Page 18 of Apollo

“Why? I can keep up with your guys. I’ve done it before, even after being awake for three days straight. I’m one of the best at what I do. Give me a phone and I can call a dozen people who’ll swear to the same thing.”

“I believe you. I do. But this isn’t because I doubt your courage or abilities.” As he clawed a heavy hand through his hair, every neuron across his skull suddenly flared. “All right, this is going to go much better if I just show you.”

“Show me?” Her posture tensed. “Huh? What does that m—”

“Come on.”

Despite the sharp yelp on her lips, he roped a hand around her wrist and pulled. He also ignored the grudging plods of her steps, keeping miserable pace behind him as they left the Café. Once back out on the shadow-shrouded avenue that fronted the place, he cut a direct course back toward his Underworld condo.

She wanted to know the truth, so he was damn well going to give it to her.

He just wished that felt like a smart idea, instead of another step on a path he had no right to traverse.

CHAPTER SEVEN

She’d dreaded and anticipated this. The latter was purely selfish, since Apollo’s interior design aesthetic was really as eclectic and elegant as she remembered.

Who was she kidding? The dread was just as selfish, though not for the obvious reasons her brain pulled up.

As soon as her libido volunteered for the job instead, she had her actual answer.

Being back here, with him, also meant being alone with him. Not that she was about to obey any of the illicit instincts he tempted from her bloodstream all over again. Only now, with her body fully healed, all the heat flared at double the intensity . . .

Shit, shit, shit.

Because yeah, she was physically okay—just not mentally ready for the stupid abstinence.

All the necessary nos . . .

But everything about him, from the growly vibes to the commanding stride and even that dirty rumpled suit, suddenly made the belly of Hell her number one vacation spot. She’d never longed for a week on the sand without zinc cream before, but an Apollo-style sunburn suddenly seemed the perfect sting to crave.

Burn me.

And of course, of all the thoughts she didn’t need right now, especially when backed up by his incessant energy and strict words as he towed her back across his living room. And now the way he whirled back around on her, his stare full of green fire, his every step like a dancer determined to set off a dozen stage fireworks. The effortless power of his thighs, flexing so flawlessly against his slacks, had her psyche spinning and her head rolling—up to the moment she noticed exactly where he was headed with her.

“Ohhh, ssshhhiii . . . ”

She managed to blurt it and pull away with the same resolved breath. At the same time, Apollo countered with a matching sound then a newly piercing stare.

“Irowen. There’s no need to be so—”

“The hell there isn’t,” she snapped.

“Irowen.”

“Seriously?” She backstepped harder, almost tripping over the high-pile rug that marked the boundary to the next room. “In what world do you think I’m voluntarily stepping foot into an atrium with you again?”

Not after what he’d done to all seven members of her team, just a few hours ago, in the similar enclosure back at DeLux. Not after what he’d probably have done to her, as well, if she hadn’t gotten lucky with her aim of the falmouth capsule. Landing the vial in Hercules’s thigh—okay, crotch—had bought her valuable distraction time, enabling her to bounce out of there undetected. No way would she get so lucky this time.

Just when that dread was louder in her ears than a Huey touching down in the glass cube next to them, there was a new interruption in her brain—resonating like the barest of whispers in a silent night.

Wen Steed. Greetings.

She jerked around. Peered deeper into the corners of the bigger room with the thick carpet. Unless she’d been hailed by a ghost, albeit one with a wry wrinkle in its psychological summons, the walls were literally talking to her.

You need to just trust this guy for now, okay? What was that you called him earlier? Glow Worm? Yeah, if we had time to knock back a shot and a bowl of teriyaki crickets, I’d peck you with proper props for that. But right now we’ve got bigger bugs to boil, yeah?

“Stop.”