“No wife. A daughter and a son. They also have another woman in their party, but I’m not certain of her connection. She’s not another daughter, though.”
“I see.” I drop my gaze to Apollo. He’s still relaxed and smiling, but there’s new tension around his dark eyes. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“I don’t know nearly enough about him.”
From Apollo, that’s saying something. He knows everything about everyone. It’s literally his job. It speaks volumes that there’s nothing to find when it comes to Minos. I’m sure it feels like failure, and Apollo is not one to tolerate that. At least when it comes to himself.
He has a lot more grace when it’s someone on his team who’s come up short.
I open my mouth to attempt something reassuring, but then I register that he still has his hand on my thigh. It’s…a nice hand. Everything about Apollo is nice. He’s not massive by any means, but I’ve seen him haul around large boxes as if it’s nothing, so he stays in shape. His hand is graceful, long fingered with perfectly maintained nails.
Even as I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, I know I’ll feel the imprint of his fingers tattooed on my skin for hours afterward. It’s all too easy for my imagination to take hold, to fill in the blanks of what it would feel like if he slid his hand higher, if he curved his fingers around to my inner thigh, if he—
“Cassandra.”
I lift my gaze from his hand to his face. I don’t know what my expression is doing, but he narrows his eyes and his tension bleeds away, replaced by…heat? His fingers pulse on my thigh. I feel that pulse all the way to my pussy, as if he skated his touch up to cup me there. I shiver. What did he say? My name? I lick my lips, achingly aware of the way his eyes follow the movement. “Yes?”
“Are they watching?”
I tuck my hair behind my ears, using the move to check. It seems like everyone is watching. “Yes.”
He sighs. “Of course they are.” Again, his fingers pulse on my thigh. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
His resignation almost makes me laugh. Or it would if a pit hadn’t just opened up in my stomach. Of course he’s not kissing me because he wants to; it’s all part of the roles we’re playing. “Just like that.”
“Just like that.” But Apollo doesn’t move. He’s still searching my face for answers I’m not sure I have. This is all pretend. It will continue being pretend for the next week or so. I’ve kissed people I like less than Apollo. I don’t know if I’ve kissed anyone that I like more.
I’m still processing that thought when he leans forward. “If you’re not comfortable—”
My body overrides my still-spinning-out mind. I grab his tie and tug him down, lifting my face to meet his. To his credit, his surprise doesn’t last long. He slips his free hand along my jaw to cup my head. At first, it’s barely a kiss. His lips brush mine, perfectly polite and barely worth noting. Except it’s Apollo and he’s kissing me.
His grip tightens ever so slightly on my thigh and a shaky exhale ghosts against my lips. For a moment, I think that’s it. He’s kissed me. Everyone watching has seen it. We’ve accomplished what we set out to do.
But it doesn’t stop there.
He only pulls away enough to adjust his angle and then his mouth reclaims mine. I don’t intend to open for him…I don’t think. Everything is a little hazy, my brain misfiring because Apollo is kissing me. And then his tongue slides against mine and I can’t think of anything at all. He keeps it light, teasing kisses that make my head spin and my body pulse, but nothing so deep that I’m swept away.
I should have known. Apollo is focused and intentional about every single thing he does. Of course he’d bring both those traits to a kiss—to more. I try to keep my thoughts in order, but I’m swept away as he releases my thigh long enough to grip my chair and tug me an inch closer. It plasters us together from knee to hip and I shiver. We’re fully clothed and sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant, but I’m having trouble remembering why I can’t climb onto his lap.
Just when I’m about to forget myself entirely, he finally lifts his head, breaking the kiss gently. I actually start to lean forward before reality slams into me.
This is pretend. We were putting on a show. Even if it wasn’t, I would rather fling myself into oncoming traffic than give all these assholes even more to gossip about.
A deeply satisfied smile pulls at Apollo’s lips. “Now. I think it’s time for dessert.”
8
Apollo
The day we leave for the house party, I pick up Cassandra on the curb outside her apartment. As I step out of the car, I can’t help looking around with displeasure. We’re a few blocks from the upper warehouse district, and while crime in Olympus isn’t something of overt concern, it doesn’t change the fact that Cassandra lives alone and the door leading up to her apartment doesn’t seem very secure. I frown at it as she comes through, battling two oversize suitcases. “I could kick that down with one blow.”
“If you do that, I’ll lose my deposit, so maybe let’s not.” She shoves one suitcase at me. “Here, take this.”
“I’m not going to kick down your door.” I reach past her and pull it shut firmly enough to hear the lock engage. Then I rattle it. “I wouldn’t even have to kick it. Gods, Cassandra, you should let me set you up somewhere safer.”
“It’s a moot point.”
Because she’s leaving. Right. I blink down at her. I didn’t realize how close we were standing, but I almost have her pinned between me and the door. The memory of our kiss washes over me. I can still taste her on my lips, even though it’s been days. It wasn’t nearly enough. I want her pressed against me. I want my hands all over her. I actually shift a little closer before I register the suitcase she keeps between us like a shield… I give myself a shake. “Sorry.”
“The door is fine.” She brushes past me and heads for the car idling at the curb. “I’ve managed to live here for years without someone kicking it down, so I don’t expect they’re going to do it in the next week.” She flicks her hair off her shoulder. “Not everyone can afford to live in a gilded tower, Apollo.”
“If you’d let me—”
“You don’t pay for Hector’s housing.” She starts to wrestle the suitcase into the trunk, and I have to abandon the one I’m holding to nudge her aside and handle it. Cassandra huffs out a breath. “Honestly, Hector’s been with you longer, and he barely makes more than me.”
Something akin to embarrassment heats the back of my neck, but I keep my expression impassive. “How would you know what Hector makes?”
“I asked him.”
It’s not, strictly speaking, forbidden for employees to talk about wages among themselves, but I wish Hector had been a little less frank. “You’re worth what I pay you.” Truly, she’s worth more. Her insight is priceless when it comes to divining people’s intentions. She’s much better at reading people and situations than I am.