GOD OF WINE (The Immortal Matchmakers, Inc. Book 3)

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Of course, the rejection only made her all the more fascinating, so he tried again and again to seduce her without any luck. But then it finally happened: Last night, at the engagement party for their immortal friend Tommaso, Tula kissed him.

  Mind. Blown.

  Her lips had tasted of sweet innocence, and it had been the sort of sinfully delicious kiss that could make a god go crazy and believe he was in love. It could make him forget the pain of having to live for eternity.

  And it almost made you forget your role.

  Bottom line. He was the God of Temptation. She was an innocent, pure-souled human. He would only break her spirit and ultimately her heart. Which was why he’d done what he had last night: showed her his true man-whoring colors. Now she was gone.

  Dammit, I miss her. Her big blue eyes, her bright smile.

  He leaned forward and slammed his fist on his desk. “Fucking hell!” He slid his cell from his leather pants and stared at Tula’s number, his thumb cocked to dial.

  No. You pushed her away last night for her own good. It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done because all he’d wanted was to carry her off to a room in that hotel and deflower her. Hard, hot, passionately. A thorough fucking that would leave no leaf unturned, no thigh unlicked, no nipple unsucked. However, after they’d kissed, he did the honorable thing, the right thing, and hooked up with another woman. Yes, right in front of Tula. She disappeared from the party, and he had gone home with some woman with whom he was unable to perform. Limp as a soggy noodle.

  But still hung like a horse, so at least there’s that.

  Nevertheless, now he felt even worse, like he’d been unfaithful merely for kissing another woman.

  Gah. What’s wrong with me? Zac slowly placed his phone on his desk and looked at the motherfucker lying on the floor. Good thing I know how to let out my frustration.

  “Consider your suffering the price one pays for selling drugs to children.” Hell, even he stayed away from tempting minors. Like they need help. Especially teenagers.

  “Please, dude. Let me go. I won’t ever sell again.”

  Zac stared at the human, feeling the evil urges take hold. “Sorry. But you showed no mercy to those young ones you just got hooked on meth.” Zac lowered the scorpion onto the man’s face and watched as it stung him repeatedly. The man screamed for a few minutes and passed out.

  Zac felt nothing. Nothing but sadness and a longing to end his misery. No. Not suicide. Not possible for a deity. Ending his misery meant claiming Tula.

  “Zac! What in the name of the gods’ green Earth are you doing?”

  He looked up to find Tula in a pink turtlenecked sweaterdress with her golden hair in a ponytail. “Tula?”

  “Zac.” She parked her fist on her hip. “I sure don’t know what you’re doing to that man, but I know you don’t want him to die.”

  “Wha-wha-what are you doing here?” Gods, she looked so fucking hot, all riled up and sweet as pie, dressed like a furry pink teddy bear. So fucking sexy.

  Tula lifted her chin. “Cimil texted me, saying it was an emergency. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

  “I merely thought I’d never see you again.”

  Tula shook her finger at him. “You think some narcissistic deity who worships sinful acts of sexual temptation can keep me away from my friend in her time of need?”

  Oh gods. Oh gods. She actually considers Cimil a friend. His heart melted right through his leather pants onto the floor, where it twitched in a gooey warm puddle. Tula was so loyal and kind and saw only the good in others. She had nothing but love in her heart. Except for me. She hates me now.

  Yes. Exactly as it should be.

  Zac cleared his throat and leaned back in his leather exec chair, crossing his big manly arms over his big manly chest, propping his black biker boots atop his desk. Must show her who’s boss and the perfect man for her.

  Wait. No. Must show her who’s the dick.

  “Well, technically,” he said, “I embody all acts of temptation equally—chocolate, orgies, shoe shopping, eating the delicious fat on the edge of a steak, anal sex, and sleeping in and—”

  She held up her petite hand to stop him. “Whatever, Mr. Zac. I don’t care. I don’t care about you or your tempting ways or man slutting or insane-fitting leather pants that show the outline of your ample hacky sacks and baseball bat. Because I’m marrying Gilbert. That’s right. Gilbert. With nice, normal golf balls and probably packing a solid five-incher—okay, three—he comes across as a grower, not a shower. In any case, he’s got equipment that a nice girl can find comfort in, and once I say my vows to him, you will become dust.”

  She’s going through with marrying that douche? Zac felt his insides blacken with rage.

  Tula leaned forward, planting her delicate hands on his desk. “You. Will. Be. Dead to me.”

  “You can’t mean that,” he muttered under his breath.

  “Not only do I mean it, I vow to make it happen.” Evilness gleamed in her eyes.

  Evil? In Tula’s eyes? Holy fuck. He’d already ruined her!

  “No!” He bolted from his chair, finding no Tula. The meth dealer and scorpion remained, however. “What in the gods’ names was that?”

  I just hallucinated about Tula. What does that mean? What does that mean?

  “Nothing,” he told himself. “It means nothing. You’re fine.”

  “You don’t look fine.” Cimil stood in front of the elevators, wearing a giant rain poncho with a picture of the Love Boat on the front and a red Moroccan fez that almost matched the red of her long crazy hair.

  “What are you doing here?” Zac asked. Cimil only showed her face at the office when…when…Pretty much never. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

  “I think the proper question should be why is a man passed out on our floor?”

  Zac didn’t want to tell her that lately he’d been taking up a new, evil hobby: torturing humans. Luckily, he’d been sticking to the bad ones. He could only hope that would keep his evil urges at bay until he figured out what to do. He needed a mate to stay on Team Good, but the only woman he wanted was the one he couldn’t have.

  “Someone dropped him off,” he lied. “Special delivery for you, I assumed.” It was Cimil’s job to escort evil souls off to the Underworld. Only, it wasn’t really an Underworld. More like waiting areas where the souls of the dead, who existed in a place without time, congregated until they decided if they wanted to come back for another round in the game of life or be reunited with the cosmic soup of the Universe.

  “Oh, look. The person who brought him included a scorpion on a stick!” She clapped. “Today is a lucky day!” She turned her head and yelled, “Kids! Get in here. There’s a treat for you!”

  From the stairwell, four very short-looking beings emerged in mime outfits. They had red hair, pouty lips, tiny hands, and big eyes—sort of marbled with turquoise and black and a thirst for destruction.

  “Oh, I see you brought your children. How…lovely.” A ripple of fear washed through him. Those kids are creepy as hell.

  Cimil snapped her fingers, and the four tiny ones dragged the man off to the other side of the room. The entire office space was empty save Cimil’s corner office, Zac and Tula’s desks smack in the middle of the room, and the little waiting area Tula had made by the elevators. There was also a makeshift break room and some filing cabinets in one of the corners.

  The children started mime yelling and mime kicking the man in complete silence. So disturbing.

  “Wait. Aren’t they only three months old?” asked Zac.

  Cimil shrugged. “Age is just a number. I mean, look at you. You’re a gazillion years old, yet you look like a homeless college student.”

  Zac looked down at his black, grease-stained Batman T-shirt and black leather pants. Nuh-uh. I look like a tough, manly dude. Seven feet of divine masculine hotness with a perfectly muscled body—maintenance-free, of course—turquoise eyes the ladies swooned over, and shiny jet
black hair with that perfectly unkempt look that screamed, “Step back! Badass on board!”

  “The human ladies warming my bed each night would happen to disagree,” he lied, knowing that his bed was as cold as an iceberg since his man-stick was on the fritz. “And I’m not a gazillion—I’m only seventy thousand years old.” Same as the rest of the gods, give or take a few days.

  “Yet you look like a disturbed pilgrim in search of their holy land of Fuck-I’m-Pathetic. Or maybe you look more like the Wild, Wild West depression wagon ran you over. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you’re definitely vibing vintage crazy. Oh. Wait. Maybe that’s your smell. When’s the last time you bathed?”

  Huh? “Uhhh…yesterday.” Perhaps Cimil was sensing the evil inside him. He had to divert her attention.

  He glanced over at her kids, who now stood over the man, pretending to stab him and remove his heart. Dear sweet deities. “What are they doing?”

  “They’re playing Maaskab—their favorite game. What else?”

  The Maaskab were an evil sect of ancient bloodthirsty Mayan priests who excelled in the dark arts and cold-blooded murder, which was why the gods had them nearly exterminated. All but a few, including the one who’d recently flipped to Team Good and now served as Cimil’s nanny.

  And wow. He’s such a positive influence, too. Just look at that knife-twisting technique.

  Cimil shook her gaunt finger at him. “Hey. Don’t change subjects on me. Why do you look so awful?”

  Zac wiggled his lips from side to side. He really didn’t want to tell her the truth, so he went with, “Tula’s gone. Why wouldn’t I be in a bad mood? Not like I know how to organize singles mixers and get Belch out of jail every time he burns down a building.”

  Cimil eyed him warily. “Uh-uhh…Nope. You’re lying, and you better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

  “Which is?”

  “Crashing Tula’s wedding.”

  What the godsfuck? She’s already set a date? So she had run back to her fuckstain of a fiancé, Gilbert, a human male who’d broken off their engagement when she refused to have premarital sex. Asshole. Tula’s innocence and virtue were reasons to love her more, not toss her aside. Sure, Zac personally didn’t see the point of abstaining from one of life’s greatest treasures and pleasures—ejaculation; however, Tula had her beliefs and stayed true to them. This Gilbert was in no way good enough for her. He had made her feel unloved simply because she wouldn’t do the nasty.

  Asshole. I’m the only one who’s allowed to pressure her into doing carnal, indecent things. I’m the God of Temptation. It’s my job.

  Zac felt the rage twist his insides. “When and where is the wedding?”

  “Nooo.” Cimil wagged her finger in front of his face. “I’m not telling. You’ll only show up and ruin it.”

  “Damn straight I will.” And I’ll ruin her, too, while I’m at it. Ruin her for all other men.

  Cimil stomped forward. “No! You must let Tula go, Zac. It is as I told you. You are a flame. She is a moth. Only she wears long flowery dresses and granny panties.”

  Ooohh…those granny panties. So not sexy. Which made them hotter than hell because nothing screamed “I need temptation in my life” like giant underwear.

  “Your point?” he asked.

  “I’ve seen what happens, Zac. If you don’t stop intervening in her destiny to be with Gilbert, she will die. A horrible, tormented death. She is pure and kind and loyal. You are the god of enticements—late night snacking, infidelity, the easy listening sounds of the ’80s—all very bad things. At least on Wednesdays.” She shrugged. “It’s cool on Fridays.”

  He crossed his arms over his well-defined chest—My awesome, well-defined chest. “Temptation also means desire, which can be a positive thing when someone is suppressing their true path in life—living their dreams of becoming an ice skater, climbing Everest, learning to play polka music—you know, really important things.”

  Cimil gave him a look. “And they call me bat-shit crazy?” She leaned forward and poked his chest with her razor-sharp fingernail. “You are a bad, bad boy who likes making people do bad, bad things. And the moment you get what you want from Tula, you will no longer feel anything for her. You’ll toss her aside and move on to the next temptation challenge.”

  No. Impossible. Wasn’t it? “Tell me exactly what you saw in these visions of yours. I want every detail.”

  “Do I look like a fortune-teller?” Cimil rolled her eyes.

  He felt his blood pressure shoot through the roof. Damn her. Always playing her ridiculous games. He still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that her doom and gloom prophesy crap about Tula wasn’t simply an attempt to torment him. Cimil liked tormenting people. It gave her deep joy.

  “No. I’m not trying to torment you,” Cimil said. “That only happens on leap year.”

  “Hey! I thought you didn’t have any powers.” He had not said that last bit aloud.

  “I don’t. I am the Goddess of the Underworld. The dead told me what you were going to say and I listen with my ears. Nothing supernatural about that.”

  “Sure. There’s nothing supernatural about knowing what I’m thinking via conversing with the dead from the future.”

  “Don’t forget the dead from the past and alternate universe timelines. Boy—” she slapped her knee over the plastic poncho and chuckled “—those guys can tell a joke. Did you ever hear the one about the clown and a black hole?”

  Zac winced. “Please, please, I beg you not to tell me.” Cimil hated clowns, which was why he suspected the answer might give him nightmares the next time he chose to sleep. No, gods were not required to sleep or eat; however, they did many things merely for pleasure. Listening to Cimil’s clown jokes was not one of those things.

  “Oh no. You have to hear this.” Cimil giggled like a psycho who’d just found a box filled with knives and hockey masks. “What’s red and white and black and screams, ‘Help me…’?”

  Dear gods. Why do I allow her in my life? “A clown in a black hole,” he said blandly.

  “A clown being crushed by the insane gravity of a black hole and exploding into tiny bits. The white parts are his teeth!” Cimil cackled loudly, but then, like a switch had been thrown, her laughter melted away and she went catatonic.

  Good gods. Not again. Cimil zoning out generally meant one of two things: A) she was thinking of a way to make your life a living hell or B) she was in the process of hearing something new from the plane of the dead souls.

  “Cimil?” Zac clapped his hands, but it did nothing. “Hey! Do not do this, you psychotic tart. No more bad news or new schemes to derail my life.” After all, it was her fault he’d been banished to the human world, left powerless, and sentenced to help one hundred immortals find true love. All because he’d had a thing for the mate of one of his brothers. Cimil had promised that if Zac did everything she’d said, it would all work out. It had for everyone but him. He got into deep shit with his brethren, his brother still won the girl, and he got banished. At least Cimil got punished, too. On the other hand, he was stuck with her, running this stupid agency.

  Cimil suddenly pointed at the ceiling. “We’re not finished,” she growled at no one and then smiled at Zac as if nothing had happened.

  “Oh hell. What is it?”

  “What’s what?” She shrugged coyly.

  “That. You just saw something.”

  Mischief flickered in her eyes. “Yes. I did.”

  “And?”

  She started to snicker. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon find out.”

  No. No, no, no. “Is Tula all right?”

  “Yep. As long as you stay away. But that wasn’t what I saw.”

  “Then what?” He hoped it didn’t have to do with his switch flipping. His worst nightmare would be turning evil and doing something horrible to Tula.

  Wait. If I turn evil, I might actually hurt her. But the only way not to flip is to take a mate. And a god
couldn’t take just anyone. It had to be the one. Someone they could love for eternity with a connection that ran soul deep.

  Is that Tula? He didn’t know. Yes, he wanted her. Yes, he felt insanely possessive of her. Yes, he cared about what happened to her and had even put her well-being ahead of his own desires last night. Crap. I think I do love her. I’m fucked.

  Cimil’s turquoise eyes flickered to black for a moment. Did she know what he’d been thinking?

  “Cimil, tell me what you saw!” he demanded.

  “I saw you helping me get the inflatable chairs blown up and fold-out table assembled. We have an emergency summit meeting to prepare for, and our brother Belch requires our assistance. It’s a matchmaker emergency!” Zac watched Cimil skip away towards her kids, who were still using the drug dealer as their sort of playground apparatus. “Babies! Now what did Mommy say about pretending to hurt people? We must make them pay the right way and drag their souls to the dark place like I taught you.”

  Psycho nut. Why did he believe anything she said?

  Zac pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed Tula. It went straight to voicemail. “Tula, it is I, Zac. You cannot…you cannot marry…” Fucking hell! He could not do this to her. But he could not let her go either. I must try. What if Cimil is correct? “You cannot marry without receiving your severance check. I have added a special bonus to help with the expenses. I will leave it in your desk.” Zac ended the call and headed straight for the elevators.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Cimil yelled. “We need to help Belch!”

  “To find a distraction.” Preferably one with soft curves, a mild case of reluctance to satisfy his urge to tempt, and who didn’t remind him in any way of Tula.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “You sure this is the place, baby?” The young brunette with big brown eyes and heavy eyeliner licked her lips as she shoved her hands down Acan’s jeans, insisting on letting her suck him.