eyebrow. Jeez. She’d had better conversations
with a wall.
“Did Wyc say when he’d be back?”
“No.”
Bethany polished off the final biscuit and looked under the
napkin to see if there was a piece of toast hiding. No luck, so she settled for
draining the last of the juice. A wave of fatigue hit her suddenly. She pushed
away the tray and couldn’t stop a huge yawn.
“So what’s it like, captaining a personal guard?”
Myrra removed the tray. “I can’t speak for others in similar
positions, but personally, working under Wyc is an honor and a privilege.”
As the frozen blonde goddess left the room, Bethany was
pierced by a sharp shard of jealousy and wondered exactly what “working under
Wyc” entailed. And if Myrra had “worked under” Wyc since they’d arrived.
Even if she had, it wasn’t like it mattered. Not to her.
Bethany sank down and punched her pillow. He could screw an entire pantheon of
goddesses as far as she was concerned. She didn’t care. Damn it.
Chapter Six
“Wyc?” Bethany rolled into a warm, hard body as the bed
dipped. His arms came around her, and he pulled her next to him. Then with a
grunt, he sat up and pulled the large T-shirt off her before drawing her to him
once again.
“That’s better,” he said, weariness evident in his voice.
Bethany pressed her cheek to his shoulder. His damp skin
smelled of soap and warm man. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Late.” His answer was muffled against her hair.
She slid her hand over his chest and around to his back. He
was so solid. The way the hard lines of his body countered her own curves
amazed her. How long had it been since he had made love to her? Too long.
Arching slightly so her breasts flattened against his chest, she let her hips
cradle his hardening cock and kissed his shoulder.
He didn’t respond. She licked the spot she had just kissed,
rocked her hips into him once.
A rumble shuddered low in his chest, and his hand flexed on
her back before moving down to cup her butt. “Go to sleep, Bethany.”
She smiled against his shoulder and slid one leg up so her
thigh rested high on his hip. When he still didn’t take the hint, she slipped
her hand between their bodies and wrapped it around the one part of him that
was reacting. She finally got a response.
Wyc cursed, sat up again and flipped her around so that her
back was to his front. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her own arms in
front of her, and tucked her into the curve of his body.
“Now go to sleep,” he hissed.
She stared into the darkness and tried to make sense of
Wyc’s actions. Why the hell didn’t he want her? Even with a hard-on the size of
Mount Rushmore prodding her in the ass, he didn’t want her.
Myrra. The name seared across her mind as she remembered the
cool look of assessment that had been in the woman’s eyes earlier. Not
jealousy, just a cold curiosity. As if Myrra were sizing her up as the
competition and finding her lacking. She had been unconscious for close to two
days. He could have been sleeping with the other woman and she’d never know it.
The only reason he was with her now had to be because they were matched, and he
didn’t want her screwing that up. Whatever the hell that meant.
The ache of acute loss wrapped around her heart, exhausting
her clear to the marrow of her bones. She tried to shrink away from Wyc, but he
held her too tightly. His skin burned against hers, mocking the desire it
flamed to life in her body.
She refused to give in to tears. It wasn’t the first time
she had thought someone cared for her when, in reality, they were just using
her to fulfill some personal agenda. She had learned that lesson a long time
ago as a foster child the state paid people to take into their homes. Her
“parents” hadn’t cared about her so much as the money. As a child, she had
yearned for a real home to belong in. One that she would be welcome in even if
the money stopped coming.
A stupid dream.
with a wall.
“Did Wyc say when he’d be back?”
“No.”
Bethany polished off the final biscuit and looked under the
napkin to see if there was a piece of toast hiding. No luck, so she settled for
draining the last of the juice. A wave of fatigue hit her suddenly. She pushed
away the tray and couldn’t stop a huge yawn.
“So what’s it like, captaining a personal guard?”
Myrra removed the tray. “I can’t speak for others in similar
positions, but personally, working under Wyc is an honor and a privilege.”
As the frozen blonde goddess left the room, Bethany was
pierced by a sharp shard of jealousy and wondered exactly what “working under
Wyc” entailed. And if Myrra had “worked under” Wyc since they’d arrived.
Even if she had, it wasn’t like it mattered. Not to her.
Bethany sank down and punched her pillow. He could screw an entire pantheon of
goddesses as far as she was concerned. She didn’t care. Damn it.
Chapter Six
“Wyc?” Bethany rolled into a warm, hard body as the bed
dipped. His arms came around her, and he pulled her next to him. Then with a
grunt, he sat up and pulled the large T-shirt off her before drawing her to him
once again.
“That’s better,” he said, weariness evident in his voice.
Bethany pressed her cheek to his shoulder. His damp skin
smelled of soap and warm man. “What time is it?” she asked.
“Late.” His answer was muffled against her hair.
She slid her hand over his chest and around to his back. He
was so solid. The way the hard lines of his body countered her own curves
amazed her. How long had it been since he had made love to her? Too long.
Arching slightly so her breasts flattened against his chest, she let her hips
cradle his hardening cock and kissed his shoulder.
He didn’t respond. She licked the spot she had just kissed,
rocked her hips into him once.
A rumble shuddered low in his chest, and his hand flexed on
her back before moving down to cup her butt. “Go to sleep, Bethany.”
She smiled against his shoulder and slid one leg up so her
thigh rested high on his hip. When he still didn’t take the hint, she slipped
her hand between their bodies and wrapped it around the one part of him that
was reacting. She finally got a response.
Wyc cursed, sat up again and flipped her around so that her
back was to his front. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her own arms in
front of her, and tucked her into the curve of his body.
“Now go to sleep,” he hissed.
She stared into the darkness and tried to make sense of
Wyc’s actions. Why the hell didn’t he want her? Even with a hard-on the size of
Mount Rushmore prodding her in the ass, he didn’t want her.
Myrra. The name seared across her mind as she remembered the
cool look of assessment that had been in the woman’s eyes earlier. Not
jealousy, just a cold curiosity. As if Myrra were sizing her up as the
competition and finding her lacking. She had been unconscious for close to two
days. He could have been sleeping with the other woman and she’d never know it.
The only reason he was with her now had to be because they were matched, and he
didn’t want her screwing that up. Whatever the hell that meant.
The ache of acute loss wrapped around her heart, exhausting
her clear to the marrow of her bones. She tried to shrink away from Wyc, but he
held her too tightly. His skin burned against hers, mocking the desire it
flamed to life in her body.
She refused to give in to tears. It wasn’t the first time
she had thought someone cared for her when, in reality, they were just using
her to fulfill some personal agenda. She had learned that lesson a long time
ago as a foster child the state paid people to take into their homes. Her
“parents” hadn’t cared about her so much as the money. As a child, she had
yearned for a real home to belong in. One that she would be welcome in even if
the money stopped coming.
A stupid dream.
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