Page 39 of Art of the Hunt
“Why?”
“Because I want to do that again. Do you?” She lifted her torso so she could look at his face. His lips twitched with a half smirk.
“I don’t think I physically can at the moment, but eventually, yes, I definitely want to do that again.”
She climbed off the bed and paced to the dresser and back again. “See? Trouble.”
“How do you figure?” He folded his arms behind his head, lying there in all his naked glory, watching her.
“Because—”
“Yoo-hoo, Artemis! Darling, where are you-u-u-u?”
Hunter rolled to his side and reached for the drawer in the bedside table, jerking it open and then before slamming it closed. He froze, slowly glancing her way.
“Did whoever the hell that is just call out your name?”
Artemis grabbed the T-shirt and sweats he’d let her borrow and hurried to pull them on. “Yes.”
He slapped his hand against his chest. “Christ, I thought someone had broken into my apartment. Wait. Someone did. Who is that, and how the hell did they get inside?”
“That’s Nike.”
“Nike? Of course. The goddess of victory.” He rolled his eyes.
“Your knowledge of the Greek gods truly contradicts your refusal to believe in us.” Artemis’s gaze swept the room until it alighted on his pants. She hurried over, grabbed them, and tossed them at him. “Get dressed. Hurry. She has questionable boundaries. In fact, they aren’t questionable at all. They’re non-exist—”
The bedroom door flew open, and there stood Nike, her straighten, dark hair swept away from her face and draped over one shoulder. As usual, she managed to look elegant while wearing cropped leggings and a fitted tank with the Nike logo scrawled across her boobs in hot pink. Her almond-shaped eyes immediately zoned in on Hunter, who scrambled to cover himself with the blanket.
She turned to Artemis, her already wide eyes huge in her face. “What in the world are you wearing? How old is that T-shirt? And are thoseReeboksweatpants?”
Artemis hurried to grab her hand so she wouldn’t use her magic to rid Artemis of clothing that obviously offended her.
“What are you doing here?” Artemis asked.
“And how the hell did you get into my apartment?” Hunter demanded.
Nike eyed him again. “Oooh, he’s delicious, Artemis. No wonder you haven’t been answering your phone.” She cocked her head. “Can you move that blanket, by any chance?”
Chapter Thirteen
“What? No,” Hunter sputtered, gathering more material around himself. Not that he wasn’t already covered from waist to heel. He had the ridiculous urge to drag a sheet around his shoulders too. Or maybe it wasn’t so ridiculous. This woman was looking at him like she wanted to devour him, and it was making him supremely uncomfortable.
He’d just had mind-blowing sex with Artemis. And wanted to do it again, as soon as they could kick out this intruder.
Nike, the goddess of victory. Artemis, the goddess of the hunt. And based on their conversation, it sounded like Nike believed she was her namesake just as much as Artemis did.
Christ, he was going to have to head to the corner store and buy a gallon of vodka and a pint of tonic. Which was annoying as fuck. He wasn’t a heavy drinker, but his association with Artemis was definitely driving him there.
“Do you think you could get out so I can get dressed?” he asked, not even bothering to try to be polite.
“Damn,” Nike said. “He’s as grumpy as Z gets sometimes.”
Artemis shook her head and herded her friend out the door, closing it softly behind her. Hunter scrambled off the bed, nearly falling on his face in his haste to get his legs into his pants and a shirt over his head so he could get out there and figure out what in the ever-loving hell was going on.
“No meat,” he heard when he opened the door. “But I’m starved.”
“He’s a vegetarian,” Artemis told her friend. It sounded like she was apologizing for Hunter’s eating preferences. Since when was it a crime to want to eat healthy?
