Accidentally Married to…a Vampire?(Accidentally Yours #2)(5)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

She ran her hands through her damp sticky curls.

It could be hours before anyone noticed the missing, slightly overweight, twenty-four-year-old from Santa Cruz, California, who was sightseeing alone because her hung over best friends, Ann and Jess, had decided to stay beachside and gape at the Italian water-polo team in town for some tournament.

Why did I come on this stupid tour? Because she didn’t save her money for two whole years just to get a hangover in Mexico. She wanted to see the remnants of one of the greatest civilizations ever. That’s why.

Just then, Helena spotted a glowing light through the dense brush. Was there another road in that direction? Was that a car?

No. Too slow.

She suddenly remembered that the tour guides, mostly locals from a nearby village, had been carrying large flashlights to point out glyphs inside the temples.

Could it be…?

“Hey! Over here! Aquí!” The moving light was fading fast. “No, no! Wait!” Helena swallowed her fear and pushed through wall after wall of stubborn vegetation, determined to find salvation. “Wait! Espera!” she screamed as the light faded to a minuscule flicker.

Helena kicked it into high gear for all of ten steps before she stumbled and performed a belly flop, landing with a thump! Pain ripped through her knee. She rolled over and sat up, wincing as she bent her leg. No structural damage, but a warm trickle of blood slid down to her ankle. Sadly, she’d only worn cargo shorts and her favorite white tank with built-in-bra. Otherwise, she’d tear off her shirt and apply pressure.

She waited for the initial sting to subside before she stood up. The light, and whoever had been toting it, was long gone. Now, she was truly screwed.

“Come to me,” she heard a deep male voice suddenly whisper.

Helena froze and swallowed her scream. “Wh-who’s there?” She held her breath, praying her imagination had conjured the dark smooth voice. “Who’s there?” she repeated loudly. Crap, I sound like a lame knock-knock joke.

“This way. Waited so long for you…” This time, the voice was hypnotic: raw male strength intertwined with gut-wrenching need. Beauty dipped in layers of savage intent.

Clenching, unfathomable, bottomless desire penetrated her ears. Her mind suddenly felt like ropes of warm saltwater taffy.

“Come to me,” he called once again.

Every ounce of tension dissolved from her body. Control went with it.

Entranced, Helena glided effortlessly through the blackness toward the voice. She no longer felt the fear of being lost in the jungle or the pain in her knee; she felt only need. The need to be with…him.

“Sì, Sì. I can feel you. This way. Just a bit farther,” the voice whispered, carried by the humidity-drenched breeze. “I can feel your essence. Everything I’ve ever hoped for.”

When her hands hit a wall of cold, rough stone, she had no clue what sort of structure she’d touched or where she was, but she instinctively knew what to do. Her fingertips traced along the wall until they found a deep groove between the stones. She wedged her trembling hand into the crack and pushed with her index finger. The stones separated with a loud grinding, revealing a narrow torchlit passage.

She wanted to run, to brave the darkness of the jungle instead. But she couldn’t answer the call of her own warning bells or command her very own body.

She crouched into the doorway and stepped inside the dimly lit rectangular passage. Oddly, there were no cobwebs. The torches looked bright and fresh. Someone had been there recently. Merry Maids?

Step by step, she made her way. The narrow passage abruptly hooked to the right and then opened up into a spacious chamber with a high ceiling. Towering golden statues of ancient warriors, piles of polished gold coins, and jewel-encrusted treasure chests were heaped in every corner as if hastily deposited by a greedy pirate on the run with a wheel barrel.

There was a hot pink, flashing, neon sign stuck to the wall that spelled Piggy Bank. Right below it was a Wheel of Fortune slot machine and a lonely car bumper with two stickers. One read: Live Free or Die and the other I Brake for Garage Sales. And, was that an exercise cycle next to a Thigh Master?

What the hell is this place?

Then Helena’s eyes focused on something else she couldn’t quite grasp. In the middle of the room, lying across a stone altar, was a na**d man with dark symbols tattooed down the length of one arm. But he was not just any man. He was a male so perfect that words would catfight each other just for the honor of describing him. He was a god. A bona fide deity. He had to be. Because a normal man wouldn’t give her the urge to fall to her knees and worship at his feet. Or drool.

The torchlight licked his sculpted cheekbones, angular jaw, and full, sensual lips. Every capacious curve and ripple of hard muscle looked to be packed with raw power, and his size left no doubt that he’d been built in another time. A time when giant warriors roamed the earth, looking to rescue lame tourists wandering the Mexican jungle at night.

In my dreams. Wait…this is a dream! It has to be.

“Move closer my sweet, delicious woman.” The deep voice radiated from every direction, filling the room.

Helena’s blood pressure crashed to the floor. She gasped as the weight of her body slammed back against the cold chamber wall to keep from falling.

“Hel-hello? Can you hear me?” Fists clenched, Helena waited for a response, her eyes continuing to soak him in. Every inch of him.

Was he real? No, he must be a statue. Too perfect. His full lips were built to nuzzle a woman’s neck. Specifically, her neck. And that hair—thick, long waves of black satin—was the kind a woman could grab fistfuls of while being driven insane by those lips.

Then there were the diamond-cut grooves of his abs, his perfectly shaped navel, the fine dark hair adorning his lower belly that trailed down to his awe-inspiring man-gear. The size and thickness, even in its slumbering state, was something women dreamed of and scores of artists throughout history attempted to immortalize in marble. He was every woman’s fantasy, she thought. And by every woman, she meant hers…’Cause I’m not gonna share.

“Kiss me, Helena,” the seductive voice rumbled.

Had the man said her name? No. Clearly, his lips hadn’t moved. The margarita amoebas were attacking her brain and she was losing her mind.

“Kiss me, woman. I command you,” the voice echoed, this time compelling her to obey.

Helena’s survival instincts gave her a hard kick, jarring her back into the horrific reality of the situation. But as she tried to regain control of her body, her tongue slipped from her mouth and wet her lips.