Accidentally…Evil? (Accidentally Yours #3.5)(3)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“No. I do not believe you,” he stated dryly.

The nerve! “You did find me in the jungle, didn’t you? Wasn’t I unconscious?” She pointed to the large lump on her forehead. “And wearing this?”

“Yes, but I believe you were searching for something else.”

Nosy rake. “Well, it’s been a pleasure, Mr….” Arrogant Nudesunbather? Mr. Nomanners Perfectbottom?

“Backlum Chaam.”

Backlum? What an odd—oh! He’s in character. “Sure, Joe. Whatever blows your wig, but—”

“The name is not Joe, it’s Chaam. I just said it.”

Margaret blinked. Deep, deep into character.

“And I assure you, I do not wear a wig. This is my real hair.” He gave his shiny black mane a proud tug.

“I meant—oh, never mind. Listen, it’s been great, Mr. Chaam, but I gotta skedaddle; my father is probably wondering where I am.” She wished. Her father was likely dead. Or injured.

Stay calm. You’ll find the ruin. You’ll find him…

If only she’d insisted on knowing exactly where the excavation site was hidden. Instead, she’d done what her father had asked—fearing his anger—and stayed near the village, spending her days painting, learning Spanish from the local children, or swimming with a friend she’d made: a young woman named Itzel who didn’t speak a lick of English.

“Have a lovely afternoon.” She flashed an awkward grin and turned toward the shoreline.

A firm grip pulled her back and twirled her around. Two powerful arms incarcerated her body and smashed her against an astonishingly firm, na**d chest. His touch instantly ignited that gunpowder, and…

Combustion!

A wave of carnal heat ripped through her body. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my Gooood… Margaret felt her face turn a lascivious red. Beads of volcanic sweat seeped through her pores. Every muscle in her body wound up with merciless unchaste tension, like ropes anchoring a massive sail, a sail blowing her ship toward the most delicious place ever. And then…

Release.

Maggie braced herself on the man’s bountiful biceps as the tension snapped and silent fireworks exploded throughout her body.

Oh my god. Had she just… had she really just…?

He cleared his throat. “Was it as good as it looked?”

She let out an exaggeratedly long breath. What the flapdoodle? “You’re not an actor, are you?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from quivering.

He shook his head from side to side. “No. And you are no human.”

Chapter 2

Chaam beamed at the enchanting brunette in his arms who gazed up at him with her large, dark eyes—eyes that contrasted the sunburnt, freckled cheeks of her striking face. Did she have any clue how long he’d waited, how long he’d held the silent, impossible wish for her in his cold heart?

Seventy thousand years.

Seventy.

Thousand.

That’s how long the mere hope of her had kept his existence tolerable. And that’s why he found it impossible to believe his impossible wish had been granted. The gods did not have mates. Period. That privilege belonged only to those of human origin. Hell, even vampires occasionally found a mate. Lucky bastards. But regardless of the facts, he’d always allowed himself the fantasy. And he’d envisioned her seventy thousand different ways: a delicately framed blonde with sea green eyes; a seductive, black female with velvety waves of chocolate brown hair and eyes of hazel; a tall and athletic woman, a warrior, with olive skin and straight dark hair. He’d imagined her many ways, but he’d never once imagined Margaret. Not the exotic sort, yet sinfully feminine with a crisp intelligence and a disarming smile. And clearly the product of these new times with her very masculine-style independence.

She was perfect for him in every way.

Perhaps this explained why despite the impossibility of this female being his mate, his body and soul screamed she was his. But perhaps she is yours? A miracle. A gift from the universe. Why else had he been able to touch her? When he’d first stumbled across the unconscious beauty in the jungle, her dark hair tangled with twigs and leaves, he assumed she’d met her demise. But then he stroked her cheek, and she made a tiny moan. Yes. With pleasure. Actual pleasure from his touch. Humans normally winced, shrieked, or passed out. But this one moaned.

He must have stood there with his mouth gaping for ten entire minutes, studying her ripe full br**sts pressing against the white cotton fabric of her dress. And those smooth, creamy thighs… He saw them as clear as a blazing hot day with her dress hiked up the way it was, revealing the lacy hemline of her silky undergarments. Then he’d noticed her lips. Like her plump br**sts, they were fully, juicy… just ripe for a kiss. He’d debated for one agonizing second before he dove in and sampled their sweetness. Once he did, his heart made that leap toward believing the unbelievable because the vision thrust upon him in that moment could not be a product of his imagination. He was never that creative. Could she be his missing piece? His mate?

Idiot. Gods do not have mates. Your mind is connecting dots that do not exist because you want to believe. A more rational explanation might be that she was a genetic anomaly, a human tolerant of his touch. Or, that she is not human at all. “Wha-what did you say?” she stammered.

“Drop the charade. I know you aren’t human.” He gave a playful little squeeze, and she wiggled against him. Ummm… delicious. He couldn’t get enough of her sensual warmth.

“You’re crazy.” She thrashed her head from side to side. “Let me go!”

That wasn’t going to happen. Whatever—whoever—she was, he had no plans to release her.

Yet.

She was simply too enticing. A tall, curvy drink of water after a seventy thousand-year drought.

“Help! Help!” She clawed at his bare arms.

“I will let you go, little bobcat,” he grunted, “if you promise not to run.”

“I am not a bobcat! Help!”

“Okay, then. My little—” saucy clawed minx? Feral cupcake? Chipmunk of lust? “Hell. I was never skilled in the pet-names department. Can’t I simply call you bobcat?”

She froze; hostility raged in her eyes. “No. You most certainly cannot call me bobcat!”

He turned his head to avoid her pounding fists. “Stop your assault. I’m not going to hurt you.” No, he certainly didn’t want that. He did, however, want to do other things to her. “I want you to tell me what you are. Then I will release you.”