God of Wine Read online

  His scent wafted through her nostrils. What is that smell? It was sweet and intoxicating. It filled her lungs like a sensual drug, infusing her blood and giving her a shock of titillating tingles throughout her body. What the hell is that? He smelled amaaaazing. Sinful. Mind-blowingly delicious. Every erotic nerve in her body lit up, throbbing and aching.

  No way. She stepped back, pushing her ass all the way against the edge of her desk. How could she want him? No. No. Not possible. She looked at his giant beer belly, unkempt hair, and untoned legs and arms, feeling revolted by the lack of pride in his appearance. Yet…he still had a beautifully masculine face—strong jaw, full lips, and deep, soul-penetrating turquoise eyes that gave her goose bumps. Was he really seeing through her, right into her soul, or was that her imagination running wild due to lack of sleep?

  It’s definitely your imagination, and he needs to go. Clearly something was not right in her head.

  PRAISE FOR MIMI JEAN’S PARANORMAL ROMANCES

  “If you’ve never read anything by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff, then you’re in for a treat here. Especially if you love laugh-out-loud tales that have tons of depth to the plot and engaging characters to latch on to.”

  —Sara, Harlequin Junkie, on Tommaso

  “It’s full of sexy gods, bat-shit crazy goddesses, wise-cracking immortals and enough snark to make me laugh out loud.”

  —Leigh, Guilty Pleasures on Tommaso

  “Pamfiloff injects smart-ass humor into every scene…plot and characters are pure fun.”

  —Publishers Weekly, on Sun God Seeks Surrogate

  “Smark, snarky storytelling and an inventive plot will keep readers turning the pages. Throw in a host of amusing, distinctive characters, and Pamfiloff’s latest is hilarious, sexy and just plain fun.”

  —RT Book Reviews, on Accidentally Married to a Vampire?

  “Every time I read one of these books in the series I think it is the best one. I get proven wrong by each one. They just keep getting better and better.”

  —Romancing the Book, on Sun God Seeks Surrogate

  “Mimi Jean Pamfiloff is a paranormal romance (PNR) author that never disappoints. She writes the type of PNR that has readers smiling and laughing one moment, and cursing and making stabby motions the next.”

  —Reviews by Ruckie, on Immortal Matchmakers, Inc.

  “This first book in the spin-off is everything I love about Mimi Jean Pamfiloff’s paranormal. Sarcasm, snark, smartassness, and big sexy alphas in leather pants. Getting down and dirty no holds barred romance.”

  —Hannah’s Words, on Immortal Matchmakers, Inc.

  “Oh my, Mimi has done it again, woven that wonderful web of hilariously messed up paranormal matchmaking. I’m really not sure who I adore more in these books, as all the characters are so brilliantly warped!”

  —#Minxes Love Books, on Tommaso

  COMING SOON:

  THE TEN CLUB (The King Series, Book 5)

  AVAILABLE NOW:

  THE ACCIDENTALLY YOURS SERIES

  (Paranormal Romance/Humor)

  Accidentally in Love with…a God? (Book 1)

  Accidentally Married to…a Vampire? (Book 2)

  Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Book 3)

  Accidentally…Evil? (a Novella) (Book 3.5)

  Vampires Need Not…Apply? (Book 4)

  Accidentally…Cimil? (a Novella) (Book 4.5)

  Accidentally…Over? (Series Finale) (Book 5)

  THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES

  (Standalones/Romantic Comedy)

  The Happy Pants Café (Prequel)

  Tailored for Trouble (Book 2)

  THE FATE BOOK SERIES

  (Standalones/New Adult Suspense/Humor)

  Fate Book

  Fate Book Two

  THE FUGLY SERIES

  (Standalone/Contemporary Romance)

  fugly

  it’s a fugly life

  IMMORTAL MATCHMAKERS, INC., SERIES

  (Standalones/Paranormal/Humor)

  The Immortal Matchmakers (Book1)

  Tommaso (Book 2)

  THE KING SERIES

  (Dark Fantasy)

  King’s (Book 1)

  King for a Day (Book 2)

  King of Me (Book 3)

  Mack (Book 4)

  THE MERMEN TRILOGY

  (Dark Fantasy)

  Mermen (Book 1)

  MerMadmen (Book 2)

  MerCiless (Book 3)

  God of Wine

  The Immortal Matchmakers, Inc., Series.

  Book Three

  Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  A Mimi Boutique Novel

  Copyright © 2016 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the writer, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Cover Design by Earthly Charms (www.earthlycharms.com)

  Development Editing by Latoya C. Smith (lcsliterary.com)

  Line Editing and Proof Reading by Pauline Nolet (www.paulinenolet.com)

  Formatting by bbebooksthailand.com

  Like “Free” Pirated Books?

  Then Ask Yourself This Question: WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE I’M HELPING?

  What sort of person or organization would put up a website that uses stolen work (or encourages its users to share stolen work) in order to make money for themselves, either through website traffic or direct sales? Haven’t you ever wondered?

  Putting up thousands of pirated books onto a website or creating those anonymous ebook file sharing sites takes time and resources. Quite a lot, actually.

  So who are these people? Do you think they’re decent, ethical people with good intentions? Why do they set up camp anonymously in countries where they can’t easily be touched? And the money they make from advertising every time you go to their website, or through selling stolen work, what are they using it for? The answer is you don’t know. They could be terrorists, organized criminals, or just greedy bastards. But one thing we DO know is that THEY ARE CRIMINALS who don’t care about you, your family, or me and mine. And their intentions can’t be good.

  And every time you illegally share or download a book, YOU ARE HELPING these people. Meanwhile, people like me, who work to support a family and children, are left wondering why anyone would condone this.

  So please, please ask yourself who YOU are HELPING when you support ebook piracy and then ask yourself who you are HURTING.

  And for those who legally purchased/borrowed/obtained my work from a reputable retailer (not sure, just ask me!) muchas thank yous! You rock.

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.

  CONTENTS

  About the Book

  Praise for Mimi Jean’s Paranormal Romances

  Other Works by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Warning

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two
>
  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Mimi’s Playlist

  Biggest Party Anthem of All Time

  Acknowledgements

  Upcoming Releases

  New Immortal Releases

  Character Definitions

  About the Author

  DEDICATION

  This book goes out to all of my crazy, unicorn-lovin’, paranormal-obsessed, horn-doggy readers who’ve shown such astounding loyalty to this wacky series. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you. And, as promised, I made this book a little extra dirty for you! You guys rock with all of your #MakeItDirtyMimi! requests, to which I replied: #DontTellmyMom! LOL

  WARNING

  This dirty, dirty book contains a buck-naked god, sloppy drunkenness, the c-word, f-word, p-word, d-word—okay, neverthehell mind! It has a lot of fucking bad words. Okay?—invisible unicorns, outrageously sized penises, cocktail recipes, leather pants, no pants, and one healthy eating tip.

  If you do not like dirty, dirty books with buck-naked gods, sloppy drunkenness, the c-word, f-word, p-word, d-word—yes, yes, all the bad words—invisible unicorns, outrageously sized penises, cocktail recipes, leather pants, no pants, and healthy eating tips, then this book might not be for you. (But feel free to gift it to your naughty, slutty friend with the gutter mouth.)

  God

  of

  Wine

  CHAPTER ONE

  Acan, God of Wine and Intoxication, entered the upscale fitness club that boasted some of LA’s tightest asses with one thing and one thing only on his mind: Sweet. Fucking. Revenge.

  “Fucking human.” His eyes scanned the ocean of disgustingly healthy people, all tanned, glowing, and annoyingly perky for five a.m. I want to end them all. Starting with the woman from last night. Because of her—one lowly human—he had been unable to partake in his usual one hundred tequila shots and fifty beers or “accidentally” burn down the posh Santa Monica hotel with one of his legendary, crowd-pleasing, exploding mojitos. All because of a random woman he’d met in the hotel elevator whilst in transit to last night’s rooftop party. He’d said, “Hiya,” paid her a “compliment” and then invited her to the event. She’d shockingly said, “Fuck off,” more or less. So he’d said, “Fuck off back, you old bag.” She’d said, “Shove it and come to my gym so we can see who’s really old.”

  You! You are, you wilted vag. Yeah. That’s right! She was some disgusting fitness-freak mortal who spent her days denying the truth: she would grow old, her beauty would fade, and her little lady “flower” would wither and die like an old tomato.

  Yet she had the gall to metaphorically slap his perfectly bronzed cheek and challenge him to a fitness duel? Simply because he’d complimented her by saying she had nice tits or something like that? (Honestly, he couldn’t remember.) But nooo… She’d turned her nose up at him in the elevator. So what if he hadn’t been wearing any pants! Or underwear. Honest mistake.

  What a fuzzy cunt! With his horribly clear vision, due to the lack of alcohol, Acan zeroed right in on the blonde woman in her forties as she did squats and hip thrusts inside the fishbowl aerobics room.

  “There you are…” His growl faded into the background as she raised her toned arms above her head, clapping her hands, laughing and “wooing” with the other fitness hags in the room. Acan suddenly felt his heart beating so hard that his knees began to knock. His breath stuck in his lungs, and his eyes didn’t seem to want to move away. She is so…radiant. So lively. Her lovely creamy skin, pert nose, and beaming smile reminded him of an angel. With really nice jugs. And something about the woman’s tight, tight ass and long legs made him feel a little tingly.

  What? No. I can’t stand her. Must be the lack of tequila in my system, making me all crazy. Being sober was awful.

  “Hey, dude. No offense, but that’s pretty fucked up,” said a male voice.

  Acan looked down—way, waaay down since he was over seven feet tall—at the stumpy little weight-lifter dude with bleach blond hair, wearing a black spaghetti strap tank top.

  “What?” Acan pushed his snarled brown hair from his eyes, but it wouldn’t move. Why is my hair so sticky? Was it always like this?

  Stumpy dude’s eyes flashed to Acan’s groin. “Pants, man. Pants. I mean, yeah, that’s a huge shlong, but there’s a time and a place to impress the ladies. Yunnooo?”

  Acan looked at his lower extremities. “Hell.” He’d forgotten his pants. Again. And his fucking underwear. Again.

  That’s the fifteenth time this week! I think. Either way, going to kill Jill, he thought. Jill, his full-time assistant slash deity-nanny, was supposed to make sure he didn’t go out the door showing off the man-gear anymore. Of course, it was now five in the morning, and she was never on duty this early because he was never awake before noon unless on his way to bed after partying all night, which was almost every night. Jill didn’t usually get in until—well, he didn’t really know. He was passed out most of the time.

  It’s a tough job being the party god, but someone’s got to do it.

  Acan jerked his head, playing it cool. “Thanks, dude.” He turned to leave, wondering how he’d arrived to the gym naked. Uber? Chauffeur? Battery-powered kiddie tank?

  Gods, I hope I didn’t ride my bike. That seat was the worst on his bare balls.

  “Hey!” an angry female voice called out.

  Acan turned. Dammit all to hell. It was her. The giant CrossFit fuzzy cunt. Okay, she was hot and all vivacious and whatnot. But so? She was rude! And she didn’t know her place in this world. He was a god, a force to be feared and…well, to have fun with. After all, he was the embodiment of festive excess.

  “You showed up. I didn’t expect…” Her voice faded as she realized he was down a pair of pants (and underpants) and up one man—involuntarily, of course. “I didn’t expect to see your penis.” She swallowed and made a disgusted face. “Erect.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “What? Never seen a god before?”

  “If you’re referring to a beer-bellied slob reeking of stale beer, who’s standing nude and aroused in the middle of my gym, then no. I’ve never seen a god.”

  “Boom!” He threw up his arms, making eagle talons with his fingers. “Well, now you have.” He turned and strutted from the gym with his head held high. Godsdammit. I gotta get a drink.

  “You did what?” The Goddess of Forgetfulness winced as she slid the uncapped Corona across the narrow width of the bar into Acan’s awaiting hand.

  He licked his lips, greedily grabbing the ice-cold beer, and chugged it down, not spilling a precious drop. He slammed the empty bottle on the counter and pushed it to the side with the other ten he’d just guzzled. “I think you—” Hiccup! “—heard me.”

  Forgetty, as he liked to call her, was a tall blonde who usually wore nightclub party clothes—white go-go boots, miniskirts, or little tank dresses like she had on today—because, like him, her life was all about the party. After all, nothing complimented a night of getting hammered better than blacking out and forgetting all about the crazy shit one did the previous night.

  We are like peas and ca
rrots.

  In any case, his “sister”—the gods were not related by blood since they had no parents—DJ’d at their global chain of successful nightclubs and bars they owned together. She also worked the private parties for their immortal brethren while he bartended, which was his gift. As God of Wine and Intoxication, he merely looked at a person and knew what sort of drink to serve and the quantity they required to reach the ideal state of jubilation. Between him and his sister, they served a vital function that allowed humans—and the occasional immortal—to blow off steam.

  Forgetty blinked her turquoise eyes at him. “I did hear you, brother. I merely cannot believe you went into a gym. At five in the morning. Are you absolutely certain you’re feeling all right?”

  He tapped his index finger demandingly on the bar.

  Forgetty reached into the trough of ice behind the counter, uncapped another cold one, and plunked it down in front of him.

  “Feeling great!” He grabbed his frosty treat, saluted her with the bottle, and then threw it back.

  “Belch, Belch, Belch.” She shook her head with worry, using his nickname. “I mean this in the kindest way possible, but you just called the elevator woman a cunt.”

  He set down his empty bottle and shrugged. “Correction. Fuzzy cunt. And so?”

  She tipped her head to one side. “So you called her a cunt.”

  Where was Forgetty going with this? He stared at her, hoping she’d open another beer.

  His sister sighed and then rolled her eyes. “Belch, don’t you find that just a tad bit abrasive? Even for you?”

  “Fuck no! She was being a bitchy shrew. I should rip out her throat and make a Bloody Mary out of it.”

  Forgetty stepped back, cringing.

  “What?” he snapped defensively.

  “Belch,” she said softly, “you are many things—a drunk, a flasher, a very loud snorer, and occasional arsonist. But you are not an asshole.”