“Suckingmyself would probably elicit better results than when you did it,”he retorted. The handful of gods and goddesses around him snickered.

“Whatever,”she said, as if the taunt didn’t bother her. Except, her cheeksdid flush.

Shewas the epitome of strength-or she was supposed to be-and she’dalways been more mannish than feminine. That was why Atlas’sattention had so surprised and delighted her. That gorgeous man couldhave won anyone, yet he’d chosen her. Or so she’dthought. And she’d fallen for his act because he’dsomehow made her feel like a delicate, beautiful woman.

Justthen, Atlas strode into the guard’s station. She didn’thave to see him to know. She felt him. Always she felt his heat. Whenher gaze found him, she discovered that he had his arm wrapped arounda leggy blonde. A blonde who cuddled herself into his side as if shebelonged there-and had rested there many times before. The thoughtangered Nike. It shouldn’t have; she despised Atlas with all ofher being and didn’t care who he slept with. Didn’t carewho he pleasured. And yes, he would have pleasured the blonde withthose talented hands and seeking lips. He was an amazing lover whosetouch still haunted Nike’s dreams. But there it was. Anger. Shedidn’t mean to, but found herself striding to the bars andgripping them for a better, closer look at him.

Threeother guards stood around him, all talking and laughing. Whileprisoners wore white, guards wore black, and he wore that darknesswell. It was the perfect complement to his dark, chopped hair andsea-colored eyes. His face had been chiseled by a master artist,everything about him perfectly proportioned. His eyes were theperfect distance apart, his nose the perfect length, his cheeks theperfect sharpness, his lips the perfect shape and color and his china perfect, stubborn square. She should have known he was playing her