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I don’t know which of us moves first, him or me, but the next second I’m crowded against the wall, his hand in my hair, his mouth on mine.
It’s a feral, stolen kiss, and forget about breathing—I can’t even think. He tastes so good, like citrus and sparkling water, and I want my nails in his shirt. Then my nailsarein his shirt, and I’m—
Climbing him?
Climbing him.
One of my legs wraps around his waist, then the other, and he puts an arm under my ass to support me and pushes me against the wall so he can kiss me even harder.
I never want this to end.
Apollo tips his face to mine, tasting, searching, and I lock my arms around his neck like this is possible, like this is the start of something. He makes a wordless, sexy sound into my mouth. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted from a man, and nothing I’ve ever taken, because I’ve never wanted anyone but—
“Apollo!” His brother’s voice echoes down the hall.
For a split second, Apollo kisses deeper—please don’t stop—and then he puts me on my feet and steps back, the distance between us cold. His hands work over my bikini. He tugs my cover-up into place.
He touches my cheek one more time. “Fuck,” he says, under his breath.
“It was the heatstroke,” I blurt out. “I got heatstroke. It was an accident. It didn’t happen.”
There’s a flash of pain in his blue eyes, and I want to take it back.
“Apollo? Where did you go? We’re going to play cards.”
“It won’t happen again,” Apollo corrects. “It was just this once.”
“Never again,” I promise.
“Never,” he whispers. His chest heaves with a deep, ragged breath, and then he tears himself away from me. “I’m right here, Ares. Who’s playing?”
I stand perfectly still in the den, my heart pounding and pounding and pounding.
Never again.
Apollo and I have another thing in common now.
We’re both liars.
* * *
