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

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “You need to leave,” she spouted in response to his confession.

  “Margarita.” He took her hand between his. “I fully realize that what I’ve said sounds insane, which is why I’m prepared to prove every word to you. However, before I do that, I simply need to know if you could ever love a man who stays up all night—seven days a week—drinks approximately fifteen gallons of alcohol each day, and pretty much forgets to wear clothing on his bottom half.”

  “Are you fucking with me?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “No. My answer is no,” she said with a twisted frown.

  He shook his head. “As I thought.”

  “Acan? Please tell me this is a joke. Please tell me you’re not serious.”

  It was time to ease her mind. At least for tonight, she’d be at peace and then Forgetty would take care of her in the morning. “I am serious, and as I said, here is my proof.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “Close your eyes, Margarita. Listen to the Universe beating through me. Hear her whisper of life and the voices of every being on this planet calling for me. Feel your skin heating as my cells cause yours to vibrate rapidly.”

  He knew Margarita didn’t want to do as he asked, but his scent, voice, and energy persuaded her.

  With hesitant flutters, she closed her eyes and took a sobering breath. After a soul-grilling moment—him hoping she’d see the truth—her eyes flew open. “Ohmygod!”

  Margarita could not believe her ears. Thousands of voices silently chanted his name, and she heard each and every one: “Belch, Belch, Belch.”

  “This can’t be.” She stepped back, taking her hand with her. “You’re him, aren’t you? You are Belch.”

  He nodded. “I had to pretend because humans are not permitted to know about us unless it’s a necessity.”

  She covered her mouth. She felt like a fool, but she wasn’t sure if it was due to his lying or due to her actually believing he was a god.

  “But how? How can you and he be…?”

  “The same person?”

  She nodded.

  “I am not human. I do not grow old. I do not get ill. My body is predisposed for perfection. But given my role, to help humans forget their woes for an evening, the excess calories do take a toll on my figure. Although I’ve now learned it’s only temporary.”

  “So-so-so,” she stammered, “if you were to drink, you’d become him—that other guy.”

  He nodded yes.

  “Jesus.” She walked over to her sofa and plunked down, covering her face. This can’t be true. Yet her heart told her it was. “Why did you decide to tell me if humans aren’t allowed to know?”

  He walked over and sat but looked ahead at the wall where a collage—all pictures of her and Jessica—hung on the wall.

  “Something is happening to us,” he said. “A plague. But only those who are single, without a mate, are susceptible.”

  “So you’re sick?” Didn’t he just say he couldn’t get sick?

  “In a way, yes. This plague takes a good immortal and turns them into a violent, dangerous being.”

  “Like rabies.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “However, for an immortal like myself, the damage I can inflict will be in the millions. Perhaps tens of millions. Specifically on New Year’s Eve, when my powers naturally spike.”

  Her eyes went wide. “Who, Acan? Who will be the millions?” Her heart raced out of control.

  “I do not know.” He clasped his large hands together in his lap and stared down at them.

  She stood up. “So wait. You’re telling me that in a few weeks, you’re going to turn into a rabid god, strike down tens of millions of people, and that there’s nothing you can do.”

  “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to find my mate and stop the change from occurring.”

  Her mind reeled with fear. Fear for her child. Fear for herself. Fear for all of those people who would lose family members. This can’t happen. I have to do something. Wait…

  “I’m not following.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to keep her cool. “You said that I’m your mate.”

  He nodded calmly.

  “So if I’m your mate, why are you looking for someone else?” This made no sense.

  He stood and gazed down into her eyes. It suddenly felt like the blanket had lifted from her mind. Now that he’d told her the truth, whatever tricks her brain had been playing to deny the strangeness right in front of her were gone. He wasn’t human. His skin had a slight iridescent glow, his turquoise eye shimmered like afternoon sun bouncing off a calm ocean, and simply standing next to him made her body feel warm and at peace.

  “Jesus, you’re magnificent,” she whispered.

  “Thank you.” He frowned. “But my name is Acan, not Jesus. Are you feeling all right?”

  “You just told me that you’re a god and millions of people will die on New Year’s Eve, so no. I’m not all right. Now, answer my question.”

  “You mean…why I cannot accept you as my mate?”

  “Yes.”

  “You said it yourself, you would not be happy living a life of nonstop nocturnal celebrations with me. And I could not live a life being someone I am not. Just these few days of behaving have been torture for me given the role I was born to play. It would be like removing a bird’s wings or telling a teenager to speak respectfully to their parents—it is unnatural.”

  “So basically, you’re saying that we’re not a match?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “But we’re mates?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you don’t mean ‘mate’ in the Australian sense of the word,” she stated.

  “No.”

  She nodded but didn’t truly understand. How had they been matched up? And by who? And why would they be matched up if they weren’t right for each other?

  “So your plan is to find someone you click with and then stop this plague from making you sick.”

  “Yes,” he confirmed.

  “What if you fail?”

  He crossed his large arms over his chest. “I will not. I am a god.”

  “No. You’re an idiot. Think about what you’re saying: you want to find a woman who will love you and accept you for who you are—i.e., bombed out of your stupid skull—when you’re this horrible, egregious version of yourself who treats women like pieces of ass, goes around flashing his dick everywhere, and looks like he has a liver the size of a watermelon.”

  “Your point?”

  “No woman wants that, and if she does, there’s something seriously wrong with her.”

  “I meet plenty of women who enjoy me when I’m in party mode.”

  “Are they drunk? Because they’d have to be.” He was absolutely offensive and belligerent.

  “Well, yes. But that is to be expected. I do serve the best cocktails on the planet. Humans find it difficult to stay sober in my presence.”

  “I have no problem.”

  “Because apparently your drink of choice is getting fucked by a hot god.”

  What? Ohmygod. How can he say that? On the other hand, could it explain why she felt the irresistible urge to get down, dirty, and naughty in his presence? Still, he was a pig for saying it like he had.

  She shook her head. “I’m not clear on how you got to be a god, but your plan is a joke.”

  “And what then do you propose I do? Mate with a woman who doesn’t know how to have fun? Who hates drinking, the one thing I’m truly gifted at? I am the God of Wine and Intoxication. My role is to help humans—”

  “You’re a man-child, and it’s time you grew up. People’s lives are on the line, including my child’s and possibly my own.” She poked him in his chest, his firm, firm chest. Dammit, am I turned on right now! He smells so good.

  Wait. No. Stop! She needed to think clearly.

  The truth was that she found him extremely attractive. Excruciatingly attractive. Seven feet of perfectly sculpted male m
uscled in such a way that her eyes couldn’t help wanting to savor every inch of his exposed skin. For example, his neck. He had an Adam’s apple that stuck out just a little bit farther than a regular guy. Overtly manly. His stunning face was accentuated by a short beard that didn’t grow in full. Instead, it skirted the contour of his jaw, leaving his smooth, high cheekbones fully exposed. His brows and intense eyes made him look sexy and tough all at the same time. As for his chest and abs, they weren’t on display, but she would never forget such perfection. Hard round pecs, rippled abs, and belly button covered in a light dusting of dark hair. His soft wavy hair that fell to his nipples was enough to…to make a woman want to strip naked just so she could feel the silky strands brush over her nipples.

  Oh God. Don’t think about it. Just don’t.

  Her conclusion was that in the sexual-attraction department, there was a lot to work with. But what she couldn’t live with was his chauvinistic, crude behavior. If it weren’t for that, she might be able to take him seriously. As it stands, I just want to lock him in a stockade and throw things at him.

  She drew a breath. “Have you ever tried to learn how to be the party without partying? You facilitate the fun, but you don’t engage in the fun.”

  He scratched his thick, brown scruff. “No. However, I had planned on bartending sober at my mate mixer.”

  “Mate mixer?”

  “Yes, I am throwing myself a party and inviting only single women. It is the best hope I have of finding my soul mate on such short notice.”

  She shook her head. “And they’ll all be drunk?”

  “I hope so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing my job, now would I?”

  He’s crazy. He’s a god, and he’s downright crazy. “Have your stupid mixer, but I promise you that your plan sucks.”

  “It’s a wonderful plan.”

  “And if you fail? What’s plan B? Oh. That’s right. You don’t have one,” she snarled.

  “I told you I’m a god. I never fail.”

  Could he possibly be more arrogant? “What if you do?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “That settles it. You are going to spend a platonic night with me.”

  “Why?”

  “While I find you morally repugnant and sleazy, I’m your best hope. We are going to test us out and make absolutely sure there’s no way for us to be a match.” They had to try.

  “I’ve seen your style of fun, and while racing in your skivvies was very…well, racy, I sense that is about as wild as you get.”

  “Basically, yes. It took me a decade to work up the nerve to do it, but we have to try. We have to.” Her daughter meant everything to her.

  “You’re saying you want me to show you a good time,” he said.

  “Sure. Or maybe we’ll do my version of fun for a few hours and then I’ll do yours.”

  “I have sworn an oath to stay sober until I’ve found my mate, but I suppose I can take you out.”

  “But you were…the other you this morning.”

  “An accidental cocktail. It wore off minutes after I left.”

  “Why exactly did you leave?” she asked.

  “Ah. Yes. That. I did not want to kill you.”

  Huh? “Huh?”

  “It is fatal for a human to have intercourse with a god. They must wear a special stone—a particular black jade—that absorbs our energy.”

  “You almost killed me?” She didn’t even know how to process that.

  “No. I mean—well…I found you very irresistible and forgot and then…” He let out a sigh. “I’m a complete asshole, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe you! I’m a mother. People depend on me.”

  “I stopped before you burst into flames. Does that not count for something?”

  She winced. “Dear God, you are so obtuse.”

  “Thank you. Now, shall we get on with our evening?”

  The front door swung open and in walked Jessica.

  Still standing in the middle of her living room, Margarita froze for a moment as if she’d been caught doing something very bad.

  “Jessica, you’re late.” She put on a face of calmness.

  “Mom, I’m sixteen. If I want to stay out until nine with my friends, I’m going to stay out.” She entered their small living room and spotted Acan. Her eyes went wide and then wider.

  “Who’s he?” Jessica said with a flirty smile.

  Nope. Nuh-uh. She would not have her daughter lusting after the party god.

  Acan dipped his head. “I am—”

  “He is my friend from work,” Margarita interrupted. “And we are leaving. You are going to do your homework. Dinner is in the oven.” She grabbed Acan’s arm—so, so muscled and bulgy—and urged him toward the door.

  “A pleasure meeting you, Jessica.”

  “Uh…” Jessica stood there drooling.

  Margarita grabbed her keys and little satchel-style purse from the glass table next to the door. “I mean it, young lady. Homework.”

  Acan’s eyes stuck on Jessica for a moment, a long moment as if he was taking her in.

  Oh, no. Like hell, you bastard. She pushed him outside and slammed the front door shut. “Don’t ever look at my daughter like that again.”

  Acan jerked his head back. “She is far too young for me.”

  “Then why were you looking at her like that?”

  He blinked. “I do not know. But I assure you, it was not sexual. Although, she is quite lovely. She takes after her mother.”

  Margarita huffed. “Let’s go. We have work to do.”

  “Work? I understood we were to embark on an evening of fun.”

  Yes, but his version of fun was not hers. “Same thing.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Acan’s head spun after his interaction with Margarita. He could see the logic in what she had said about her being his best chance of thwarting the worst disaster to hit the human race since the inception of Pokémon Go; however, he simply did not see a way for them to work out as a couple. A couple who would be together forever. For. Ever. As in eternity.

  Nevertheless, he could not argue that it made sense to sacrifice one night to make absolutely certain they could not work.

  “Where would you like to go first?” he asked, opening the door to his black Tesla sedan parked out front of her apartment building, a four-story brick monstrosity built in the sixties and sandwiched between a sushi joint and a pawnshop.

  She deserves better.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked.

  “Never. But I can always eat. Where would you like to go?”

  “I know just the place down the street. It’s my idea of fun.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they were seated at a strange table with a large iron griddle in the middle. The cuisine was called “Korean BBQ,” but he did not see any barbeques.

  “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You pay money to sit at a table and cook your own food?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s supposed to be fun, and it’s healthy.” She pointed to all of the small dishes filled with fatless meats, steamed vegetables, pickled cabbage, and various sauces. “So you see, healthy cooking isn’t boring.”

  “But I have to cook.”

  She sighed. “Yes. But they prepare everything and wash the dishes.”

  He smiled. “Oh, that certainly is better. I never do dishes.”

  “Then who does them?” Margarita grabbed her chopsticks and began scraping them together.

  “I have Jill. She does everything for me,” he replied.

  “And does Jill know about…” Margarita fanned her chopsticks over his upper torso.

  “About my hotness? Why of course. What woman wouldn’t notice?” He grinned.

  “Ha. Funny. I meant about your,” she leaned in, “about your nonhuman state.”

  “Ah. That. Yes, she’s aware. But she’s a necessity because she was appointed to keep me out of human jail.”

  “Jail? For what?”
/>   “My specialty is flaming drinks. I often burn things down.”

  Margarita slid the plates of marinated meat away from him. “In that case, I will be doing the cooking.” The table next to them cheered loudly and began clanking their beer bottles together. “Well, nice to see someone knows how to have fun.”

  “You mean to say that I don’t?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  How could she say that about him? This date is already a bust.

  Just then, the table of six behind them screamed, “Bottoms up!” and slammed down shots. Wild laughter broke out at the bar. The quiet, family-style restaurant suddenly turned into a rowdy, Korean saloon. The waiters started bringing out beers and shots to all of the tables. Margarita looked increasingly uncomfortable.

  “Perhaps we should leave and sample your next bit of fun,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped. “This is you, isn’t it?”

  “Not on purpose. I simply have this effect on people, especially at night.”

  She made a strange face.

  “It’s part of my charm?” he offered.

  “Let’s go.” She raised her hand for the check, but the waiter was too busy drinking with the patrons at the bar.

  “Allow me.” Acan raised his index finger in the air. Without saying a word, without looking away from her, the entire establishment turned their attention toward him in silence.

  “Check.” He shrugged.

  Margarita frowned. “This is just too freaking weird.”

  Still spinning from the bizarre reaction of the patrons in the restaurant, Margarita decided that comfort food was in order: frozen yogurt. She knew it wasn’t exciting or filled with people screaming and drinking, but there was nothing better than a sweet treat at the end of the day. One that didn’t undo all of her workouts. Not that she was conceited, but she was the face and body of her business. Her livelihood depended on looking fit.

  Margarita prepared a cup for Acan, filling it with carob chips, three gummy bears, and a dollop of strawberry, and handed it to him.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

  “You’re supposed to eat it while we walk along the beach.” Santa Monica Beach was only three blocks away. They could look at the lights of the Ferris wheel on the pier, listen to the sound of the waves, and walk off the calories of the delicious dessert they were about to enjoy.