A Maid for the Titan (TITANS, #2)

by Lazu, Sotia

  Olivia shook her head. “Not tonight. Sorry. I’m meeting a few friends at a taverna.” And why didn’t she say she and her friend were meeting a couple of cute guys? Because Hyperion had redefined cute for her? Nah, he wasn’t cute. Scorching hot, maybe.

  And when she met his sorrowful gaze, she thought maybe he was lonely too. Whatever his circumstances, a man who lived alone in a hotel suite couldn’t have much family. And since he was new on the island, he probably had no friends either.

  Shit. She’d regret this, but— “You could join us.”

  The smile that stretched his gorgeous, kissable mouth was brighter than the sun. “I’d love to. Vangelis will drive.”

  Chapter Six

  Absorbing Vangelis’ memories of food and tasting it for himself were two entirely different things.

  “More of these.” Hyperion lifted a plate that contained snails a few seconds ago and winked at the waitress. She was a pretty thing, curvy, with waist-length brown hair and deep-blue eyes.

  And she didn’t hold a candle to Olivia, who watched him with an amused twinkle in her eye.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Olivia asked.

  The guy beside her glowered, like he had since Olivia introduced them.

  Hyperion scanned the guy’s brain. It was only to recall his name—Panos—and not so he’d glean his intentions toward Olivia, which weren’t all that noble. The man had a girlfriend studying in Athens, and was hoping to get some action till she was back in a couple weeks.

  Hyperion arched an eyebrow at him and said, “Feels like forever ago.” Which was true, but back when he last had a meal, it didn’t taste this good. Not that he ate often. He didn’t need mortal food to subsist. He didn’t need any nutrition. He was made of the Earth and the Sky, and he was eternal.

  Something clenched in his chest. Olivia wasn’t eternal; her life would pass and end in a blink of his eye.

  No matter. Their time might be limited, but they’d make the most of it once she stopped resisting the chemistry between them. Judging by how she squirmed during dinner every time he sent her provocative imagery of the two of them, he did access her mind to a point. He might not be able to sway her, but he got under her skin, and that would do for now.

  He grabbed a fistful of humanity’s greatest creation—fried potatoes—and shoved them in his mouth.

  Olivia’s female friend, Christina, watched with wide eyes. Or maybe her eyes were always like this. She was beautiful too, but like the waitress, she didn’t make his blood sing. Because she wasn’t Olivia.

  “Pour me some more wine?” Christina held her glass out to the wimpy guy looking at her like a lovesick pup all evening. Michalis’ intentions were pure. He wanted to be her boyfriend and hoped she wouldn’t leave when summer was over.

  And he almost dropped the bottle into the salad, in his hurry to fulfill her wish. Not that it’d be a great loss; with so much food on the table, who’d want to graze on lettuce?

  “So, Hyperion, where are you from?” Panos asked.

  Hyperion refused to look up from his food. “Here,” he said and reached for a tiny cheese-pie dipped in honey.

  “He’s just been away for a while,” Olivia supplied, piercing a piece of fried calamari with her mini-trident.

  Panos asked something more, but Hyperion hummed with delight as he chewed, and pretended not to hear him. He had more meat and washed it down with raki, which gave him the tiniest buzz for a few minutes before wearing off. Damn his impeccable Titanesque constitution.

  The flavors erupting in his mouth had been near-orgasmic during dinner, but the yogurt with rose jam was out of this world—and he’d tasted ambrosia. Who could have thought flowers were edible, let alone tasted this incredible? The tanginess of the yogurt should be jarring, contrasted with the sweetness of the jam, but instead they complemented each other in a combination that set his senses alight.

  He’d wolfed down half of it before he noticed his four tablemates staring at him.

  “I’ll ask if we can take some with”—Olivia sounded amused—“but please refrain from licking the plate.”

  Christina brought her hand to her mouth, but her grin crinkled the corners of her eyes.

  Hyperion’s gut instinct was to feel insulted. They were laughing at him.

  But there wasn’t a mean thought in Christina’s head, and he liked the way Olivia’s gaze softened. She was less guarded toward him when he let loose.

  He laughed with them, but his mirth dissipated when the fingers of his right hand twitched. What was this? His body wasn’t mortal; he didn’t do involuntary spasms. Did this have something to do with his punishment from Zeus? Was he turning human? His head was filled with an agonized cry. Atlas? He tried to mentally zoom in on the source of the sound, but there was nothing but darkness behind it.

  A wave rolled toward them and crashed at their feet. The tables here were on a large slab of rock the water licked as it ebbed and flowed, but the sea had been quiet so far, and the wind hadn’t picked up.

  Odd.

  Keeping his alarm from showing, Hyperion sat back and squared his shoulders. “You should try this,” he said, as he filled his tiny spoon another time. Before he could bring it to his mouth, Olivia clasped his wrist and pulled it close, so she could wrap her full lips around his dessert.

  He stared at her mouth, while she licked her lips clean. She’d taste like heaven, and he wanted to sample her. But he wouldn’t until she asked him to.

  “It’s so good.” She moaned in appreciation, and he gripped the table with his free hand, the one with the spoon still in her grasp.

  Panos cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. “I’ll pay, and then we can go.” He was posturing like a peacock, but Hyperion was better at it. Plus, Panos thought Olivia was a bitch for being out with him and flirting with another guy, and that made Hyperion want to end him.

  But she might not appreciate that.

  “I will get it.” Hyperion clicked his fingers at the beautiful waitress, and when she glanced their way, mimed writing on the air, like he’d picked up from Vangelis.

  The woman came over with a smile and handed him a booklet. He opened it, barely glanced at the bill, and took out a handful of diamonds. He should create more of these.

  The woman leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “Honey, those don’t work here.”

  He expected her to be more impressed, but that was easily fixable. “You’ll take the diamonds and be happy,” he thought at her. “They are worth several meals in this establishment.”

  “You don’t understand. You cannot go around flashing precious stones. People will start asking questions, and we don’t want them to know about certain things,” she hissed.

  Startled, he tried to pull away and look at her. Something held him in place, though. Like before. Like when he was stone. From the corner of his eye, he saw everything around him was still. He should have realized something was off, from the utter lack of sound other than her voice, but he’d been used to quiet his years under the sea, and didn’t immediately notice.

  He bit back the angry howl that clawed up his throat. “Who are you? What do you want from me?” he ground out.

  When she tucked her long hair behind one ear, he caught a whiff of magic. Witch? “You may call me Circe, and I don’t want anything more than payment for your dinner.” She plucked the diamonds from his open palm and replaced them with something heavier, with a rough texture. “I believe you dropped this,” she said in a conversational tone, as the world kicked back into gear.

  Hyperion heaved a sigh of relief when he could move his head to look at what she’d given him. A leather wallet. He was surprised—though not really—to find it contained a plasticized Greek ID with the name Hyperion Titanas on it, as well as a number of credit cards he recognized from Vangelis’ experience with them, and a couple he’d never seen before.

  He held out a black card, and the woman smiled sweetly. “Perfect. Someone will be right back
with your receipt.”

  “I’ll get the tip,” Christina said.

  Hyperion shook his head. “I believe I covered that.” The witch had kept the diamonds.

  Olivia watched him with a tiny frown.

  “What?” he asked, full of innocence. Had she heard what the witch told him?

  Olivia tilted her head to the side and pursed her lips. “I thought you didn’t have a bank account yet.”

  Hyperion forced out a chuckle, to stall for time. He had told her they should get him an account in the morning. He skimmed through the memories he’d gotten from Vangelis, and found the perfect reply in a TV series. “I thought my assets were frozen. Apparently, that’s no longer the case.”

  Her frown deepened, but she didn’t say anything more.

  When a different waiter returned with Hyperion’s card and his receipt, Panos stood and pulled back Olivia’s chair. “It’s still early, if you want to go for a drink,” he said.

  Olivia glanced at Hyperion, and if he read her correctly, she wasn’t interested in spending more time with the mortal.

  Hyperion could help with that. He stood and buttoned his jacket, like that guy, James Bond would. All women liked James Bond. Some men too, according to Vangelis. “We have an early morning tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll take the girls back to the hotel, if they want.” Well, Vangelis would be doing the driving, in the rental he arranged for them, while Hyperion sat in the back, pressed against Olivia’s warm body.

  Christina planted a too-quick kiss on her date’s cheek. “Yeah, I’m tired,” she said and rounded the table to stand by Hyperion, who felt a little bad for how happy the guy was over the light peck.

  Olivia faced Panos, whose thoughts had turned to punching Hyperion repeatedly. “Thank you for showing us this place. It’s lovely, and the food was amazing.”

  “My pleasure.” Panos leaned in for what was obviously a kiss, but she averted her face and gave him a sideways hug.

  Still, Panos got enough boob time to tide him over tonight when he was alone with his hand—and was Hyperion allowed to do a little smiting in this day and age?

  Olivia broke the hug and looped her arm around Hyperion’s. “Let’s go, boss.”

  The warmth from where their bodies touched spread all the way to his groin. She was lust on legs, and every moment near her tested his self control.

  Hyperion mentally called for Vangelis and led the women toward the front of the taverna, trying not to look at how Olivia’s breasts bounced with every step.

  As soon as they were outside, Olivia withdrew her arm. “Thanks for getting us out of there. The creep kept touching my leg.”

  That was why she flirted with Hyperion. To get Panos to leave her alone. “Do you want me to go back and kill him?” Hyperion asked.

  She laughed. “Nah. I’ve dealt with his kind before. Hopefully he got the message that I’m not interested, and it’s not like I have to see him again, anyway.”

  Christina pouted. “Michalis was cute.”

  Hyperion narrowed his eyes at her. “If you wanted cute, you’d have stayed behind, but you didn’t. Because you want a man who will rock your world. Whose touch will send electricity sparking through you. Whose kiss will take away your breath and leave your legs weak. And who can make love to you for hours, before gathering your sated body close and letting you know you’re safe with him for the rest of your life.”

  Christina’s eyes glazed over, though he didn’t use compulsion. He’d just told her the truth about what he believed she wanted.

  Olivia gave him a heated gaze. “Maybe I should go back to Panos and leave the two of you alone?”

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Christina nod. He turned to face her and said, “I’m not the man for you. I have my sights set on someone else, and I’m a one-woman man.”

  Let Olivia mull that over the rest of the night.

  Chapter Seven

  Pretending the flirting was for Panos’ sake seemed to convince Hyperion, but it didn’t unjumble the clutter inside Olivia’s head.

  The covert glances Christina stole at Hyperion made Olivia territorial despite herself. She wasn’t the jealous type, and Christina wasn’t the man-eater type and would step back if Olivia asked her to.

  But instead of asking, Olivia went and made googly eyes at her freaking boss. She laughed at his jokes, marveled at the appreciation he showed the food, and yes, got wet when he went to town on that yogurt.

  It had to be the alcohol. She only had a glass of wine—not even a sip of Raki, despite everyone’s protests—and she didn’t feel dizzy, but maybe after yesterday’s overindulgence...

  Well, that was all over now. Or soon. When she was no longer pressed to him, from shoulder to knee, in the back of the rental BMW.

  Hyperion seemed at ease, squished between her and Christina. He tapped his fingers on his leg to the rhythm of the music, and little shivers ran down Olivia’s spine every time his knuckles grazed her thigh.

  She took a deep breath and leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes.

  Bad idea.

  The mental image of her sitting the exact same way but with her legs spread and Hyperion’s head between them assaulted her. The sensations were so real, they overwhelmed her. She did her best not to squirm while she felt his fingers spreading her and his tongue swiping up her slit to brush her swollen clit.

  A half-sigh, half-moan made it past her lips, and her eyes flew open.

  “Are you all right?” Hyperion sounded concerned, but a hint of a smile danced in his eyes.

  “Mm hmm.” She faked a yawn. “Just sleepy.”

  He nodded and turned his attention to Christina, who was asking him where he grew up.

  Olivia listened as he evaded the question with a here and there, and then closed her eyes again, this time trying to conjure him between her thighs, the backs of her knees propped on his wide shoulders.

  Hyperion stopped tapping and adjusted his position, then dragged his palm up his thigh slowly, the edge of his hand gliding along her leg and setting her senses alight. Did he know what she was fantasizing? Could he?

  Not possible.

  In her head, he slid a long, thick finger inside her and touched her inner barrier.

  His hesitation when he touched her hymen was a weirdly specific detail.

  Fantasy-Hyperion met her gaze, as the one beside her groaned. She begrudgingly opened her eyes and faced him.

  His gaze was heavy with lust and promise. Had she pulled the fantasy into reality?

  He arched an eyebrow and whispered something she didn’t catch in Greek.

  “Huh?”

  “I said, delicious.”

  He meant dinner, right?

  Right?

  Vangelis pulled up in the hotel’s parking lot and climbed from the car to get her door.

  She exited shakily and waited for Hyperion and Christina to follow.

  “Thank you again for the lovely meal,” Christina said.

  Hyperion smiled and gave her a curt nod. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.” He touched his fingertips to the small of Olivia’s back and leaned to whisper in her ear, “I think it’s time we put you to bed. You don’t look very steady on your feet.”

  She didn’t have to close her eyes, to think of him lifting her and laying her on her double bed, then draping his body over hers. “I had a long day.” She said goodnight to Christina and Vangelis, and lengthened her stride so Hyperion was no longer touching her when she reached the elevators.

  Then why did she feel him on every inch of her skin?

  Olivia led the way to the suite, but stepped aside and let him use his card key to open the door. He’d given her one too, but she still felt like a guest at his place, and probably would for the duration of her stay.

  Hyperion motioned for her to go ahead, and she gingerly stepped inside, trying to calm her racing heart. What had her so on edge? Her daydream was over, and she could go to her room—alone—lock her door, and sle
ep. Just sleep. Maybe after she used... another relaxation technique.

  Only, when she turned to say goodnight and thank him for dinner, he was standing much too close, and it felt natural to stand on her tiptoes, rest one hand on his chest, and touch her lips to his cheek.

  His stubble grazed her skin like it had done her inner thigh in her mind. Her fingers itched to explore the hard planes of his chest, and every inch of her wanted to see how perfectly her body would fit his if she leaned closer.

  He moved the tiniest fraction of an inch, so his breath caressed her lips. They felt dry, but if she licked them, her tongue would touch him. Her flesh broke out in goose bumps. Would he kiss her?

  Did she want him to?

  The tingling down her spine that made her nipples hard and moisture pool between her legs said she did. There was nothing she wanted more than for him to splay one large palm on her back and press her to him as he crushed his lips to hers.

  She swallowed hard and waited, but he stood perfectly still, like the marble he’d resembled this morning.

  Had it been less than a day since she first met him and ran out on him? What would have happened if she’d stayed instead? Would he have driven her to the heights of ecstasy his touch—hell, his tiniest smile—promised? And then what? She’d still be working as a housekeeper with the hotel, turning sheets for a man who pretended he hadn’t been inside her.

  Not fair. She knew nothing about how he treated his conquests, and he said he wasn’t a player.

  Which was what a player would say.

  Anyway, he wasn’t her type. Too tall, too dark, too handsome.

  Even if her skin danced when it came to contact with his, and her nerve endings screamed, raw with need.

  Slowly, she backed away and was stricken by the intensity of his gaze.

  His eyes burned, and his nostrils flared over the hard line of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry...” How many-eth time was this in the few hours she’d known him?

  He shook his head, like he was shaking off her apology. “You’d better not come this close again if you don’t want me to make you mine,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands were fisted at his sides, the knuckles white.