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“It's real, sweetheart,” he says with a roguish twinkle in his eyes.
From their nearby tables, a few patrons raise their glasses, congratulating us. Eros grins like he’s won the biggest prize at the county fair, and his muscular chest swells with pride… because he's claimed me?
I cover my mouth in shock at the ring's sudden presence, and it plays right into my surprise—and fake—engagement.
Withdrawing my hand from the warmth of his, I hide it under the table and try to remove the engagement ring, but the ring won’t budge. It isn’t stuck in the normal sense, because it isn’t tight. It just won’t move.
“Why won’t it come off?” I ask through the clenched teeth of my feigned smile.
“Why do youwantit off?” he counters, sincerely curious.
“Because it looks like an engagement ring, and we aren’t together,” I hiss, trying to maintain my calm.
“Relax.” Eros sips his wine. “The ring is a symbol of us working together—as my partner.”
Something sounded strange about his answer, but what do I know about crazy love gods? A ring might be something they use to claim ownership of their servants.
I give up trying to remove the thing, because I might rip my finger off in the process.
Besides, I believe I'm fucked no matter what. I'm stuck with an incredibly hot love god as my flirty boss.
I eat my food without arguing over the ring or my new role. Eros must sense my dark mood and backs off.
I relax a bit when he doesn’t push, and we make light conversation about the food and stunning view.
My reserved attitude lasts until we return to my hotel room. When he brushes past me and enters my suite, I ask, “What do you think you are doing?”
“I’m staying with you.” Eros unbuttons his shirt. His jacket is already hanging on a chair.
Stunned for a second by his undressing, I quickly recover. “No, you are not.” I sternly place my hands on my hips.
“I have to,” he retorts, as if I’m dense.
I glare at him. “Why?”
He continues to unbutton his shirt, revealing more of his tan, muscular chest with every button.
For the first time, I register his scent. It reminds me of my favorite thing…spring—the smell of sun-warmed skin and a crisp breeze that blows away all decay of winter.
He kicks off his Italian loafers, which look like they are worth an average house payment. His expensive suit pants are tailored to perfection, showing off his muscular legs and narrow waist—not that I care much for money, but it grants someone the ability to cut a stunning figure, and this gorgeous man slowly undressing is nothing but mesmerizing.
I rarely get caught up in raw desire since I consider myself a demisexual and only sexually attracted to someone I care about, but heisa Greek god. I’m faithful to my heart, yet I’m not blind either.
However, the demonstration he puts on isn’t enough to distract me. I know it’s dumb to get involved with a god more than I have to. If the stories are close to accurate, then all gods spell trouble for humans.
“Can’t you just pop out of here to Mount Olympus or wherever?”
His shirt is completely unbuttoned now and parted, revealing an outrageous amount of washboard abs. “Do you really want me to leave?” Eros looks a bit hurt and a lot confused.
“I do.” I cross my arms as I stand in the doorway.
“Sorry, I can’t do that.” He lets his shirt slide off his broad shoulders.
Wow, he’s pretty.
Damn me and my appreciation for aesthetics. I want to take a picture of him. Eros is male beauty incarnate.
But then reality hits me.
