Accidentally...Evil? Read online

  It registered that the woman was wet and nude. Could this day become any stranger? Or more naked?

  The crazed nudist wiggled her shoulders, “Obviously, I came out of the lake, sugar. Where else? Hey! Why are you on the dock, facing off with The Jungle Book? You must be a fan of anthropomorphic tales! Get it! Tales! Anthropomorphic!” The woman chortled and pointed at the gaggle of assorted animals now perched on the mouth of the dock—that enormous jaguar, a tiny furry pig of some sort, a black and white striped monkey, a bright green parrot, and, yes, to make the ensemble complete, a three-foot-long iguana.

  Each time Maggie attempted to move in their direction, toward land or into the lake, the animals barked, hissed, and growled. Or snorted. Lots of snorting from the little pig thing.

  Like she’d thought, could the day possibly get any stranger? And yes, anthropomorphic?

  “To answer your second ridiculous question,” said the redhead, “of course I know I’m naked. Really now, who wears clothes when they’re in a lake? That would be just weird. Fish don’t wear clothes, do they? On second thought!” She cackled and then doubled over. “That would be so cute! I love the idea. I’ll have Sven, my tailor, make a bunch of miniature tuxedos. Boom! Fish-edos!”

  The woman is out of her ever-loving, nudist screwball mind.

  Well, crazy or not, Maggie needed help. She had to get off that dock before the man with those excessively large muscles and hot, mind-altering kisses returned. Maggie’s drawers could only take so much before they’d disintegrate, her virtue and sanity right along with them.

  The odd woman’s laughter took a sudden nosedive and crashed. “Hey,” she whispered, looking over both shoulders, “did you happen to see my brother? He’s about yea so tall.” She reached for the sky on her tippy toes.

  That’s when Maggie also noticed the woman’s glowing turquoise eyes.

  Heavens to Betsy, she’s his sister? It made sense. So much goddamned sense.

  Maggie pointed south down the shoreline. “He went thataway.”

  “Fabulous!” The screwball sauntered past Maggie toward the critters, who shrank back.

  This was Maggie’s chance. She took two steps forward, but the woman turned.

  “Uh-uh-uhhhh,” she sang out, wagging her pale index finger at Maggie. “You’re staying put.”

  “But, you can’t leave me here.”

  The woman hee-hawed like a broken donkey. “Oh yes I can, sugar. Because this is your stage and you’re the star of the show. The catalyst. The spark. The fizzzz in the Gin Fizzy. Ain’t no party without you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have time to explain, doll, but trust me, you and I are going to have loads of time to catch up later.”

  “Huh?” said Maggie.

  “You’ll see. And don’t forget, when the time comes, be sure to follow Chaam. He’s your secret sauce.”

  “Sauce?”

  “You know. The bom in your bomb-bomp-bom-bomp, the ram in your rama-lama-ding-dong.”

  The word screwball wouldn’t do. No. Not at all.

  “Ta ta!” The woman waved her hand and skipped down the shore. “And don’t forget,” she called out, “humankind will thank you later!”

  Bat-shit crazy. Yes, that’s it.

  Three hours later

  Chaam’s heart quickened when he neared the lakeside clearing where he’d left Maggie. The “male therapy sessions” had gone rather well, with the exception of the cricket that insisted ladybugs were the “bee’s knees,” some strange bug code for “sexy.” But once he pulled out the big guns—an unbreakable command that embedded itself the male’s subconscious—all was well in Cricket-ville. He then went to the pueblo’s small mercado and found everything he needed for his special evening, including a bottle of Spanish wine and a matrimonial-sized hammock. The local seamstress had even made him a new linen shirt, right on the spot. Ah, it was good to be the God of Male Virility. Women tripped over themselves to please him.

  But not Maggie. No. She was different.

  He liked that.

  As the sun shed its final rays, Chaam rounded the last small peninsula standing between him and his Maggie. His heart stumbled like a clumsy runner.

  Maggie sat on the edge of the dock, dainty feet dangling in the lake, her long brown hair flowing down her back like a mystical Greek siren’s. Her body, a curvy and voluptuous little package, embodied every feminine characteristic he adored.

  Oh hell. He looked down at his dauntingly large erection. He’d be forced to take another dip in the lake to cool off as he’d done three times earlier in the day while he’d been waiting for Maggie to wake.

  Or, perhaps, I just needed to see… that. Chaam cringed.

  Maggie scowled at the giant predator sitting a few yards away, guarding her like a juicy lamb chop. A half dozen other animals had joined in the fun.

  Chaam marched to the mouth of the dock. “I asked you to keep an eye on her, not have a party.”

  The cat made a little hiss, followed by random noises from the monkey, iguana, parrot, and pygmy hog.

  Chaam crossed his arms and glared at the little pig. “You’re on the wrong continent. You know that, don’t you?”

  Snort.

  “Go!” Chaam barked. “All of you. I don’t have time for this.” He pointed to the small furry pig. “And you! Don’t bother returning; I don’t even speak pygmy hog!”

  Chaam noticed Maggie staring with an expression somewhere between horror and… well, horror.

  Chaam glanced back at the cat. It hadn’t budged a stubborn furry inch. “Fine. Get them out of here, and I will help you tomorrow.”

  The cat smiled—Chaam hated that; it looked so wrong when animals smiled—and quickly disappeared with his entourage.

  Maggie cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “Nice of you to return, Backlum—”

  “Chaam. I go by Chaam.”

  “Savage! That’s what I’ll call you! How dare you! I’m leaving, and don’t you dare try to stop me!”

  “You will stay.” He blocked her from passing.

  “Or what?”

  A mosquito the size of a small rodent perched on her cheek, and without thinking, Chaam swatted it.

  “Ouch!” Maggie fell to the side and cupped her cheek.

  Oh, Christ! He’d slapped her! Hard.

  He quickly reached for her, but she shirked away.

  “I should have guessed,” she hissed. “You cad!”

  “No! There was a—”

  “You can slap me around all you want,” Maggie stood and closed the gap between them, “but you will never, ever have me. I’ll die before I let you put another hand on me.”

  Chaam growled with frustration. Dammit! This was not how he’d imagined this special evening would begin.

  The madman had slapped her. Actually slapped her! And then he growled! Like a godammed beast. And if he was capable of hitting her to gain submission, then, without a doubt, she was in danger.

  Maggie stepped back and attempted to ignore how the man smelled. Incredible. Like sweet herbs mixed with something dark and dangerous.

  Anise, fennel, black licorice! God, I want a bite. Or a lick. Or a nibble.

  Oh, horse pucky. Being near him triggered a lapse in sanity—an added bonus to the danger equation.

  Yes, but that vision. That kiss.

  He hit you, and he speaks to animals, Maggie. Hit. Speak. Animals. Bad. Maggie ground the heels of her palms into her temples. That’s right. Gather your wits, Margaret O’Hare. It doesn’t matter who or what he is; the man made it clear he intends to keep you prisoner and have his way with you. You. Need. To. Leave.

  Doggone it! All right. Play nice, get his guard down, and make a break for it.

  This was her only choice. After all, her father wouldn’t notice her missing and the people in the village minded their own business when it came to outsiders, so no one would come looking for her. She was on her own. And strangely, she didn’t feel afraid;
she felt like this entire situation was some bizarre test of her will.

  Chaam huffed and then proceeded to grind his teeth, never breaking his feral gaze. “I am very sorry I slapped you. A rather large, thirsty mosquito landed on your face. I sometimes forget my own strength.”

  Oh sure! And I’m Al Capone’s private Alcatraz chef.

  Maggie, play nice. Find something pleasant to talk about.

  “I forgive you.” Maggie pasted on a sugary sweet smile. “Say, what’s that cologne you’re wearing? It smells divine.”

  Suspicion flickered in his glorious turquoise eyes. “It is my natural scent. It is infused with potent male pheromones to induce euphoria. Like brain candy.”

  Eww. “Brain candy? I’m not so sure that candy made from brains would induce euphoria”

  A smile twitched across his lips. “My apologies. That is a term often used by my sister. She is quite mad but her odd phrases have a way of sticking. What I meant to say was that my scent is a treat to the senses.” Treat to the senses? Carrying around that huge ego must give him back pain. And is he referring to the same sister who sprang from the lake? She was about to ask but had a feeling the topic would only drag out the conversation.

  “So, you say you’re a deity of some sort. Got any super powers besides that brain candy of yours?”

  He stood a little taller. “In fact, yes. But we can discuss the details later.” He gestured toward a small circle of stones toward the edge of the clearing farthest from the lake. A large log lay beside the fire ring. “Please sit. I’ve brought you wine and food to eat while I build a fire and set up our hammock.”

  Our hammock?

  Chaam reached into the satchel she’d noticed him carrying and handed her a small bundle wrapped in paper and string. It smelled heavenly.

  She sat on the log and unraveled the package. Fresh handmade tortillas, a wedge of hard cheese, and a few Mexican pastries—her favorite, deep-fried dough sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon.

  “Ummm, churros. How did you know?” Maggie’s stomach growled like a…

  Like a… Chaam?

  She took a bite, then another and another. Before she knew it, she’d devoured every last crumb.

  “You were hungry, I see,” Chaam said in a shocked sort of way.

  Yes. She’d finished it all. Without sharing. Take that! “Oh my. Was that intended for both of us?”

  Chaam kneeled and ignited the flames. “Yes, but don’t worry; I do not need to eat.”

  “Right. Because you’re a god.”

  He laughed. “You still do not believe me.”

  Well, now that they were on the subject…

  Hold on! Play nice.

  “Sure I do,” she said.

  “Good. Then you know it is unwise to anger me.” Crouched, he glanced over his shoulder and winked. “Now, I want you to tell me who and what you really are.”

  Tread carefully, Margaret. Very carefully.

  “What do you think I am?” she asked.

  He turned away and poked at the flames with a stick. “Something other than human.”

  “Why would you think that?” Did he know something she didn’t?

  “My kind cannot have intimate contact—or much contact in any form—with mortals. Our energy is deadly.”

  “So because you kissed me, and I didn’t keel over…?”

  He nodded yes and then sat beside her. Close. Too close. Her body began to tingle with that familiar tension.

  Oh, no. Not again. She scooted down the log, but it wasn’t nearly far enough. A couple of continents might do the trick. An entire solar system would be better.

  He ignored the move, pulled a bottle of wine from his satchel, and poured the ruby liquid into two metal cups, one of which he offered to her. “Come closer. I do not bite.”

  “But you hit, bully, and kidnap. Biting would really make the package complete.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.

  He rubbed his forehead. “You are correct, Maggie. I haven’t treated you kindly, and it’s no way to start our life—excuse me—our evening together.”

  Life? Crap! He really, really didn’t plan to let her go. Ever.

  “But I promise,” he said, “to spend the entire night making it up to you.” Once again he held up the wine.

  The entire night? He’s out of his loco sombrero if he thinks I’m sleeping with him!

  For the briefest of moments, Maggie considered telling Chaam the truth: Her father was missing and she needed to go. This insane little game had to end. But what if he said no? And if he knew her situation, he’d deduce her desperation to leave. He’d never let his guard down. No, she’d keep the facts of her father to herself and stay the course. Play nice. Guard down. Run like hell.

  She pasted back the smile, moved down the log, and took the cup. “Why don’t we get to know each other a little better?” She sipped the sweet, tangy wine. “You were saying something about not being able to touch humans?”

  He made an approving nod and continued, “I can suppress my energy if I focus my thoughts on doing so. But when being intimate, such pleasure does not create an atmosphere where one is in control. A lesson learned the hard—”

  He stopped.

  “Did you hurt someone?”

  His gaze dropped to the fire. “No. Another of my kind attempted to take a lover, many times, in fact. Each instance ended poorly.”

  “Poorly? As in dead poorly?”

  “Worse. Her lack of success has driven her mad. But let us not discuss this. Our situation is special. You are special.” He looked at her with those divine eyes, and an intense wordless exchange ignited.

  I want you, his eyes said.

  Do you, now?

  Oh yes. With every pulse of my immortal light.

  You don’t even know me.

  I know your soul; that’s all I need.

  This is insanity.

  Welcome to my world.

  Your world scares me.

  Maggie retreated and threw back the rest of her wine. The liquid brought a welcome warmth to her chest despite the constant tropical breeze skating off the calm lake behind her. Every second she spent in his presence brought her closer to a cold reality lurking just beneath the surface: Part of her wanted to believe the crazy things he told her. Part of her wanted him.

  This is insanity. I need to leave.

  She moved her feet in front of the crackling fire and gave her toes a wiggle. How far would she get without shoes when she made a run for it? Solid blackness had replaced the lush greens of the jungle and night had set in.

  You have to try for your father.

  “So you believe I’m special because you can touch me?” she said.

  “And because of the vision.”

  “Vision?” Obviously, she’d seen it, too, when they kissed; however, she didn’t know what to make of it. Nor did she want to discuss it. She just wanted to leave.

  “Do not deny you saw it,” he said.

  “I saw no such thing.”

  He laughed.

  “Are you doubting me?” she asked.

  He nodded, and his long black hair fell over his face. “Yes. In fact, I am. Perhaps it is time to disclose that among my many powers, I know when humans lie.”

  “Aha, see! You know when humans lie. I must be human.” I can’t believe I’m making this argument.

  He frowned and pushed back his hair. “Not likely.”

  “To my knowledge, my parents are human. Well, my mother was. God rest her sweet soul.”

  Chaam’s frown softened into something resembling compassion. “I am sorry to hear you lost your mother. Were you young?”

  “No. It happened about six months ago. A heart attack while at work.”

  Wow. Maggie hadn’t ever said that out loud. It felt good talking about it. And it felt surprisingly good talking to Chaam. Come to think of it, this was the first time in months that she’d felt so at ease. The realization added one more layer of complexity to the situation.


  “She was a movie actress,” she continued, staring at the flames, avoiding direct eye contact. “A really good one, but her real passion was teaching children at the local dance academy.”

  “It sounds like she was a beautiful person,” he said.

  Maggie nodded. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever known. I think it’s the reason my father wanted to come here, to escape her memory.”

  Her father. God, how he’d changed. The man she used to know had never run from anything. He embraced life as did her mother. Together, the two were like perpetual motion. Unstoppable. And wildly in love until the very end. Maggie could only hope to find something so epic. She’d dreamed of it, but sadly, all she’d found were men who left her frigid in the feelings department. And when she said frigid, she meant deep freeze, like she was some horrible woman-shaped iceberg with fashion sense. And quite a bit of baggage. Stylish baggage, of course.

  It’s not that way with Chaam, now is it?

  Damn it. No, it isn’t. Maybe that’s why her mind kept spinning in the mud. Dirty, dirty, sexy mud she wanted to roll in with Chaam.

  “It’s why I had to fight to come on this trip,” she added, still refusing to look into his eyes, knowing she would like—no, love—what she saw.

  “You remind him of her, don’t you?”

  She felt his eyes burning on her. “Yes.”

  He placed his hand on her cheek. “Look at me, Margaret. Don’t be afraid.”

  Could she dare to meet his gaze?

  Maggie slowly turned her head. When she did, the larger-than-life man sitting before her seemed to have reached a heightened level of exquisiteness. She drank in the well-defined angles of his cheekbones and jaw, the perfect, yet large proportions of his muscles and limbs. She marveled at his flawless golden brown skin glowing with the oranges and yellows of the flickering firelight. Then there were his eyes. Two hypnotic jewels of seduction that drew her in like sexual gravity, urging her to leap across that wide-open stretch of insanity and take him up on that offer of carnal pleasures.

  With exaggerated caution, Chaam reached out and brushed her cheek. She leaned into his hand and basked in its warmth. “If you look like she did,” he said. “I can understand why your father is unable to recover from his loss. You are divine, Margaret O’Hare. The gods themselves could not compete with your perfection.” He leaned in to kiss her.