Lucien snorted. Even though she hated herself for it, she rejoiced in the sound. His amusement was like an aphrodisiac to her, and she had caused it.
"What else?"
"Let's see." She tapped her chin with a nail painted ice-blue. "Every doorway was flanked by two white columns. Pillars of strength, they were called."
"And how many rooms were there?"
She allowed her mind to return to the days she'd spent here. While she'd loved the beauty of the temple, she'd hated the beings inside it. How many times had the goddesses-in-training complained to the teacher, "Why does she get to study here? She's not one of us. She only causes trouble." How many times had the young gods jeered, "I don't know why she bothers to wear a robe. Everyone knows she spends more time out of it."
She pushed aside the remembered hurts. "There was the main altar room, of course, which you're now crouching in. There was a meeting hall where worshippers washed and gathered before sacrificing. Then the interior chamber and the priests' lodgings."
He nodded as though he was soaking in her every word. "Tell me more about this altar room."
Happy to oblige, she said, "If we traveled back in time, there'd be a white marble table in front of you. And there would be murals on the walls. Gods, those were cool. I need to redo one of my apartments and have the images painted—"
"Murals? What did the murals depict?" Lucien asked, cutting her off. He stood and pinned her with a hard stare, urgency radiating from him.
Wow. If she'd known she only needed to talk about boring temples to elicit his full attention, she would have done it days ago.
"Well?" he insisted.
She shrugged, pretending a casualness she suddenly didn't feel. "Godly feats of strength, victories. Even a few defeats."
His eyes glinted. "And was the box here, Anya?"
"No. I'm sorry." She hated to disappoint him.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. She approached him, wanting to touch, but stopped halfway, unsure of his reaction. This close, she could see that even more dirt than she'd realized streaked his chest and arms and his pulse hammered wildly. Her mouth watered at the sight. His butterfly tattoo vibrated with…awareness? Was it alive?
"What thoughts tumble through your head?" he asked.
"Naughty ones."
His brown eye darkened and his blue eye swirled. Both fixed on her minuscule, black-and-white lacy uniform, pupils dilating. "You enjoy tormenting me, do you not?"
She pinched her fingers together and said, "Just a wee bit. But don't worry—I'm not singling you out or anything. It's just a little quirk of mine, tormenting the men who want to kill me."
A brilliant beam of light broke through a cloud—cloud? On this hot day? Had she accidentally summoned it? She didn't look up. Couldn't. That beam had struck his face, illuminating his scars and casting shadows under his eyes. In that moment, he appeared as evil and sinister as a man could be. He appeared otherworldly. Wicked.
Delicious.
Her heartbeat sped up and her nipples beaded into tight little knots. Reach for me. Please.
He didn't.
She had to tear her gaze from him. Wanting him like this was foolish. Not just because of her curse, but because he wouldn't do anything about it. Nothing wrong with buttering him up, though, like you told him you were doing.
Unless she fell for him in the process. That would be a problem. A big one. Already the intensity of her desire was staggering. Any more…
"Anya," he said, drawing her from her thoughts.
"What?" She didn't face him, but withdrew a strawberry lollipop from the link of her belt, unwrapped it and ran her tongue over the tip. A little moan of pleasure escaped her. Scrumptious. She'd discovered the lollipops years ago after one of her human friends had died in a car wreck. Ever since, they'd been her comfort food of choice.
Lucien was in her face a second later—she was beginning to hate when he did that!—and swiped the candy from her hand. Her eyes widened as he tossed it to the ground.
"Hey! That was uncalled for."
He was scowling. "Do not eat those things in front of me."
"Why?" She threw up her arms in confusion.
"Because," he replied mulishly.
The scent of flowers was growing stronger, wafting from him, twining around her and drawing tight. "If you want one for yourself, just freaking ask me next time."
"I don't."
"Then—"
"No more talking. I must work." He spun away from her and went back to his mound of sand.
But not before she saw the fire blazing in his eyes.
Almost afraid to hope, she studied him more closely. His shoulders were stiff and his back ramrod straight, as if he were fighting desire. For her?
A hotter, deeper arousal bloomed inside her. Maybe, like her, he didn't mean half of the things he said. Maybe he truly did yearn for her.
She couldn't ask him. He'd just deny it. But that begged the question of why. Why did he not want her to know? Why did he not want to want her? Obviously, he thought she was easy. Why not take what he assumed she'd given to a thousand others? And what would he do if he knew how laughable that idea really was?
"You're wasting your time in that sand," she said in an airy tone, finally deigning to help him so he would pay attention to her again. Come over here and kiss me.
"No more talking."
"Well, you are."
"Disappear."
"Make me." Please. Want me like I want you. Don't let me be wrong about this.
He didn't reply.
Frustration ate at her, and she plopped onto the nearest boulder with a huff. "I want those artifacts as much as you do," she grumbled, "and your cold-shoulder treatment isn't helping our cause."
That snagged his attention. He flashed to her, knocking her off the boulder and onto the ground. Air shot from her lungs as his heavy muscular weight suddenly restrained her.
Note to self—mention the artifacts more often. Short as her costume was, she was able to spread her legs and welcome him into the cradle of her body. Instant pleasure speared her, shooting from head to toe and lingering in between.
"Why do you want them?"
"Duh. Power." The power of having bargaining chips, but he didn't need to know that.
"I thought we had covered this," he said, his voice cracking. "You will have nothing to do with the artifacts."
"Then you should have killed me." Licking her lips, she stared up at him. As always, he stole her breath. "I've decided I want them really, really bad."
He uttered a low growl. "No. I think you want to die. You are provoking me on purpose, while I have been giving you time to enjoy the last days of your life."
"Well, aren't you sweet," she muttered. Still, she didn't try to push him off her. In fact, she wound her arms around his neck. "I'm just trying to survive, lover. And have a little fun while I'm at it."
His nostrils flared, as if he'd just remembered something unpleasant. A muscle ticked in his jaw, making his scars all the more prominent. Her mouth watered. She wanted to tongue them. "Aligning yourself with me will not save you."
Back to that, were they? Damn, tell one little lie and it would haunt you forever. "Why haven't you killed me, then? And don't give me that bullshit about letting me enjoy the last days of my life. You don't let other souls enjoy the last of their days."
A heavy pause. His expression darkened. "Perhaps I have spared you because you know something, something that can help me find the artifacts and thereby the box. Tell me."
"If I knew something, I would have gotten to them already, dumbass."
"Then you are no good to me." He pulled back slightly and raised his fist as if he meant to strike her.