Page 11 of Touch

She drops the bar and runs. Her boot heels disturb the snow as she bolts into the forest, where she scrambles up a tree fronting a bridge that arcs over a dry brook. Shielded from view, Love counts to ten. He’s there by the time she finishes, his heavy respirations sounding as though his mouth has been plugged for centuries until now.

Love growls. She should have outrun him, yet she hadn’t been swift enough. The same thing had happened as she’d climbed her loyal tree the day before, when he’d witnessed her exposed pussy under the skirt. And while the only mortal she cannot read is Andrew, her physical strength against humans has waned in intensity, otherwise those men would no longer possess their ligaments. From the impact of her attack, limbs would have detached from their bodies.

So. Perhaps this is the beginning of her demise.

Andrew halts at the bridge’s threshold. His eyes trace the branches, his silence a pesky thing that cannot be deciphered. In mortal psychology, emotions and feelings are different. But The Stars determine the rules, not humans. To her kind, emotions and feelings, body and mind, are the same. Deities have the power to sense all these facets in mortals, and for that reason, Love is skilled at interpreting mood.

But without cues, she is lost. Condemnation, she is not a fucking mind reader!

“Why do you pull this shit and then evacuate the premises like someone’s lit a match to your ass?” Andrew shouts. When she makes no reply, he turns to leave. “Whatever. Thanks for the help, but I didn’t need it.”

“Yes, you fool. You did!”

He wheels around, triumphant. “She speaks.”

Everlasting shit. He’d provoked her. “He tricks.”

“He does,” Andrew answers. “He also has questions. Lots of them.”

“She isn’t going to answer.”

“Her cunt slickens for him, the wetness seeping through her panties.”

Love tenses, her skin prickling with a strange sensation. The words sound recited like…

She peeks down at the paperback he’s wiggling at her. The one she took from the store, which must have fallen from her coat.

“You drop this bestseller?” he mocks.

Cursed mortal. She will throttle him with her bare hands. She will lodge an arrow down his snarky throat. She will—

“I’m happy to keep reading,” Andrew projects.

Love sets her teeth. She’ll never give him the satisfaction of responding.

“The vixen knows what she wants, and she wants it multiple times, and she wants it now. In seconds, she’s flat on her back and clawing at his skin in ecstasy. By God, she’s a selfish little myth in her smutty, black dress—”

Love lands on the bridge, her boots smacking the wood planks several feet from Andrew. The instant she hits the ground, he slaps the book closed with one hand. “Since I own the copyright, I may have embellished.”

“Well done,” she concedes.

The book falls to his side. Surveying her from head to toe, Andrew hisses, “Did either of them hurt you?”

Those mortals couldn’t have accomplished that with a bulldozer. Nonetheless, Andrew’s mercenary question pumps blood through her veins. Any glib remark Love can make fails to reach her tongue.

Satisfied when his second inspection reveals no wounds on Love’s body, he appraises her scanty dress next and glowers for a different reason. “Button the coat.”

Her plans for retaliation are forgotten. Yet again, this mortal has the nerve to issue a command.

“I do not take kindly to orders,” she warns.

Andrew raises his eyebrows, daring her to say that again. “It’s below freezing, you’re wearing less than a yard of fabric, and I’ve seen your naked ass under that dress. Button the fucking coat.”

He has seen more than her bare buttocks. Yet the protective edge to his voice gratifies her ego. Perhaps she doesn’t have to be coy about her dress.

Defiantly, Love allows the coat to fly open and flap in the breeze. Keeping her eyes on him, it takes a moment to locate her hips and prop her hands there. “Perhaps I’m a succubus.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard,” he retorts.

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