"So, where is this palace," she prodded.
"Olympus," he said. "Near my father, and my son."
"Must be nice to have family nearby," she said, forcing a smile, although something inside shattered at the mention of a child. He was married. Or divorced. Either way, he had already failed at one relationship.
"Yea, though I do not see them as oft as I ought. My son has grown to a fine young man, and I take not a whit of credit for it. 'Tis my mother's doing, to be sure. The boy's mother has little love for him."
"That happens, sometimes. I always thought it odd that you have to have a license to own a dog in this country, but any nitwit can have a baby." Marco had called this woman "the boy's mother". Not his wife, or exwife, or even his ex-girlfriend. Maybe they had never been serious? And Marco didn't look old enough to have a grown son. He must have fathered the child while still in high school.
"Tell me about your parents?"
"Nay. This fine day is not for the sharing of scary tales. Those are best told around a campfire in the dark of night."
Larissa chuckled. "That bad, huh? Sounds a bit like my dad."
"You loved him, though," Marco stated.
"Yes. He was abusive. He used to hit my mom, and I swore I'd never marry a man like that. Yet, all my boyfriends have been like carbon copies of him. I guess because he's the only father I have ever known, and I did love him. And I miss him."
Marco twined his fingers in hers and gave a gentle squeeze. "The heart carries its own wisdom, seldom understood by the mind."
"I guess."
She fitted the key in her door. "Thanks for walking me home. I really appreciate it. I was a little scared last night. It was nice meeting you!"
Marco tugged her, not hard, until she was facing him. "Why do you run from me? Have I so frightened you that you will not share time with me?"
She blinked. "Of course I will. I let you walk me home -"
"If you'll recall, I gave you no choice in the matter." He gave a smug smile.
"Fine. You bullied me into letting you walk me home. We just spent nine blocks together. And now I'm going to lay down and take a nap. I didn't sleep much last night, and I'm exhausted. Good-bye."
"Nine blocks has only whetted my appetite for another nine, and another nine after that. I cannot let thee out of my sight, fair one, until this unquenchable thirst has been sated. If it is napping that you require, I am fair willing to accompany you."
Her jaw dropped on a gasp. She'd just met the guy, and already he wanted in her bed? What kind of tramp did he think she was? That her entire being was begging her to comply was beside the point. She didn't know him. He was too big, and too domineering, and too - something - to let him in. "Go home, Marco," she snapped. "Don't you have some brainless little Greek girl yearning for you somewhere?"
"Nay. 'Tis only you that my heart desires."
"Disappointment. Learn to live with it."
Again she tried to close the door, but still he blocked it. Fear ran like ice in her veins. Then he gave her the most charming smile, meant to melt the ice and turn it into a burning river of need. It almost worked. She bit her lip, pressing her legs together to give them strength.
"Walk with me," he asked simply.
"Where? I'm home."
"Please? Just a walk around town. I am a stranger in these lands. I know not a soul besides thee."
She was still afraid, but it was midday. The streets were filled with people. And maybe she was safer with him out in public, rather than inviting him into her apartment. Then she saw something in his gaze that further melted her fear. Loneliness. It was something she readily recognized, for she'd seen it in her mirror often enough.
"Fine, Marco. I'll walk with you. But just for a while. Then I really do need to go home - alone."
He gave her a wicked grin she felt clear down to her toes. "Aye, milady."
Cupid grimaced, fairly nauseated at the scene below. Watching his father simper over that cold harpy was just too awful. How could the massive, all-powerful god of war buckle beneath the petty whims of yet another fancy skirt? Not that the wench was even wearing a skirt. She was most unattractively attired in men's pants, although the soft pink sweater with the tiny buttons was rather sweet. Yuck! And his father had buttoned up her sweater for her, as if she were too incapable herself. On any other man - a mortal man - Cupid would have seen the gesture as sweet. But on his father, it was disgusting. Mars was too old for her!
Cupid shook himself. His father had been alone for centuries. Mars would never get back with his mother - Cupid wouldn't want him to, anyway. Venus was still married to Vulcan, although it was in name only. She had not shared a bed with the homely god since mankind had learned the secrets of fire. She took a steady stream of lovers, both mortal and im, although the mortal lovers seldom survived her peevishness.
So what if his father could find a bit of happiness from the leggy wench with a sharp tongue? He would not get in their way. When it seemed that Larissa might actually turn his father away, Cupid swirled a little magic to push her out the door. In his eagerness, he pushed a might too hard, and she stumbled. Right into Mars's embrace. He closed his eyes before he had to watch his father kiss the wench again. Cupid had other business to attend to.
He fetched his glass ball and gave it a spin. Catching it on the tip of his index finger, he brought it to a halt. As the mists parted, he saw yet again that Kayleigh and Thomas were bickering. With a sigh of frustration, he cloaked himself with invisibility and made the journey back to earth.
They walked down one city street and up another. Marco had told the truth when he'd said he was new in town and he knew not a soul, but he had seen the entire city from Olympus. It was larger up close, louder, and noisier. But there was a pleasant oasis a few blocks over, a large park with trees and walkways, and privacy. Yea, that was most important. With a thought, he urged all mortals to leave the park, as he directed his steps to bring them there.
The dogwoods were flowering, and rhododendrons brought spots of color amidst the browns of early spring. Mars smiled at the pretty maid beside him. His chest hurt to breathe just gazing at her. That pretty Cupid's Bow mouth with teeth like pearls. Her eyes were luscious blueberries, framed by lush black lashes. And when her gaze lowered, those pretty lashes fanned across delicate cheeks the color of ripe peaches. She was good enough to eat, and he was fair famished!
"So what brings you to here, Marco? I mean, Georgia isn't really on anyone's list of the top ten must-see places."
"You," he breathed.
"Me? Oh, yeah. You didn't even meet me until you sat in my diner yesterday. I mean, why were you in my diner? What made you leave Greece?"
"I came from Olympus," he corrected her.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You. I came to be with you."
She shivered once. Something about this guy was starting to creep her out. Like how he'd never give her a straight answer. Were all his pretty words just another line? Maybe he was smoother than her exes, but he was cut from the same cloth.
"Right. You just up and packed your bags, and came across the ocean - by ship or by plane? Because you just knew you were going to meet a brainless bimbo in good old southern U.S of A? Give me a break."
"I shall not harm one hair on your precious head," he promised, affronted that she would expect any less of him. "I shall ne'er break thee."
"Come on, He-Man. What gives?"
" 'Tis miscommunication again, my dear heart. I do not understand the question."
She whirled around, placing her hands on his chest as though she could stop his immovable force through sheer mortal effort. "I want to know why you're here, Marco. And I want a straight answer. Why are you here!"
"To woo you, darling. I thought 'twas fair obvious."
"Me. You want me in particular, or are you just hard up for a quick lay?"
He shook his head in confusion. He was sure consistent with the ignorant immigrant facade. Maybe it wasn't an act.
"Thou art all I shall ever want, my dear one. For thee I would give up my immortality. I want to lie with thee and fill thee with my seed, and fatten thee with my babes. I want a half dozen at least, more if thou art willing. They will be mortal, like thee, but I shall cherish every moment with them. And when age takes thee from me, I shall ne'er lie with a mortal woman again. On this thou hast my most solemn promise."
Her breath caught in her throat at the poetry of his promise, even though his speech had turned archaic. He spoke with such solemnity, and his eyes held not a hint of deception. He was insane. Madly in love with her, and madly insane. Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill over. She turned away and dabbed at them, hoping he wouldn't notice.
"I do not mean to frighten you," he whispered, brushing away a tear with a tender touch. "The power of my love for you has frightened even me. Ne'er have I felt this before, in all my long days, though many a woman has spread herself beneath me. 'Tis no small vow I make. You hold my heart in your hands. It is yours to cherish or ruin."
"This is all too much, too soon!" She took a step back, and then another. He was insane, and he wanted her, and he knew where she lived, where she worked. Where could she go? "You can't love me already, Marco. We just met."
"I have loved you since you first cursed my son's holiday. I did not know it yet, but at that moment you claimed this small stone of ice caged within my breast. And it was as if a thousand years of winter had come to an end, to melt away the cold crust around my fragile heart." Marco went down on one knee then, and took her hand in his, holding it to his chest. "I beg thee, my dear one. Do not turn it to stone again."
Excitement coursed through her, hot and passionate. For one moment, Larissa let herself imagine that love at first sight could really happen, and her charming prince had finally come to take her away from the ashes of her dull existence. But then she steeled herself against his romantic nonsense and yanked her hand away.
"I don't know who put you up to this, Marco. Is this some stupid bet, that you could find a bimbo, woo her and bed her within a specific time frame? If so, why not just say so? Hey, if you'll split the purse with me, I'll sleep with you. Just stop with the flowery speech and meaningless promises. I'm not falling for it."
She whirled around and tried to stomp away. Of course, she only managed two steps before he was off his knees and after her. His massive fingers clamped around her wrist, and he yanked her hard enough to knock her off balance.
"A promise is sacred, dear one, and not to be given lightly. And you'll not sleep with anyone, for any wager, unless it be me! Ever again!"
She drew back her free arm and swung it across his cheek, rage lending her strength she didn't know she possessed. The slap cracked hard. Her hand stung, and when she removed it, a bright red print remained. For one heart-stopping moment, neither said a word. Then at once, they spoke.
"I'm so sorry," she blurted.
"I'll teach thee about promises. That is one action thou shalt regret the rest of thy mortal days!"
"Marco! No! Unhand me! I'm sorry! You're - you're just too much. And you scare me! Let me go!" She looked around desperately, but not a soul was in sight. She was all alone in the park with an enormous crazy man, and he was in a full-blown rage.
Marco tucked her under his arm and carried her as if she were no heavier than a football. She kicked and struggled, suspecting that he intended to spank her again. She just could not allow that to happen. It would hurt! Damn, but she was still tender from yesterday's spanking, and... and it might also be kind of nice, like he really cared about her. Like he meant all that insane stuff he'd been telling her. And if she started to believe him, hell, she'd let him. She'd let him woo her. She'd wake up tomorrow, with another crazy man in her bed, and she just couldn't do that to herself again.
"Put me down! If you touch me, I'll - I'll never speak to you again! You bastard!"
"It is wrong to make a promise you cannot possibly keep, my dear one. A promise is a promise. And I promise that you'll not be sitting on that pretty rump for a full week!"
Larissa drew in a deep breath and screamed. Surely someone would hear her. Her throat felt raw, but she drew in yet another breath. Marco's heavy hand landed on her tender bottom three times in warning.
"Best be saving your breath, my pretty. You'll be needing it soon enough." He chuckled at his private joke. She kicked, wishing she could reach a little lower and land one in his most sensitive area, but the brute was just too large.
He sauntered over to a bench and settled himself. Then he brought her down off his shoulder to stand in front of him. She felt about six years old, frightened, but not terrified. She should be. She was alone, and he could be a serial killer, for all she knew. But she wasn't that scared. He'd spanked her before, and then he'd walked her home and he didn't leave until he heard her lock her door. Maybe he really did mean to protect her? His large hands clasped around her small wrists were firm, but not hurtful. His piercing gaze was intent, but no longer filled with fury. Instead there was a sadness about his gaze she did not understand.
"I'll be spanking you on the bare, Larissa. Only then can I know when you've had enough. I'm spanking you for that slap, which was uncalled for. I'm spanking you because you do not hold my promise sacred. But also, because you offered yourself to me so lightly. I want you, but I want only you. And for you to want only me. I know you've had other lovers in the past, but after today, you'll give yourself to me and me alone. My son's mother will spread her legs for anything that breathes, and I'll not have such faithlessness in a wife. Do you understand?"
She should have simply nodded, but Larissa's mouth had a mind of its own. "I will not keep myself only for you, I don't even know you! Of all the idiotic - "
With that, Marco yanked down her slacks and flipped her over his lap. Seconds later, her satin panties were in shreds and tossed aside. He wrapped one arm around her ribs securely, then began to pummel her bottom with what felt like an anvil. His hand was huge and solid and unforgiving. Larissa squirmed and struggled. She kicked and screamed again, but she was powerless.
Ten, twenty times he swatted her bottom. The stinging slaps were loud in her ears, and much harder than the slap she'd laid across his face. Her bottom had to be scarlet by now. She renewed her efforts to escape, but to no avail. On he went, swatting her bottom with a steady, relentless rhythm.
Thirty, forty swats. She couldn't believe he was still spanking her. She was coughing now, gasping for air between each sob, unable to scream or yell or argue. She could only endure.
Fifty, sixty swats. Surely the man was insane! How could he keep doing this to her? How could he keep hurting her, when he claimed he loved her? He was crazy! She was crazy. This was wrong, so wrong!
And then at last he stopped.
Larissa coughed and gasped, unable to move. Marco lifted her, settling her on his lap and held her close. She could feel his heart beating - fast and hard. His shirt felt sweat-damp, and she glanced up, expecting to see sweat across his brow. What she did see so surprised her that she was stunned. It was tears, not sweat that trailed down his face. Tears had dampened his shirt. He was weeping almost as hard as she was. She threw her arms around his neck and sobbed for all the pain he had caused. She sobbed for the horrible last two days - starting with the thugs who had accosted her. She sobbed for all the pretty things Marco had told her, because she hadn't believed him. And she sobbed because, as foolish as it sounded, she loved him.
"I pray, my sweet, that I never have cause to punish you like that again," he whispered.
She hoped so, too.
"Now, let me take you home. Perchance after a rest, you'll feel well enough to accompany me for dinner."
She just nodded. It was the safest thing to do. She'd agree to anything he said. She'd let him comfort her, and feed her, and even make love to her. And then tomorrow she'd have to make sure that he never found her again.
Chapter Five
Larissa was much
subdued on their return. Mars feared he had been a bit too severe with her, but gods! She could drive one crazy! He would be extra tender with her tonight, and hope that she recovered swiftly. He had a bit of healing elixir in his bedchamber he might give to her. When he got to her apartment, he lifted her and carried her across the threshold in the ancient custom of man and wife.
Her apartment was small and simple, but not spartan. Colorful pillows and soft throws adorned the dais and chairs. The ground cloth was soft as lamb's wool and he yearned to claim her upon it. He would like to claim her upon the dais, and the eating table, and ceramic bath, and even on the balcony, when the weather turned a might warmer. He longed to claim her in every room that was hers, so that wherever she went, she could not help but think of him.
But tonight, their first time, must be special. He must not frighten the girl, as he wasn't certain she realized yet he was immortal, but only his bedchamber at Olympus would do. So while he carried her into her bedchamber, and set her tenderly upon her own bed, he dimmed the lights, swirled space, and altered reality. It was not her bed she lay upon, but his. The large circular bed was clothed in silken sheets with down-filled coverlets as soft as clouds. No electric light could cast the delicate amber glow of his scented oil lamps, nor could her smelly oil furnace warm their naked bodies as gently as the crackling fire he lit on the stone hearth with but a thought. Tonight would be pure magic for both of them. He would slow time, to draw out as much pleasure as possible, to create a wealth of memories for her, since she complained that they did not know each other well enough to consider marriage. By morning's light, she'd have to know they belonged together, for she was not a dimwit.
Slowly, sensually, he removed her sweater, sucking each tiny button into his mouth to tug it free with his tongue. As the sweater slipped down her shoulders, then fell to the floor, he repeated the gesture with each button on her blouse. And then, to his amusement, there were two more small enclosures on the scrape of lace and latex fair bursting with her luscious breasts. A delicate shiver climbed up her spine as he pressed a tender kiss to one puckered nipple. With a snap of his fingers, he made the fire to burn a little brighter before treating the remaining nipple to the same.
Cupid's Wager Page 5
