Greek Mavericks: At The Greek's Pleasure. Maisey Yates

Apollo didn’t look up until the door had been shut firmly behind her.

      Damned woman. She was always speaking the truth. He should fire her and hire someone stupid, beautiful and biddable.

      When he thought the word beautiful, only one face came to mind. Of course, that woman was neither stupid, nor biddable. And she was persistently in his head.

      Particularly in his dreams. He had woken up hard and reaching for her and she wasn’t there. Because he’d sent her away.

      It had seemed necessary at the time. Like he needed to put distance between them. But the longer he spent without her, the more he questioned that decision.

      After all, his issue had been his loss of control, but sending her away wasn’t any more controlled.

      He had removed temptation from his path, but he had not successfully destroyed his lust for her. Because of that, he was suffering now.

      There was no reason to do so, of course. She had nothing to do, nowhere to go. No job. He could have her back. Make her his.

      The memory of her—the warm weight of her, her sweet scent, the way she sighed and said his name—haunted him. His days, his nights.

      He was like an addict in desperate need of a fix. His hands shaking, sweat breaking out over his skin at the thought of tasting her lips. Feeling her softness beneath his palms.

      She was his own personal designer drug. One taste had only sent him headlong into an addiction he couldn’t shake.

      So maybe that was the problem. Cutting himself off completely would never work. It would only leave him wondering what it would be like to have her one last time. To lose himself inside her. To feel her delicate fingertips skimming over his back.

      Just the thought sent a rush of need through him, so hot, so swift it nearly sent him down to his knees.

      He had never felt like this before. Had never felt the need to keep and possess quite so fiercely.

      As her father felt for your mother?

      No. This was different. But one thing he knew: he had spent too many years denying this desire. He would not continue on.

      He had been forced into denial, into poverty as a boy because of her father.

      He would not subject himself to denial of his needs again.

      He would not go one more night without her in his bed.

      * * *

      Elle was certain she was dying. It had been four weeks since she had left Greece. Four weeks since she had left Apollo, jobless, broken and humiliated. At least none of it had made it out into the public.

      All anyone knew was that she had been replaced in her position at Matte. No one knew about her relationship with Apollo, and that was about the only thing saving her from melting into a puddle and sliding down the nearest drain, disappearing forever.

      As upset as her father was about the entire situation, at least he didn’t blame her. Or, maybe she didn’t care. She had no idea how she felt. In only a month her entire life had been completely upended. She was avoiding her father. Avoiding dealing with that situation entirely.

      Everything Apollo had said, all of the things he had told her that her father was guilty of, had settled down deep inside of her, and created just enough doubt about...everything that she wasn’t sure she could deal with right now.

      And then, purely selfishly, there was the issue of her firing.

      She stood up, the floor pitching beneath her as she rose from the couch for the first time in hours. Being unemployed was bad for her wardrobe choices. She had been wearing sweats for three days, because there was no one there to see her anyway. Yesterday she’d worn flannels with small foxes on them. Today, her pants had owls.

      “Very sexy,” she said, crossing the length of the apartment and heading toward her fridge. She opened it up, immediately swamped by the smell coming from the inside. She wrinkled her nose. Something did not smell right. But it wasn’t like she kept that much food in the fridge.

      She dry heaved, and slammed the door shut. She’d forced herself to eat when she’d first woken up, but nothing tasted like...anything. A broken heart did that to you, apparently. But any semblance of an appetite she might have was gone now.

      She felt like she had licked the inside of the tennis shoe. Okay, that thought made her stomach feel even worse.

      She heard a knock on her door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. People didn’t just gain admittance to the building, so it had to be someone who already lived here. Though, her neighbors didn’t speak to her, so she had no idea who it was or what it could be about.

      Taking a deep breath, she crossed the apartment and undid the dead bolt and the chain, jerking it open just as she realized she should have looked through the peephole first.

      But it was too late. The door was open, and standing there was her worst nightmare.

      Suddenly, the vague sense of nausea intensified and she ran from the room, losing her breakfast violently in the bathroom.

      “Elle?” Apollo’s voice was coming from behind her.

      “Stay away,” she said, shakily getting to her feet. “I’m...horrifying.”

      “You’re sick,” he said, his tone vaguely accusatory.

      “I...wasn’t.” Except she had been—though not this sick—but off her game for the past few days.

      “What are you doing here, anyway?” She wandered over to the sink and splashed cold water on her face. “Who buzzed you in?”

      “Some young woman who lives down the hall. Nose ring. Pink hair. She thought I looked trustworthy.”

      Elle laughed. Bitter, hollow. “She thought you looked like you belonged in her bed. I would give her advanced warning, but I imagine she wouldn’t really care either way.”

      “Sadly for her. I’m not on the market.”

      “Okay. If you aren’t here to hook up with my down-the-hall neighbor, why are you here?”

      “Would you believe that I came to check on you?”

      “No.”

      “I want you back.”

      “No,” she said, her tone incredulous. “You can’t have me back. You were awful to me. You fired me.”

      “And now you don’t have a job. I thought you might be interested in pursuing some sort of arrangement.”

      She laughed, flinging her arms wide. “And here I am, vomiting as you ask me to come be your mistress. Really, there are probably more romantic settings than the bathroom.”

      “You need money. You certainly need a way to occupy your time.”

      “You’re despicable.”

      She swept past him, trying to hold her head high. Difficult to do when the man who had made love to you then humiliated you had just seen you puke.

      “Maybe,” he said, lingering in the door frame, bracing his hands against it. “But it doesn’t change the facts.”

      “Oh,” she said, the world tilting slightly. “I need to lie down.”

      He frowned. “How long have you been feeling sick?”

      “I told you, I only just... That, in the bathroom.”

      “You’ve been otherwise feeling well?”

      “Not really. But then, you humiliated me and fired me. So I don’t know how well you could possibly expect me to feel.”

      “I’m not talking about your emotions, I’m talking about physically.”

      “No. I have not been feeling very well. But your emotions