Heart of Fire (Blood of Zeus #2) - Meredith Wild Page 0,16

I was worried, and—”

Before I can explain the nonstop commotion that began the moment my mother started to commandeer our lives this morning, one of her assistants, Natalie, appears from the guest bedroom. Her eyes light up when she spots Maximus.

“Oh, great. You’re here. Perfect timing. The stylist just finished steaming all the new wardrobe pieces.”

Maximus answers with a slow blink. “Stylist…for what?”

“It’s just for dinner tonight,” I rush to explain. “And a few other events that Mom wants us to show up to this week.”

“Okay.” His acquiescence is slow, still unveiling his confusion. “So where are we going for dinner? Is it like black tie or something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…”

“Then what’s wrong with this?” He waves a hand over his current attire—though my hungry gaze hardly needs the prompt to go wandering.

Kell wasn’t wrong. Not by a single syllable. Maximus Kane, my devastating demigod, looks incredible in anything. His department-store T-shirt and well-worn jeans show off his stunning V of a torso and long, chiseled legs. But his seashore-messy allure is definitely not the accidentally-on-purpose, casual-but-expensive look Mom wants. I can already hear her snipping about it in my head, a preview of what she’ll be dishing out tomorrow morning if we step out in the wrong look tonight.

“Nothing.” My voice is high and taut, exposing the little lie. “Just humor me, okay?”

I take his hand and lead him to the other room. Before I can explain any more, Natalie tugs him toward the stylist who’s already sliding garments back and forth along a hanging rack.

I check my watch. “We have ten minutes before the car gets here.”

Maximus pivots toward me with a wide-eyed look. “The car?”

“I figured we’d get a driver for tonight.” I force a smile, hoping it looks genuine.

“I can take us in my truck—”

“No, that’s okay. It’ll be easier this way.”

“Why?”

His voice carries a slight bite. The man isn’t slow. It’s one of the reasons I’ve fallen so fast for him. But it’s also why tension creeps deeper through my veins, rising along with his. He’s starting to get it. “Just dinner” isn’t going to be just dinner.

But there’s no time to give him a full primer. Natalie and the stylist are already buzzing around him, plucking at his hair and thwicking measuring tapes along his body. For the first time today, I have a welcome distraction from my anxiety. But I also know I’ve been saved from further inquisition, so I wave off his query and take the opportunity to escape.

I find my purse in the kitchen and am in the middle of texting the driver when Kell saunters by in her favorite stilettos. She’s dressed to kill in a skintight cream bandage dress. My jaw falls.

“You’re meeting Arden in that?”

She smirks. “I can’t have him thinking he got stuck with the ugly duckling, can I?”

I get her point, but I’m not reassured. Not by a long shot. “You’re sure this is the right strategy? After everything I’ve told you about him?”

“No, but you said he’ll see right through my tricks. So I figured why not turn the volume up instead?”

I answer with a half shrug, half nod, wondering how much extra volume Kell will have to deliver to throw Arden off and give her some power to manage this new relationship with him.

Who knows? Maybe she’s onto something.

She leans her hip against the counter and looks me over. “How about you? You sure the professor is ready for the real storm?”

I shake my head. “Not even sure I am. But it’s only a week, right? We can survive a week.”

Her stare is flat. Her normally expressive nose gives nothing away. “A week, huh?”

“Sure. That should be enough time…”

Unless it’s not. Unless this turns into our new reality. Our normal.

The sound of shoes scuffing across the floor pulls me from that particularly worrisome thought. When I turn, Maximus appears—six feet, seven inches of dangerously good-looking demigod in crisp new threads. Slacks that hug every important part of his legs. A heather-gray long-sleeved tee that looks spun just for him out of angel sighs.

I know how they feel.

I mean, I would sigh…if there was any air left in my lungs. Or oxygen in my blood. Or awareness in my senses…beyond acknowledging the sensory miracle of him.

“What?” he says, responding to my plummeting jaw as if sound has emerged. Remarkably, it does. At least one word.

“Wow,” I stammer.

“Oooh,” Kell coos, crossing the room and then circling him. “Don’t you look the part?” She