She laces her arms around my neck and drifts her fingers over the sensitive spot at the nape of my neck even as she opens her mouth and lets me in. Psyche tastes like the fireball candy she had in the car, cinnamon and spice and too sexy by half. I lose myself in the stroke of her tongue against mine, in the way she fits against me so perfectly.
She’s the one to break the kiss, leaning back just enough to let loose a surprisingly happy giggle. “Gods, Eros. You can’t kiss me like that in public. You’re going to get us in trouble.”
True? Not true?
I can’t be sure. Not when I’m half a second from dragging her into the greenhouse and finding a private corner to make her come a time or three. But no, I can’t do that. We have observers, and the paparazzi in Olympus are relentless. No matter how giddy we’re supposed to be right now, I’m not about to let photos of me with my hand down Psyche’s leggings go public.
I press my forehead to hers, trying to get my body back under control. “I’m going to get us in trouble?”
“Yes.” Her smile softens a little. “Obviously I’m an innocent bystander.”
That’s the thing. She’s not entirely wrong. I don’t normally waste time with guilt, but that must be the strange stabbing feeling in my side, like someone slipped a dagger between my ribs. Psyche had a plan of her own before my mother decided to punish her, pushed over the edge by a simple act of kindness Psyche showed me. I was never part of her plan. If I’m enjoying the perks of this hastily put-together marriage—and I am—it doesn’t change the fact that it’s not her plan.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t mean to say the words, but I do mean them. Possibly for the first time ever. “For all of it.”
“You know, I almost believe you.” She laces her arm through mine and turns us down the path. “It’s a moot point now, regardless. We’re going to make the best of this situation.”
We walk for a few minutes in silence. It’s comfortable enough, and one glance at Psyche’s face makes me think she’s lost in thought and far from here. I don’t mind. I doubt she realizes the significance, but I do.
She trusts me.
I let the knowledge roll over me, buoy me. I’ve done little to earn this woman’s trust. Yes, I didn’t kill her, but that’s the literal bare minimum a person should do—and I can’t even pretend I made that decision out of the goodness of my soul. It was just as selfish as everything else I’ve done. I wanted her, and this shitty situation provided me a way to take her.
All because she showed me the tiniest hint of kindness.
I might laugh if my chest wasn’t so fucking tight. It’s pathetic that I’m so starved for any kind of softer emotion that the second someone comes to me with gentle hands instead of sharp words, I’m willing to walk to the Underworld and back to keep them in my life.
If it was just that first night, maybe I could have resisted my darker impulses to bundle Psyche up and haul her back to my home like a dragon with his hoard, but then she showed up for that meeting intending to help me again. How could I let my mother snuff out such a compelling light?
I don’t deserve Psyche’s trust. With anyone else, it would just be a tool to leverage against them if the situation ever arose. With this woman?
I want to earn it.
Maybe a good way to start would to be to offer up some of my own in return.
The next time the path branches, I turn us back toward my car. “Let’s go warm up and have a drink.”
“I was thinking—”
It’s more challenging than I would have guessed to cut in. “I’d like to take you somewhere.”
She blinks. “Oh. Okay.”
No reason for the flutter of nerves in my stomach. It’s not like my regular spots are secrets, but I’ve never really wanted to share them with someone else before. In Olympus, I will always be recognized as Aphrodite’s sharpest weapon. But in a few rare places, they see me as Eros. Just…Eros.
Even realizing that Psyche will always see the danger in me first, part of me wants her to see the rest. The man, fucked up though he is. She makes me feel…human…in a way I haven’t in a very long time. Maybe ever.
I want her to see me as just Eros, too. Even if the idea terrifies me on a level I’m not prepared to deal with. How could she not turn away if she sees past the untouchable persona to the rough reality beneath? The broken bits I keep tucked away, lest they be used against me?