But then Quinn’s body jolted forward, making her drop the water bottle as the earth began to crack beneath her and the skies darkened to a deep purple. She broadened her stance, leaning back against the stranger who’d swiftly moved to stand behind her, tucking her into the shelter of his rock-hard chest.
And for about a half second, his chest was a very nice place to end up sheltered—except for the fact that he was a traitorous, likely black-market dealer of stolen and exotic goods.
But she forgot all about that when images flashed in front of her eyes in a tornado-like funnel of Greek gods and goddesses sitting on thrones, shooting arrows and, oh my…Doing things she assumed only happened in the movies they ran on Cinemax in the wee hours of the morning.
And then there was silence—deafening and frighteningly still.
Dazed, Quinn’s hand went to her head to push back the wild tangle of her tattered braid from her eyes just as her chest heaved and her legs buckled, making her fall forward.
Vibrations of warmth skirted her spine, slipping along every available surface of her skin.
Fear turned to panic when she began to experience a simmering heat on her flesh worse than the hottest fever she’d ever had. It came in waves, rushing and relenting, bending and twisting until it finally subsided, leaving behind a residual warmth she had no words for.
As Quinn fought to gather her senses, the man let her go and paced before her in short jaunts, the heels of his loafers scraping against the loose stones.
He stopped to stand in front of her. His glare was angry, his sharply angled face tight. “Did I or did I not say the apple was mine?”
Once more, her mouth fell open. Words eluded her. Fully formed thoughts, too.
“And now look. Do you see what’s happened here, Quinn?” He grated out the question between clenched teeth.
“Wha…”
He shook a long finger at her. “Oh, I’ll tell you what. You’ve gone and done it now. Really done the hell out of it. I bet you’re wondering what exactly you’ve done the hell out of, aren’t you?”
Out of nowhere, Ingrid flew into her line of vision, skidding to a halt in front of her, eyes bulging when she scanned Quinn’s face. Her mouth formed an O then her jaw fell before snapping shut. “What in the ever-lovin’ fuck?”
Quinn’s gaze flew to the stranger’s before latching onto Ingrid’s, wide with surprise, in a plea for help.
“Oh. My. Hell!” Ingrid shouted, pulling at her backpack to dig out a compact with the name Bobbie-Sue on it and flipping it open. “Look!”
Quinn blinked at her reflection under the hot sun. Her hands flew to her eyes. Wow. If in the choosing, she would have had any say in her eye color upon her birth, this amazing shade of bright, swirly purple would have been high on her list.
Much higher than her own dull, mousy brown. And they weren’t just purple—they were purple with a capital P. As though someone had popped contacts from some Halloween costume store directly into her sockets.
“What did you do since I left you, Quinn?” Ingrid fairly seethed.
“I…” What had she done?
The man sauntered up to Ingrid, his bronzed arms crossed over his chest. “Here’s what she’s done. She’s—”
But Ingrid halted his explanation by backing up, pushing Quinn behind her and reaching into her pocket for her cell. “Who the hell are you?” she spat, yanking her phone out and flipping open the keyboard. She began to type without letting the man out of her sight. Her fingers flew as she eyeballed him with a fierce stare.
“I’m Khristos with a K, for future reference—a descendant of Aphrodite and the man who’s apple your friend Quinn here stole.” He bowed regally at the waist before rising and glaring his obvious displeasure at Quinn.
Ingrid’s stare whipped over her shoulder. “You stole his apple? Wait. It was his apple that fell out of the pillar? An apple did all this?” She swished her finger around the vicinity of Quinn’s breasts.
Khristos nodded curtly, clearly attempting to keep his anger in check. “It was definitely the apple that did,” he swept his hand up and down, “this.”
When Quinn finally found her voice, it was raspy and thick. “What is this?” She plucked at her shirt in disbelief. “Is the apple really why my…my—”
“Her cans are the size of life rafts? Are you serious?”
Khristos chuckled—fondly, if she was hearing right. “The gods, in all their antiquated, outdated beliefs, think only women with,” he cleared his throat, “um, fuller figures appeal to men. I’ve tried and tried to convince them to jump into the year 2015 with me, but old habits die hard. We’re still working on diversity and all sorts of sensitivity training when it comes to body shaming. That’s a real bone of contention with me. My motto is, all women should be loved, no matter their size or shape.”
The gods?
Ingrid nodded her head with a rapid motion as though she was giving a big “hell yeah” to diversity and healthy body image. Then she shook it off and glared at Khristos. “Okay, buddy, what the hell is happening here? And I warn you—I know people who’ll beat the information out of you if you’re not willing to give it up.”