.”

  He plunged to take his prize.

  Chapter 4

  This was not just a kiss. No. He would open himself to her, and she would know his torment, know the slow-burn ache of his loneliness. She would know his heart, soul, and mind. And then they would make love and uncover the bittersweet truth.

  What would he do if she was his mate? Did it matter? Any way he looked at it, the situation was impossible. His world did not fit neatly with a mortal’s, and he could never turn his back on what he was. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to move forward, from wanting to discover why fate had pulled them together. His lips slammed against Maggie’s, and his tongue thrust inside her mouth. Into her, he poured every raw ounce of unsated sexual hunger he’d endured. No more games.

  Several hellacious moments slid by before her walls of superficial, manmade decency and righteousness crumbled. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Hard. Needy. Uninhibited.

  Yes…

  His entire body instantly flooded with her light, which reached every corner of his soul. Holy hell, man. She has to be your mate. He did not need to make love to her to sense the powerful bond between them. But instead of it seeming like an insufferable fate, as he’d imagined it would, the connection filled him with quiet strength and a profound peace of mind. No matter what came next, he would find a way to be with her.

  “Say you want me,” he panted between kisses.

  Maggie peeled herself away and looked him in the eyes. “What are you?”

  “Does it really matter, Margaret? You feel we are meant to be together, and I have waited my entire existence for you. You feel the truth, so say it. Say you want me.”

  What could she say? Whatever he was, he’d just blown her ship deep into the swelling waves of uncharted waters. And that kiss! It was an ancient cyclone of nomadic wind that had journeyed across thousands of centuries, witnessing his life. Every exhilarating emotion and mundane thought, every beat of his neglected heart—she watched it all. She saw the faces of everyone he’d helped, his brethren, his foes. She felt his frustration for the role thrust upon him and the compulsion that kept him going even when he believed he might go mad if he lived another day as a god.

  Oh lord! Her mind sputtered. It was as though she’d been living on a Wild West movie set and had suddenly decided to peer through the saloon window, only to find the real world just on the other side.

  He was telling the truth. But how could gods exist without anyone knowing? The world was not at all what she’d believed.

  A lifetime of manufactured façades crumbled at her feet, and in this new reality, each sliver of bone in her trembling body sang with the truth: She was born to be with him. This was why no other man had ever touched her heart. I’m not broken…

  Maggie sighed. Yes, she wanted him. She would never breathe again without him. She would shrivel up and die this very instant without the rough touch of his hands on her bare skin, without knowing his lips intimately exploring her body, and without having him deep inside her. Every cell in Maggie’s body threatened to collapse if her body didn’t get its way.

  “Yes,” she finally purred.

  A twinge of wicked victory shaped his full, stubble-framed lips. “Yes, what?”

  “You’re really going to make me say it?”

  “Naturally.”

  “I want you,” she said wit
h her mouth, but her eyes boldly told him what was now in her heart and soul: the insane, magnanimous, epic truth that words could never articulate: She was his. At least, she sure the hell wanted to be.

  “That wasn’t begging.”

  “Don’t push it,” she hissed.

  “I didn’t say you have to beg with words.”

  He gently set her on the ground, steadying her on her good ankle. “Show me how you feel with your body.” He undid the top button of her dress.

  Her insides twisted into a knot of anticipation.

  Another button.

  And another.

  She swallowed.

  “Lovely.” He ran his callused fingertips over the swells of her half-exposed breasts, and strummed those taut ropes, which braced her sails, like the strings of a guitar.

  His hand stopped. “And what is this?”

  It was a necklace. She hadn’t removed it since the day her father—Christ! Her father!

  She stepped back and fisted shut the open panels of her dress. “There’s something I have to tell you.” She instinctively knew there could be no secrets between them.

  Oh God. I’ve gone insane. Haven’t I? I can’t believe this is all happening.

  Chaam closed the gap between them. “Can it wait? If it’s about the species question, I assure you I do not care. I would still want you even if you were part chupacabra.”

  What the flapjack is a chupacabra?

  She shook her head no. “My father is missing. That’s why I was in the jungle. And as much as I want to do this with you—as incredibly insane as that is—which I won’t argue with because you are clearly, clearly something different, and I am clearly, clearly not ever going to get you out of my system or head or life because I did see the vision, and it was… wow… and now I’ve gone all goofy for you—but I have to find him.”

  “Goofy? I assume this means you desire me?”

  She nodded.

  “Is the desire deep and consuming?”

  She nodded again.

  Chaam gloated with a smirk, just a little. “How long has he been missing?”

  “Three days. And he hasn’t been well.”

  “I assume you’re referring to his mental state?”

  She nodded.

  “Am I in time for s’mores?”

  Chaam shoved Maggie behind him and then groaned with relief. “For fuck’s sake, Cimil, how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?”

  “Five thousand, two hundred, and twenty-two,” Cimil said. “Only six thousand, three hundred and fifty more times to go before I listen!”

  Maggie immediately recognized the strange redhead, only now she wore a mariachi outfit, complete with dazzling sombrero. A loco-sombrero, of course.

  “Funny. Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?” Chaam asked.

  “What? Can’t a goddess of the underworld go for a leisurely stroll in the jungle for a little fresh air without having any hidden agendas, especially ones having to do with mischief, mayhem, and world domination?”

  “No,” Chaam replied.

  Maggie felt strangely relieved that Chaam didn’t seem particularly fond of the bizarre woman, because she sure as hell scared the crap out of Maggie.

  “She said she was looking for you when I saw her earlier,” Maggie whispered over Chaam’s shoulder.

  Chaam glanced at Maggie. “You already met my sister?”

  Maggie nodded, but actually wanted to wince or make some sort of sour face to express her complete distaste of this woman he called his sister. “Uh-huh. She came out of the lake when I was stuck on the dock.”

  Chaam whispered, “What did she say?”

  “Only the truth, brother,” Cimil spouted. “Maggie is your destiny.”

  Chaam growled. “You’re up to something. I know it.” He pointed toward the dock. “You. There. Now.”

  Cimil rolled her eyes and then began marching. “Gods. They’re so bossy,” she whispered as she passed Maggie.

  “No, he’s perfect,” Maggie hissed. Surprisingly, she didn’t appreciate anyone badmouthing Chaam.

  “Oh, you just wait,” Cimil replied and trailed behind her brother to the dock.

  While Maggie buttoned her dress, Chaam and his sister had an intense conversation. Not that Maggie could see their faces in the dark, but the water did a nice job of carrying their voices. Maggie had never heard the f-word so many times. She’d need to talk to Chaam about his abrasive, ungentlemanly vocabulary later. For the time being, however, she listened intently as Cimil swore over and over again that she hadn’t come to collect any—shit! Had she said “souls”?

  “You fucking expect me to believe you’re here for fun?” Chaam asked Cimil.

  “Yes! I heard about that cricket, and well, I… dammit, Chaam! You know what happened with Alberto. I completely overreacted. I’ve been searching for him ever since.”

  “That should teach you not to turn humans into insects. And that should really teach you not to set them free in the jungle!”

  Oh, my lord, Maggie thought. They can’t be serious.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Cimil said. “I merely wanted to teach him a lesson for spending all his time with that little slut!”

  “Cimil! She was his sister. She was his sick sister! Have you no compassion?”

  Long pause. “Is this a trick question?” Cimil asked.

  “Never mind,” he replied. “I am calling in that favor you owe me.”

  “Now?” she whined.

  “Yes.” Chaam’s voice softened to a whisper too low for Maggie to hear.

  After several moments, the two returned to the fire. “Maggie, Cimil has kindly agreed to look for your father, so if you could—”

  “What? You’re sending her?” Maggie asked.

  Cimil hissed. “Watch it, cupcake. I may look crazy, but I’m actually… actually, yeah. I’m crazy. I mean, you have no idea.” She snorted.

  Maggie suddenly realized that Cimil must’ve been the one Chaam had spoken of earlier; the god who’d tried to take lovers and lost her mind.

  Chaam pulled Maggie to the side. “Leaving you here alone is not an option; there are many dangers in this jungle. So either she goes or I go.”

  Maggie certainly didn’t want to stay alone with crazy-hat over there. “I see.”

  Chaam cupped her face. His hands were warm and rough, and as inappropriate as it was given the situation, Maggie couldn’t help but notice that sweet tension coiling right on cue.

  He threaded one hand through her hair and kissed her quickly. “I knew you would see it my way. Besides, you and I have some unfinished begging to attend to.”

  After Maggie gave her father’s description and the approximate location of the excavation site, Chaam spent a full ten minutes describing Cimil’s fate in explicit detail right down to her crazy cuticles if she didn’t find Maggie’s father pronto.

  Ironically, the graphic threat didn’t sour Maggie’s impression of Chaam; it cemented the truth in her bones. He was a deity. How had she not seen it? The power and authority he yielded leaked from every word, every gesture. Even Cimil’s blasé response—eye rolling and foot stomping, but never showing fear—indicated she was not of this world. Or maybe that was a sign of her bat-shit craziness? Who knew?

  Chaam watched Cimil’s silhouette fade into the night and then threw two logs on the waning campfire. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” Maggie asked.

  He dipped his head. “Yes. Ready.”

  Maggie’s entire body solidified into a mass of tense muscles. “You mean…”

  He made no production of reaching for the buttons of her dress.

  “Wait!” She gripped his hand. “I want to know something.”

  “Yes?” His eyes flickered with impatience.

  “You said that you’d waited for me your entire existence?”

  He nodded and a warm glowing smile stretched across his lips. And yes, she pathetically melted inside.
/>   “Are you absolutely sure it’s me?” she blurted.

  He nodded again. “I think I knew from the moment I touched you. Fate brought us together. I feel it.”

  She felt it too now. At least, that’s what she thought she felt. It was so dang difficult to believe. “But what if you’re mistaken?”

  “I am never wrong about such things.”

  “I’ll need a little more than that if I’m going to give myself to you.”

  He didn’t bother to contemplate a response. “I have spent thousands upon thousands of years assisting mortals bond with their true loves. I have become very adept at recognizing the signs of two souls meant for one another.”

  “But didn’t you say you’re the God of Male…” Oh, what was it? Whoopee? Friskiness? Horniness.

  “Virility,” he said.

  “Yes, that. Which means you help men…”

  “Have sex. But I do not waste my time with those who simply want to fuck. Although, fucking,” he slid his finger over the curve of her jaw, “certainly has its place and purpose.”

  To hear him say that word in that way spiked her mind with vivid sexual images. Images that sent her heart on a thumping rampage. God, she actually wanted him to say it again.

  “I help males,” he continued, “who have found their true love but have lost their way and are unable to take that next, all-important step. Sometimes it is fear of rejection or fear they will not please the woman, especially if it is his first time.”

  “But why do you only help men?” she said.

  He gave her a “you-must-be-joking” look.

  “What? It’s a legitimate question.”

  “Because,” he replied, “men are idiots.”

  Can’t argue there.

  “More precisely, they are idiots when it comes to intimacy. Women have a natural gift for such things.”

  Again. Can’t argue there.

  “What do you do to help them?” she asked.

  He shrugged like a man who had all the answers. “Depends on the situation. Sometimes, it’s merely a question of removing the negative energy they’ve accumulated—fear is like a cancer of the spirit. Other times, I must compel them to simply push ahead, so to speak. And then there are those occasions when I must teach them precisely what to do.”