Sweet Hell

by Rosanna Leo

  He chuckled, low and deep, and sauntered in after her as if he owned the place. Within seconds, he was seated at his usual spot at Josie's counter. “Just be a good girl and fetch my coffee.” He lowered his shades and peered at her through sensuous dark eyes that should have been bloodshot at that time of the morning, but weren't. “And don't forget. Make it a tall, half-skinny, half-one percent, extra hot, two shots decaf, two shots regular latte with whip. And exactly..."

  "I know, I know,” she interrupted. “One hundred fifty degrees. Has it ever been anything less, Your Highness?” She pasted on her sweetest of smiles and turned to prepare the elixir of the gods. She heard him huff as he flipped open the day's newspaper.

  "No need to call me that, Josie. ‘My Lord’ or ‘He From Whom All Good Things Come’ will do just fine."

  She reached for the one percent milk, and contemplated tossing in some heavy, artery-clogging cream just to soften up some of his sculpted muscles. A man with that kind of body had to be on some sort of special diet. With that brawny physique he must spend hours a day at the gym and ingest copious amounts of protein powders.

  She snuck a peek at the bulges rippling under his sleeves, turning her head sharply when he grinned.

  It was one thing to look like God's gift to women. It was another thing to act like it.

  Feeling frustratingly hot, she lashed out at him. “You know, I'm not a barista. This is just a small, family-owned bakery. I don't understand why you persist in coming here with your outrageous coffee orders. Would you care for a pinch of Madagascar cinnamon while I'm at it? I could swim to Madagascar for you."

  She turned, only to find him already staring at her over the top of the paper. His expression said in no certain terms he already had an idea where to put her Madagascar cinnamon.

  Josie, fifteen. Greek god, love.

  Although she was usually able to keep up with their vocal sparring, she felt a little winded as he looked at her. He had annoyingly seductive eyes, eyes that sometimes dwelled a little too long on particular parts of her anatomy. Even now, they dipped down to her neckline, lingering, considering. She blushed, wishing she'd gotten up a little earlier to make an effort with her toilette. Oh well, the man had seen her in her sweats and an unmade face for months, and he hadn't run out screaming yet.

  "The reason I come here,” he said, grinning, “is because you, my angel of caffeine, make the best coffee in the world. And I've drunk coffee all over the world, so I know. But of course, I'm also drawn in, day after day, by your sweet and charming temperament. That, too, is unlike anything I've experienced. Now, where's my coffee?"

  She rolled her eyes and handed it to him, resisting the urge to spill some on his Armani suit. She watched him take his first sip, as she always did, because in the first two months of their acquaintance, he'd sent the coffees back, demanding she make them better. And as infuriated as it made her, she'd grown strangely proud when he'd started showing approval. Now, it was just a bizarre morning ritual. But it still surprised her some days to realize how much she wanted him to like the beverage.

  How much she wanted to please him.

  Her fevered mind produced a disturbing oh-so-hot image of her wrapping her limbs around his hard body like a horny pretzel. Pleasing him in other ways that had nothing whatsoever to do with coffee. With an audible swallow, she quashed the lurid picture, and tried to ignore the aftershock. The ripple of excitement working its way down her spine, around her hip, and right into her sex.

  "So,” she ventured, trying to look like a normal person with normal urges. Wiping down the counter and trying not to listen to his almost sexual sighs of satisfaction at her coffee. “What gives? You haven't brought any of your bed warmers here in a long time. Has Toronto run out of women?"

  As much as Josie wanted to snicker at her own humor, she found she was holding her breath a little, waiting for his answer.

  When Dionysus Iros started frequenting the Marino Brothers Bakery months ago, he'd usually bring his conquests with him. Josie had seen him with numerous girls of every persuasion. White, black, Asian, Outer Mongolian, Finnish, Maori, Pygmy. Every possible kind she could think of. He'd had them all. He'd kick them out of his always-warm bed, take them for an early consolation coffee at Josie's, and then say, "Hasta la vista."

  The man loved women. Lots of them. Which was another reason he pissed her off on a regular basis. Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact he never once propositioned her. God, no. Sure, he was a constant fixture in her nighttime dreams. The star of the nocturnal reel of pornography that played over and over again in her head. Yes, for months, she'd gotten all hot and sweaty thinking of him, and then had to watch him with other women.

  That didn't mean she wanted him for real.

  Besides, it would never work. She wasn't really his type. Her legs weren't seven-feet long. Her dress size wasn't sub-zero. Her boobs were a respectable C-cup, rather than a double F. And, last she checked, her brain was still in working order. Most days, anyway.

  But lately his perfect track record didn't appear so perfect. It had been some time since Josie had seen him with a woman. Weeks, in fact. And there was something in his normally unflappable demeanor that was distinctly ... flapped.

  For a man who radiated charm and control, he was definitely stressed.

  He stared at her, a little shocked. “What business is it of yours who I sleep with?"

  "None,” she stated as if she didn't care. “Just curious. There's been a significant decrease in our coffee revenues since you turned monastic on me, that's all."

  He laughed, and the baritone beauty of his voice shook her, reached deep down into each private recess of her body. Tickling her. Making her hate him even more.

  "Josie, Josie,” he said, flashing perfectly even teeth which bore not a hint of coffee stain, even though he drank gallons of the stuff. “Maybe I stopped bringing those women because it was just too hard on them."

  She frowned. “What was?"

  "Seeing you,” he replied, no longer quite so jovial, his anxiety showing in the tiny creases at the corners of his eyes. “After all, when confronted by all this"—he waved his hands at her body—"magnificence, it can be a bit much for a regular woman's ego. Just look at you. The old sweatpants. The T-shirt encrusted with some sort of bakery sludge. Most of your hair pulled so lovingly back into a messy ponytail. And wait ... could it be? Yes. That's yesterday's makeup I see."

  "Hey...” she began.

  "But despite the fact you're the most abrasive woman I know, and have no interest in personal grooming, I just can't live without your coffee."

  She felt her whole body turn crimson, but there was no way she'd let him have the upper hand. Damned misogynistic, hot-bodied player. She'd known men like him. They were all the same. She grinned at him, even though she suddenly felt like crying. “You're such a jerk."

  "And you're...” He bit back the words on his lips and glared at her, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. “Never mind.” He waved his cup at her. “Another to go. If you please."

  There was a loud pounding on the bakery's back door. She groaned, knowing it was Nelson, the deliveryman from hell. “Your coffee will have to wait. I have to let Nelson in. He's got the flour for my cannoli.” She headed to the back room, relieved to be away from his intense gaze for a few moments. “Don't steal anything while I'm gone."

  "Josie, wait!"

  She turned and saw Dionysus frowning at her. “What is it now? Care to comment on my bad breath or toe fungus?"

  He almost looked ashamed. Almost. As if being ashamed was a new sensation for him. “It's just ... Why do you always have to be the one to let Nelson in? I thought this was the Marino Brothers Bakery. Where are your brothers anyway? How come you're the one who always gets stuck on this god-awful shift?"

  If Josie didn't know any better, she'd swear he looked almost protective of her. Which was clearly crap. “Mr. Iros, I think you've been around lon
g enough to know I'm the one who does all the work around here,” she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  There was another, more impatient pounding on the back door. She turned, grabbed her latest invoice and a clipboard, and headed for the back. Trying very hard to forget Dionysus Iros, God's gift to women the world over, and his freaking one hundred fifty-degree coffee.

  Josie tried really hard not to pound the floor as she headed to the back door. No interest in personal grooming, her ass. It was more a case of not ever having the time to do frivolous, girly things like threading her eyebrows or cultivating a landing strip or ... well, doing laundry.

  Okay, so maybe Mr. Perfect had a point.

  But maybe if he were responsible for keeping a small business afloat, he'd understand. As far as she could tell, he didn't have a business of any kind. She wasn't even sure he worked. He remained so vague about his career. Sure, he'd once mentioned something about being in the wine industry. With his expensive clothes and more expensive girlfriends, she just assumed he was in sales or was an executive of some kind. God only knew; he always smelled like he was sampling the stuff. Although, to his credit, she'd never seen him drunk. He just smelled like he lived in a vat of grapes.

  Maybe he was a professional wine taster. Was there even such a job? Or was he the guy who squished the grapes with his feet? Did those guys still exist?

  Whatever he was, it was actually kind of nice being able to breathe him in. It reminded her of her grandfather's backyard, of the Concord grape vines he used to grow there. Row upon row of curly vines, laden with the jewel-like purple fruit.

  That was what Dionysus Iros smelled like. A ripe Concord grape. So ready for the picking, the juices were just bursting forth from the sweet skin.

  Josie felt a low tugging on her womb, just thinking of him. It was accompanied by the familiar sensation of feeling flushed. Practically pink all over. Before she opened the door to Nelson, she gave herself a vigorous fanning with her hand.

  Not that it ever worked. The kind of fire created by Dionysus was one she couldn't extinguish with a mere hand wave.

  Damn, damn. Double damn.

  "Hey, hey,” Nelson greeted her, carrying a box of flour past her into the workroom. “Mama Marino. How's it hanging?” He put his box down on the counter and looked her up and down, an appreciative smile playing on his thick lips.

  Josie bit back a remark. “I'm no one's mama, Nelson."

  "Thank God for that, baby. I'd hate to see that sweet belly of yours get fat. When my sister had her kid last year, it all went downhill, trust me. And I do mean downhill.” He looked around the workroom. “Where's Mike and Angelo?"

  She inspected the box and made some notes on her clipboard. “When are my brothers ever here this early? They like to save the bliss of your visits just for me."

  "So,” he said, taking a small step toward her and removing his baseball cap. “We're alone. Awesome. You know, Josie, I broke up with my girlfriend this week."

  She didn't look up, was too busy checking her invoice against his. “That's too bad, Nelson."

  "Not really. She was a bitch. Not like you."

  Her head popped up at his words, and she thought of Dionysus. “Not sure everyone would agree with you there, but thanks, I guess."

  "Anyway, it was time to move on. Don't you think? We've been playing these games for so long.” He took another step in her direction.

  This time, she stopped to watch him. His eyes took in every detail of her appearance, apparently doing their best to see under her clothing. He was staring blatantly at her chest, and for a second she thought his eyes might start to glow. They were trying so hard to detect her nipples under her shirt.

  "What do you mean, games?"

  He giggled. The man actually giggled like a girl. “You know, you and me. The chemistry. The heat. The obvious sexual attraction.” He closed the distance between them, backing her up against the counter. He pulled the clipboard from her fingers and put it down. Without any warning, his hands were sliding under her T-shirt. “Let's do something about it."

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa!” she cried, batting at his hands. “When have I ever told you I was interested?” She tried to pull herself out of the circle of his arms, but he was stronger than he looked. Lifting boxes of baking powder and donut sprinkles obviously developed one's muscles.

  "You never had to say a word, sweet cheeks,” he whispered. “It's all in your eyes."

  And before she had a chance to react, he was kissing her. Kissing her neck, kissing her ear. Oh God, was that his tongue? “Stop it, Nelson!"

  "When I'm good and ready.” He looked up and growled.

  From out of nowhere, a two-pound bag of sugar appeared, slamming into the side of Nelson's head. Josie watched, speechless, as the deliveryman fell back into the pile of sugar that had exploded from the package.

  "What the...?” he cried from the floor, cradling his temple.

  Dionysus stood over him, holding the package, staring down at him in quiet fury. Looking like a man who was trying to persuade himself not to commit murder. “The lady said ‘no.’”

  And then Dionysus looked up at Josie with the strangest expression. As if he'd been terrified for her well-being, but hated the idea.

  "Mr. Iros,” she breathed.

  His shoulders slumped, and he tossed the sugar package onto the counter. “For crying out loud, Josie, just call me Dionysus, would you?” He stared at her for a moment, then leaned down and easily hauled Nelson onto his feet. “Now, apologize to the lady, and promise never to do that again."

  "Fuck you."

  Dionysus laughed out loud in genuine amusement as he tightened his grip on Nelson's collar. He got up close to Nelson's face and said, seething, “You will apologize to Miss Marino. Now. Don't make me repeat myself."

  Nelson's face crumpled. He retreated so far into himself that he resembled those little apple people she used to see at craft shows. He'd obviously seen something in Dionysus's eyes that scared him. Badly. He turned to Josie, swallowing as best as he could under the stronger man's fist. “Sorry."

  "And you won't ever touch her again, will you?"

  "No,” he squeaked out, defeated.

  Dionysus inhaled and let his prey go, smoothing down his collar. He grinned at him, then reached for the flour invoice. With one, clean rip, he shredded the document. “Oh, and by the way, this shipment just came free of charge. Now, you might want to leave before I forget my capacity for forgiveness."

  Josie clapped her jaw shut and stared at her hero. She wasn't sure if she was more shocked that he'd come to her aid, or that he'd look so tortured while doing so. Either way, he'd done a very nice thing.

  She'd have to put extra whipped cream in his coffee next time.

  Nelson vacated the bakery and tore away in his truck. Only then did Dionysus turn to her, asking quietly, “Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Thanks."

  "No sweat.” He grinned at her, back in control, then began to walk away. “Oh, and Josie..."

  "Uh-huh?"

  "Next time you see your brothers, tell them they either need to change your shift, or they need to drag their asses out of bed to help you. It's not safe for you to be here alone like this. If they don't change things, I'll be forced to take my valued patronage elsewhere. And I know I'm your favorite customer. I'm sure you'd hate to see me go."

  With that, he grinned again and disappeared back into the bakery, the fragrance of taste bud-tantalizing wine wafting away with him.

  And for ten whole minutes, Josie couldn't move, so grateful her heart was thumping.

  And so turned on, she needed a new pair of panties.

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  Chapter 2

  Several days later, Dionysus sat in the Marino Brothers Bakery, glaring into his coffee. The one Josie had garnished with a thick dollop of real whipped cream. And a cruller on the side, no charge. She'd been doing that for him all week. Adding little treats for him on
the house because she was clearly incapable of articulating her thanks without food.

  She was from an Italian family.

  The day after Nelson made his clumsy play for her, she'd added chocolate shavings to his coffee, turning it from a thing of beauty into a thing of perfection. The next day, she'd saved him a homemade scone with velvety clotted cream on top. The day after, one of her killer cannoli, the ones she baked herself for the business. By tomorrow, Dionysus worried she'd be emptying the contents of the bakery fridge onto his lap.

  Still, it was nice. More than nice. Fucking incredible was the description that kept racing through his head. He just didn't know what to do about it. The only gratitude he was used to receiving was from women in his bed.

  He was a love god, after all.

  Not officially the god of love. That role was taken. Still, every god had some good lovin’ in him,

  Josie wouldn't know that gods existed, at least, Greek ones anyway. She thought he was a Dionysus. The poor dear had no idea he was the Dionysus.

  His resume sprang to mind. Dionysus from the old myths. Greek god of wine and theater. Lover of orgies. Son of Zeus. Centuries old. Friend to maenads everywhere.

  That Dionysus.

  And what she also didn't know was, since meeting her, he'd felt distinctly ungodly. Something was wrong with him. Something that she'd caused. And it had him more on edge than when his father Zeus's wife Hera was gunning for him in the old days, despising him for being Zeus's bastard son.

  That was why he'd called Eryx and Maia and asked them to join him for a coffee at Josie's bakery. Until recently, Eryx had been a Greek god, too. The aforementioned god of love, specifically, son to Aphrodite and Ares. But he gave all that up for the sake of his mortal love, Maia. In order to save her from a vengeful goddess, Eryx had relinquished his immortality, had given up everything that had ever made him special. Had become human to save her from becoming a lost soul. And Dionysus knew all about it because he'd been there that day. He'd seen the torment Eryx's body had endured, the agony Maia had been in while watching him.