For The Love Of A God by Rosanna Leo (ebook reader for comics .txt) 📕

Now, at the end of the day, she wanted nothing more than a hot bath, a beer, and her bed. And not necessarily in that order.

The only good thing about the long day was she had done some good work on Poseidon. In due time, his crotch would be well-loved and as new as possible.

She looked around for Dino and Sheila, and then remembered they'd said goodnight about an hour ago. They both had hot dates. She was happy for them, but wondered when it would be her turn to get hot and sweaty with something other than her pillow. Or her non-existent dream man.

She was on her own. Too bad. It was the perfect night to head to the pub across the street to drown her sorrows, but she certainly wasn't going by herself.

She was picking up her satchel when she heard a noise behind her. She turned to find Eric Lord standing a couple of feet from her, grinning. Her body was seized by an uncomfortable hot charge of electricity.

He was so lip-smacking sexy. Downright edible.

"You did good work today. I know I grilled you a little bit."

"A little bit? I'd hate to see your idea of a lot. I've never had a director shadow me before."

"I'm not trying to micromanage. I just like to be involved."

"It's okay. And, despite my hysterics, you didn't fire me today, so I guess it could be worse."

"Funny.” He smirked, but his expression soon warmed. “Actually, it was fascinating watching you work. Poseidon himself would be very proud of what you did today, Miss Douglas."

"Right.” She sniffed. “I'm more likely to get a reaction from Chicken of the Sea than the god of the sea."

Eric laughed out loud. She didn't know how wrong she was. In the old days, his randy uncle Poseidon would have probably shown his appreciation by screwing her senseless and then dragging her down to the watery depths with him. Dismissing the disturbing image, he said, “Look. We got off to a bad start.” He offered her a guarded grin. “I make it a policy to get to know my staff. No time like the present. How about I buy you a drink?"

Maia's eyes popped. She blinked. And tried not to resemble the village idiot. “Okay. If you're buying, sure. But it doesn't mean I won't fight you on changing the gallery."

His lips curled in the same disarming grin again. “I wouldn't expect any less."

And without knowing quite how it happened, she found herself being led across Yonge Street to the Mad Irishman Pub. As they crossed the busy road, Eric put his hand on the small of her back. For some reason, she felt safe with his hand there. Warm and safe.

Maybe it was because the cars were just peeling away from them. Even though they were jaywalking, all the cars came to a halt before Eric. It was like Moses crossing the Red Sea. Maia couldn't count how many times she'd almost been hit in the past by unfeeling downtown Toronto drivers. Yet those same drivers couldn't make enough space for Eric Lord.

It must be his shiny blond hair. His golden highlights were a blinding beacon.

Dye job, she decided.

They got to the pub, and he led her to a plush half-circular booth tucked in the back. As he let her pass him to get into the booth, he placed his hand on her back again. Once again, a blazing heat trailed from his fingers through her clothes and right into her pores.

What was it with this man? She'd known menopausal women who didn't feel so hot to the touch all the time.

She sat down and blew up her messy bangs with a breath, feeling hot herself. She then watched the waitress drool all over Eric as she handed them menus. Maia made a face, but plastered on a happy grin when she saw him looking at her. They ordered. A Guinness for her and a cranberry juice for him.

"Aren't you going to have a real drink?” she asked.

"I'm good,” he chuckled quietly. “I don't drink alcohol."

Oh God, she thought. Was he an alcoholic? Or a health nut? She wasn't sure which scenario alarmed her more.

"So,” he continued. “Do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

"Don't like being so formal with your peons?"

He stared back at her, obviously holding back a retort. His eyes flashed as if lit from behind. For the first time, she noticed all the golden specks surrounding his dark pupils. They made his eyes seem an even deeper green, like the forest after a storm. It was such an arresting effect. She had to look away for a moment.

"I hope, going forward, you'll call me Eric,” he said in his deep voice. “Not asshole or moron."

It was her turn to laugh. “Fine. Then you can call me Maia."

"Thank you, Maia,” he replied, almost in a whisper.

Her vagina clenched. It actually seized. Feeling tremendous unease, Maia looked away again. He hadn't said anything sexual or vulgar. He'd only said her name. Yet, for some reason, the way Eric Lord said it made her feel as if he was touching her, caressing her most intimate places. She adjusted the way she was sitting, and angled away from him a little.

God help her, her panties were wet.

"You look a little flushed,” he said, staring at her lips. “You okay?"

She let out a nervous titter and took her jean jacket off. “Yeah. Boy, where is the waitress with our drinks?” She scanned the pub. “So, what were you working on before you graced our presence here in Toronto?"

He smiled and lowered his eyes. “I was in Greece. My family has a home there. I've been busy doing research for some time."

Finally, two topics she loved: research and Greece. She seized on one of them. “Really? Where do you live in Greece?"

He paused, looking back up at her. “Oh, it's quite out of the way. No one would even believe it existed.” He