He waved an admonishing finger, shooting her a teasing, almost playful glance. “No. I think you’re confused. The five-second rule is only in play when you drop food on the ground. It means it’s safe to eat as long as it wasn’t on the ground longer than five seconds. And you forgot to kiss it up to God, thus blessing the five-second rule. That’s the five-second rule.”
Confusion furrowed her brow for a moment. Was that the rule? She’d never been very good at those sorts of playground games. While everyone else was jumping double Dutch or playing hopscotch, she’d been too busy making up stories about Jane and Dick running off together into the sunset with Spot as their trusty sidekick.
“I don’t care what the rule is. I licked it. That means it’s mine.”
“This conversation’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Please hand over the apple.”
“No. Not until you identify yourself and give me a good reason to hand it over. Otherwise, it goes to the authorities. And where did you come from, anyway? I didn’t see you get off the tour bus. In fact, I didn’t see you anywhere here in the Parthenon.”
His lean cheeks puffed out in a huff of frustration. “On the count of three or I’ll take it from you, Quinn.”
Was he threatening bodily harm? Right here in the Parthenon? She began to back away. “If you touch me, I’ll scream. A lot. Loudly. With vigor!”
His hand snaked out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, capturing her in a tight grip. The contrast of their skin—hers pale and translucent, his deep and dark—fascinated rather than frightened her.
“First, I don’t want to hurt you. Not at all. But I’ll be long gone by the time someone arrives to help you either way.”
She frowned up at him. “Hey. No fair. You said I had until the count of three.”
His grip loosened a little, his handsome face growing deceptively serene. And then he smiled gorgeously, as if in apology for breaking the rules of their game. “My bad. Onetwothree! Hand over the apple, Quinn!” he roared.
With all the strength she had in her, she jerked her wrist, bringing them eye-to-eye. “Not gonna happen.”
He sighed, visibly relaxing. Yet, there was a vein in his sun-browned temple that throbbed, giving away his impatience. “Quinn, Quinn, Quinn. Will you make me pry it from your pretty hands?”
Instead of heeding his words, which was certainly the smartest alternative to him roughing her up, she reacted by tightening her grip and shaking her head. “Nope.”
By God and Greece, or whatever entity, she was going to get this apple to the proper authorities.
But he tightened his grip, steely and unmoving. “You’re making an enormous mistake, and you’ve been warned. Now, for the very last time, please hand over the apple.”
Maybe it was his tone, all silky-sexy but so demanding, or maybe it was that she felt as if she were in some strange tug-of-war on behalf of Greece and all its lush history, but the hell she was giving him the apple.
The. Hell.
May the power of Indiana Jones compel her.
“And I said no!” With that, Quinn yanked with such force, her hand snapped back then forward, nicking the apple on her two front teeth.
Simultaneously, the tall, sexy man bellowed the word “Nooo!” so loudly her ears literally hurt before letting her wrist go and stumbling backward.
As the juice of the apple hit her tongue, Quinn gagged. For a piece of fruit that looked as if it should have its own display case in Tiffany’s, it was unbearably bitter, the juice running down the back of her throat like a trail of battery acid.
She ran her teeth over her tongue in a scraping motion. “Gak,” she spat, letting the remainder of the apple fall to the ground, where it trembled eerily then came to rest at her right heel.
His sigh of aggravation made the ground beneath her feet rumble and a warm wind stir to a frenzy. It whipped around her head, leaving behind the minty scent of his breath in her nostrils.
Which, if she wasn’t in some horrible nightmare, was impossible, wasn’t it?
“You’ve done it now, Quinn.” His tone rang with warning as he took another step back and crossed his arms over his chest.
She opened her mouth and made a clucking noise from the back of her throat to rid herself of the taste then wiped her knuckles over her tongue in repulsion, reaching into her bag for her bottle of water. “Tahth’s disgussing,” she said around her fingers.
His nod was sharp and all-knowing. “I’d bet it is, knowing my mother. But give this a second or two and you’ll see what you’ve done.”
Quinn pulled her fingers from her lips. His mother? “Your mother? And what exactly did I do but graze an apple, that tastes like a Jersey landfill, with my teeth?”
He glanced at his shiny gold watch with one raven eyebrow raised. “You’ll see in five, four, three, two, one.”
What was it with him and the counting?