Accidentally Aphrodite - Dakota Cassidy Page 0,5
archeological find and he was some bad guy who wanted to sell it to the highest bidder. What if this was a part of Greek history and he was going to cheat the people of this fine country out of something rightfully theirs and sell it for some ridiculous amount of money?
Briefly she thought of all the movies she’d seen and the idea that maybe she was going too far with the fantastical.
But how far was fantastical? Didn’t an apple just fall out of some inanimate marble? Didn’t she have boobs reminiscent of basketballs?
Planting her free hand on her hip, she used her best I’m-in-charge-of-this-rodeo voice and said, “I guess it’s my business if you hope to prove this is really your apple. If you don’t want to share and give me a good reason for claiming ownership, I’m sure the Greek authorities would be pleased to hear all about this apple falling from a pillar, which is insane to begin with. But I bet they’d really like to hear all about how it’s yours.”
This time he didn’t just edge closer, he loomed over her, his height, in her estimation, a good ten inches taller than her five feet four. “Give me the apple, Quinn,” he demanded, his smooth jaw clenching.
When he spoke her name, it slid off his tongue like a dollop of warm caramel. And again, the romantic in her wanted to savor this moment and take the time to create a story for the piece of fruit and its connection to this walking, talking sex god. However, the big, albeit hot, goon obviously wasn’t going to let her.
No. He glowered at her. Glowered so hard, were she a tea rose in an English garden, she’d have withered under his glare.
Quinn smiled, suddenly filled with adrenalin and totally fearless. Maybe it was the way Igor had so callously treated her, or maybe it was just more than past time, but suddenly she was a take-no-shit kind of girl.
Holding the apple closer, Quinn glared back at him in defiance and brought the gleaming fruit to her mouth, taking a long lick, ignoring the bitter taste of the skin on her tongue.
Hot Stuff planted his hands on his lean hips with a sigh of exasperation and rolled his beautiful eyes. “Now why would you do that, Quinn?”
“Five-second rule. Whoever licks it owns it.”
He waved an admonishing finger, shooting her a teasing, almost playful glance. “No. I think you’re confused. The five-second rule is only in play when you drop food on the ground. It means it’s safe to eat as long as it wasn’t on the ground longer than five seconds. And you forgot to kiss it up to God, thus blessing the five-second rule. That’s the five-second rule.”
Confusion furrowed her brow for a moment. Was that the rule? She’d never been very good at those sorts of playground games. While everyone else was jumping double Dutch or playing hopscotch, she’d been too busy making up stories about Jane and Dick running off together into the sunset with Spot as their trusty sidekick.
“I don’t care what the rule is. I licked it. That means it’s mine.”
“This conversation’s a little ridiculous, don’t you think? Please hand over the apple.”
“No. Not until you identify yourself and give me a good reason to hand it over. Otherwise, it goes to the authorities. And where did you come from, anyway? I didn’t see you get off the tour bus. In fact, I didn’t see you anywhere here in the Parthenon.”
His lean cheeks puffed out in a huff of frustration. “On the count of three or I’ll take it from you, Quinn.”
Was he threatening bodily harm? Right here in the Parthenon? She began to back away. “If you touch me, I’ll scream. A lot. Loudly. With vigor!”
His hand snaked out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, capturing her in a tight grip. The contrast of their skin—hers pale and translucent, his deep and dark—fascinated rather than frightened her.
“First, I don’t want to hurt you. Not at all. But I’ll be long gone by the time someone arrives to help you either way.”
She frowned up at him. “Hey. No fair. You said I had until the count of three.”
His grip loosened a little, his handsome face growing deceptively serene. And then he smiled gorgeously, as if in apology for breaking the rules of their game. “My bad. Onetwothree! Hand over the apple, Quinn!” he roared.
With all the strength she had in her, she jerked her wrist,