Page 219 of The Delta's Rogue
Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. I think that’s the expression mortals use.
Zeus leans with one forearm pushing the curtain against the archway—curse him for not installing actual doors on any of these bedrooms—a haughty, self-satisfied smile resting on his lips. His sky-blue eyes twinkle, and a dark golden curl falls across his forehead. His raised arm lifts his V-neck T-shirt’s hem and offers a glimpse of those chiseled musclesmortal artists love to paint. The short sleeves grip his biceps, looking like the seams might pop if he flexes any harder.
The only trait of Zeus’s the mortals get right in their depictions of him is the muscular body. The rest could not be further from accurate.
I might find him attractive, if I didn’t know how much of an asshole he is. If I didn’t know he’s the reason so many of my female warriors have suffered for so long. Him, and his pettiness, and some perceived slight against him.
He drags his bottom lip through his teeth and skates his eyes down my body, taking in the light blue dress I wear. The almost sheer fabric is the color of a cloudless sky on the sunniest day—the same color as his eyes.
His favorite color. On my body.
And he’s noticed it.
Good. I can work with that.
“Zeus,” I gasp.
He saunters through the archway, and the curtain rustles closed behind him. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”
“I wasn’t aware that I had to.”
He scans the room, taking in all the minor details of the space that seems to diminish in size with his massive form inside it. “I could have arranged for a nicer room for you if I’d known.”
“This room is fine.”
“One closer to mine,” he adds.
Ah. There it is. The truth. The detail I was counting on. That his attraction to and desire for me is as compelling as it was when he offered to father Haven.
I almost gag at that thought, so I pour myself another glass of ambrosia, placing my back to him to avoid his searing, searching gaze.
He, however, is undeterred. In his eyes, I’m a conquest. A battle he has yet to win. Our coupling is an inevitability.
He’s not wrong. Itishappening. But not for the reasons he thinks it is.
He stalks closer to me. The hairs on my neck prickle with awareness. Each breath he takes brings his broad chest into contact with my bare back, and with each exhale, he steals the warmth from that contact back into himself.
It’s not a pleasant warmth, not like the gentle caress of a lover. No, it’s a searing brand I instantly want to scrub from my skin.
I don’t.
I don’t flinch. Instead, I subtly lean back into him. Not enough to lean my full weight on him, but enough so his chest constantly touches me instead of leaving an inch of space with his departing breaths.
I take no pleasure from our closeness.
He does, though. His fingers dance in the ends of my hair, brushing all of it over one shoulder. “It’s been a long time, Selene.”
I pretend my drink is the most interesting thing in the room. “Not that long.”
“Twenty-six years is a long time.”
“For a mortal, perhaps.”
He plucks the drink from my hand and takes a sip. “And for a god starved of your presence.”
Pretty words. As pretty as the god who speaks them. And equally shallow.
His mouth dips to my ear as he places the glass back on the table. “Come back, for good. Olympus is brighter with you in it.”
