Desire. Cindy Jacks

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СКАЧАТЬ would have. He chose charcoal Hugo Boss slacks and a beige cashmere sweater then emerged to find the place sparkling clean. “Pan—”

      “Before you fly off the handle, sire—”

      “Frivolous magic when visiting Earth is forbidden, Pan.”

      “It wasn’t a frivolous use of my powers.”

      “It’s in the Code of Divine Ethics. ‘No divine being shall alter the natural course of events unless for a higher purpose.’ You know as well as I do what that means.”

      “Sire, how often is that rule actually enforced? Besides, one could argue saving a god's domicile from complete and total putrefaction is indeed a higher purpose.”

      Bacchus took his friend’s hand. “One day you’re going to have to accept I am not a god anymore.”

      “I’ll never accept that. They’ll have to render me inert first.”

      “By the gods, I couldn’t survive without you, but the thing is, Panny, if you don’t accept it, then I never will, either.”

      Chapter 3

      Lost at Sea

      One year after exile…

      Laughter jolted Bacchus awake. Why was the earth moving? His brain sloshed around his head, or maybe it had been pureed. Once his eyes adjusted to the sunlight streaming through a picture window, he found himself in a strange bedroom.

      When he reached for the brass and ceramic lamp, another wave of dizziness hit him, and he tumbled out of bed. His hands and knees sunk into plush ivory carpeting. Desperate to steady himself, he reached for a column of polished wood to no avail.

      He listed forward and smacked his forehead into a rum bottle. By Zeus, that’s where he’d put it. A vague memory of playing a game called Find the Rum Bottle swam around his liquefied mind. He uncorked the bottle and swigged. Brown sugar, sweet and smooth, the liquor warmed his throat and chest. He struggled to his feet, walked to the window, and squinted to focus on the scene outside. Tears stung his eyes.

      Water the color of Neptune’s limpid eyes sparkled in the sun. A pod of dolphins swam along side the vessel, arching in and out of the wake. How the hell had he wound up on a yacht?

      Laughter rang out from another room. Simone. Oh, yes, Simone. Wild, golden hair encircled her head like a mandorla. Eyes black as the night sea trimmed in long, arched lashes. Her cappuccino satin skin had captivated him. He longed to run his hands, his fingertips, and his tongue over every inch of her. He had done just that in the last forty-eight hours. What a lovely, giving creature.

      He’d met the young woman in the streets of New Orleans, at a festival known as Mardi Gras. It was the only party on Earth that came anywhere near a proper Bacchanal, though Vegas used to be crazy fun before it went all corporate.

      The trip to the territory known as New Orleans had been a wild one. When he’d first landed on Earth, he’d planned to stay in his beloved Greece until old age and death allowed him to return to the Elysian Fields, but the best laid schemes of mice and defrocked gods often went astray.

      First, he’d met a belly dancer named Kristina—an exotic tattooed beauty—who’d taken him to Paris to be something that translated roughly into “boy toy.” And when she’d tired of him, he’d taken up with a stunning young German woman who was backpacking through Europe. In the British Isles, now known as the UK, he parted ways with Dieta and met an American writer on vacation. Laney said she hailed from a town known as the Big Easy, and she invited him to come home with her.

      How Bacchus had come to love New Orleans, and he loved it even more once Mardi Gras began. Which was where he met la belle Simone. On the solemn Wednesday that marked the abrupt end to the festivities, Simone made Bacchus an offer he couldn’t refuse. Her friend owned a yacht and would be in port the next day to pick her up. The boat turned out to be a floating palace of debauchery.

      More giggling in the hall drew his attention. Now, where had the little minx gone?

      Rum bottle in tow, he trotted out of his stateroom. The laughter grew louder. At a room farther up the passageway to his left, he knocked and called, “May I gain entry, pretty please?”

      An athletic woman with dark chocolate curls and skin to match opened the door and grinned at him. “What?”

      “May I come in?”

      “Oh sure.” She pulled him by his neck and murmured, “Aren’t you a tall drink of water, sailor?”

      “Funny you mention that. I spent quite a lot of time sailing around the Mediterranean. This was back in 500 BC when—” A kiss cut off his mindless rambling.

      Oddly enough, the woman tasted like chocolate, too. She broke away from his lips and offered him a cocoa-colored drink garnished with three white chocolate truffles on a toothpick. “Godiva martini?”

      Well, that explained that. A beautiful woman with a beautiful drink. Was there a more fantastic sight in all the world? “Thank you, love.” He winked, accepted the glass, and threw the rum bottle aside. “Seems we won’t be needing this.”

      Another nubile woman appeared beside the ebony-skinned beauty. They looked at him as though he were the prime rib at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Two beautiful women and a beautiful drink. Indeed, he had found a more fantastic sight. Bacchus stood corrected.

      “I’m Billie,” the dark woman said. “This is my friend Layla.”

      Layla fluttered her fingers to say hello. She was tall with legs that stretched into the Afterlife, hair the color of harvested wheat, and so many dangerous curves.

      He tossed back the martini in one gulp.

      Giggling, Layla pushed him onto the bed and knelt beside him.

      His lips crushed against hers.

      Laughter rose from Billie, and she settled on the other side of him. Hot flesh pressed against him, the women stroking his skin.

      His body melted against the mattress. What sweet surrender. Dizziness slowed reality, not the heavy, sickening dizziness he’d awoken with. This reeling was airy. Disconnected. Pleasant.

      In slow motion, Billie slipped the spaghetti straps of Layla’s babydoll nightie down milky shoulders. For a moment, the garment fluttered to the ground. Or had an hour passed, the nightgown rippling mid-air?

      The soft smack of someone’s lips became loud as Billie suckled Layla’s breast while removing her own bra and panties. Their laughter echoed as they reached for Bacchus.

      One removed his shirt as another stripped his pants and underwear.

      He felt fuzzy and light as a feather, as if he were hovering near the ceiling. But he must still be on the bed, because the satin sheets felt like a river of liquid silk.

      He rubbed the nearest woman’s backside and chuckled. “What was in that drink?”

      “Something to make you feel good all over,” Billie murmured.

      That he did. Not СКАЧАТЬ