A Taste of Greek (Out of Olympus #3) (6 page)

She sighed. Her vivid imagination was taking her on a wild ride again. As if she hadn’t already been on a rollercoaster tonight: the way she’d responded to him, physically, mentally—it was above and beyond any attraction she’d had to a man in a very long time. She wasn’t on her game when she was around him. She couldn’t trust her judgment.

And if he was delusional he could even be dangerous . . .

She thought back to the way she’d clung to him, how close she’d come to sleeping with him. A shudder charged through her. No. It didn’t matter how good a kisser he was or what kind of incredible chemistry they had together, she couldn’t call him. She couldn’t go out with him again just to write an article. Logic told her she’d dodged a bullet tonight. She closed the lid of her laptop and leaned back in her chair.

But what if she wrote an article on the way Greek gods affected people today?
a tiny voice whispered. A voice that grew louder and stronger as the thought grew.

Were there people out there who still believed in the Greek gods? Her heart raced. Her pulse thundered. She stood, her fists pumping the air above her. Yes! This was it. The answer she’d been searching for, the angle she needed. She could interview Hermes, discover the truth, ferret out his secrets. She wouldn’t have to sleep with him. She could be aboveboard all the way. She would view this as an intellectual study.

She dropped back into her chair and glanced down at the marble statue on the pages—the chiseled cheek bones, patrician nose, veined shaft, and oh-so-kissable lips. She drew in another deep breath. Could she keep it strictly intellectual? Whom was she kidding? Going anywhere near him would be a huge mistake.

Still, it was late. Time to go home, sleep on it, and decide in the morning over a strong cup of Vivian’s coffee. She pulled on her jacket and picked up her purse when the outer door to her office opened.

Her heart stuttered to a halt. Few people worked as late as she did. Who on earth would be in her outer office this time of night? She grasped the metal letter opener—shaped like a medieval sword—from the corner of her desk, clutched it in her hand and picked up the phone to call security.

The inner door swung open. A man she hadn’t seen in almost two decades stood in the doorway. “Hello, Penelope.”

The letter opener dropped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. “Dad?”

In astonishment, she stared at him. The last time she’d seen her father had been in a court room, his head dropping as the judge handed down his sentence and the bailiff escorted him away. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

“What? Can’t a man visit his only daughter?”

Penny raked her gaze over his face. He was older. Heavier. Wider with a lot less hair and a lot more skin. Especially around his neck. But he was definitely her dad. “When did you get out?” she asked, not knowing what to say or how to feel.

“It’s . . . well, it’s been a few years.” There was that look again. Like the one he’d worn in the courtroom. The one that said he’d done wrong and he knew it. The real question to her was, did he even care?

“A few years and you’re just now showing up?” She didn’t know why she was surprised. She stiffened. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

“I would have come sooner, it’s just . . . Well, it’s just that I didn’t think you’d want to see me.” His head dropped and then after a moment, after she still hadn’t said anything, he looked up at her. “I need help.”

“Now there’s a big surprise,” she said dryly.

“Why all the hate, Pen? I know I’ve made mistakes—”

“Mistakes?” she repeated, bitterness, long buried but never forgotten, rising to the surface. “You can say that, considering you single-handedly destroyed our family.”

“No, not single-handedly. I had a little help.”

“Really, someone took your hand and made you steal from those people?”

“I was desperate, Penny.”

“Yes, like you are now? I have nothing to give, Dad, and nothing for you to take.”

The hurt filling his eyes at her words stopped her, but only for a moment.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he said.

“Really?”

The pain she so easily read on his face caused her a momentary jab of conscience, but then she remembered her own pain. Remembered what she had gone through every day after they’d sent him to prison. The taunts and jeers from the kids at school, the look of sadness in her grandmother’s eyes. But most of all, she remembered how her mother had left them, never to return.

“As I said. It’s late. How did you find me here?”

“I’ve always known where you were. I’ve been very . . . proud.”

She stared at him, unblinking and unable to speak over the lump of disbelief in her throat. How dare he come back now and think he would be forgiven?

“I need a place to stay. I’ve lost my job. My apartment. I’m on my last dime.”

“And you haven’t found anyone else to mooch off of?” The words were harsh. She knew that. She just couldn’t stop herself. The pain, the anger, raw and sharp, was settling in and stretching its claws.

He wrung his hands in front of him. Rough hands. Reddened hands. Had they always looked like that? She tried to think back, to remember, but where her father was concerned, her memory was a big, gaping black hole. “I was hoping you could take me in.”

“No way,” Penny said quickly.

“It would only b
e for a couple of weeks until I get back on my feet, I promise. I won’t be any trouble.”

“Grams is ill. She doesn’t need the stress of seeing you right now. Of knowing the condition you’re in. It would upset her too much.”

“Like the way it’s upsetting you?” The jab hit its mark.

“Don’t you think you’ve already done enough to our family?” she shot back, much louder now.

“Yes. I was just hoping . . . ” He shrugged. “Hoping to reconnect.”

“Sorry, Dad. That bridge was torn down a long time ago and there is nothing left of it to salvage.”

“Listen, honey!”

“Leave!” she shouted.

Suddenly, Michelle burst through the doorway, her blouse slightly askew and the top buttons open. “Is everything all right?” Michelle demanded. “We could hear your voices all the way down the hall.”

“We?” Penny asked.

Behind her, Kenton barged into the room. She’d never liked him much: wide shoulders, tight butt, plastic smile, but like so many self-absorbed, overly attractive men, he had the personality of tissue paper—thin and transparent with no moral substance. Kenton was also an impeccable dresser, which was why Penny now raised an eyebrow when she noticed that his tie had been loosened and his shirt looked wrinkled.

“Yes, we,” Kenton added, stepping past Michelle as if wanting to protect her like a knight in shining armor. Well, it would have worked, had he not fumbled with his tie, trying to make himself look presentable and not as though he’d just had a passionate make-out session in a broom closet. “Your voices were quite loud. Is there a problem?”

“No,” Penny said caustically. “No problem. Just family business.”

All she could do was stare at Michelle and Kenton. Everything was so obvious now: he wanted his shot at tenure and would use any means necessary—even if that meant romancing Michelle. Only this morning, Michelle had told her she still had a chance at gaining the tenure spot. But by the looks of it, Michelle had already cast her vote.

Kenton glanced curiously at her father, but Penny didn’t move. Nor did she say anything. She didn’t want her father here. She didn’t even want to know him, let alone introduce him to her colleagues.

Her father stepped past her, his hand outstretched as he walked toward her boss and competitor. “Hi, I’m Penny’s father, Bart Galloway.”

“I’m Kenton Lowry, an assistant professor in the same department as Penny.”

“Michelle Shafer, I’m the dean of the history department,” her boss said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, no interruptions. We just have a little misunderstanding. But it’s all worked out now, isn’t it, Penny?”

He turned to her, and she nodded. What else could she do? He had her cornered. She pasted a fake smile on her lips. “We did. Dad was just leaving. Weren’t you, Dad?”

“Looks like it. I’ll see you at home, pumpkin.” He turned and walked out the door right behind Michelle and Kenton.

Penny could hear them as they continued down the hall, making small talk. Becoming friendly. More than anything, she wanted to throw something, to scream and yell, to stomp her feet. Instead, she collapsed into her chair.

Hermes’ card was sitting on top of her desk, staring at her. She picked it up and stared back at it. Hearing his warm, sexy voice right now was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her father, and the fact that even though her boss had claimed she was rooting for her, she’d already made her decision.

Michelle and Kenton were having an affair. Right under her nose, two doors down the hall. And because of it, Kenton was going to get tenure instead of her.

She had only one chance to make this right, and it was a slim one at best. And maybe a man who spoke Ancient Greek could somehow help her after all. Maybe he was simply eccentric—that didn’t automatically mean that he was crazy. She shook off a shiver and picked up the phone. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

7

Hermes sank to the bottom of the murky river. The strong current rushed over him, stinging his eyes, filling his mouth, and pulling him swiftly downstream. Shock and fury barraged his system, pounding at him like a heavyweight champion. How dare Hades? He’d been there to help the old buzzard, and this was his thanks? Rage scourged his insides.

He could tell by the curvature of the rock-hewn walls, polished by time to a smooth glassy surface, which part of the River Styx he was in. He was circling the endless loop portion that meandered round and round the underworld. On its banks, anguished souls waited for their admittance. The impatient ones had waded into the river, thinking they could cross on their own, unaware of its strong current and its depth. Those souls surrounded him now, grasping onto him, their eyes pleading, their bony fingers searching, pulling. The echoes of their despair beat against him like thrumming sound waves, or the frantic flapping of butterfly wings.

He found a rocky outcropping and pulled himself halfway out of the water. He looked around him, contemplating what he should do next: go back and reason with Hades or get the hell out of there?

His cell phone suddenly rang. He pulled it from his pocket, almost dropping it into the water when a desperate soul yanked at his arm to pull himself above the water. When he saw the number, a Charleston number, he pushed the poor sod off him and answered it.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry to call so late,” the sweetest of voices said: Penny. Penny was calling him! And so soon after their first date. That was good news indeed. Clearly, his kiss had done the trick.

He instantly recalled the taste of her lips and the feel of her body’s lush curves. Somehow, after one dinner and a couple of sweet kisses, she’d managed to get under his skin.

“I’m sorry I had to rush off tonight to get some work done, without telling you how much I enjoyed our dinner together.”

Was she really saying this to him? Or was he hallucinating? Despite the fact that he was still in the bowels of the underworld, he felt as if he were floating on a cloud over Olympus. Penny had the hots for him! Why else would she call him so soon after their date? If he’d been the one doing that, he would have sounded desperate, but
Penny
calling
him
was, well, delightful.

“Me, too. I had a wonderful time.”

“Listen, I wanted to make it up to you for cutting our evening short.”

Hermes swallowed hard, his cock rising simultaneously, despite the frigid water covering his lower half. Was this a booty call? Fuck, yeah! Penny was inviting him to come to her house and her bed. However, before he could form a single word to respond to her, a scream nearly pierced his eardrum, as another soul slammed against one of the treacherous rocks ahead of him.

“What was that?” Penny asked, her voice panicked. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, nothing.” He searched for an explanation. “The TV. Sorry.”

“Oh, I didn’t want to disturb.”

“No, no, you’re not disturbing at all,” he hastened to assure her. “It’s a really bad movie. Really bad.” He glared at a soul attempting to pull itself up by grabbing Hermes’ shirt. “Lots of blood and gore, no plot.” Then he wrenched the soul’s hand free of himself and tossed the unfortunate toward the bank of the river.

“Well, I’m glad.” She paused for a moment. “Not about the bad movie, of course. Just that I’m not disturbing.”

He grinned to himself. Disturbing? “You could never disturb me. I’ve been thinking about you.”

A nervous chuckle came through the line. “Thanks.”

When another soul tugged at him, trying to pull him back under, Hermes had had enough. He kicked his sandals into gear, and like little propellers, they lifted him out of the water, off the little clump of sharp rocks, and transported him to the far bank of the river, which was virtually empty. Finally, he could concentrate on the phone call.

“It’s true. If you hadn’t called, I would have called you.”

“To say what?” she fished.

“That I’d like to see you again. Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Tonight?”

She laughed. “Oh. Uh, how about lunch tomorrow?”

A tad disappointed that this was no booty call after all, he turned his back to the river. “Lunch? I’d like that.” He reached down and gave himself a soothing rub.
Sorry, buddy, you’ll have to wait a little longer,
he consoled his aching cock. He was definitely hungry for her, and a little afternoon delight was exactly what he needed after a night like tonight, but the wait would be excruciating. “Where should I meet you?” he asked.

“How about the Garden Inn at noon?”

“I’ll see you there.”

“Good night,” she said and disconnected the line.

For a moment, he stood there and replayed their conversation. Things were going better than he’d expected. Tomorrow, he’d have dessert after lunch. A dessert he’d savor and explore: Penny. And then he’d have seconds.