A Maid for the Titan (TITANS, #2)

by Lazu, Sotia

  A knock on the suite door brought him back to the future. Of course he’d stayed in the suite. The new living room TV was being delivered tomorrow, and by then, he’d be more than welcome here.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  Vangelis entered, pulling a luggage trolley filled with bags of coal. “Where do you want these, sir?” he asked in Greek.

  Hyperion answered him in the same language. “In the bathroom. It’s going to make a mess anywhere else.”

  Vangelis shrugged and carried his purchases to the master bathroom. Hyperion liked the way the man took everything in stride. The only suggestion he’d needed once Hyperion had absorbed his knowledge of today’s world was that Hyperion was a decent man who’d pay him handsomely for his services. Oh, and also that the hotel was secure without him for a few hours.

  Hyperion followed him to the bathroom and waited for him to unload the trolley. “Thank you, Vangelis. Come back in two hours, and I will compensate you for today.”

  As soon as the mortal was gone, Hyperion tore open the first bag and emptied the coal in the bathtub. He selected a large piece and crushed it between his palms with his full strength, the magnitude of which could cause tectonic shifts. When he opened his hands again, in the place of the black, sooty piece of carbon lay a brilliant white gem. Mortals valued these above life. He stoppered the sink and laid the precious stone in there, before pressing and adding more gems, until the tub was empty and the bathroom light reflected on the bucketful of diamonds in the sink like the room was filled with rainbows.

  When Vangelis returned, Hyperion handed him five stones, each as big as a walnut. “These are for your assistance so far. You are free to choose whether you want to keep working for me or not.” He used no compulsion. Vangelis was a good man, and Hyperion wouldn’t enslave him.

  Vangelis arched an eyebrow as he looked from the diamonds in his palm to Hyperion. “Are these real?”

  Hyperion nodded.

  “Yeah, I’m working for you full-time, now on.”

  Hyperion chuckled. “Then take me to your leader.” It was a phrase he’d picked up from the man’s brain.

  Vangelis laughed too. “You mean my boss?”

  Hyperion searched through his newly acquired info and pursed his lips. “Would that be the owner of this establishment?”

  “I’ll have Manolis arrange it.”

  Manolis, the hotel manager, was as accommodating as Vangelis, though he was sad to let Vangelis go. He gave Hyperion the address of the owner and let him and Vangelis use his own car. Hyperion used his power to avert people’s gazes from him as he entered the vehicle. This method of traveling made his head light. He’d stick to the astral plane, but even after picking Vangelis’ brain, he couldn’t project himself anyplace he hadn’t physically visited before.

  It didn’t take more than a few handfuls of diamonds and a touch of compulsion, for the owner to sign over the hotel to a semi-naked stranger.

  Since they were out already, Hyperion also used diamonds to pay for his haircut and beard trim, as well as for his new attire, though Vangelis protested that what he gave the barber and merchant was way above what their services were worth.

  Hyperion assured him the result was worth it, and he’d been correct, judging by how Olivia raked her gaze down his body now. He tried again to compel her, sending her mental images of him pleasuring her, but she didn’t react to his suggestions, though he heard her pulse ratchet up several notches. What was she? She didn’t ping his immortaldar—Uranus, he was loving what people did with language—and she was apparently oblivious to his true nature.

  Manolis had pulled up Olivia’s personnel files for Hyperion on this marvelous device called a Personal Computer. She was from the opposite side of the globe, and her employment contract expired in September. She’d also studied archeology, which might mean she’d realized how old Hyperion’s statue had been. Not that it mattered, after her panicked retreat.

  But according to Vangelis, she’d reported a nude guest accosting her, not a giant statue turning to life. Was it possible this denial thing people were so into kept her from accepting what she’d seen with her own eyes? Hyperion couldn’t count on that, though he hoped she wouldn’t recognize him.

  But she did. And against all odds, she apologized. Did she mean it? Did she honestly believe her inebriated state had made her fondle a normal mortal male?

  Until this moment, he hadn’t known what he was going to say to her—only that he had to see her again. The idea to employ her was a moment of pure genius, if he said so himself. And she said yes. Practically. He’d make her say the actual word, and then he’d take advantage of as much of her remaining time in Greece as possible, to get through to her and see what made her impervious to his power.

  And woo her, if that was what it took, because he would lose himself between those shapely legs before she returned home and he went on to wake his brothers.

  Speaking of those legs... She’d criminally hidden them inside trousers, but even covered from head to almost-toe, and with her hair in this austere updo, her body called to him with every minute movement. Was she part Siren and didn’t know it?

  Maybe he should stop pretending this had anything to do with figuring out her true nature, and acknowledge the lust driving his actions.

  He looked into her deep-brown eyes and held out his hand. “So we have a deal?”

  She bit her bottom lip again, and it took all he had to keep from claiming her mouth, but that would probably send her running again. She took his proffered hand, and something like lightning zipped through his veins. Maybe she felt it too, because her mouth formed a silent O, and she crossed her arms, like there was a chance he hadn’t seen her nipples pucker through that flimsy top and the carefully arranged shawl she’d draped over her breasts. Like he couldn’t smell her arousal.

  “Deal,” she said.

  Hyperion was very pleased with himself. A deal with an immortal was binding. As long as he upheld his side of the agreement, which he would, she couldn’t break hers. “First order of business—move you to the suite. You will have your own room, but I require access to you at all times.” He projected an image of himself leaning against a doorway, this time without even a loincloth covering his nakedness. Was it his imagination, or did she shiver?

  “I’m not sure about that. You said you’d cover lodgings. I expected my own place.” Her pupils dilated, but her posture stiffened.

  He meant to excite her, not make her feel threatened. “Your room will have a key, woman. I promise not to force myself on you, and my word is a contract. I won’t touch you unless you come to me first.”

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. A lovely blush spread up her neck to her cheeks. “This isn’t a good idea. You should find someone else.” She turned and headed for the door, but he was faster and planted his hand on it, keeping it shut while she pulled on the handle.

  When she turned to face him, her glare was fierce, but the scent of her desire for him was stronger than ever. “Let me go,” she said.

  Her chest heaved, inches from his, as he leaned closer so only a hairsbreadth separated their lips. She smelled even better up close. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting her. “You can’t back out now,” he whispered. “You’ll miss out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” The job would be good for her too. She’d see things she’d never afford on a housekeeper’s salary. “Besides, we have a deal. I promised never to touch you without your consent, and I meant it. I won’t rule out anything you initiate, because I won’t pretend I am not drawn to you, but I can control myself.” Could she?

  He heard her breath hitch, as she splayed her palms on his chest. Her touch burned him and made his cock—another marvelous word—painfully hard. “This is just a job,” she said in the same tone he used. “If you promise to only treat it as such, I’ll stay.”

  He nodded and took another whiff of her delectable scent, before stepping back. “Bring your things to the sui
te, and you can have the rest of the afternoon off. Tomorrow morning, you will take me to”—what was that place with the currency?—“the bank. Unless you’d rather I paid you in diamonds?”

  Chapter Five

  The guy was messing with her, no doubt. She should have guessed when he said he’d triple what she got now.

  “Diamonds. Seriously.” She leaned back against the door. She no longer felt threatened; he seemed sincere when he promised not to make any advances. Besides, if this was a fucked-up mind game, she was playing it cool. “Is the job offer even real?”

  Hyperion shook his head. “So young, and yet so jaded. I told you, I’m a man of my word.” He pushed his hand in his pocket again and fished out a small velvet pouch. “Here. Consider it a bonus.”

  Olivia uncrossed her arms to reluctantly accept it and empty its contents in her open palm. Six crystals, each as big as her thumbnail, glinted in the light that made it through the window.

  Not crystals. Diamonds.

  “Holy fuck.” She snapped her mouth shut and looked at him horrified. “I’m sorry, I don’t usually talk like that, but... holy...”

  Hyperion laughed, and the sound made her want to climb his body and feel it vibrate against her skin. “Is the holy version when you do it with a deity, or for when you call out for one?” he asked.

  Her face burned, and her body hummed with feelings she’d never experienced to this degree till she met this man. Desire pooled between her thighs. Why was a virtual stranger, her new boss, turning her into a hornball?

  With trembling hands, she put the stones back inside their pouch and held it out to him. “I can’t take this. You don’t know if I’ll be any good as a PA, so no bonus yet.”

  “Women today are odd,” he mumbled. “Used to be gems were accepted with gratitude.”

  She took a slow, deep breath, counted to ten, and let it out just as slowly. “Used to be women were bought and sold for less than that. Thankfully, times have changed.”

  He gave her another of those piercing looks, like she was a complex code he tried to decipher. “I have offended you again. I’m not sure how. In my time, women were different, but I want to learn how to be—how to act—better.”

  Again that disarming sincerity that had her weak in the knees. “Let’s start with the easy stuff. You don’t give women you just met extravagant gifts. It implies you want something from them.”

  When he frowned and opened his mouth, she held up a hand and said, “Sex. It implies you’re paying them for sex, and that’s degrading unless you know they’re sex workers.”

  His frown deepened. “But it is okay to pay sex workers for sex, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighed, and the lines on his forehead smoothed out. “At least some things haven’t changed.”

  If this was any indication of how working for him would go, she might want to rethink it. But she didn’t need to change his antiquated view of women. Or even listen to it. She would tolerate him for the next couple months and go back home with an unexpected nest egg, new clothes, and a couple new experiences—like touching real diamonds.

  “Go. Pack. Bring your luggage over, and we will talk more tomorrow.” He leaned closer, and for a split second, Olivia thought he was about to kiss her. Not kiss kiss. A peck on the cheek. On both cheeks, like Greeks did too often for her liking. His arm brushed her breast, and she shivered, her body gravitating toward his.

  “Let me get the door for you,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling her ear. If she turned a fraction to her left, their lips would touch.

  She gulped and stood stock still until he put enough distance between them for her to make a hurried exit.

  There was no midway when he was around; she either wanted to jump him or flee from him.

  “YOU’RE SHITTING ME.” Christina perched up on the kitchenette counter and swung her legs. “Honest-to-God diamonds?”

  Olivia stuffed the last of her meager belongings in her suitcase and leaned on it with one knee, so she could force the zipper shut. “I didn’t have an appraiser handy, but they seemed like it.” Maybe he’d been in Africa, and not in prison. Were the stones ethically sourced? Hyperion was a little rough around the edges, but she refused to see him as a possible smuggler of blood diamonds.

  “But they looked real?” Christina asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you believe him when he says he’ll pay you three times as much as what you make here?”

  He seemed sincere. And a little too eager. And what he said... “I do.”

  Christina flipped back her hair. “Think Mr. Big Spender wants to add a spirited blonde to his staff?”

  An irrational wave of possessiveness washed over Olivia. Hyperion was hers.

  Where did that come from?

  She gave Christina a watery smile. “I’ll ask.”

  “Ooh, you like him.” Christina hopped down and clapped her hands.

  “No I don’t.” Olivia made a beeline to the bathroom, to gather her toiletries. “I mean, he’s classically attractive—dark hair, caramel-colored eyes, tan, with the sort of body that’s all about wide shoulders and narrow hips—but he knows it, and I don’t do cocky.”

  Christina’s snort came from right behind her, and she held a compact blush over Olivia’s shoulder. “Here. Don’t forget this. You can store it right next to your denial.”

  Olivia grabbed the blush and spun on her friend. “I don’t see him that way, okay? He’s hot, but he’s also my boss. Yours too, since he owns the hotel. So can we not go there?”

  “You do like him. This is so romantic. Like The Maid meets Pretty Woman.”

  Second person to call Olivia a prostitute today. “He’s not buying my company. He wants someone to show him around and talk to him about Greece.”

  “Uh huh. And the market ran out of locals, so he asked for you. He is obviously into you. Or he’s a Mafioso who flew in to take you to your real father. Who’s a mob boss.” Christina watched way too many action movies.

  “My dad is back home with my mom, weirdo.” Olivia shook her makeup bag, so things settled better inside it, and then closed it and took it to the bedroom. “All set.”

  Christina threw her arms around Olivia’s neck and squished her. “I’ll miss you.”

  Olivia squeezed her with one arm, then pulled back. “I’ll literally be five floors up. And we’re having dinner together tonight. By the sea, remember? I’ll take these upstairs and be right back.”

  “Good,” Christina said with a sigh. “And you remember who to call when you don’t know how to spend all that money this guy’s gonna throw at you.”

  Olivia shook her head, but she was laughing.

  Her mirth dissolved when the elevator doors closed after her. As the elevator started up, her stomach sank to her feet. Was she in over her head? Maybe working for someone she was so attracted to despite herself wasn’t a good idea. What worried her the most was that she couldn’t tell if she was more afraid he’d break his word about hitting on her, or that he wouldn’t.

  Part of her expected him to open the door wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Or another towel.

  The door was ajar, and tension stiffened her shoulders. Should she go in? Was he sprawled naked on the couch, waiting for her to suck him off?

  Would she? It’d be a first, but maybe...

  No. She was here to work. There would be no monkey business. Ready to slap him and leave, she pushed the door open with her knee. “Hello?”

  Hyperion was indeed on the couch, but he was still in his button-down and jeans. He’d taken off his shoes and socks, and sat with his arms propped on his knees, the humongous new TV on the wall casting light and shadows across his beautiful face. His eyes were sad and his shoulders slumped, and he looked more real and sexier than ever.

  His gaze was trained on the screen. “So much pain.” The words were barely audible, like he was talking to himself.

  Olivia looked at the TV. The news was on. Another bombing.
More people crying and bleeding. More kids left orphan and homeless. She wanted to hug herself, but her arms were full. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and asked, “So which one’s my room?”

  He looked startled, like he hadn’t realized she was here till she spoke. “Choose any one you like.” He squared his shoulders, sat up straighter, and was again the self-assured bastard who thought he could have her just because he was rich. And hot. And she could totally see herself sitting in his lap and kissing him.

  No. Bad Olivia.

  “Which one’s yours?” Because she wanted to keep her distance. No doubt he’d find company soon enough, once he got it through his thick skull that she wouldn’t sleep with him.

  He shrugged. “Haven’t decided.” He switched off the TV and slunk toward her, like a panther on the prowl.

  She was losing patience. And control. Could she be irritated and turned on at the same time? “Well, where did you put your stuff?”

  “Don’t own anything other than this.” He made a sweeping gesture down his body, and Olivia tried not to stare at his bulging muscles, and especially not the part of him she’d been kind of intimate with this morning.

  She shook off her inner horndog and focused on his words. The plot thickened, and jail-time was back on top of her theory list. “I’ll take that one.” She pointed to the second room on the left. It was close to the exit and had a beautiful view of the sea.

  “Let me help you with these.” He pointed at her luggage.

  “You don’t have to.”

  He took the bags from her hands like she hadn’t spoken. He definitely had boundary issues, but she’d pick her battles, so she let him lead the way and place her things by the large double bed.

  And how cool was it that she wouldn’t have to make it in the morning? “Thanks. I’ll unpack, and then be out of your way,” she said.

  He shrugged again, but the cockiness had faded. “You can stay. We’ll have food delivered. You could tell me about your family.”