Accidentally…Over? (Accidentally Yours #5)(29)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

“Once again,” he said, “you are mistaken. You’ve only scratched the surface, I assure you.”

What could he possibly mean? Did she even want to know?

“Ah,” he said, “we have arrived. I will tell you more once we are inside.”

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.”

Eleven

Máax had been wrong. Very, very wrong. A first, really. After all, he was a god. And a damned magnanimous one. But ignoring his connection to Ashli, and the accompanying desires and emotions, was not feasible. The hold grew stronger with every passing second. And now, that little thing called logic, which he prided himself on having mastered many millennia ago, had deflated like a punctured life raft. And it didn’t seem to matter how much logic he puffed back into the godsdamned thing—you cannot be with her; you will be entombed for all eternity; it is unfair to both of you to pursue your desire—logic hissed out of the gaping hole.

Simply put, he wanted her. Quite badly.

Earlier, as they’d stood on the beach while she spoke to that silly Fernando boy, who followed her around like a godsdamned puppy, Máax hadn’t been able to resist marveling at her sensual beauty. The way her short white cotton dress hugged the shape of her petite, athletic frame when the wind picked up and how those tiny little straps highlighted her delicate neck and that sun-kissed, cocoa-brown skin made him realize how stunning she truly was. She simply radiated beauty—the timeless sort that could make a man feel lucky every day of his existence.

Then he’d noticed her beautiful hazel eyes shimmering in the sunlight as she’d looked up at Fernando. That had been what triggered his bout of jealousy. He didn’t appreciate any other males looking at her. He most certainly didn’t appreciate her looking at them.

Hisssss… Adios, logic. Because she was his.

Fucking hell. This bond was turning him into a childish, immature, weak… No! You are a god. You fear nothing and no one. You need nothing and no one. You never give in to weakness. You never fail.

Now more than ever, he needed to remind himself of that because the situation had become significantly more challenging. Not that it concerned him. He would prevail. However, the moment the news came in about the plane blowing up, it became obvious that a force much more powerful than he’d realized was determined to hamper him from saving Ashli.

Remain focused and all will be fine.

But you’re a f**king mess! He scolded himself. His emotions threatened to get the best of him, his temper was barely in check, and his c**k on high alert every two minutes. Down for f**k sake!

This was not going well. For the first time in Máax’s existence, he began to worry that he might fail a mission. Sadly, it would cost everyone dearly if he did.

When the SUV pulled into her driveway Ashli immediately felt like Dorothy returning to Kansas. Sure, she’d only been gone for about an hour, but…

There’s no place like home, no place like home, no place like home. Except that some of Oz had returned with her. Case in point, Mr. Invisible and his trusty pack of men in black.

And Death is hunting you. Don’t forget that.

No, she knew she wasn’t out of danger, but the Spanish-style cottage was a little slice of heaven. She couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Which was good, because…

“You are not to leave your home for any reason, do you understand me, Ashli? Not for any reason.” Máax opened her front door (it flew open all by itself), and the two suited men from the SUV immediately went inside to inspect. She felt like the president.

Yeah. Of Wacky Town.

“But,” she protested, “I have to go to the café and—”

She felt Máax’s warm, sweet breath bathe her face as he growled right into it. “Not. For. Any. Reason.”

“All clear, we’ll be outside. The other six guards will be here in five minutes.” The two suited men exited the front door and closed it behind them.

“Cuh! We’ll see.” Obviously, she wasn’t going to win this argument. Not that she needed to. They could say anything they liked, but it wouldn’t change two facts: she was going to live her life as she always had, and she wasn’t afraid of dying.

She headed toward the kitchen to prepare a sandwich and some iced tea. She opened the fridge and began pulling out bread, cheese, and ham—

“Nope.” Máax snatched away the food and shoved them back inside her fridge. “Soup. You will eat soup.” Cabinets started opening and shutting. “Where are your canned goods?”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay indoors, eating soup.” Not when the most beautiful ocean was right outside her doorstep. And dammit, there were carbs to be had. Lots of comforting carbs!

“This is temporary, woman. Suck it up and quit your complaining.”

“How temporary?”

“In a week or so”—Máax rifled through her cabinets, his quest for soup unrelenting—“I will return to the time from where I came. If you are still alive, then we will have succeeded.”

“You’re joking. You honestly think this will blow over in a week?”

She heard him scratch his stubble. “I admit that I am at a loss as to why the Universe desires your death. I’ve never seen anything like it; however, this cannot go on indefinitely. Nothing is constant in this world except change, and eventually, the Universe will seek to balance out the scales some other way.” He paused and scratched again. “I’ve also never failed at anything. Ever. You will survive.”

Was he saying that to comfort her? Regardless, she couldn’t resist liking him for it. More than she should.

“Ugh. The soup is in the pantry.” She walked over to pick out her own dang can of lunch. Máax’s heavy steps followed. She felt like she had an invisible watchdog on her heels. A really, really large watchdog. Thump, thump, thump.

“Exactly how tall are you again?” she asked.

“Seven feet.”

“Holy crap. You’re huge.” She plucked a can of chicken soup from the shelf.

He snickered. “I am a god. We are known for the categorical perfection of our form.” He paused. “And quite… large, as you’ve seen for yourself.”

Had he meant that suggestively?

Does it matter?

According to her libido? No. Because her mind ran with it, pulling together bits and pieces of what she knew about him to create a wickedly delicious man-collage. Piece number one: The time she’d smacked him with a shovel, she’d groped the rippled plains of his upper torso and abs. She remembered how they’d made her sweat, how they made her crave more. Piece number two: The outline of his body when he’d emerged from the ocean. An awe-inspiring tower of rippled muscles with incredibly wide shoulders and thick, bulky arms. Yum. Piece number three: She’d touched his trouser snake—minus the trousers—in the car. Without a doubt, his body was the embodiment of raw, hard masculinity.