Sherrilyn Kenyon: Night Embrace

Unfortunately, she really had.

Sunshine frowned as she moved closer and got a better look at the tore he wore around his neck. Thick and gold, it had Celtic dragon heads facing each other.

What was so odd was that she'd sketched that very same design years ago in art school and had even tried to cast it into a tore for herself, but the piece had ended up a big mess. It took a lot of metalworking talent to make something that intricate.

Even more impressive was the tribal body tattoo that covered the entire left side of his torso, including his left arm. It was a glorious maze of Celtic artwork that reminded her of the Book of Kells. And unless she missed her guess, it was designed as a tribute to the Celtic war goddess, the Morrigán.

Without thought, she ran her hand over his tattoo, tracing the intricate design.

His right arm had a matching three-inch band of scrollwork around the biceps.

Incredible. Whoever had drawn his tattoos certainly knew their Celtic history.

And as her finger brushed against his nipple, she was jarred from her artist's appreciation of the design.

The woman in her snapped to the forefront as her gaze darted over his lean muscular ribs and abs so tight and well formed they should be part of a body-builder show.

Oh yeah, this was one fine-looking man.

Even though there was a lot of blood on his pants, there didn't appear to be any injury to have caused it. Come to think of it, there weren't even many bruises. Not even where the Bacchus truck had slammed into him.

How weird was that?

Her throat dry, Sunshine reached for his fly.

Part of her couldn't wait to see what was underneath those black pants.

Boxers or briefs?

If he was this studly fine so far, it could only get better…

Sunshine!

It was just an artist's appreciation for his body, she told herself.

Yeah, right.

Ignoring that thought, she unzipped his pants and discovered that he wore nothing underneath them.

Commando!

Her face flamed at the sight of his extremely endowed maleness nestled against dark blond curls.

Oh come on, Sunshine, it's not the first time you've seen a guy naked. Jeez! Six years of art school, you saw naked men galore. And you've had plenty of them to date, not to mention that Jerry the ex-ogre wasn't exactly small.

Yeah, but none of them had looked this good.

Biting her lip, she pulled his heavy, black Harley boots off, then slid his pants down his long, muscular legs. She hissed as her hands came in contact with his skin, which was liberally laced with short blond hairs.

Oh yeah, he was definitely hot and fine.

As she folded the pants, she paused and ran her hand over the fabric. They were made of the softest material she'd ever touched. Almost like chamois, only different. It was a strange texture. They couldn't possibly be real leather. They were so thin and—

Her thoughts stopped as she caught sight of him on her bed.

Oh yeah, baby . Now that was every woman's fantasy. A gorgeous naked guy at her mercy.

He lay across the pink comforter with one tanned arm draped over his stomach and his legs slightly apart, as if waiting for her to join him there and run her hands up and down that lean, hard body.

He was a luscious one to stare at.

She sucked her breath between her teeth as she ached to climb up that strong, magnificent body and lay herself over him like a blanket. To feel his large, strong hands on her skin as she took him into her body and made wild monkey love to him for the rest of the night.

Umm-hmmm!

Her lips burned for a taste of that marvelous golden skin. And he was all golden skin. There wasn't a tan line on him.

Gimme!

Sunshine shook her head to clear it. Goodness, she was acting like a total goober over him.

And yet…

There was something very special about this man. Something that called out to her like a siren's song.

"Sunshine?"

She jumped at Wayne's impatient call. She'd completely forgotten his presence. "Just a minute," she said.

I just want one more peek . A woman needed a good ogle every now and again, and how often did a woman get a chance to ogle an unconscious handsome god?

Resisting the urge to fondle her guest, she covered him with a blanket, picked his jacket up from the bed, then left the room.

As she walked to the sofa, she studied his bloodied pants. Where had the blood come from?

Before she could investigate the pants, Wayne pulled them from her hands and grabbed the wallet out of the back pocket.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking him out. I want to see who this guy is." Wayne opened the wallet and scowled.

"What?"

"Let's see, seven hundred and thirty-three dollars in cash and not a bit of ID. Not even a license or credit or debit card." Wayne pulled a huge dagger out of the other pocket and flicked a release that spread the dagger out into a circle of three lethal-looking blades. Wayne cursed even louder. "Shit, Sunshine, I think you found yourself a drug dealer."

"He's not a drug dealer."

"Oh yeah, how do you know?"

Because drug dealers don't rescue women from rapists . But she didn't dare tell Wayne that. It would only get her lectured and give him indigestion.

"I just do, now put that back."

"Well?" Camulus asked Dionysus as Dionysus entered the hotel room.

Styxx looked up from his magazine at the sound of his voice. The Celtic god, Camulus, had been sitting on the couch across from him in the hotel suite while they had waited for news.

Dressed in black leather jeans and a gray sweater, the ancient deity had been flipping channels incessantly since Dionysus left, making Styxx want to snatch the remote from his hand and slam it down on the iron-and-glass coffee table.

But only a fool took a remote from a god.

Styxx might have a death wish, but he had no desire to be ruthlessly tortured before he died.

So Styxx had gnashed his teeth and done his best to ignore Camulus and wait for Dionysus's return.

Camulus wore his long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. There was something devilish and evil about him, but then, given the fact he was a god of war, that was understandable.

Dionysus paused just inside the door. He shrugged out of his long cashmere coat, then pulled his brown leather gloves from his hands.

At six ten, the god of wine and excess would be an intimidating sight to most people. But then, Styxx was only two inches shorter, and being the son of a king and a man who longed for death, he found very little intimidating.

What was Dionysus going to do? Send him back to his hellish isolation?

He'd been there, done that, and had the Ozzy T-shirt to prove it.

Dionysus was dressed in a tweed jacket, navy turtleneck, and pleated brown slacks. His short dark brown hair was perfectly streaked with blond highlights and he had an immaculate goatee. He looked like a successful billionaire magnate, and did, in fact, run a major international corporation where the god got his jollies by crippling his competitors and taking over other businesses.

Forced against his will into retirement centuries ago, Dionysus spent his time between Olympus and the mortal world, which he hated almost as much as Styxx did.

"Answer my question, Bacchus," Camulus said. "I'm not one of your dickless Greeks to be kept waiting for an answer."

Rage flared in Dionysus's eyes. "You better take a more civil tone with me, Cam. I'm not one of your flaccid Celts to shake in terror of your wrath. You want to fight, boy, bring it on."

Camulus shot to his feet.

"Whoa, hang on a second," Styxx said, trying to calm them down. "Let's save the fighting for when you two take over the world, okay?"