Touching Psyche was a mistake. She’s so fucking soft that I have the nearly unstoppable urge to run my hands all over her body and… Fuck, I need to get a hold of myself. Being attracted to her is useful for the lie we’re about to pull off, but losing control is unacceptable.
My mother is going to be furious.
I shouldn’t relish that knowledge. She holds most of the cards and I have so few that there’s a very real chance she’ll throw caution to the wind and exile me for this. No matter how reckless she is, she’ll know this marriage isn’t the real thing. Not that she’d care one way or another. To Aphrodite, it doesn’t matter if I’m hopelessly in love with Demeter’s daughter or playing some deeper manipulation. She only cares about her endgame.
No, the one we need to convince is Demeter herself. I need her in my corner, and I need it yesterday. If she’s on my side—our side—then she can step in and protect us in a way even I can’t manage. I am only a son of Aphrodite. Demeter is one of the Thirteen and has more alliances and power than anyone.
There’s a reason Aphrodite hates her so much, after all.
My mother would hang me out to dry if she thought it would serve her long game. Demeter threatened to starve half the city to get Persephone back from Hades—and then followed through on that threat. If not for Hades’s foresight, people might have died. So, yeah, we need to convince Demeter that we’re hopelessly in love so that her legendary overprotective motherly instincts kick in. An impossible ask, but if anyone can pull it off, it’s me and Psyche.
The elevator stops at my floor and the door slides soundlessly open. The entire floor is my penthouse suite, so there’s just a small room here with a single door. I release Psyche and unlock the door. “Welcome home.”
I expect her to keep showing her nerves and her claws in equal measure, but she turns a happy smile on me. “Thank you, baby. I’m so happy.”
It’s a lie. I know it’s a lie. That doesn’t detract from the power of my response in the least. I rock back on my heels and have to clench my fists to keep from reaching for her. She hates me and I don’t know how I feel about her in general, but there’s just enough chemistry between us to make things complicated. I haven’t missed the way her gaze keeps flicking to my mouth as if she can’t stop looking at my lips.
I wasn’t imagining her attraction the night of the party.
I’m not surprised; I have access to a mirror, after all. My looks are as much of a weapon as anything else in my arsenal. People see a pretty face and they’re conditioned to expect certain things, which means they often don’t look for the danger beneath the surface. If Psyche is among those who find me attractive, all the better. We’re going to be up close and personal for quite some time.
Maybe I shouldn’t look forward to that. I sure as fuck shouldn’t already be considering how quickly I can get my hands on her again. I have to be better than this. For our scheme to work, neither of us can afford to be distracted.
Psyche steps into my home and whistles. “You really went full-on millionaire playboy when you decorated this, didn’t you? How crass.”
The cloud of lust around my head dissipates a little. I try to see my penthouse from her point of view. It’s filled with expensive things, yes, but so is her mother’s home, I’d wager. “What’s wrong with it?”
Her lips quirk and she sweeps a hand to encompass the entire room. “How narcissistic do you have to be to have a hexagon-shaped foyer with mirrors on every single wall?”
“They’re not on every wall. Just four of them.” The other two house the door to the elevator and the door leading deeper into the penthouse. My skin heats, and it’s not desire to blame this time. “My mother feels strongly about making a first impression.”
“More like your mother enjoys being the center of attention, even if she’s the only one in the room.” She says it with a straight face. Before I can come up with a response, Psyche moves to the nearest mirror. They’re massive things that stretch from floor to ceiling and nearly the width of each part of the wall, all framed by stylistic metal. “Eros, these are ridiculous.” She brushes her fingers along the frame that is designed to look like clustered feathers. “Gorgeous work, but utterly ridiculous.”
“You’re being judgmental right now.” I sound defensive, but I can’t help it. Just like I can’t help watching Psyche and her many reflections move about the room, pausing before each mirror so she can see the different frames. Feathers, daggers, jagged hearts, and a cluster of arrows.
Psyche touches her finger to the arrow point. “Sharp.”
“Like I said, my mother likes to make an impression.”
Psyche shakes her head. “Okay, give me the tour. I need to know what other monstrosities this place holds before we move forward.”
I know she’s using humor to deal with the unexpected turns this night has brought her, but it still irritates me. “I don’t have to marry you, you know?”
“Except I kind of think you do. You don’t seem the type to do anything without a good reason—and it’s not because I was nice to you for fifteen minutes at a party once. You don’t have to tell me, but let’s stop pretending that this is one-sided, yes?”
That’s the problem; I’m not sure I do have a deeper reason for embarking on this with her. Maybe she doesn’t realize what a big deal that moment was because she’s used to moving through life, dealing out small kindnesses on a regular basis. That’s not my world. If I admit as much, she’ll laugh in my face, and I can’t blame her for it. What kind of monster am I that I hesitate to crush a single rose? I don’t like the idea of the world without her bright presence in it. If I want to keep her alive, to keep her uncrushed, this is the only option available to us.
If I were a good man, I would offer to find her a way out of Olympus. Exile is harsh, but she’s a smart woman who will shortly have access to a giant trust fund. She would miss her family, but she would land on her feet. My mother doesn’t give a fuck about anything outside the city limits—not when it’s so damned difficult to get in and out of Olympus—so it’s as foolproof a plan as possible.
Except that puts Psyche right out of my reach, too.
I want her. Want her with an intensity that doesn’t make sense but that I can’t deny. I mean to have her.
I drift after her as she snoops around my place, making cute little disparaging comments about the bold black tile that floors the entire place and the thick dark-red curtains that bracket the floor-to-ceiling windows and the mirrors that populate every room. She even pokes around inside my fridge before giving me a long look. “You have a chef. Interesting. I would have thought you were too paranoid to let many people into this place.”
I prop my hip against the kitchen counter and cross my arms over my chest. “What makes you say that?”
“Your fridge is fully stocked. If you ate out all the time, you’d have takeout containers, or it would be empty. Your vegetables are all fresh, which suggests they actually get utilized.”
All great deductions, but it doesn’t explain how she leaped straight to chef. “And?”
Psyche somehow manages to look down her nose at me despite being a good six inches shorter. “Please, Eros. Someone as high maintenance as you are doesn’t cook for yourself.”
“Someone’s making assumptions again.”
She frowns at me, and even her frown is cute. “Don’t tell me you cook.”
“I cook. I’m good at it, too.” When she keeps frowning at me, I find myself elaborating. “You were right about my not liking people in my space, and cooking is one of the ways I wind down.”
Her frown fades, replaced by a look of intense curiosity. “And the other ways?”
“I work out.” I watch her face closely. “I fuck.”
Her complexion goes a bright tomato red, which is fascinating in the extreme. The only other time she’s looked ruffled is at the thought of her death. That I’ve affected her supports my growing suspicion that she’s just as attracted to me as I am to her.
“That won’t work.”
I blink. “It’s worked just fine for me up to this point.”
“I’m sure it has.” She recovers quickly and waves that away. “Sex is a great stress reliever.”
I push off the counter and stalk in her direction. Slowly. Giving her plenty of time to see me coming and decide what she’s going to do about it. “Do you fuck, Psyche?”
“That’s really none of your business.” Her voice goes a little breathy as I stop in front of her and lean forward, planting my hands on the counter on either side of her generous hips. “What are you doing?”
“Practice.” I’m a godsdamned liar, but it’s as good a reason as any. “You can’t jump every time I get within touching distance. No one will believe that we’re fucking like rabbits if you do.” Every time I say the word fucking, she flinches a little bit. That won’t do. That won’t do at all.
She reaches up cautiously, almost as if she expects me to bite her, and gingerly places her hands on my chest. “There? Can we continue the conversation now?”
What conversation? I can’t string two thoughts together with her hands on me, and she’s not doing anything but planting them on my pecs as if preparing to shove me off her. I fight a valiant battle with my body to keep from reacting like I’m a horny teenager being touched for the first time. I was never this ridiculous, even when I was sixteen. It doesn’t speak well to my sanity that she affects me on this level. We’re in trouble.
Kiss her.
Seduce her.
That will get it out of your system.
I ignore the whispered temptation and try to focus. “What conversation?”
“You can’t have sex with anyone.” Her fingers shift a little against my shirt. “I’m not polyamorous and everyone in my family knows it. They also realize that I’d gut my partner before I stayed with them after they cheated on me. You can’t be with anyone else while we’re married.”
I honestly hadn’t planned on it. Sex is exactly what I labeled it: a tool to help me let off some steam and wind down. I have a good time. My partners have a good time. Everyone has clear expectations. It might sound like I’m a user, but the truth is that I’m no prize and everyone in Olympus knows it. Anyone I try to date has to deal with the mother-in-law from Tartarus, and that’s not even touching on my reputation as her fixer. I’m the guy they fuck, the guy who gives them a ride on the wild side before they move on to safer choices to settle down with. That’s the way it is, and it’s always been enough for me.
That doesn’t mean I’m about to confess that truth to Psyche without prompting. Not when this is just another negotiation. “Psyche.” I like the way her name tastes on my tongue. I suspect I’ll like the way she tastes even more. “I have needs.”
“I suggest you get familiar with your hand, then.” She has a stubborn set to her brows that I enjoy far too much. “Or, if you want to get fancy, I’m more than capable of purchasing you one of those toys that mimic your hole of choice.”
That surprises a laugh out of me. “Will you be content with your hand or a little buzzy toy?”
“I have had dry spells before. More often than not in recent months, those dry spells have been the rule rather than the exception.” She shrugs as if it’s a fact of life and not a godsdamned tragedy.
I slide my hands closer to her, pressing my forearms to her hips. She jolts a little, and I raise my brows. “The surest way to have you settle into the idea of me touching you is through exposure therapy. Sex will speed up that process.”
She blinks those big hazel eyes at me. “I’m sorry, I must have misheard you. I thought you just suggested sex with you as exposure therapy.”
“I did.”
“You really have a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?”
I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not, so I ignore the question. “I’m attracted to you. You don’t find me overly repulsive.”
“Wow, you really do think highly of yourself.”
“I’m stating facts. Sex is the easiest way to fast-track to the results we want.” The easiest way to get exactly what I want.
Maybe it’ll be just another sexual encounter. Desire, sex, wake up the next morning with that need purged. We never have to do it again; we’re more than capable of sharing the same space without making things uncomfortable. She’s too good at playing the game to do otherwise, and control is never something I’ve had an issue with.
Until now.
“No. Absolutely not. I don’t know what you see when you look at me that makes you assume I’d happily have sex with a man who was set to murder me an hour ago, but I have higher standards than that.” She puts the slightest amount of pressure against my chest. “Back off, Eros. Now.”
I do as she asks, allowing her to push me several steps back. I want her in my bed, but I want her there willingly. “We can’t leave this apartment until you manage not to startle when I touch you.”
“I’ll be fine by morning.” She makes a show of looking around. “Now, do you have a spare bedroom?”
“Psyche.” I wait for her to look at me. I do have a spare bedroom and it’s more than adequate for her needs. But I want Psyche in my bed, and I’ll play dirty to get her there, even if it’s just to sleep. “I meant it about exposure therapy. If not sex, then sleeping next to each other will do in a pinch.”
“No.”
“It’s nonnegotiable.”
“There are plenty of couples who don’t share bedrooms. My mother and her second husband never slept together.”
I raise my brows. “The existence of you and Persephone suggests otherwise.”
She’s so damn cute when she blushes. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. Stop trying to distract me.”
“Love match.” I speak the words slowly. “If we’ve lost our minds enough to rush through with a marriage, then it would be strange if you flinch every time I get close enough to touch you.”
“I’ll work on it. We don’t have to sleep in the same bed to accomplish our goals.”
I’m already tired of this argument. “You don’t want to play?” I motion behind me. “There’s the door. I won’t hurt you, but my mother will send someone else. If you want to try your chances surviving the week, you’re more than welcome to.” It’s a bluff. I can’t let her leave. Not when the consequences for both of us are so damn high.
She looks at me like she hates me, but I can live with that, because she turns toward the hallway leading deeper into the house. “Let’s finish the tour of this monstrosity of a penthouse.”
