Page 25 of Apollo

Unless he didn’t.

Unless he chose to go for the whole damn tournament.

He started by freeing his hands from her waist, only to lift and whump them next to her head against a wall she never remembered right here. But here she definitely was, flattened against the short span of brocade-wallpapered space between the atrium and the living room, with this glorious Olympian again cutting off all the air in both her lungs.

This time, with the full press of his sleek, sculpted body . . .

His half-naked skin . . .

“Oh.” It sprang from her lips before she could gulp it back. That and nothing else. How could there be? He felt too good. Moved too well. Shit, even in the middle of hell and after everything they’d been through, he even smelled too freaking wonderful. What in the living—

“I scare you.” Not a question this time, but his tone nailed it for the incredulity, nonetheless. “Because you obviously feel all the arrows I’m still packing, hmmm?”

Wen swung her head to the side, hoping for a visual diversion. Like that diluted the potency of his scrutiny by a single degree. Through gritted teeth she countered, “Who says your arrows are your most terrifying toys, Fancykins?”

Only a few seconds of his contemplative silence passed before he backed off, audibly scathing the fancy wall with the push. Though Wen let loose a relieved breath, she also brushed a hand along the front of her body, accommodating for the skittish emptiness that set in.

What the hell was happening to her? And why was it not a good thing that Apollo stepped back even farther?

Eventually he braced his hands back along a stocked wet bar. The backlights for the bottles limned his hair to halo-ish effect. That prettier-than-an-angel shit did not help her thinning composure, especially when he lifted a frown that could’ve been a hot take on Lucifer regretting his life decisions.

“Explain like I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he uttered. “Since it’s the fucking truth anyway.”

She nodded and pushed from the wall herself. Though the move was necessary, because she already craved an opening to let him trap her there again, she swayed in place before regaining her central balance. Yep, his kiss had literally depolarized her.

“I’m not trying to play coy,” she stated. “You’re smart and seasoned, so you’ve likely already sussed that out. For the last eight years, I’ve spent the majority of my time with guys who are more like hound dogs. They like crawling through the dirt, cleaning their guns, sniffing out bad guys, and playing with stabby things.”

“Which, from time to time, have included their dicks.” His gaze glimmered but his frown tensed. “In your vicinity.”

“Hey, nothing I never agreed to. Believe me, when missions got crazy, I was grateful for the chance to zone out and let go.”

The second the words were out, she yearned to retract the confession. Though she was far from a sweet cornfed girl, and Apollo had known so since they’d “met” over the barrel of her gun then the shaft of his arrow, this part of the equation tracked different.

Really different.

So how did she just yap this out at him? Just openly admit that her only sexual experience was a bunch of wham-bam-thank-you-boys?

Maybe . . . she couldn’t.

She let her nervous kicks at the floor speak about that discomfort. Dropping her gaze the same direction felt too much like the few times Grandma had dragged Genny and her to church, and she’d feigned an upset stomach before getting to the confessional. Not that she expected a different outcome. Shame was shame, no matter which god was judging her for it.

Sure enough, the depths of Apollo’s greens darkened by several shades. A new energy overcame his expression.

Except his vibe wasn’t anywhere near censorial.

His gaze stayed the same. Intense yet affirming. Shadowed but supportive. Even . . . understanding?

A long time ago, after one of those divinely discomfiting church trips, Grandma treated her and Genny to a matinee at their local discount movie house. Wen hadn’t thought about that film in so many years but suddenly recalled a scene toward the end, when the heroine recognized the prince without his disguise just by peering deep into his eyes.

“I’d never be able to let you zone out, Irowen.”

And by joining a vow like that to a stare like his, this male sealed the deal on that conclusion.

She’d found her prince.

“I know.”

But could never have him.