Tridia (The Poseidia Series Book 3) Page 2

  Chapter 3

  Eric left my side and strutted to the bar, my body unexpectedly aching at his departure. Uncomfortable and self-conscious, left standing with two older gentlemen, I discretely adjusted my top, afraid any minute I would pop out and give them more than an eyeful. The slight movement wasn’t lost on them as they openly stared at my almost completely exposed breasts. Perverts.

  “What do you do?” the gray-haired man, holding a martini, to my left asked.

  Honestly, I wasn’t sure if he asked me, or my boobs. “Whatever it takes,” I hissed, not concealing my annoyance.

  “Aww, isn’t she cute,” he condescendingly replied. “Eric always has such smart taste. I’m glad he generously shares.”

  Shares?

  “I’m elated Eric brought us a treat,” the other man agreed, arrogantly hiking his empty wine glass in the air, pretending to toast. His jet-black hair reminded me of David’s.

  Disgusted, I shivered at the resemblance. My hands quivered and my throat tightened at the memory. An imaginary cloud of sinister energy descended.

  My eyes searched the room for Eric. Desperate to get away from these pervs, and move my mind from the memory of David, I craned my head in every direction looking for Eric’s unmissable white hair. Straight, chin-length, stark-white hair, smoothed back with every strand in place. He’d roamed from the bar.

  These disgusting assholes are lucky I have enough self-control to not castrate them right here, right now. I would be doing society a favor.

  In the room’s far corner, Eric had cozied up to a blonde. My supposed drink in his left hand, and another, he drank greedily from, in his right. Repulsed by the thought, I couldn’t imagine him tolerating human alcohol. Dang, he sure plays his part well. On the surface, he appeared the perfect, spoiled rich playboy, who stayed by the pool all summer. His perfectly chiseled jawline complimented a deeply tanned fake-from-Mer-device skin. I’ll have to trust Eric and leave him to his socializing.

  Reluctantly, I turned back to the two rude degenerates standing in front of me, while I grinned and mentally tuned-out their small talk.

  A breeze caressed my skin, sending goose bumps rippling up my arms—I caught the fresh scent of home—the ocean. With my highly sensitive nose, I turned and tracked the delicious aroma to a balcony opening. I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes, trying to steady my nerves. Listening to the surf smash against the rocky shoreline below sent a fresh wave of gooseflesh creeping along my skin. The peaceful sound reminded me of nights I lay on the sand, watching the stars slide along an ebony sky.

  Without excusing myself, I bee-lined for fresh air.

  The cool night enveloped my shoulders as I exited the stuffy party. Alone now, I dropped the fake pretense and breathed a sigh of relief, if only momentarily. About thirty feet below the concrete balcony, a winding path amid lush green cliffs led to a private beach. Ocean waves crashed. A cloudy night sky blocked the full moon.

  Damn, I miss you, Roman. Your timing sucks.

  Don’t cry. Leaning over the ivy-covered stone railing as far as I dared, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

  “Is this work too much for you to manage? Because I can recommend a transfer,” Eric announced, his footsteps echoing behind me.

  Facing him, I said, “I needed some fresh air. All those stuffed-shirt assholes infuriate me.”

  With a full glass of red wine in his left hand, Eric approached, stopping only an inch from my face to whisper sternly, “You have to play the game. I told you to do exactly as I say.”

  “You left to get me a drink and never came back. Those perverts were excited you’d delivered them a treat. Apparently, I’m not the first girlfriend you’ve brought here.” I slammed my index finger into his chest.

  “I’m working the room, doing my job. You’re not.” He grabbed my digit mid-flight and curled my hand into his.

  “What should I have done? Take those pervs into the bathroom and blow them? Is that my job? Does King Atlas know about this?” I twisted my hand out of his grip.

  “Your job is what I say it is. I’m in charge of this mission. Do not do anything to screw this up or I’ll have you transferred to another team. I’m sure you’d excel at farming vegetables.” Eric grabbed my hand and placed the glass of red wine into it, curling my fingers around the stem.

  “Don’t threaten me. I have complied. The layer of bullshit you’re smearing doesn’t appeal to me.” I sniffed the glass’s contents and took hesitant a sip. “I can’t drink this.” I handed the glass back to Eric.

  “Perhaps you require training in obedience.” He pushed my hand back to me. “You’ll drink the wine and pretend to enjoy it.” Leaning in close to my ear, he whispered in a voice rich with husky promise, “I’d be more than happy to break you in.”

  Completely caught off-guard by his change in tone, I countered, “I don’t need breaking-in.” I swallowed the lump forming at the back of my throat. He’s acting, remember?

  Eric pulled away, regained his steel composure, and leaned against the railing, his back to the ocean. He glanced at the full glass in my hand. “How’s the wine?”

  Rolling my eyes, I gulped down a few large swallows. Gagging on the bitter flavor, I said, “It’s awful.” I wiped my lips and swirled the remaining liquid in the glass, feigning delight.

  “You’re supposed to be having a good time. Act as though you actually want me—we’re supposed to be on a date.”

  “I haven’t killed you, or rendered you unable to sire children. I’d say I’m doing fairly well.”

  Eric leaned in, close to my face. “Kiss me.” Before I could protest, he landed his lips on mine. Strong hands cradled my head.

  At first, I resisted, wanting to argue all the reasons I hated his vile touch. While I’d pretend to be his date, my brain had decided I wouldn’t cross a certain line. My body strongly disagreed.

  Eric’s kiss was deliciously warm. Tender.

  The tip of his tongue glided along my teeth.

  Over my mind’s protests, my insides turned to jelly. My core throbbed. I craved his touch, wanting his hands on every inch of my skin. His lips on mine. I wanted more.

  Stupid electroreceptors.

  Hungrily, I sank into his mouth, my self-control gone. I trembled under his touch.

  Balancing the wine glass out of our way, our bodies closed the remaining distance, as I reflexively arched into his embrace, my pelvis articulating what I didn’t want to admit.

  With a satisfied, masculine chuckle, Eric trailed his hand down my spine, over my hip, to cup my ass, hauling me tighter against him.

  I had to pull away. I have to.

  But I couldn’t.

  After what seemed like hours, but in reality was no more than mere seconds, Eric drew back, his hands maintaining a firm grip on my behind.

  “Good girl.” Releasing my backside, Eric brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear before whispering into the super-sensitive spot behind my earlobe, “I will corrupt you.” His hot breath sent tingles down my spine to my pelvis, the throbbing so intense I worried about collapse.

  My sharp inhale spoke to the affect he had on me, whether I admitted it to myself, or not.

  Eric’s hand hovered dangerously close to my shoulder—risky not because he would hurt me, but because I might lose what little control I maintained.

  Be strong.

  I wasn’t invincible. I wanted to say I remained merely human, but I wasn’t human anymore either. I’d become a Mer, former human lame-ass. Self-torture a favored trait of mine, my resolve had weakened over the past few weeks. Impending Mer ovulation drove me crazy, my pheromones soaring at an all-time high.

  Normally I stayed away from Mer males during this time; I’d learned to lock myself in my room and self-pleasure until my body was content. The timing of this mission didn’t allow me that luxury.

  “Be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

  Breathless I replied, “Not a chance.”

  Eric glanced
over my shoulder to whomever he attempted to impress. A sly smile crept across his chiseled face. “See the guy over there? The one with the short black hair, peppered with gray.” An image fluttered across my mind as Eric telepathically connected with me. He showed me the man who couldn’t take his eyes off me when I’d been standing with perverts one and two.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I briefly glanced his way, back to the cloudy night sky, then to the breathtaking cliffs beneath the balcony on which we stood.

  “His name is Mark and he owns this house. He is the CEO of a huge, dangerous company. Mark is the target.” Eric pulled a small round container from his pants’ pocket. The contents resembled lip-gloss. He unscrewed the lid and smeared the pinkish concoction on the tip of his pinky finger.

  “What is that?” I asked. The ointment had an herbal scent, reminding me of the Poseidian gardens.

  “This,” he said, bringing his finger an inch from my lips, “is a secret formula. On my cue, I want you to smack me across the face, then retreat angrily to the balcony on the room’s opposite side. I’ll play my part by striking up a retaliatory conversation with two smoking-hot women. He’ll come to you. All you have to do is kiss him.”

  Infuriated he expected me to kiss someone else, I grabbed Eric’s greasy digit before the gloss-drenched tip reached my lips. “Kiss him? No way.” My face flushed, my lips still tingly from his caress. My body would be so confused. And way overstimulated.

  Eric twisted his finger out of my grip, knocking my hand out of his trajectory. “You will. That’s the mission. That’s all you have to do.” Eyes ignited with fierce determination, he barely restrained his frustration with my opposition.

  “A mission you won’t even tell me about.” My voice, scarcely above a whisper, croaked with the same emotion Eric withheld. I couldn’t help myself from back-talking. My mouth ran before I had time to filter it. I need to get better at this whole secret mission spy thing.

  “Your part is simple and that’s all you need to know,” Eric reiterated, his face barely an inch from mine. His clear green eyes looked straight through my soul, never wavering in their intensity. “Just give him a quick peck on the lips.” He backed off and adjusted his tuxedo jacket with his clean hand. “Or an intimate make-out session, I don’t care. Make your move quick, then get out of there, quicker.”

  “Why do I have to kiss him?”

  “The less you know, the better.” Without further warning, Eric closed the distance with his finger, sensuously smearing the greasy balm on my lips. Immediately they began to tingle and go numb.

  “Hit me now.” He replaced the lid and stowed the quarter-sized container in an inner tux pocket.

  “Finally, an order I approve of,” I replied, a devilish smile spreading across my face. Only momentarily hesitating, I drew my hand back, and delivered a loud smack across his face—harder than intended.

  Eric grabbed his cheek where my hand had left a red mark. “You didn’t have to enjoy inflicting pain on me.” He jerked his head in the target’s direction. “Now storm off. I’ll meet you downstairs in thirty minutes or less.”

  Spinning on my heels, I did as Eric instructed, and strode to the other terrace. I sensed the target’s eyes boring into me, following my every move. Creep.

  Pretending to fume, while eyeing Eric’s retreat to two women, I paced the balcony’s length.

  Chapter 4

  “Is Eric giving you a hard time?” asked a strange male voice, deep, confident, and slightly curious.

  I pivoted. The target—Mark, the man Eric intended to follow me—stood framed by white French doors, looking like he’d recently stepped out of a James Bond movie. Strikingly handsome. Poised. A touch of arrogance.

  How’d Eric know he’d follow me?

  Telepathy. Right. I’m sure he’s better at picking up human emotion than I am.

  Remembering my mission, I smacked my lips. The tingle strangely sent a jolt of heat to my pelvis. Not again. Is it me, or is it the lip gloss? What is this stuff?

  “The usual amount of difficulty,” I answered, resigned to my part of the assignment. “He tends to flirt more than I’m comfortable with.” Not a lie; as I’d said the words, I recognized the twinge of jealousy when I saw him kiss another woman.

  Remember, he’s only playing a role. He kissed you to act out his game. Eric’s not into you.

  I don’t want him to be anyway. I have Roman. I love Roman. I can wait for Roman, right?

  But I had no comfortable answer for the last question. The truth leaned more toward something I didn’t want to admit. Perhaps, I remained feeble. Mentally much weaker than my new anatomy.

  “I brought you a refill,” he said, gesturing to the near-empty glass in my hand. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Playing along, I set my empty glass on a nearby side table.

  Suspicious, and fearful the substance smeared on my lips would prove bad for humans, I briefly considered wiping the ointment off the discarded glass.

  Will this concoction make him sick?

  Unconscious?

  Dead?

  Do I truly want to know?

  If I undermined this mission, I might never get another chance.

  Maybe the Mer mean him well. Maybe it’s some sort of knockout potion, and will only render him temporarily unconscious. Or maybe it’s a truth serum and Eric intends to interrogate him.

  In defiance of my optimistic musings, in my gut, I sensed the truth. All too clearly, I remembered Roman’s admission he’d slit throats on missions.

  The Mer intended to terminate Mark.

  This ointment, while harmless to Mer, would surely prove fatal to humans.

  Don’t think of him as a person. Only a target—a mission.

  I’m now Anna, assassin. Badass. Protector of the ocean, and all its creatures, from evil humans.

  Oh, please.

  “Thank you.” I accepted the offered glass and wafted the wine under my nose. Oak. Berries. My highly-attuned sense of smell made distinguishing the variety of scents easy and interesting.

  Not Poseidian wine. I pouted, vividly remembering the night Roman and I had made love, in between drinking rich Poseidian wine in his castle.

  “You appreciate good wine?”

  “Absolutely.” I turned my back to him, gazing out on the surf below. Play coy. “There are few things left in life to appreciate; a good wine has to be number one,” I lied, trying to sound snobby.

  As he stepped forward, the heat from his body warmed my nearly-bare back. “A beautiful woman is at the top of mine,” his gravelly voice purred in my right ear. “I’m Mark.” His breath stank of human wine. A scent humans might find attractive, but I found repulsive.

  “We all have our vices,” I retorted, sipping the horrendous beverage. “I’m… Hannah.” I stuck out my hand. Acting as a true gentleman, Mark took my palm in his and kissed my knuckles.

  Without letting go of my hand, he bragged, “I own a vineyard in France. This is a most prestigious vintage, usually selling for eight hundred dollars. I had the bar stocked tonight.” Mark met my eyes, waiting for my reaction, the expectation of my being impressed clearly etched on his face.

  “I’ve had better.” I couldn’t resist the insult.

  He smirked, eyeing my cleavage.

  Hey, eyes up here, loser.

  Kiss him and finish the mission.

  Awkward, but determined, I leaned in to plant a quick kiss on his lips. A stab of guilt caused me to pause before I made contact.

  Eric’s voice resounded in my head, “No witnesses, please. Move to the corner and do your business out of sight.”

  “I’m sure you have. Why lower yourself and come here with Eric?” Mark laughed and gestured to the crowded room where Eric huddled with the blonde in the corner, his hand visibly up her skirt.

  A too-familiar jolt of jealousy turned my stomach. “I lost a bet,” I joked. Turning my attention back to the tiny balcony, I deduced no position out here would obscure us from
the ballroom guest’s prying eyes. “Did you drive here?” I asked, knowing he owned this house, but unsure of how to steer the conversation. Seriously out of practice talking with humans.

  “This is my home.” His ego visibly inflated. “Would you enjoy a tour?”

  I eyed the ring on his finger. “Are you sure your wife wouldn’t mind?”

  Lifting his hand, he twisted his ring, then scoffed, “She never does. Besides, she’s away for the week, visiting her mother in Michigan.”

  “You mean, she can’t stand these boring parties?” I laughed, making sure he knew I intended to tease.

  “She grew weary and resentful of my job’s social requirements years ago. Now, she does her thing, and I do mine. That’s how we stay happy.”

  “Sounds pretty unhappy to me.”

  “Are you going to stand there in judgement, or would you like a tour?” He offered his arm.

  “A tour sounds lovely.” I downed the remaining wine, set the glass next to my first, and took Mark’s offered elbow.

  “You have fifteen minutes to seal the deal.” Eric’s voice sounded in my head.

  “I’m done when I’m done. Don’t rush me,” I replied, erecting my mirrored bubble.

  “You certainly don’t act like one of Eric’s minions,” Mark whispered in my ear as we crossed the ballroom floor.

  “I’m no one’s minion.” For good measure, I shot Eric an evil glance as we passed.

  “I understand. You’re different than the girls he normally brings around. They’re usually…”

  “Brainless tarts?”

  “More or less, yes. But you… there’s something about you.”

  Mark led me on an extensive tour of his house—mansion—whatever. Damn humans and their giant houses. Who wants to clean these monstrosities?

  While we moved from room to room, he spoke endlessly about what exotic culture each space had been individually decorated for. The perfect segue to brag about his exotic travels and expensive hunts.