Desire. Cindy Jacks

into the club and to his office. After he settled her in the black leather sofa, he poured a glass of Sandeman for him and two fingers of rum for her.

      “Thanks.” She took the glass and twirled it between trembling hands.

      He knelt in front of her. “Drink this. It’ll calm you.”

      She took a small sip, then sputtered and coughed. “Strong.”

      “It’s one-fifty-one rum. I find it an efficient libation.”

      Tears welled up, and her lower lip shook.

      “Don’t cry.” Bacchus stroked her hair. “Please don’t cry. As well you know, I’m not very good with crying women. I don’t have much experience with them.”

      A halted chuckle shook her chest. “No one’s ever stood up for me like that before. Of course, you’re a dead man now.”

      As if. And what if he did die? Hades had always been a friend. It would be good to see him again. “There are worse things than death, love.”

      “No, I mean it. He’s part of the Cuban mafia.” She pressed a hand to her forehead, squeezing shut her eyes.

      Mafia. A derivative from the Italian adjective mafioso, perhaps, which meant bragging. Hardly worrisome.

      “What are you trying to tell me?” Bacchus studied her shifting gaze. “What is a ‘mafia’?”

      “Some very bad people. How can you not know that?” She threw her hands in the air then wrapped her arms around herself, rubbing her arms as if to warm a chill that could not be warmed.

      He brushed a stray curl from her face. He longed to wipe away the small creases around her eyes, the one between her brows. “My apologies. I’m lacking in current events.”

      She blanched. “What am I going to do?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Oh my God.” Her voice rose an octave. “I can’t go home. He’ll be waiting for me.”

      “Don’t worry. You can come home with me.”

      “It’s not that simple.”

      “It is that simple. If this man is so dangerous, you need to be rid of him. Make a clean break.”

      “I can’t—I can’t.” Ariana got to her feet and paced.

      He stepped in front of her and clasped her hands. Breathing in the calm beneath her storm, he focused on the sweetness of spring, the golden sunshine buried beneath layers of her fear and shame. She could be reborn, reclaim her goodness and pride. It was in there somewhere, he could feel it in his very core. He had to make her see.

      “You have to. You’re too good a soul to be trapped by someone like that. You’re coming home with me, and that’s final.”

      “And what is it you think you know about my soul?”

      Cupping her face in his hands, he met her gaze. “I can see you as a very little girl, with a sunburned nose, missing a front tooth, but you smile anyway. You liked to curl up on your mother’s lap, and she would sing you songs about Cuba. Songs her mother used to sing. The fuzzy dandelions in your front yard were your favorite feature of your new home. That little girl is still inside you, and she tells me you are a good person. Perhaps one who’s made some ill-advised choices, but still good.”

      She searched Bacchus’s eyes, mouth parted. “What kind of devil are you?”

      “I’m no devil I assure you. Quite the contrary. I only want to help.”

      “Why?”

      Bacchus shrugged. “It makes me happy to lend you a hand. It reminds me of someone I used to be.”

      “I can’t repay you, and I won’t—”

      “I’m not looking for payment in any form. I’ll send Pan to get your stuff from your locker and take you to my place.”

      “What if Dezi shows up there, too?”

      “Then I’ll beat him down like I wanted to a few minutes ago.”

      “He has friends—lots of nasty, dangerous friends.”

      “I have a few friends of my own. Don’t worry, Ariana. You’re safe with me.” He handed her a tissue.

      She huffed, wiping tears and her nose. “You’re really not afraid of him.”

      “Not a bit.”

      She leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You were very brave. Muy macho.”

      Warmth flooded his chest. “Was I?”

      “Oh yeah.” She nodded. “Well, except that part about having dinner with demons. That sounded a little fruity.”

      “Really?” Maybe she didn’t understand he was being literal. “Because that’s actually true. I have. Nasty sons-a-bitches, that lot.”

      Ariana shook her head. “You’re so strange.”

      He reached for his glass of port and took a long drink. “You don’t know the half of it.”