Dion's Desire

by Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Evernight Publishing ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2014 Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-030-4

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: JC Chute

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To the Sontheimers, past, present, and future who have provoked, inspired, and supported me through the journey from making up stories as a little girl to being an author. You rock!

  DION’S DESIRE

  Love Immortal, 2

  Lee Ann Sontheimer Murphy

  Copyright © 2014

  Chapter One

  Dion Bacchus surveyed his vineyard with pride. As far as he could see, neat rows of arbors stretched across his acres, vines heavy with Muscat grapes. He grew two varieties, the oldest in the world: the Muscat Blanc and the Muscat Alexandria. His winery produced the finest Moscato wines available, and he liked that. It gave him some measure of his success, and pride in his accomplishments. Many would think it a comedown for the god of wine and theater, but most days, he didn’t mind. It provided an outlet for his talents and enough work to make him forget, sometimes, all he once was.

  If more still believed, his lot in life might be different, but it wasn’t. Dion clung to the powers he still possessed and never thought about the future. To an immortal, forever loomed far too long.

  He narrowed his eyes to slits against the morning sun as he peered toward the hills surrounding his property. On the far edge, he caught a glimpse of his outdoor theater. The classic Grecian columns behind the stage were visible even at this distance.

  Wine ranked as his first passion, of course, and theater his second. Dion had a troupe of actors arriving to present his annual dramatic festival. Each season, he chose two of the ancient Greek plays and had a theater company come to perform. The event drew visitors from across the country, as well as a few from around the world. Journalists from the major California newspapers always covered it. Entertainment programs had featured the event as well as the winery. Once the eight weeks of harvest began, Dion would spend long days and often nights in the fields. It would be a time of hard work and effort, so he always enjoyed his last chance for fun for several months.

  The two-way radio in his pocket crackled and his office manager’s voice spoke. “Dion, where are you?”

  “Overlooking the vineyard,” he said.

  “The Masques are en route,” Constance said. An attractive woman, still shapely in her mid-fifties, Constance ran the office with a stern hand. Reliable enough to show up every day without fail, intelligent enough to handle many tasks without his direct supervision, and still attractive enough to please business contacts, she defined the term, valued employee. “I told them you would be here to welcome them.”

  “How soon?”

  “Thirty minutes.”

  Dion sighed. “All right. I’ll head back and I will be there.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  Three-quarters of a mile away from the Château, which served as both his office and his home, Dion could have walked or run the distance with ease. But he didn’t. People gossiped if he did, speculated about his athletic prowess and whispered about steroids. So he used a golf cart for getting around most of the time, or a sturdy vintage pick-up truck.

  He climbed behind the wheel of the cart and headed back along one of many dirt tracks making their way through the vineyards.

  En route, Dion enjoyed the California sun and the slight breeze rippling through his shoulder-length black curls. His bronze skin, his dark eyes, his generous mouth and stunning physique wowed the ladies. He turned heads almost anywhere he went. Being wealthy drew even more attention, and he faced a steady stream of women who yearned to wed him. Dion tasted their favors often, whenever he chose, but he made it a rule never to have any woman more than once. He made no ties, never spoke words of love, and refused to be romantic. Whenever he longed for the old days of debauchery and never-ending frivolity when the world was young, he told no one. Mortals could never understand.

  At the Château, Dino left the golf cart in the wide, circular drive before the massive stone structure. One of the employees would move it. He dashed up the steps, crossed the wide porch and entered the front door. He walked into the reception area and greeted his latest employee, Graciela.

  “Good morning, Graci,” he said. “How goes it?”

  “Very well, thank you,” she said. “Constance said for you to come back to her office.”

  He walked through two more offices, each filled with busy workers pounding keyboards or on the phone, and into Constance’s private space.

  “Come in,” she said. “I wanted to brief you on The Masques. We’ve never had them before, so I thought you would want some background.”

  “Yes, of course. So, tell me about them.”

  She handed him a folder containing a colorful brochure, a couple of flyers, and a contract. “They work out of L.A.,” she said. “Twenty-five members in the troupe. Some have done moderately well in television and movies with supporting roles. Most have done at least a few commercials, but they share a passion for true theater. They own a small playhouse near Malibu where they do Greek plays, some Shakespeare, and some classic shows. ”

  Dion nodded. “They sound experienced and versatile. That’s good.”

  A face among those featured in the pamphlet caught his attention. Dressed in a flowing Grecian-style gown, her profile faced the camera. Masses of hair the shade of ripe wheat blowing in the wind cascaded from her head down her back.

  He pointed at her. “Who’s she?”

  Constance grinned. “You’re not going to believe it – her name is Chablis Leblanc.”

  A beautiful name for a lovely lady, he thought. “Is it her real name, or one she’s taken for the stage?”

  His office manager shrugged. “Her bio says it’s her birth name.”

  Interesting, very interesting. “Is she French?”

  “American,” Constance replied. “Her ancestry has some French, obviously, but also English and some Italian. She is the founder of the company, by the way.”

  “Ah,” Dion said with interest. “And when will they arrive?”

  The sound of approaching motors reached his ears and he smiled. “It appears to be now,” he said. “I think I shall greet them.”

  With a casual stride and feeling more intrigued than he wanted to admit, Dion headed for the porch. He stood at the top of the steps and watched as the group unloaded from a pair of beige vans. The woman he wanted to see in the flesh emerged last, and he scrutinized her without any shame.

  Blue denim shorts stopped mid-thigh and revealed a gorgeous length of smooth, tanned legs. The hair he’d admired in the photograph was stunning in person. As she approached, Dion noted the various shades, ranging from golden to pale blonde. When she noticed him, her deep mauve lips lifted upward in a smile.

  “Hello,” he said. “Welcome to Château Bacchus. I’m Dion Bacchus, and it’s my pleasure to welcome your troupe.”

  “Chablis Leblanc,” she said. “Are you named for the singer?”

  A flicker of irritation darkened his mood. “Hardly,” he said. “My name is actually Dionysus.”

  Once a god, always an attitude, he thought. It goes with the terr
itory.

  A blush as pink as her rose-colored T-shirt flushed her cheeks. “That would be quite a mouthful,” she said. She came up the steps while the others were still pulling backpacks and suitcases from the vans. “I apologize if I offended you. It wasn’t my intention.”

  Up close, her beauty delighted him and he yearned to run his hands through her tresses. He dismissed her thoughtless remark. I could forgive this woman a great deal.

  Dion lifted her hand in his and kissed it. She shivered and a bolt of desire shot through his body. “No offense taken. Welcome, Miss Leblanc. If you’d like to come into my office, we can discuss a few details.”

  “Great. Let me just get everyone settled first.”

  She cupped her hands and called, “Okay, come on up. I need to talk business for a few, but you can find your rooms and get your bearings.”

  The others swarmed the steps and spread out across the porch as Dion stared. What rooms? Settle in where? What is she talking about? Aloud, he said with an effort to keep his tone pleasant, “Rooms? The troupes usually stay in one of the nearby towns and drive out each day during the festival.”

  Chablis’ smile vanished. “You can’t be serious. We were told we would be staying here and if we can’t, we’ll have to cancel. Our troupe can’t commute.”

  Ten years of hosting the Grecian theater event and he had never had an actor ask to stay. His home, literally his castle, remained his private domain. Although he hosted many events there, he seldom had anyone spend the night under his roof despite the fact there were a dozen guest rooms, and more if he counted the unused servant’s quarters on the third floor. Dion’s temper threatened to erupt but as he opened his mouth, he spied a tiny, black mole at the left of her lips. He found it sexy and his cock wiggled with lively interest. He changed his mind––a rare occurrence.

  “It won’t be a problem. I have plenty of space. You just caught me by surprise, because none of the actors have stayed before. How many are in your company?”

  “Twenty-five, but we’re short two members.”

  He did the math. “There are a dozen guest rooms on the second floor. I’m afraid your people will have to double up, but each room offers two comfortable beds, an adjacent bath, and all the amenities. I’ll have the staff put together lunch, then dinner today and three meals a day for the remainder of your stay.”

  “Is that included or do we have to pay?”

  Damn, but she could be difficult.

  “It’s included, of course.” It would cost him a fortune––but then, money had never been a problem. The vineyard and winery did very well. He also possessed untold fortunes dating back to ancient times. Dion made a mental note to call the caterer he often used and place an order. His chef and kitchen staff could provide simple morning meals and lunches, but dinner would tax their capabilities. Dion used his cell phone to send a quick text ordering a noon meal for the unexpected guests.

  She smiled. “That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

  Chablis raised her voice and gave directions to the troupe. They swarmed the twin staircases like ants, their voices a babble echoing from the walls. Dion’s reservations at sharing his private space faded. Their presence reminded him of the olden days, a time when he had been carefree and able to party at will.

  I’ve become too accustomed to the loneliness of this mammoth house and the emptiness of my existence. Maybe it’s time to make some changes.

  In his cavernous office, he waved his hand toward one of the chairs. “Have a seat, please. Where should we begin?”

  From the canvas tote she carried, Chablis pulled out a notebook. “Okay. The festival begins tomorrow with the first performance at two, then another at six, and the final one at ten, correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right. The schedule repeats daily for the week of the festival. And you’ll perform the two plays I selected?”

  “Medea and Prometheus Bound, correct?”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, we will. I also wondered if we might work in a few performances of another play. Are you familiar with The Frogs?”

  I’ve seldom met a woman with so much cheek, but I like it.

  “Do you mean Aeschylus’ play, in which Dionysus serves a judge to see who writes the best tragic poetry? Yes, I know the play.”

  Aeschylus wrote it for him, long ago and he had gloried in the fame. And he had played his own role a few times, to the delight of ancient audiences.

  Chablis laughed and clapped her hands together. “I thought you would, all the more after I learned your name. May we present it as well?”

  With secret glee, Dion leaned back in his leather chair and pretended to ponder the question. He kept his features bland, expressionless but within, his spirits soared. His play to be performed once more, here in his empire would be a pleasure he would long savor. If he could play himself again, it would be even sweeter. He laced his fingers together as if in thought, then nodded. “Yes, I like the idea…but not each day. Save it for the final two days and present it as the last performance on those days only. But I do have one small stipulation.”

  She leaned forward, eager. “Yes, what is it?”

  “I play Dionysus.”

  He expected open outrage or a polite refusal, but got neither. Chablis cocked her head as her tongue emerged to lick her lips. “Interesting idea,” she murmured. She stared at him as if she hadn’t given him a close look until now. “You fit the type, and you’re a strikingly handsome man. Do you have theater experience?”

  Her compliments evoked a warm glow. “Oh, yes, I do,” he said. “I did some theater a long time ago. In fact, I’ve played Dionysus before.”

  Delight lit her face brighter than neon. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Absolutely, we would love to have you get involved. We’ll need to run through the play several times. My troupe knows it but you might want to brush up.”

  Right now, he wanted Chablis.

  Dion schemed for a way to touch her. She asked about when the company could see the theater and he suggested he take her for a private tour.

  “When could we go?” she asked.

  “Now.”

  With restraint, he led her out to a golf cart and they took off. Those long legs beside his in the tight seat drove him mad with lust. Dion ran the vehicle at the fastest speed and they roared up to his theater in amazing time. Chablis stepped out and walked out into the area before the stadium seats. “Wow,” she said. “I’d seen some pictures, but it’s much more impressive in reality. What gave you the festival idea?”

  He shrugged. “I love classical theater, so I thought why not? It’s proven to be popular.”

  “Fabulous! You should have it more than once a year.”

  Dion laughed. “I don’t have the time to spare. After this, I’ll spend two hard months in harvest.”

  Sunlight illuminated her hair and accented the highlights. He lost his battle with temptation. Dion let his fingers comb through her hair, marveling at the silky texture. Some delicious fragrance rose from her, and he inhaled with pleasure. “You smell sweet,” he told her and glanced to see her reaction.

  Chablis glared at him, eyes angry as a stormy sky. “What do you think you’re doing?” she said.

  “I couldn’t resist,” he told her. “You’re a beautiful woman––so sexy, so alive.”

  If he thought sweet talk would douse her outrage, he had been mistaken. “I’m a professional actor, contracted to do a job. Take your hands out of my hair and step back. If you don’t, I’m pulling the troupe from your event and we’re leaving.”

  Dion resisted instruction of any kind. He never responded to ultimatums, but he could and did react to the savage passion radiating between them. She may be spitting fire like an alley cat, but I’ll tame her down with a kiss. He liked the challenge and did the opposite of what Chablis asked.

  He tightened his fingers in her flowing hair and stepped closer. Before she could squeal in protest or retreat, Dion wrapped his lips around hers and kissed ha
rd. He stifled her cry and intensified the pressure of his mouth. Chablis’ hands became claws and she raked at him. She swiped his left cheek with enough force to sting, but he ignored it. Instead, he ground his lips hard against hers and rammed his tongue into her mouth. She resisted for a few more moments, struggling against him and trying to push him away. Then something shifted. Her fingers uncurled and she rested her hands against him, one on the left shoulder, and the other flat on his chest. Chablis leaned into him instead of pulling back and her lips melted beneath his.

  When she yielded, triumph swept through Dion, sweet as honey, as heady as wine. Behind it, a rush of passion thrilled him. No woman had affected him so much in more than a century. He slowed his heat and savored. The wind picked up enough to lift her long strands of hair and they blew across his arms, light as spider webs, and ticklish as lace.

  In the moment, he forgot he lived as a mortal man and the old power he’d known since time began flowed through him. Dion shivered with the thrill and when he released her, he shut his eyes to pretend for a few more moments he remained in the old days, in Greece where it all began.

  Chablis LeBlanc had intrigued him from the first moment. Now he wanted her and what Dionysus Bacchus wanted, he took.

  Chapter Two

  Eyes closed, he relived the kiss. The pleasant aromas of earth, of growing vines, and honeysuckle planted nearby wafted into Dion’s nose on the light wind. I think I’ll kiss her again. Anticipation rippled down his spine as he opened his eyes but before he could bend forward, Chablis slapped him, hard. Although it stung, it hurt his pride more than his cheek. Harsh words bubbled into his mouth, but he checked the flow at the sight of her dancing eyes.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  “You deserved it,” Chablis said. “You went a little too far and I was pissed, at first.”