“No!”
Out of the clear blue, a bottle of water appeared, with delicious drops of condensation gleaming in the burning sun as they slid down along the plastic length of it. He rose and offered it to her, his brown hand strong and wide. “Drink.”
When she hesitated, he moved and sat down next to her.
God, he smelled heavenly. Like the earth on a spring day and Tide. Yet, she cringed farther against the column and closed her eyes. “You just made a bottle of water appear with the snap of your fingers. I think you have to go away.”
He scoffed, all sexy and rumbly-tumbly, as if she’d just accused him of trying to poison her. “Now, Quinn, what could I possibly do to you with a bottle of water?”
Hello. Big, big boobies here.
She popped her eyes open and looked at him with a scathing glance. “You, who claims to guard an apple that gave me boobs the size of fresh cantaloupes, and made a bottle of cold water appear out of thin air, are asking me what you could possibly do to me? In fact, I just asked Ingrid what’s next? Nicki Minaj’s ass?”
His laughter rumbled deep and low, echoing throughout the Parthenon in a delicious vibration that shot straight up her spine. “I promise you the water won’t give you Nicki’s ass. Though, gun to head, if I were going to give you someone’s ass, I prefer J-Lo’s.”
Her look must have been one of horror because he quickly added, “Kidding.” He unscrewed the top and handed it to her. “Drink.”
Licking her dry lips, Quinn couldn’t resist. She took the bottle from him, giving him one last look of hesitation. “If I come out of this looking like one of those Real Housewives who use so much Botox they look like merely going to the ladies’ room is a surprise party, I’m going to put your apple in a damn food processor.”
Khristos mocked a wince. “So many threats today from such tiny women. The female force is mighty in your circle, huh? Now drink before you dehydrate.”
Putting the bottle to her lips, Quinn took a small sip, letting it sit on her tongue to decide whether it tasted funny before she could no longer resist and chugged it, finishing it off. Handing it back to him, she smiled. “Thank you.”
“Another?”
At first her eyes narrowed in skepticism, but then she gave the front of her shirt a subtle glance and threw caution to the wind. “Please.”
Khristos snapped his fingers and yet another bottle appeared, as enticing as the first. He popped the top once again and smiled, easy and light. “So tell me about yourself, Quinn Morris. What are you doing here in Greece?”
Licking my wounds? Plotting my ex-fiancé’s death? She looked off into the vast horizon of blue and white puffy clouds. “Vacation.”
His dark eyebrow rose. “Really? How does this Igor factor into your vacation?”
Shame flooded her cheeks crimson. “You heard?”
“I did. The jerk.”
Anger spiked along her spine, and she wasn’t sure if it was still over Igor breaking her heart or that Khristos had heard her humiliating story. “He’ll get what he deserves. Mark my words.”
“Revenge can be very sweet.”
Suddenly she was tired of mucking about. She didn’t want to talk about Igor or Shawna or her embarrassing confession. Not if those words Ingrid had bandied about just moments ago had any validity.
If he was going to kill her for the apple thing, then she wanted a head start. The best way to get an answer was just to confront him. “Let’s stop pussyfooting around.”
Khristos cocked his beautiful head. “Okay. No more pussyfooting.”
“And I want honesty when I ask this very sensitive question.”
He nodded, his thick hair falling over his eye, making him look even more rakish than he had at first glance. “You got it.”
“Are you going to kill me for biting your apple?”
“It was an accident, right?”
“If you would have just let go of my hand…” She stopped justifying and shook her head. “Yes, it was an accident.”
“Then this time I suppose I can let you live. But I don’t spare lives often. Remember that as we take this journey, Quinn Morris,” he said, but his amber-brown eyes were teasing.
She smiled. For the first time in days, it wasn’t just for the sake of everyone around her. “Okay, good. So that’s settled. Now, I don’t want to waste any more time freaking out about this and panicking. I’ve heard when something paranormal like this happens, there’s a lot of that.”
Straight from Ingrid’s mouth, she’d heard it. Crying, whining, mourning your old life were all symptoms of the change—symptoms that made Nina want to throat punch the OOPS clients.
She did not want to be throat punched by Nina. She was a lover. Not a fighter. Okay, a former lover, but she’d still never be a fighter.