Accidentally…Evil? (Accidentally Yours #3.5)(6)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

Like she’d thought, could the day possibly get any stranger? And yes, anthropomorphic?

“To answer your second ridiculous question,” said the redhead, “of course I know I’m naked. Really now, who wears clothes when they’re in a lake? That would be just weird. Fish don’t wear clothes, do they? On second thought!” She cackled and then doubled over. “That would be so cute! I love the idea. I’ll have Sven, my tailor, make a bunch of miniature tuxedos. Boom! Fish-edos!”

The woman is out of her ever-loving, nudist screwball mind.

Well, crazy or not, Maggie needed help. She had to get off that dock before the man with those excessively large muscles and hot, mind-altering kisses returned. Maggie’s drawers could only take so much before they’d disintegrate, her virtue and sanity right along with them.

The odd woman’s laughter took a sudden nosedive and crashed. “Hey,” she whispered, looking over both shoulders, “did you happen to see my brother? He’s about yea so tall.” She reached for the sky on her tippy toes.

That’s when Maggie also noticed the woman’s glowing turquoise eyes.

Heavens to Betsy, she’s his sister? It made sense. So much goddamned sense.

Maggie pointed south down the shoreline. “He went thataway.”

“Fabulous!” The screwball sauntered past Maggie toward the critters, who shrank back.

This was Maggie’s chance. She took two steps forward, but the woman turned.

“Uh-uh-uhhhh,” she sang out, wagging her pale index finger at Maggie. “You’re staying put.”

“But, you can’t leave me here.”

The woman hee-hawed like a broken donkey. “Oh yes I can, sugar. Because this is your stage and you’re the star of the show. The catalyst. The spark. The fizzzz in the Gin Fizzy. Ain’t no party without you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t have time to explain, doll, but trust me, you and I are going to have loads of time to catch up later.”

“Huh?” said Maggie.

“You’ll see. And don’t forget, when the time comes, be sure to follow Chaam. He’s your secret sauce.”

“Sauce?”

“You know. The bom in your bomb-bomp-bom-bomp, the ram in your rama-lama-ding-dong.”

The word screwball wouldn’t do. No. Not at all.

“Ta ta!” The woman waved her hand and skipped down the shore. “And don’t forget,” she called out, “humankind will thank you later!”

Bat-shit crazy. Yes, that’s it.

Three hours later

Chaam’s heart quickened when he neared the lakeside clearing where he’d left Maggie. The “male therapy sessions” had gone rather well, with the exception of the cricket that insisted ladybugs were the “bee’s knees,” some strange bug code for “sexy.” But once he pulled out the big guns—an unbreakable command that embedded itself the male’s subconscious—all was well in Cricket-ville. He then went to the pueblo’s small mercado and found everything he needed for his special evening, including a bottle of Spanish wine and a matrimonial-sized hammock. The local seamstress had even made him a new linen shirt, right on the spot. Ah, it was good to be the God of Male Virility. Women tripped over themselves to please him.

But not Maggie. No. She was different.

He liked that.

As the sun shed its final rays, Chaam rounded the last small peninsula standing between him and his Maggie. His heart stumbled like a clumsy runner.

Maggie sat on the edge of the dock, dainty feet dangling in the lake, her long brown hair flowing down her back like a mystical Greek siren’s. Her body, a curvy and voluptuous little package, embodied every feminine characteristic he adored.

Oh hell. He looked down at his dauntingly large erection. He’d be forced to take another dip in the lake to cool off as he’d done three times earlier in the day while he’d been waiting for Maggie to wake.

Or, perhaps, I just needed to see… that. Chaam cringed.

Maggie scowled at the giant predator sitting a few yards away, guarding her like a juicy lamb chop. A half dozen other animals had joined in the fun.

Chaam marched to the mouth of the dock. “I asked you to keep an eye on her, not have a party.”

The cat made a little hiss, followed by random noises from the monkey, iguana, parrot, and pygmy hog.

Chaam crossed his arms and glared at the little pig. “You’re on the wrong continent. You know that, don’t you?”

Snort.

“Go!” Chaam barked. “All of you. I don’t have time for this.” He pointed to the small furry pig. “And you! Don’t bother returning; I don’t even speak pygmy hog!”

Chaam noticed Maggie staring with an expression somewhere between horror and… well, horror.

Chaam glanced back at the cat. It hadn’t budged a stubborn furry inch. “Fine. Get them out of here, and I will help you tomorrow.”

The cat smiled—Chaam hated that; it looked so wrong when animals smiled—and quickly disappeared with his entourage.

Maggie cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Nice of you to return, Backlum—”

“Chaam. I go by Chaam.”

“Savage! That’s what I’ll call you! How dare you! I’m leaving, and don’t you dare try to stop me!”

“You will stay.” He blocked her from passing.

“Or what?”

A mosquito the size of a small rodent perched on her cheek, and without thinking, Chaam swatted it.

“Ouch!” Maggie fell to the side and cupped her cheek.

Oh, Christ! He’d slapped her! Hard.

He quickly reached for her, but she shirked away.

“I should have guessed,” she hissed. “You cad!”

“No! There was a—”

“You can slap me around all you want,” Maggie stood and closed the gap between them, “but you will never, ever have me. I’ll die before I let you put another hand on me.”

Chaam growled with frustration. Dammit! This was not how he’d imagined this special evening would begin.

The madman had slapped her. Actually slapped her! And then he growled! Like a godammed beast. And if he was capable of hitting her to gain submission, then, without a doubt, she was in danger.

Maggie stepped back and attempted to ignore how the man smelled. Incredible. Like sweet herbs mixed with something dark and dangerous.

Anise, fennel, black licorice! God, I want a bite. Or a lick. Or a nibble.