TOMMASO (Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Book 2)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Shut your hole,” Guy said, “or I’ll shove something in there to shut it for you.”

  Tommaso bobbed his head slowly. “I am so, so not into that, but I do not judge how a god spends his free time. That being said—get me the hell out of here.”

  “Shut up,” Guy snarled. “That’s not what I meant, but you should be so lucky to have such a glorious penis in your—wait. Never mind. This conversation has gotten away from me.” Guy’s eyes flickered with annoyance. “You know I can’t simply free you, Tommaso. Zac put you into custody for a valid reason, and to remove you without a proper review by the gods would be a violation of our laws.”

  “Then let’s get his case reviewed,” Emma said. “They’re all over at your brother’s beach house for the emergency summit anyway. Just get them to throw it onto the agenda.”

  Guy scratched his black stubbled chin, mulling it over.

  “Honey,” Emma said sweetly, “there’s no other choice. We have to convince them to let Tommaso out to find this woman. It’s either that or he’s going to be declared a threat to humanity and will be sent away to prison. And so will you.”

  The closest prison was near Sedona, Arizona, and was where the baddest of the bad immortals were kept.

  Guy bobbed his head. “We will plead our case to my brethren.”

  Yes!

  Guy continued, “Let us go now. They’ll be returning from their lunch break soon, and we want them in a good mood.” Guy and Emma turned to leave.

  “Before you go,” Tommaso blurted, “could you please find me some earplugs? I can’t listen to those groaning clowns anymore.”

  “Not a chance,” said Guy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  With his shamelessly carnal gaze directed at Tula, the God of Temptation licked his lips as he sat in the corner of his brother Kinich’s banquet-sized dining room, which was decorated in an ancient Egyptian palace motif complete with glyphs, those gold-plated candy-cane-looking things, and faux torches.

  Dear gods, she’s going to… Zac tightened his grip on the gold-painted arms of his chair, watching with bated breath as Tula, in her blue and white Hawaiian muumuu, bent over to refill another water glass on the long stone slab table in the center of the room.

  Yeah, baby. So not hot… But watching Tula perform the most mundane of tasks, like making a pot of coffee at the office, was like porn to him. The less hot, the more painfully erotic—a God of Temptation thing. After all, he couldn’t get all excited about tempting someone who was easily tempted. That would be more like fulfilling their dreams or granting wishes—not his gig.

  But tempting people? Pushing them over the edge to follow their deepest, darkest desires? Hell, yeah. He was all over that shit.

  Besides, temptation wasn’t always a bad thing—it served to challenge people and sometimes got them to think about their true priorities.

  But most of the time, it just makes them do shit they regret. Also fun!

  Tula scratched her right boob and then continued refilling glasses.

  Such a fucking turn-on. Zac crossed his legs and tugged down the hem of his “Screw World Peace, I Want a Pony” T-shirt to hide the boner pushing painfully against the zipper of his black leather pants. Thankfully, the rest of the gods were outside on the enormous patio overlooking Malibu beach, eating burgers and hot dogs prepared by his brother Kinich. Kinich was once the Sun God, but had a little issue that turned him into a vampire. Then there was that other matter regarding Zac having tried to steal Kinich’s mate, thus the reason Zac was in the deity doghouse. Not that he was complaining at the moment.

  Because, sweet gods, look at the titillating full coverage of her giant dress. I think I’m going to cu—

  “Zac, please stop staring,” Tula said, carrying on with her task of refreshing the table—water, pens, paper, and tequila for Belch, the God of Wine and Intoxication—being used for the emergency summit meeting. “It’s just not going to happen between us. Not to mention, you’re my boss.”

  Boss? Who cares? Titles meant nothing to him, unless they were talking about his. God of Temptation. And don’t forget the Sofa King. Sofa King awesome! He mentally fist bumped himself.

  “I’m not staring,” Zac said, his gaze locked on the bit of creamy ankle skin peeking out from beneath her long dress. “I’m attempting to discern what makes you so irresistible—you’re the most unsexy woman I’ve ever met.” That was a flat-out lie—he already knew what made her so enticing—but he’d take any excuse to continue staring at her.

  She picked up an empty glass at the head of the table and shot him a look. “Golly gee, Mr. Zac, you know just howta make a girl feel special.”

  Yes. I do. But that’s beside the point. He was beginning to wonder if her way of dressing and demeanor were deliberate, almost as if she knew her prudishness was a turn-on.

  “Tula, why do you wear camping tent frocks and undergarments that could provoke a perfectly healthy and virile man to take a vow of celibacy?”

  Her head of blonde hair whipped in his direction, her blue eyes screaming foul, which shocked him, frankly; she was always smiling, always pleasant, no matter what he did.

  Tula held up her frosty-pink fingernail. “First of all, Mr. Zac, it’s not a tent, it’s called a muumuu—it’s hot out today, and I like being comfortable. Same goes for my underwear. Although, I am considering changing to a less itchy cotton bra. Polyester is not my L.A. friend.” She held up two fingers. “Second of all, my fiancé doesn’t care what I wear because he loves me for my kind heart and,” she tapped the side of her head, “for what’s up here. So I suggest you stop obsessing over women’s exteriors, Mr. Zac. You might just find the girl of your dreams right under your nose.”

  Maybe I’ve already found her. Because Tula was spicier than a habañero Hot Pocket—a regular cheese Hot Pocket stuffed with fresh habaneros and the only thing he really knew how to cook.

  Yes. I’m a stereotypical, immortal badass bachelor. So what?

  Anyway, getting back to Tula… The issue was that Cimil had made it very clear: Tula was an employee and not fair game. Tula was also one hundred percent committed to some mortal shmuck, Gilbert. Not that Zac would ever believe anything Cimil said—his current predicament of being relieved of his powers, banished to L.A., and sentenced to find immortal love for one hundred couples was all her godsdamned fault. All because he’d followed his heart and made a play for Penelope, Kinich’s mate. A very long story and all water under the bridge—mostly. What hadn’t passed beneath that infamous proverbial bridge of no return, however, was how much he wanted Tula and how much she didn’t want him back. Even when he’d been pursuing Penelope, prior to her full commitment to Kinich, he’d managed to get her interested. With Tula, though? Nada. He’d kissed her, held her, given her “the stare,” which no woman on Earth could resist.

  Yet she had.

  “Are you sure your fiancé wants you for your mind?” he asked.

  “Mr. Zac!” she snapped.

  “Okay, but has he ever seen your underwear?” Because he fucking loved it. The giant granny panties especially. They just screamed “I need temptation in my life!” And he was here to serve.

  She shook her head. “You already know I’m saving myself and don’t believe in premarital sex.”

  Such a shame, because he would bet his favorite Bionic Man lunch pail—yes, it was a collector’s item, so he had one—that Tula could drive a man crazy with her petite little body and wholesome goodness.

  “You might want to show him the nunly goods before you tie the knot, baby, because your underwear is a crime against hum-man-ity.” Zac mentally high-fived himself that time.

  Tula huffed with indignation and then went about her business, completely ignoring him.

  “What? I meant that as a compliment,” he said defensively.

  Suddenly, Tula set down her pitcher of water, planted both hands on the table, and began to sob.

  Fuck. What did I do? Zac stood from his chair and rushe
d toward her. “Tula, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry.” Did she not comprehend how human suffering, no matter where the deity landed on the asshole scale, impacted a god?

  Tula covered her face with both hands and turned into Zac’s chest, bawling her eyes out.

  “Tula, I’m sorry. Please don’t—”

  “No. It’s…not…you…” Sniffle, snort, sob. “We broke up.”

  “You and Gilbert?”

  Sob, sob, sob. “Yes.”

  Yes! Is right. Zac smiled to himself and wrapped his arms around her small frame. This was the chance he’d been hoping for.

  “What was it?” he asked. “The fact that you work for the sexiest male on the planet? Or his small penis?” Zac stroked the back of her head. “You can tell me anything.”

  “No,” she snorted. “I really shouldn’t. It’s a private matter.”

  “No. You really should.” Because now I’m dying to hear why. “It will make you feel better.” While indulging my thirst for superficial drama.

  A moment passed, and she pulled back enough to see his face, but remained wrapped in his arms, their bodies lightly touching.

  Thank the gods for the confining strength of leather. She’d be halfway to pregnant already. But damned she felt amazing—warm and soft. Just the right size for cuddling.

  Whoa! I am a god. Gods do not cuddle. We kick ass and fuck.

  He took a small step back and dropped his arms. She was too busy sniffling and wiping the tears from under her eyes to notice.

  “You’re probably right,” she whimpered. “I haven’t told anyone, and it’s tearing me apart.”

  Annoyingly, Zac felt his urge to help the poor human kick in. Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

  Like rusty razor blades scraping their way up his throat, the words involuntarily bubbled out, “You…can…tell…me.” Aaagh…this is awful. “I want to help.”

  “Really?” She looked up at him with her doey blue eyes. “This isn’t some ploy to get me into bed?”

  “No. Don’t get me wrong; I mean, yes, I do want to get you into bed, but my need to comfort you is purely instinctual.”

  Her mouth dropped open with a huff. “So you’re basically telling me that you don’t really care and any kindness on your part is involuntary?”

  Was this a trick question? “Uhhh…yeah. I’m a god. That’s how it works.”

  She shook her head and stepped back, irritation flickering in her eyes. “And right there, Mr. Zac, is the reason you don’t have a woman.”

  He frowned. “I have plenty of women. A new one every night.” I mean, look at me. I’m seven feet of hard lean muscle in sexy leather pants. Had she not noticed?

  She lifted her chin. “Has it ever occurred to you that you have a different woman every night because none of them want to stick around?”

  Pfft! What…what…complete and total rubbish! “Women beg me to give them another go. All the time.”

  She shot him a look of doubt.

  “Okay,” he admitted, “perhaps they don’t ask with their mouths, but they ask with their eyes.”

  She turned away, shaking her head, and then went back to filling glasses in silence.

  “You doubt me?” he asked, thoroughly offended.

  She made a little shrug. “Who am I to judge you? You’re a god, after all. And I’m just Tula—little old mortal.”

  Of course, what she really meant was “You’re just a stupid guy, like the rest.”

  “I bet the real reason you don’t put out,” he said, “is because deep in your heart you know that you’ll be no good at it. Gotta hook him into marriage first before he runs. Am I right?”

  Ha! Take that, you judgmental seductress!

  Tula dropped the half-full glass in her hand and began to sob.

  Oh no. Oh no. I made her cry again. “Tula, I’m so—”

  She whipped around. “Fine, you win! I probably am bad in bed, and that does scare me. But he left me because I wouldn’t sleep with him, so I lose either way! There. Are you happy?” she yelled. “You’re all the same!” Tula turned and ran from the dining room.

  “Now that was entertaining! Even Minky is clapping!” said his sister Cimil, who stood in the doorway leading out to the patio, her flaming red hair scooped up into two giant pigtails toward the top of her head.

  “Shut up, Cimil, before I shove Minky up your ass.”

  She gasped with a snarky smile and placed her hand over her heart. Of course, her heart was covered with hot pink feathers since her entire blouse was made of them, making her look like one of those Troll things humans used to place over the eraser end of their pencils.

  “You have offended my unicorn, and she is now challenging you to a duel.”

  He scoffed. “I’m not going to duel your invisible, blood-sucking unicorn. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Cimil looked over her shoulder at whatever was or wasn’t there—who knew when Cimil was pretending or being serious? She then looked back at Zac. “Okay. Suit yourself. But that means you’ll have to pay some other way, and Minky’s been feeling quite randy since she got lucky at the mixer.”

  Zac made a sour face. Disgusting. “You really are bat-shit, Cimil.”

  “Yup.” She nodded. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pry Tula out of Kinich’s coat closet, where she’s crying hysterically and thinking of surrendering her virtue and living out her days as a harlot because someone—” her turquoise eyes bulged out in his direction like two giant spears “—has made her feel like she’s worthless and undeserving of love. Thanks for that, asshole. Come, Minky.” Cimil marched from the room, in the same direction as Tula.

  “But I didn’t do…” Zac’s words faded as he realized that she was long gone and not interested in listening.

  Gods, what’s gotten into me? He really had crossed the line and acted like a giant turd. He hadn’t meant to, but what was a god to do? Pretend he was someone else? Someone kinder and deeper who actually gave a shit about others?

  Pfft. Never. Only, he did care. Just a little. And now he was in a pissy mood.

  He rubbed his face and groaned.

  “Hi, Zac,” said a soft female voice that sent his stomach spinning like a merry-go-round.

  He slowly turned his head to find Penelope, who he’d been avoiding all morning since the summit started. She wore her long dark hair straight and looked lovelier than ever.

  Zac dipped his head. “Nice to see you again.” This meeting was the first time he’d seen her since his banishment to L.A.—a punishment for using his powers and trying to steal her away. All Cimil’s bright idea. Sometimes it felt like Cimil was the true God, or Goddess, of Temptation. In any case, seeing Penelope now only confirmed what he’d suspected all along. He hadn’t really felt anything genuine for her. It had been all about tempting her—an instinctual reflex he was only now just beginning to understand.

  Penelope lifted her chin. “So I hear you’ve arrested Tommaso?”

  “Yes. He’s apparently turning into a Maaskab.”

  “Are you sure, because—”

  Kinich, with his long blond-streaked hair, appeared at her side, still wearing his “Lover in the Kitchen. Warrior in Bed” apron.

  “Brother.” Kinich stiffly dipped his head.

  “Brother,” Zac replied.

  Then the two just glared at each other. Zac didn’t know what Kinich was thinking, but his mind was suddenly snatched away by an awareness of Tula having re-entered the room.

  “Okay.” Penelope clapped her hands together. “Let’s get the meeting restarted.” She began rounding up the other gods, who took their sweet time getting settled around the enormous limestone table chiseled with Mayan symbols and each of the gods’ names. Zac moved to the far end, away from Penelope, who ran the show along with Kinich.

  Penelope, who wore denim overalls and sandals, pulled out her tablet and began toggling through agenda topics. “Okay, everyone, a quick change of plans. Guy has asked that we add a topic…” Penelope
suddenly looked up and noticed an empty chair. “Belch! Get your ass in here! The meeting’s started!” she yelled over her shoulder toward the patio.

  Shortly thereafter, wearing his usual loosey-whities (aka droopy underwear), a step up from his normal naked outfit, Belch staggered in, scratching his beer belly. “Sorry, fooolks,” he slurred, “but I think I just saw a unicorn outside sharpening its horn. It looked really pissed.” He pulled back his chair, but instead of sitting in it, he crawled on top of the table and proceeded to pass out, snoring like a congested lumberjack.

  Penelope winced. “That’s not going to be distracting.”

  Kinich sighed. “Well, at least he’s here.”

  It was a requirement that all of the deities were present at summit meetings to vote, unless there were extenuating circumstances such as one turning evil. Or being captured by evil. Or under the spell of something evil. Or on vacay. The usual.

  “Right you are.” She checked off a box on her tablet. “Okay, so we need to take a vote on which strategy we’re going to follow to deal with this issue of good immortals turning evil and evil ones turning good. Then Votan—sorry, I mean Guy—has also requested we vote to re-release Tommaso into his custody.”

  “Whatzzzz wrong with Tommazzoo?” asked Colel, the Mistress of Bees. She was blonde, tall, and wore a huge beehive on her head. Yes, a real one. And her little black and yellow soldiers were vicious little bastards with ninja-like reflexes. They were also jealous as hell. No man could get anywhere near her.

  Gods, Zac thought, I hope she never fills out an application to be matched at our agency. He couldn’t begin to imagine what man would want to date her—she’s anaphylactic shock waiting to happen.

  “Tommaso is turning into a Maaskab,” Guy said.

  The deities around the table all made ewwww sounds.

  Poor Tommaso. He really wasn’t such a bad guy. But he will be.

  “I think we can still help him,” Guy said. “Tommaso believes he’s found his mate—some woman he met at the singles mixer last week.”

  “Okay.” Penelope checked off another box on her tablet. “So that’s added to the agenda for a vote. But first it’s time for us to pick up where we left off before lunch.” She took a quick breath, as if praying for patience. “Now, until we’ve figured out a permanent solution to the good and evil flip-flop, we’re going to vote on a temporary solution. Those in favor of Ah Ciliz’s recommendation of,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “killing ourselves, raise your hand.”