Love's Immortal Passion Read online

  “No.” Avoiding eye contact, he shook his head as if to reinforce his answer to her suggestion.

  “Okay. Are you sure you’re all right? I really think maybe I should call—”

  “I’m fine. It’s just…embarrassing.”

  “What is? Being unconscious in my alley? Believe me, that is nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He shook his gorgeous, dark head again. “No, not that. I seem to be…” He finally looked up at her now, pain clear in his eyes as he said, “aroused.”

  It took a second or two before understanding dawned and, as if they had a will of their own, Acantha’s eyes dropped to look at his hands in his lap as he vainly tried to conceal the outline of one impressive erection.

  Shit. Greg was right. She was drooling. Acantha swallowed. “Um, maybe it’s a symptom of a concussion.”

  He shook his head one more time. “I don’t know. I apologize.”

  “No, no don’t. Really. It’s fine. I’m fine with it. We’re both adults here. It’s natural. Good really. I mean it shows you aren’t that hurt, right?” Jeez. She was babbling and on top of it, Acantha was pretty sure she had wet panties just from imagining this aroused man between her legs.

  He nodded, dropping his gaze away from hers again.

  “Um, so. Did you find anything in your pants.” She scurried to correct herself. “Identification, I meant. Of course. Not anything else… Do you have a wallet?”

  Acantha’s gaze shot quickly behind her to see all three men working more quietly than ever, most likely while straining to hear every word.

  The man glanced at her and hesitated before standing and reaching in his back pocket, which only put the part of him she craved most eye level with her, outlined to perfection by tight gabardine. He pulled out a leather wallet, thrust it at her, then sat again and covered his lap once more.

  She opened it and found an impressive amount of cash. There went Greg’s theory that the stranger was some con man trying to get her money. Unfortunately, there also went her excuse that he’d been mugged. No thief would leave a wallet full of cash on an unconscious man.

  There were no credit cards in the leather slits where they would normally be. However, there was one white business card. She pulled it out and read it. “Erato—Poet. Is that you?”

  As her heart did a little flip, Acantha flipped the card over, looking for more. All she found in tiny lettering was Eros Printing. Hmm. She’d never heard of them.

  The man before her tilted his head. “Erato…” The name flowed from his tongue naturally, with just the hint of an accent. “That does seem very familiar. It feels…right.”

  “That’s great. Maybe you only use your last name. It might be your pen name or something. It sounds Greek. Maybe you’re of Greek heritage” It would explain the dreamy, dark curls and the eyes the color of the sea. Greek, gorgeous, and he was a poet. Wow. How romantic. “We’re learning more about you by the minute.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, still looking uncomfortable. “I think maybe I should move to the other room, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.” Acantha jumped up. “Let me help you up.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” His face turned a deeper shade of embarrassment and, knowing the source, Acantha couldn’t help but let her gaze drop one more time.

  Had he gotten bigger? She’d spent so much time with her vibrator, she had started to fear that no living man would be able to live up to its size, as well as its gyrating shaft and two-speed vibrating clit appendage. But this man, Erato the poet, may be up for the challenge.

  She caught the glance Greg shot her and frowned as she opened the door to the dining room for Erato. Greg had his share of men, so why was he trying to ruin her fun?

  “The smells are getting to him so we’re going to the dining room,” she explained to the men in the kitchen.

  Greg raised a brow. “Sure. Should I finish off your rosemary potatoes, boss?”

  Acantha ignored both the boss comment and the judgmental tone of his voice. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Once out in the dining room, Erato seemed to visibly relax.

  “Better?” she asked.

  He smiled and the beauty of it nearly knocked her off her feet. “Yes, thank you. Much better.”

  “Um…” She momentarily forgot what she’d been about to say until he stopped flashing his gorgeousness at her and raised one brow expectantly, waiting for her to finish her thought. “Oh, yeah. I was thinking we could look your name up on my computer. Maybe we can find more information, like an address.”

  “Can you do that?” He seemed a bit surprised. Maybe instead of working on a computer, he was one of those poets who still wrote by hand. She pictured him with a fancy sterling silver pen and a leather-bound notebook, sitting outside in a park, sipping a latte amid the doves.

  Damn, she was ready to drop her polyester chef pants for him right there in the dining room over that image.

  “Yeah, sure I can. We just have to go upstairs. That’s where my computer is.”

  She imagined an angel with the face of Greg sitting on her shoulder saying, Acantha. You know you can carry your laptop down here. Meanwhile, a devil with Pablo’s face sat on the other shoulder prodding her with his pitchfork while saying, Go up, Jefe. You need a nice big pene.

  Acantha realized Erato was waiting for her to lead the way upstairs and her decision was made. Besides, just because they were going to her apartment to research his name on her computer, didn’t mean they’d jump into bed. Though for some inexplicable reason, she wanted nothing more. Strange. Perhaps the rosemary was having the same effect on her.

  That herb seemed to be one powerful aphrodisiac. Hmm. Who knew?

  Chapter Four

  His mind was a blank.

  No, that wasn’t true. He knew some things, like how to speak English and that the scent of rosemary made him want to rut like a stag. That the name Erato seemed right, as if it belonged to him. That the petite, voluptuous, dark-haired woman with the honey-colored eyes whose curvy ass swayed temptingly up the stairs in front of him was exactly the type of female he preferred best. But the important things—his past, where he came from, where he was going when he ended up in the alley behind this tempting nymph’s restaurant—that was all missing, as if someone had selectively erased parts of his mind.

  He had been found unconscious and had partial memory loss. Maybe he did receive a blow on the head. It would explain a lot of things but didn’t solve the problem that he had nowhere to go.

  Maybe Acantha’s idea would work. “Do you really think you can find where I live?”

  She stopped in front of a door at the top of the stairs and turned to look down at him. “I think so. It’s worth a try, anyway.”

  Erato nodded, longing to see what was beneath the hideously ugly black and white checked pants she wore. He was sure what treasures lay beneath far surpassed the exterior wrapping. “Yes, it is always worth trying.”

  Acantha opened the door and they entered a sunny room filled with nothing more than a few pieces of furniture, one of which happened to be one large bed in the corner. She sat at a desk and began tapping her fingers. He walked up behind her and his mind supplied the word he sought. “This is your computer.”

  Acantha nodded without looking up at him as she concentrated on the words that appeared before her. “Yeah. If you don’t have a private phone number, you should be listed in the white pages. And hopefully, you’re a famous poet and you’ll come up in a search.”

  Many minutes and a lot of hmming, huffing and sighing later, Acantha finally turned to look at him and he was once again struck by how he was drawn into the depths of her eyes.

  “Anything?”

  She pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. I’m so sorry. But maybe it will all just come back to you with time.”

  “Time.” Erato laughed. Where in the world would he go in the meantime to wait for his memory to reappear as mysteriously as it had left him? “I do thank you for
your assistance, though.”

  He took her fingertips in his and dropped his head to plant a kiss of gratitude and farewell on her delicate hand, when the scent assaulted him again, making him dizzy and once more hard as marble. His whole body tensed in response.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Erato knew he needed to drop her hand and step away, but he couldn’t. “Your hand. You reek of rosemary.” He swallowed the lump of desire from his throat but still his voice came out husky and low.

  Her eyes opened wide with realization. “Oh. I’m sorry. I was chopping it. The oils are still on my hands.”

  Erato nodded, mortified, yet unable to release her hand. He held it near enough that he could smell the herb. It was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

  She bit her lower lip in the most sensual affectation he’d ever seen. “Why do you think that happens to you?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose something in my past has made me associate rosemary with…um…making love.” His body remembered it, so why didn’t his mind? All he was certain of were the tingles that shot through the base of his spine and spread. He’d give anything to relieve his ache.

  Acantha made no move to disengage her hand from his, and instead added her other one to it. “I don’t know about that, because it’s affecting me, too.”

  He was aware of every one of her quickened, shallow breaths. She leaned slightly closer and he saw the dilation of her pupils as he whispered her name, “Acantha.”

  “I don’t usually act like this, Erato. Not with strangers, but I can’t seem to help myself around you. It’s like…”

  She shook her head, at a loss for words, so he completed her thought for her. “It’s like we are drawn to each other as the moth is drawn to the flame.”

  Acantha drew in a shaky breath. “Wow. You really are a poet.”

  Erato brought her hands up to touch his lips and inhaled deeply. “By the gods, I want you.”

  A small sound of longing escaped her throat as he dropped her hands and his mouth crushed against hers. His tongue parted her lips and he tasted honey and sunshine.

  She pulled away long enough to say, “Take me, Erato. Please. I don’t know what’s wrong with me but I can’t wait.”

  His own willingness shocked him as he scooped her up and threw her onto the bed. Her pants only survived because the elastic waist allowed both pants and undergarment to be yanked down her legs. The white cotton jacket she wore was another story. He gripped the two sides and tore, sending knotted cloth buttons flying.

  Her breasts spilled out of the lace of her bra. He shoved the scrap of fabric aside and feasted upon the peak of one nipple while his pelvis pressed against hers, gyrating.

  “Erato. Your pants,” she gasped.

  It was only then that he realized he was clothed. He rolled to the side and frantically pushed at the waistband of the trousers, to no avail.

  “Wait. The belt.” Acantha sat up and leaned over him, her hands working quickly at the leather strap around his waist. His nostrils flared as a memory assaulted him. Leather. Sweat. Rosemary. Fear. Pain. Sex. Pleasure. Yet he couldn’t see who it was, or where the memory was from.

  He didn’t care. Erato needed this woman. She unfastened his pants and pushed them down his legs. He kicked them and his shoes to the ground and rolled between her legs with a groan. Smelling her arousal, seeing her glistening in anticipation of him, he could wait no longer.

  Raising her leg and wrapping it around him, he plunged his full length into her with one stroke. She gasped and he pulled all the way back and plunged in again, withdrew and then repeated the action, his rhythm echoed as the bed banged against the wall.

  “I’m going to taste every inch of you, all night long.” As he rocked into her, he spoke aloud all his desires.

  “Yes,” she shuddered.

  He looped her other leg around his waist and thrust deeper. “I want to feel your mouth on me.”

  Her eyes looked unfocused as she nodded. “Yes.”

  He reached and grabbed one of her hands, bringing it to his nose and breathing in the erotic scent once more. “And I want you to go downstairs and bring back rosemary and a bottle of oil.”

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “Yes.”

  He nodded also, satisfied that by morning they would have shared everything a man and a woman could share, possibly more than once.

  At that thought, the tingling in his spine increased, shooting sparks of sensation straight through to his bowels. Erato adjusted his angle of entry and increased his speed. Acantha’s body bowed, wracked with the power of the orgasm Erato could feel radiating from her into him.

  As Acantha’s muscles milked him, her teeth sunk into the flesh of his chest. Erato groaned with pleasure at the pain. “Yes. Bite me. Harder.”

  Acantha opened her mouth wider and bit down again, and Erato shot into her with an animalistic roar. Breathless, he finally let his motion slow, and then stop.

  Her eyes drifted shut as she moaned and wiggled beneath him. “Mmm. You’re still hard.”

  As Erato cupped her face in both hands, her lids opened and her beguiling eyes stared into his. “Acantha, I haven’t gotten nearly enough of you yet. It may take me a millennium to get enough.”

  With a moan, she stretched her arm out toward the table next to the bed.

  “What are you doing, my lovely?”

  “I need to call downstairs.”

  “Now?” Erato frowned.

  She tangled one hand in his curls and pulled him in for a hurried, rough kiss. “I need to tell them I won’t be in to work tonight…and ask them to bring up some rosemary and oil.”

  Erato smiled.

  Chapter Five

  Acantha lay in her bed, eyes closed, waiting for the feeling of regret to hit. It didn’t. How could that be? She’d had a night of insane sex with a man she barely knew and yet she felt…serene.

  Then she opened her eyes, turned her head, and faced an empty pillow, and that feeling shattered into a million little pieces. Her heart pounding, Acantha jumped from beneath the covers, realized she was very naked, and grabbed her robe.

  Maybe he was in the bathroom.

  Hanging on to that hope she gave the door a tentative shove. It swung open and revealed nothing but the empty space.

  Acantha shut her eyes as she gripped the doorframe to prevent from swaying. Greg had been right. She was stupid. Always had been, always would be. Bracing herself, she opened her eyes and dared to look at her desk. The laptop was there. That was something anyway. Her purse was still locked in the desk drawer downstairs in the restaurant office, so that was safe.

  Shoving her feet into slippers, Acantha let out a puff of air. At least all Erato had managed to steal was a small piece of her heart, and she had plenty of experience healing her own broken heart.

  The phone on the desk rang and Acantha jumped on it—apparently vain hope was the last thing to die.

  Hand shaking, she raised the receiver to her ear. "Hello?"

  “Acantha? Oh, thank God. It’s Greg. I was worried about you when you didn’t call me this morning. Are you okay?”

  She frowned. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, but when did you ask me to call you?”

  The sex had been absolutely out of this world, but she didn’t think it had given her amnesia. The word amnesia reminded her of Erato. The memory loss was probably all an act on his part. Acantha’s stomach twisted to the point she feared she might vomit, if there was anything in her stomach besides acid at this point.

  “I left a giant note that said Call Me on the coffee maker in the kitchen after I closed the restaurant last night.”

  “Ah. That’s why. I haven’t been downstairs yet. I just got out of bed, actually.”

  Acantha could hear the shock in Greg’s silence. “You just got up? It’s after noon. Oh... Is he still there?”

  “No. He’s not.” She glanced at the tangled bed with a sigh and rolled her eyes at her own repeated stupidity for once again
opening her heart to the wrong man.

  “That’s it. I’m coming over.”

  “No, Greg, don’t be silly. It’s Monday. It’s your only day off. I’m fine.” Besides, she wasn’t up for the “I told you so” speech, which would surely come the moment Greg stopped being concerned and started getting righteous.

  Silence again, then finally he said, “Okay. But I'm only a phone call away.”

  “I know, and I appreciate that and you, more than you can imagine.” Sad the only man in her life who she could count on was in her employ.

  Greg hesitated a beat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” She didn’t have anything else to do, so why not?

  “Rosemary and a bottle of oil? I know you weren’t eating French bread up there in your bed, so I have to ask… Was he as good as he looked?”

  Acantha laughed. “Yeah. Better. Why?”

  “Just wondering how long it will take you to get over this one.”

  Acantha knew the answer to that herself. A long time.

  After hanging up with Greg after more assurances that she would call if she needed him, Acantha headed downstairs for some much needed coffee. Maybe some of her signature Chocolate Lava Cake too. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

  Wallowing in self-pity and in a caffeine-deprived haze, Acantha stumbled into the kitchen and was faced with a sight so beautiful it nearly caused her knees to buckle.

  A barefoot and shirtless Erato stood by the cutting board. Wearing only the ass-hugging black pants he’d arrived in the day before, he arranged sliced fruit and chocolate truffles on a plate. An open bottle of champagne and two filled glasses sat on the counter nearby.

  Erato turned and sent her a heart-twisting smile as radiant as the noonday sun before he breathed one word, “Acantha."

  She found herself crossing the kitchen and settling into his open arms.

  He tasted of strawberries, chocolate and champagne when his mouth covered hers. Pressing closer, she felt sparks shoot through her body. Breathless, she pulled her mouth away before she either passed out, or hopped right up on the counter and spread her legs for him—he had that effect on her.