Accidentally...Evil? (Accidentally Yours) Read online

  Margaret blinked. Deep, deep into character.

  “And I assure you, I do not wear a wig. This is my real hair.” He gave his shiny black mane a proud tug.

  “I meant—oh, never mind. Listen, it’s been great, Mr. Chaam, but I gotta skedaddle; my father is probably wondering where I am.” She wished. Her father was likely dead. Or injured.

  Stay calm. You’ll find the ruin. You’ll find him…

  If only she’d insisted on knowing exactly where the excavation site was hidden. Instead, she’d done what her father had asked—fearing his anger—and stayed near the village, spending her days painting, learning Spanish from the local children, or swimming with a friend she’d made: a young woman named Itzel who didn’t speak a lick of English.

  “Have a lovely afternoon.” She flashed an awkward grin and turned toward the shoreline.

  A firm grip pulled her back and twirled her around. Two powerful arms incarcerated her body and smashed her against an astonishingly firm, naked chest. His touch instantly ignited that gunpowder, and…

  Combustion!

  A wave of carnal heat ripped through her body. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my Gooood… Margaret felt her face turn a lascivious red. Beads of volcanic sweat seeped through her pores. Every muscle in her body wound up with merciless unchaste tension, like ropes anchoring a massive sail, a sail blowing her ship toward the most delicious place ever. And then…

  Release.

  Maggie braced herself on the man’s bountiful biceps as the tension snapped and silent fireworks exploded throughout her body.

  Oh my god. Had she just… had she really just…?

  He cleared his throat. “Was it as good as it looked?”

  She let out an exaggeratedly long breath. What the flapdoodle? “You’re not an actor, are you?” she asked, unable to keep her voice from quivering.

  He shook his head from side to side. “No. And you are no human.”

  Chapter 2

  Chaam beamed at the enchanting brunette in his arms who gazed up at him with her large, dark eyes—eyes that contrasted the sunburnt, freckled cheeks of her striking face. Did she have any clue how long he’d waited, how long he’d held the silent, impossible wish for her in his cold heart?

  Seventy thousand years.

  Seventy.

  Thousand.

  That’s how long the mere hope of her had kept his existence tolerable. And that’s why he found it impossible to believe his impossible wish had been granted. The gods did not have mates. Period. That privilege belonged only to those of human origin. Hell, even vampires occasionally found a mate. Lucky bastards. But regardless of the facts, he’d always allowed himself the fantasy. And he’d envisioned her seventy thousand different ways: a delicately framed blonde with sea green eyes; a seductive, black female with velvety waves of chocolate brown hair and eyes of hazel; a tall and athletic woman, a warrior, with olive skin and straight dark hair. He’d imagined her many ways, but he’d never once imagined Margaret. Not the exotic sort, yet sinfully feminine with a crisp intelligence and a disarming smile. And clearly the product of these new times with her very masculine-style independence.

  She was perfect for him in every way.

  Perhaps this explained why despite the impossibility of this female being his mate, his body and soul screamed she was his. But perhaps she is yours? A miracle. A gift from the universe. Why else had he been able to touch her? When he’d first stumbled across the unconscious beauty in the jungle, her dark hair tangled with twigs and leaves, he assumed she’d met her demise. But then he stroked her cheek, and she made a tiny moan. Yes. With pleasure. Actual pleasure from his touch. Humans normally winced, shrieked, or passed out. But this one moaned.

  He must have stood there with his mouth gaping for ten entire minutes, studying her ripe full breasts pressing against the white cotton fabric of her dress. And those smooth, creamy thighs… He saw them as clear as a blazing hot day with her dress hiked up the way it was, revealing the lacy hemline of her silky undergarments. Then he’d noticed her lips. Like her plump breasts, they were fully, juicy… just ripe for a kiss. He’d debated for one agonizing second before he dove in and sampled their sweetness. Once he did, his heart made that leap toward believing the unbelievable because the vision thrust upon him in that moment could not be a product of his imagination. He was never that creative. Could she be his missing piece? His mate?

  Idiot. Gods do not have mates. Your mind is connecting dots that do not exist because you want to believe. A more rational explanation might be that she was a genetic anomaly, a human tolerant of his touch. Or, that she is not human at all. “Wha-what did you say?” she stammered.

  “Drop the charade. I know you aren’t human.” He gave a playful little squeeze, and she wiggled against him. Ummm… delicious. He couldn’t get enough of her sensual warmth.

  “You’re crazy.” She thrashed her head from side to side. “Let me go!”

  That wasn’t going to happen. Whatever—whoever—she was, he had no plans to release her.

  Yet.

  She was simply too enticing. A tall, curvy drink of water after a seventy thousand-year drought.

  “Help! Help!” She clawed at his bare arms.

  “I will let you go, little bobcat,” he grunted, “if you promise not to run.”

  “I am not a bobcat! Help!”

  “Okay, then. My little—” saucy clawed minx? Feral cupcake? Chipmunk of lust? “Hell. I was never skilled in the pet-names department. Can’t I simply call you bobcat?”

  She froze; hostility raged in her eyes. “No. You most certainly cannot call me bobcat!”

  He turned his head to avoid her pounding fists. “Stop your assault. I’m not going to hurt you.” No, he certainly didn’t want that. He did, however, want to do other things to her. “I want you to tell me what you are. Then I will release you.”

  More screams.

  There was only one solution.

  Spank her?

  No, idiot. Start with showing her the vision you saw upon discovering her. Perhaps this will entice her to answer. He dipped his head and kissed her softly. The woman stilled in his arms.

  Yes, now she sees, too.

  Words couldn’t describe the deific enormity of the visions he shared. Stars, millions of stars, laughter and joy, the eternal thread of love weaving itself through every beam of sunlight, the divine spark of life in every drop of rain, the two of them lying naked under the tropical night sky. He had seen every step, every moment in time leading up to today.

  Fate had brought them together. But as much as he wished for her to be his mate, the truth was undeniable: Gods did not have mates and they certainly could not be intimate with humans—the gods’ energy was far too powerful for any sustained, passion-filled, physical contact—which was ironic because humans were the only species they felt anything for.

  Yet, like a miracle here she was. Saucy little claws and all. And he’d simply stumbled upon her. Just like that.

  Perhaps she is a miracle, yes. But human, no. This kiss—wet, thirsty, unfiltered—was proof.

  He pulled away, craving another glance of her exquisite face that included a tiny dimple in her right cheek and a sexy little mole just below her lip. She was utterly unique. She was utterly perfect. He couldn’t help but beam. “You saw the vision, didn’t you, my little… love guppy? And now you understand.”

  The speed of her nod was impeded by her shock. “Did you really just call me ‘love guppy’?”

  He cringed. He’d try to sell her on ‘bobcat’ again later.

  “Who are you?” She glowered.

  “Not who. What.” Chaam released her. “I am a god. In fact, I believe I am your god.”

  Maggie had no clue what was happening, but when the strange man kissed her lips it felt like her body had been tossed into a volcano of sin. Sin laced with chaos and the absolute certainty she’d never woken up from that horrific bump on her head.

  The kiss made her see things, im
possible things—him fighting alongside a swarm of savage men donning breastplates and swords, and later, sailing on a vessel from the days of Hernan Cortez. Whoever this man was, she hadn’t a clue, but the bizarre shower of images was incredibly detailed.

  She shook her head, trying to reorganize the jumbled mess inside. “You really think you’re… God?”

  His eyes flickered from turquoise to grey. Or had she imagined it?

  “God? Good heavens, woman, no. I said ‘a god’—as in one of fourteen. I am the God of Male Virility.”

  Great. Mr. Hallucinationinducing Perfectbottom thinks he’s the god of sexual prowess. That’s far less zany than believing he’s God.

  “And you’re telling me there are more of you?” she asked.

  “Yes. This is what I said,” he replied as if no one had ever questioned him. “Of course, every culture gives us different names—for example, the Egyptians called me Mir; the Greek, Eros; the Aztecs, Huehuecototl-Coyotlinahual.”

  “Hewy, hewy what?”

  He pushed his wide shoulders back and puffed out his broad chest. “Huehue is Nahuatl for ‘very old.’ I am a Bacab—one of the first gods to be created, which means I am also one of the most powerful.”

  Suuure, Joe. She began pinching her arm. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.

  He placed his hand over hers. “Please do not do that. It is very disturbing.”

  “Disturbing. I’m disturbing you?”

  He raised one dark brow. “Yes. That is what I said.”

  “But-gaaah-uhhhh.”

  “Now, tell me what you are,” he said.

  Her thoughts continued to stall and sputter like last year’s Model B Ford. “I—I told you, I’m Margret O’Hare. I’m here assisting my father who’s doing field research on the Mayans.”

  Mr. Chaam dipped his head and stared deeply into her eyes, like a wolf sizing up its prey. “You are lying. I can see it. Why do you not trust me when you’ve seen the vision?”

  The only thing Maggie trusted was that her marbles had gone on marble holiday to the marble Hamptons where they were sipping teeny tiny marble martinis.

  “What vision? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she lied once again.

  “Fine.” He turned to leave. “If this is how you wish to proceed.”

  “Where are you going?” And why do I care? She trotted behind him. Though he wore no shoes—look at those feet. Are those little muscles on those toes?—he moved swiftly over the pebble-covered shoreline. “Hey. I asked you a question.”

  He abruptly stopped and turned. His intimidating height staggered her back. “I answer to no one,” he said. “And let us always be clear on this point: My kind gives the orders, and right now, I am ordering you to stay here and await my return.”

  Yes. It was official. She’d hit her head and landed on Planet Pighead. And, “My kind”? Did he seriously believe he was a god? Then again that vision was…

  She shook her head. “What is happening?”

  Chaam took two wide steps forward and lifted her chin. “You are very cunning, Margaret O’Hare, but make no mistake, I am not the sort of god who enjoys playing games. When I return, you will tell me everything—who and what you are—then we shall spend the evening making love.”

  Maggie’s knees knocked, nearly causing her to fall over. “We will do no such thing!”

  He leaned down. “Fine,” his hot breath tickled her ear as he whispered, “then it will be hard, hot fucking. Your choice.”

  Margaret gasped and stepped away. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

  A crooked smile leapt across his full lips. “The kind,” he said all too slowly with that rich, syrupy voice infused with sex, “who will enjoy all that I have to offer. In fact, I’ll wager that you’ll be begging me for it.” He glanced at his groin, which displayed the unmistakable outline of a rather large, slightly firmed penis.

  Okay, maybe—What? Maggie! “You’re disgusting. Never,” she replied to him. Or possibly to herself. Who knew what was what at this point?

  Chaam laughed with a deep, soul-felt chuckle. “Such strong words from a woman who orgasmed from my touch. Maybe you require another taste?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. Just like before, her body coiled with tension, but he briskly released her before the wave of combustion took hold.

  Regardless, she melted on the inside, becoming a lusty heap of loosely joined skin and bones.

  He flashed a smug smile and continued down the shoreline with a victorious swagger. “Like you,” he called out, “I have no idea what the hell is going on, but unlike you, I’m wise enough not to question.” He stopped and looked at her with those piercing turquoise eyes. “I have suffered thousands of years watching others enjoy the exquisite delights of the flesh, and it is finally my turn. I will be inside you tonight, Margaret O’Hare. Fate has demanded it be so. You cannot fight fate.” He shrugged happily and continued walking away.

  The moments ticked by before she scrounged up a coherent thought. “You’re a madman,” she screamed, “if you think Maggie O’Hare is going to stand here waiting for you to return!”

  “I would never be so foolish,” he called out, not bothering to turn around or stop, “to underestimate a determined, headstrong woman such as yourself.” He snapped his fingers.

  The black jaguar appeared from the brush at Maggie’s side. “Raaar?”

  Oh, hell!

  “Women.” Chuckling, Chaam shook his head and kicked a few pebbles into the water. Didn’t matter which species, they were all the same. Stubborn, petty, and stubborn.

  And mine. He stopped in his tracks. Holy saints. Mine. He still couldn’t believe it, but the vision clearly showed they were destined to make love tonight. Thank the gods, but what does it all mean?

  Perhaps, he supposed, she was the Creators’ reward for many millennia of hard work. Yes. Gods save him, but his existence was a tedious one. One that required he ensure everyone—excluding himself or the other gods—had sex. He was even obliged to help the animals. After all, if they did not propagate, humans certainly wouldn’t survive. But to make matters worse, his brethren held no respect for him. They called him His Holy Horndog and Deity of the Dick. Didn’t they know sex was the necessary ingredient to cement the bond between two souls?

  The epiphany hit him hard.

  Yes, that was it! The answer. He would make love to her tonight. If she was his mate, their souls would unite. He would feel the powerful connection.

  So simple.

  He smiled brightly until another thought, this one dismal, smacked him upside the head like a cold brick. Whether or not she was his mate, he realized he could not keep her. He simply had no way to do so. His bond with the universe compelled him to serve humanity. That meant he traveled years at a time to the most remote corners of the world, sometimes by foot or by horse. When he did not travel, he aided humans with less severe issues from the comfort of his realm.

  Christ, the universe is so damned cruel.

  Suddenly, he hoped she was not his mate; it was one thing to suffer an eternity hoping for her, but it would be an unfathomable torment to have found her and always be separated. He could not stomach the thought.

  His heart sank into a deep, dark hole.

  Yes, as painfully disappointing as it might be, he hoped she was simply a human immune to his touch. Or, perhaps, not human at all. In either case, he prayed she was a woman he could walk away from.

  He rubbed his face with both hands. Christ, you’re in deep shit. He already knew that walking away from Maggie—mate or no mate—wasn’t likely to happen. He wanted to keep her.

  All right, man. You’re a fucking deity. You’ve faced far worse, and you’ll figure this out.

  Unfortunately, he had a few errands to complete—a confused bull who enjoyed making it with a bush, a cricket who favored ladybugs—so, so disturbing—and a twenty-year-old human male who had met his soul mate, but hyperventilated and passed out every time she came near
. Yes, he would quickly do his magic and then gather supplies for his own magical evening with…

  My woman. Gods, he loved the sound of that.

  For the first time in Chaam’s entire existence, he smiled a smile that touched his soul.

  Chapter 3

  Maggie stood on the dock, swapping out two equally weighty emotions: fury and her old friend fear. Fury over being trapped by this madman and fear because her father was still missing.

  Son of a biscuit! This couldn’t be happening. At her mother’s funeral, she’d silently promised to whoever was up there listening that she’d take care of him. It was the one damned thing she’d sworn to do, a commitment she would finally keep. Yes, her past was littered with broken promises. Promises to the men she’d dated—to seriously consider their offers; promises she’d made to herself—to stop being afraid of commitment; but mostly, promises to her mother—to try harder and make something of her life. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared or respected herself, but Maggie simply never understood the point to any of it. “Life is precious and fleeting, Margaret,” her mother would say. “Find your passion and the one thing you were born to do. Out of that, you’ll find happiness and bring joy to others.” Maggie simply didn’t believe she had anything special to give, so she absorbed herself in passing the time. But when she’d sat at the funeral, looking out across a sea of faces who’d adored her mother, Maggie finally got why trying mattered. But that didn’t make opening her heart to others, as her mother had done so freely, any easier. In fact, it was just the opposite. Now Maggie cared too much. And that was the reason she clung to her father. That was also the reason she couldn’t stomach letting anyone else in. It hurt too much to lose.

  Yes, and because of this, you will never fall in love. You will never commit to a man. Face it: you were born broken.

  Then why are you feeling so strongly for—

  “Well, hellooo there, cutie pie!”

  Gah! Maggie jumped like a Mexican bean on the creaky dock. The tiny redhead had popped out of nowhere.