Sweet Hell

by Rosanna Leo

  He supposed that was why he cared so much. Yeah, that was it. He admired her work ethic. He figured it was her work ethic that gave him painful boners all the time, too.

  Shit.

  He hadn't been able to get stiff for any other women in months, but watching Josie Marino organize her donuts made him as hard as a chunk of her brothers’ carrot cake.

  What was wrong with him? He had to get to the bottom of this. He was Dionysus, for fuck's sake. It was his vocation to pleasure as many women as possible, in pursuit of his own pleasure. It was as close to a job as he got. Think of all the vaginas he'd be disappointing. It was a shame.

  Of course, Eryx had suggested he just sleep with Josie. Maybe that would take the itch away, as well as his sudden, perverse excitement for the institution of marriage. Good grief. Of all the bakeries in the world, he'd had to wander into this one. In all his millennia-long existence, Dionysus had barely even thought of Canada. But when Eryx had gone and fallen for Canadian Maia, he'd been curious, so he'd visited. And, gods help him, he'd discovered Toronto had a lot of babes. Before seeing Josie for the first time, he'd been very happy working his way through them.

  But then he'd gone and stumbled into her little bakery. Why? Because of the incredible fragrances wafting out the door. With him being a slave to his senses, he'd had no choice but to investigate. Damn that wonderful melange of cannoli cream and espresso and veal sandwiches!

  The aroma had gotten him through the door, and after seeing Josie, he'd been unable to leave. It was pathetic.

  He was just concerned for the woman. That had to be it. After all, over time, they'd gotten to know one another in spite of their sometimes volatile repartee. But why was it so volatile? He suddenly had trouble remembering. Surely she'd never done anything to him. And he ... well, all he'd done was come for the coffee ... with all his dates.

  Dionysus felt as if the fog in his head was starting to clear. Could it be little Josie was jealous? He chuckled. As insane as it sounded, the thought was bringing a definite smile to his face.

  The smile vanished when he heard her terrified shouts coming from downstairs.

  With another flick of his hand, he was already on his way to materializing in the basement.

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  Chapter 4

  The strange laughter had stopped. The foreign music had stopped. Even still, Josie could hear a rustling outside the freezer. She braced herself in the darkness, waiting for the maniac to open the door, brandishing her kitchen knife, or a violin. If only she could see! But in the pitch-blackness of the freezer, she couldn't even find anything with which to defend herself.

  Other than her denuded carrot cake, which might very well be heavy enough to brain someone.

  She waited. The door flew open. The lights came on. She squinted.

  And saw Dionysus. Her reluctant hero.

  It never crossed her mind he could have been the one to lock her in. No way. She just knew it. Besides, his dark eyes were too wide with fear. They were flashing with some sort of emotion that made her think he'd personally seek out her tormentor and do horrible things to him. It was bizarre, seeing him look so protective, but so wonderful at the same time.

  She was sure she was imagining it.

  "Josie,” he breathed, his voice sounding pained. “How did you get stuck in there?"

  She couldn't stop herself. She flew into his arms and he held her there. Whoa, she thought. Super warm. Super nice.

  So nice, she wasn't quite ready to leave the circle of his arms. Mentally, she hunkered down.

  They were both breathing with difficulty. After a moment, she looked up and his eyes seemed to hold such honest concern. Whatever it was, it made her unburden herself. All of a sudden, she was telling Dionysus everything. About the box flying from the door, about the laugh, and the music. Even about those bloody frozen carrots she'd gobbled in anger.

  His face changed, grew pale. Which was incredible because he always had the most beautiful, golden tan. He looked afraid for her. And furious.

  So odd.

  "You,” he declared, “are not going to be alone here anymore."

  "Who's going to be here with me?"

  "I am."

  She gaped at him. “Don't you have places to be? Or grapes to squash?"

  His lips grew thin, no less delectable, but thin. “Don't worry. I have all the time in the world to squash grapes."

  "You would do that for me?” she said, trying to laugh off the wonderful feeling blooming inside her. “After all, I'm not like the women you regularly hang with. We all know you don't think I'm hot."

  He hadn't let her go. In fact, he seemed to be holding her even more tightly. She may have been imagining it, but his hand seemed to be trailing down her back now. Blazing a heated trail down her spine.

  He stared intently at her. “I said you were abrasive and had bad grooming. I never said you weren't hot."

  Josie stared, and tried not to swallow her tongue. Too bad she couldn't stop her knees from liquefying. She knew she should be running out of the basement that terrified her, but upon hearing his words, she forgot why she was scared. All she knew was that Dionysus Iros had just said she was hot.

  As she let his suggestive admission echo in her brain, she gladly watched the last of her common sense melt away like a sliver of ice in a scalding cup of coffee.

  She felt so good in his arms. Her body felt voluptuous under his hands. Just the right amount of womanly squishiness. Sexy as all Hades.

  And the way she was staring at him. Vulnerable. Shy, but curious. He gazed back down at her, noticing for the first time the gentle slope of her cheekbones. The little cleft in her chin. The perfect, cat-like shape of her eyes. She was beautiful. How had he never noticed? Perhaps because she was usually smothered in coffee grounds.

  Or perhaps because he couldn't see past the fake boobs on his normal companions.

  Eryx had said he liked her. Maia had said he loved her.

  Utter crap. Josie would undoubtedly agree.

  Besides, he'd only loved once in his life. And didn't care to revisit the bothersome sensation.

  Yet he couldn't ignore the desire clearly etched in her eyes. Making the gold in her hazel orbs flash. He had a sudden fantasy of Josie, dressed in a sheer gown. In his head, he was laying her out on a sumptuous, rococo chaise lounge, offering her a drink of his best wine. After all, he was the god of wine; he could boast some very special vintages, a sip of which would make one want to do all sorts of lurid things. She was parting her pretty lips, leaning in for a sip. The tip of her tongue was caressing the wineglass, and her eyes were trained on him.

  "Um,” she began, her voice already cracking with strangled emotion, destroying the sensual image in his overwrought mind. “You can let go now."

  He grinned down at her, enjoying the effect he was having on her. And he hadn't even turned on the charm. Yet. “Maybe I don't want to let go."

  As he held his mouthy coffee girl, he felt his pulse race and realized that had never happened with his bimbos, as she called them. He was, Zeus help him, excited. And surely she could tell because his cock was basically beating down a door in his pants to get to her.

  Dionysus realized he'd never quite wanted to kiss anyone so badly.

  So he did.

  He brought his face to hers, eased open her quivering lips with his own, and slid his tongue inside her mouth. And although he kissed her with the ease of one who'd kissed thousands of times, he was startled at the sensation of newness tearing through him. He felt something he'd never felt before. He felt untouched, virginal, chaste. As if Josie was teaching him, instructing him. Shit, he was always the master explorer, but he felt like uncharted territory in her hands.

  Before the kiss ended, he knew something had changed in him. And knew he'd be spending the rest of his time trying to devise another way to kiss the delicious creature.

  Even hungrier now, he pulled away for a second so she could breathe. Her eyes w
ere glassy, pupils dilated. He grinned, feeling more satisfied than he had in months.

  She recovered, grinned back, and slapped him across the face.

  "What did you do that for?” Dionysus rubbed his red cheek.

  Why did she slap him? She wasn't sure. God only knew she'd wanted the kiss, too. Had wanted it even more than seeing her name on the bakery awning. And, of course, she was grateful he'd come to her rescue again. But the cocky grin on his face had just begged for a slap. “I'm not one of your bimbos, Dionysus."

  "Again with the bimbos,” he muttered, pacing the basement. “Admit it. You wanted that kiss as much as I did."

  "You sound like Nelson now.” She stared at him, wishing she weren't so attracted to him. But it was impossible not to be drawn to him. Those knowing eyes. The muscles rippling under his clothing. The very strength she'd felt emanating from him. And his lips were so talented. His kiss had left her feeling almost drunk. She was swaying, as if she'd been sipping wine from his lips.

  "Don't compare me to that ... deliveryman!"

  "At least Nelson works for a living! What do you do? You're just a rich player who snaps his fingers and makes good things happen for himself. Always another woman on your arm. Always new clothes. No responsibilities that I can see. You have no idea what it's like to struggle, do you?"

  "I'm struggling right now, believe me,” he said under his breath.

  You think you're struggling, thought Josie. Why was it that her lips suddenly felt on fire? What freaky lip balm must he be wearing that her mouth would feel so needy for his touch again? To make things worse, the deliciously invasive, drunken sensation was spreading now, infiltrating the fibers of her neck and chest, and oh God, much, much lower.

  She really didn't want to like his kiss so much, redolent as it was of sweet Concord grapes, but it appeared her body had other ideas.

  Hopeless, reckless body. Always interfering.

  "You really hate me, don't you?” he asked quietly, interrupting her scattered thoughts.

  She wanted to say both “yes” and “no.” Yes, because he shook her concentration and made her have very lustful thoughts. No, for the same reason. Mostly, though, she wanted to say she recognized he had the power to destroy her with his kisses and touches, which was a very scary feeling.

  After all, she'd been destroyed before. And wasn't going back there.

  "What's with all the women anyway?” she settled on saying instead. “I don't understand. You do these nice things for me, but I've seen you with all those..."

  "Bimbos,” he supplied, his perfect brows knit in a frown. “They are sort of my trademark, aren't they?"

  "They flock to you. Like pigeons to a statue. Hopefully, they leave less of a mess behind.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

  "You're cute when you're jealous,” he drawled, making her blush.

  "Jealous?"

  Dionysus looked at her, his eyes holding more mirth now. “Josie, haven't you noticed? I haven't brought a woman to your bakery in quite some time."

  It seemed to her in that moment the basement walls were closing in on her. Contriving to push her closer to his hard body. She took a step toward him, almost drowning in his grapey goodness. What she'd give to be able to lick him. To just drag her tongue up his neck. Would his skin taste like wine too? Heady, intoxicating, and sweet? “I guess not."

  He drew closer to her, towering over her petite stature. Staring down his nose at her, a nose so straight it looked like an “after” shot in a cosmetic surgeon's office. His full lips opened slightly, and she could feel his wonderful breath on her face. It made her want to run right out, buy a few cases of dark merlot and bathe in the stuff.

  "Why do you think that is, Josie?” He ran his hand slowly up her arm, and a serious case of shivers followed.

  He was going to kiss her again. Oddly enough, she didn't think she had a problem with it this time. His head lowered. Her lips parted. She closed her eyes.

  And listened as a strange, whirring noise sounded loudly in the bakery basement. It suddenly felt as if she were in the midst of an indoor cyclone. Her eyes snapped open, and when she saw what was happening, she almost fell down.

  There were cannoli shells flying everywhere, thankfully not yet filled with cream. Josie watched in wonderment. There had to be thousands of them, careening out of their storage container and whipping round and round the room like tasty, little rockets. She was frozen to her spot, unable to do a thing, until a few shells clubbed her in the head, and she was shocked back into action.

  "What on earth...? Dionysus?"

  He was in front of her, back to her, as if shielding her. Which would have felt really nice if it weren't all really ludicrous. And heart-breaking. She'd put in a lot of hours on those cannoli shells. She dodged another as it whipped by her head.

  From somewhere out of the barrage of flaky pastry, she heard Dionysus's voice. Tense and authoritative. “Josie. Stay behind me."

  "I am behind you! What's going on? Please tell me there's an open window causing a breeze in here, because I don't think I could handle any other explanation."

  He didn't say a word, just reached an arm behind her to keep her there. And it was hard seeing over his massive body. All she could see was that he was staring at something in front of him.

  "Dionysus?"

  Another man's voice sounded in the melee. “Aw, let's not keep the two of you in the dark any longer."

  Josie froze, as did Dionysus in front of her. She knew that voice. It was the man who'd laughed when she got stuck in the freezer.

  All of a sudden, the flying cannoli shells all fell to the floor and shattered. All fifty thousand of them. She crouched and ducked under Dionysus's arm, the only way she could see past him.

  The other man was standing in the opposite corner of the basement, behind a couple of packing boxes. He was tall and bulky, at least what she could see of him. He was clothed from top to bottom in a dark cloak, one that obscured his face. Whether it was his sinister choice in clothing, or his apparent hatred of her cannoli, Josie felt malevolence oozing from him. Directed at her.

  "Show yourself,” demanded Dionysus.

  "Very well,” the man cooed. He took a step and removed his hood, revealing gorgeous blond curls and a heart-breakingly handsome face. Dimpled cheeks and a smile that looked deceptively friendly. “Hello, Dionysus. It's been a long time."

  And then the stranger pulled a stringed instrument from out of his cloak and began to play softly. The same music she'd heard while stuck in the freezer. In her frazzled frame of mind, she had a vague recollection of seeing an instrument like that in a museum once. It was a lyre.

  Dionysus turned white. “It can't be."

  "Oh, but it can."

  Okay, thought Josie. That's about enough. She attempted to push Dionysus's arm away from her body, but it wouldn't move. She knew he had muscles, but this was just ridiculous. She directed her ire at the blond intruder. “Who the hell are you, buddy, and what have my cannoli ever done to you?"

  The man exploded in the most musical laughter she'd ever heard. It was melodic and haunting and made her want to dance. That is, if he didn't freak her out so much. “I like her, Dionysus."

  "I never needed your approval, you shit."

  "Tsk, tsk. I come all this way to hear your vulgarity?” He smiled at her. “Dionysus always was a little common."

  "Who is he?” she breathed, feeling way past uneasy.

  She watched him take a breath, and his next words filled her with a dread she didn't understand.

  "Someone I had the displeasure of knowing a long time ago,” he replied. “Josie, meet Orpheus."

  "Orpheus?"

  Dionysus watched her rolling the name around in her head, searching for a connection. A connection he was really hoping he wouldn't have to explain.

  She frowned in concentration. “Isn't that the name of a car?"

  Orpheus burst out in laughter, sick shit that he was. “Well, that is just the best t
hing I've ever heard! A car. Dionysus, buddy, you picked a winner."

  "Hey!” he and Josie shouted at the same time.

  "No need to be rude,” she muttered. “You already killed all my shells."

  She looked at the floor, sighing at the sight of all the demolished pastries. Dionysus felt for her, wanted to pull her in close and console her. Really console her. But he hadn't lost sight of the madman in front of them.

  The one who was supposed to be burning in Hades for all eternity.

  Orpheus offered her a smile of condolence. “You're absolutely right, my dear. It was unforgivably rude of me to destroy your creations. I apologize. The thing is, I've been in a very bad place for a long time and have been given a momentary reprieve.” His eyes flashed. “So you'll have to forgive my ... excitement."

  He took a step toward Josie, and Dionysus stepped forward. He didn't know how or why Orpheus had made it out of hell, but he wasn't getting any closer to Josie. She was his mouthy coffee girl. No one else's.

  And then he wondered why he should have such proprietary feelings toward her. So they'd kissed. It was one kiss. One breath-stealing, mesmerizing, time-stopping kiss.

  Oh, brother.

  He had to find out what was going on, send Orpheus back to the pit of eternal flame and damnation, and do it all without Josie finding out who he really was. What he really was.

  He glared at the other man. “How did you get out?"

  "You can thank Persephone for that. As sweet as she is, the wife of Hades was never the swiftest of minds,” Orpheus trilled. “And old Hades is such a bore. Persephone just loves my company. I was able to persuade her to free me for a short time. But hey, enough about me. What I'd really love to know is how long you kids have been in love? You make such a cute couple."

  "In love?” Josie blurted. She turned to Dionysus, and she screwed up her face as if she'd never envisioned him having the emotion.

  "You don't know what you're talking about,” Dionysus warned, his voice a low growl. “Josie and I are just friends."

  Right. Like Romeo and Juliet were just friends.

  "Really?” Orpheus cocked his head, carelessly strumming the lyre. “Wow. Typically, my friends don't allow me to put my tongue down their throats."