Zeus declared a holiday. The gods and goddesses were free to bask in the glory of his kingdom... Royally, they were released from individual obligations to sun themselves in the vast lush meadows of their universe... Godlike, they were bidden to forget past allegiances, make new ones... and dance under the stars, make love if so desired. As for the earthly minions in their care... they were free to guide them...
She was trouble.
He knew it the moment he laid eyes on her. She looked like trouble... the kind that lures a man... the kind that entices him with sudden sweet promises and when he takes the bait, pulls it from under his nose... away from my mouth... my hands... pulls it away and laughs. Oh yeah, she's trouble, he concluded as he watched her smile at the large mass of testosterone trying to get into her knickers. Dumb shit probably has a single digit IQ he mused, watching the Neanderthal make the moves on her.
What do you care? his conscience asked.
He heard a snort inside his head and grimaced. Bad enough I'm talking to myself, he groaned softly. Now, I'm arguing and losing!
Watching their interplay as he approached the buffet table, he filled his plate as he feasted his gaze on her, noting the way her eyes twinkled, the way she brushed her hair off her face, the fullness of her lips.
Damn! She's a lovely bird! Bet she's a hot one between the sheets.
Eyeing him surreptitiously, she turned slightly so he remained in her peripheral vision. There was something about him that intrigued her, but she was at a loss as to what that something was. Ignoring the primate salivating over her, she approached the table... picked up an empty plate... watched his hands, then reached for the same platter he was touching... Lifting his head, he arched a brow... his steel gray eyes boring into hers.
He smiled back... more a smirk than smile, only one corner of his mouth turning up. "Help yourself," he offered politely, his voice firm... insistent. His brow arched again when she hesitated, her hand in mid-air, frozen tableau... female... submissive woman... He saw her as he wanted her to be... obeying me... slavish... obsequious... deliciously bare across my lap... mine to spank and fuck... mine to order and command. "After you," he gave her a full and feral smile. "Ladies first," courtesy extended, a slight look of ennui in place.
"Thank you," she smiled again, helping herself before she turned a pretty back on him.
"Teasing bitch!" he chuckled softly as she turned away.
"I beg your pardon," she turned back, unsure she had heard him correctly.
I could definitely make you beg. "Indeed," he favored her with both brows arched. "And you are...?"
"Michaela," she said softly, wondering why she was giving him the time of day. "Michaela Greenstreet. And you...?"
"Let me guess," he said, ignoring her question, gesturing with his free hand, guiding her to a chair. "Your friends call you Mickey or Kayla or Layla or Mike?" he shuddered at the last one, unable to reconcile such masculinity with the pretty bit of fluff in front of him.
"No, they do not," she said with a measure of annoyance. "They call me Michaela or Ms. Greenstreet."
"That's nice to know," he announced authoritatively. "I, however, shall call you Freya."
"Freya?" she responded, puzzled.
"Norse goddess," he lectured as he sat beside her, offering a napkin for her lap. "The most beautiful of the goddesses," he intoned. "The goddess of love and fertility. To Norsemen, she's a symbol of sensuality," he smiled, daring to place a finger under her chin, raising her face... appraising it... letting his eyes travel to her breasts, lingering... and up again.
"You are rude!" she huffed, standing abruptly and then backing away from him. "Very rude," she hissed. "You... you are... rude!"
"Is that the only word you know?" he laughed softly at her discomfort. "You should really expand your vocabulary," this said with a hint of disappointment.
"You are insufferable!" she added, her face pinking from his words, appalled at his lack of courtesy, intrigued by his stare as if his eyes could penetrate her thoughts. Beastly man!
"Tyler Hamilton," he said with grace, standing with ease to introduce himself as if they had not just exchanged unpleasantness. "The Hamiltons of Plymouth," he added, proud of his British heritage... except for Uncle Simeon, of course, the black sheep on his father's side. Exasperating lout... declaring himself Scots, living in Sumburgh as if he were native to the land... wearing kilts and idolizing heather! Bloody hell!
Without warning, she laughed at him. "Not the Hamiltons of Linconshire? Not the ones with a Scottish ancestor or two? Or the family with an Irish skeleton?"
"Plymouth," he repeated, menace in his tone but for the world of him, he didn't know why she irked him with her words.
"And if I choose to think you're from Ireland?" she dared to ask with a teasing, heavy brogue. "What will you do with that?"
Knew she was trouble. "Take you over my knee like the spoiled child you're pretending to be," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Rude!" she declared as she turned her back on him and practically skittered across the room.
"Trouble," he announced to no one in particular, admiring the slight wiggle of her rounded butt as she raced from him. "Lovely arse!" he said softly, his palms beginning to itch.
"Thank you for inviting me," Michaela shook her hostess' hand, her coat over her arm as she prepared to leave.
"Quite welcome, I'm sure," was the reply and upon spying Tyler Hamilton approach, introduced the two.
"Have you met this handsome rogue?" she asked, her own heart fluttering for she had many times fantasized the man in her bed. There's just something about those eyes, the older woman sighed. I just know he's a devil between the sheets...
"We've met," Michaela said somewhat stiffly, courtesy demanding that she take the insufferable man's extended hand.
"Ms. Greenstreet, so lovely to see you again," Tyler's smile a knowing one as his fingers managed to tickle her palm.
With an exasperated hiss of breath, she pulled her hand away from his but he wasn't finished with her yet.
"May I drop you somewhere?" he asked, his tone implying that he expected her to accept his gracious offer and answer in the affirmative.
"Thank you," she hesitated, then smiled, her own brow arching. "But hardly necessary. I will manage nicely. Good day, Mr. Hamilton," her breeding on display as she rapidly fled from him. Cocky arrogant man... uncouth... probably a godless heathen, too.
Tyler chuckled as he watched her fleeing steps, his gaze feasting on her rounded posterior. Till we meet again, my lady, Freya, he silently saluted and began the scheme to bring her to heel... and lap... and bed.