She didn’t say anything for a minute, but the waves of censure coming off of her were unmistakable. It didn’t bother him. Not at all.
“Go down below, Andrasta. There’s a rough patch of river coming up and I need to concentrate.”
She sighed. “Fine. You’re no fun anyway.”
He watched out of the corner of his eye as her pale form disappeared down the ladder, taking with her the forest scent that complemented the earthiness of the jungle. She’d probably notice that there was no rough patch of river, but by then she’d be pissed enough to stay away. It’d be for the best. He couldn’t allow himself to get used to her presence. Or worse, start to like it.
“Do you have anything to drink?” Ana hollered at Cam once she reached the main deck.
She walked the few feet to the bow so that she could look up at him in the pilothouse. It stood on sturdy wooden legs about six feet above the deck and gave him an exceptional view of the river. A view that he kept his steely gaze nailed to instead of looking down at her. She propped her butt on a huge metal piece of machinery sticking up off the bow.
“Ass off the windlass,” he yelled down at her.
“Fine.” She took her weight off the machinery.
“Got some beer and bottled water in the cooler in the galley. Don’t get wasted in case the gods figure out you’ve left and manage to find us.”
I wish. She didn’t want to get hammered, but a good buzz would be just about perfect right now. Most of her nerves had faded once he’d agreed to bring her along, and she was almost giddy with the fact that she was finally on her way out of Otherworld. The whole reason she was coming to earth was to feel something other than loneliness unalleviated by boredom and duty.
She walked beneath the pilothouse legs and into the space beneath the metal roof that she’d been standing on earlier. It took her a second to realize that the spartan space was the galley. A small stove, a table, a rusty old sink, and a cooler. Height of luxury. About ten feet away was a door that lead into the only enclosed space on the vessel—the bunkhouse, he’d said.
With a sigh, she popped open the top of the cooler and snagged a bottle of beer. It started sweating as soon as it hit the sultry air of the jungle. The bottle was deliciously cool against her fingertips. Damn, the jungle was hot. She closed her eyes and envisioned the tank top and shorts she’d seen Phoebe wear on an episode of Friends. She sighed when her heavy leather breastplate and pants were replaced by airy fabric.
“Much better,” she said as she headed back to the hammock she’d seen stretched across the port side of the bow. She flicked off the cap of her beer, then plopped into the hammock and leaned back. The water rushed beneath the boat, gentle waves lulling her into a daze as she sipped her beer. She glanced up at Cam in the pilothouse.
He looked competent and manly up there, the way his big hands loosely gripped the wheel and his eyes traced over the water. In his element. But he’d changed so much from the man who’d set her life on this path. And who’d grudgingly agreed to help her now.
She held up a fist in front of her face. He liked boats. She stuck up her thumb.
He ran a company that sold expensive medicine to sick people. She stuck up her forefinger.
He was prickly and bad tempered. Middle finger up. Straight up at him.
A bruiser who fought for fun. She stuck her ring finger up.
But that last one was the strange one. He fought for fun. Joy, or whatever it was he felt from the fights, was an emotion. He’d been a god, so shouldn’t he not have those?
But he’d been angry back in the bar. Pretty angry since then too, despite her trying to lighten the atmosphere. All sizzling under the surface, hot enough that she’d burn herself if she touched him. So that was a fifth thing she knew, the fact that he was a god who felt emotion. It was the most dangerous and enlightening of them all. It meant that he really had cared for her back then—it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination.
Five things. And that probably wasn’t even the start of how he’d changed. She sipped again, musing over all the things she wanted to do now that she was on earth. Sex, drugs, rock ’n roll.
Okay, mostly sex. She shifted uncomfortably in the hammock, struck for the second time that evening by the heat and tingling between her thighs. This always happened when she came to earth. Arousal that she never felt in Otherworld—that she couldn’t feel there, she was pretty sure, since there was no sex—would hit her like waves on the beach a few hours aft
er arriving on earth. Here one moment, gone the next, gaining strength like the waves of a storm at sea. Sometimes she acted on it, sometimes not. She blamed it on all the energy and emotion that was present on earth but not in Otherworld.
She sighed and stared up at Cam. Cam, who was alive. Alive when she thought he’d been dead for thousands of years. Cam, whom she’d so briefly been infatuated with. Cam, who’d changed her entire life and was still so damn handsome. Scary handsome. Not so handsome that it was scary. No. Handsome in a scary way.
If she felt fear. Which she didn’t. Rugged features that contrasted with ginger hair, enough muscles that he looked like he could snap someone in two.
She didn’t like being the weaker one in any situation. Even though she was a god and he was a mystery Mythean of undetermined species, she wouldn’t be surprised if he were stronger. He certainly looked it. She scowled, then turned her gaze to the stars.
She might need his help, but nothing else. She’d scratch this itch elsewhere. Getting involved with him had only led to trouble last time, and it would do so again.
CHAPTER FOUR
Southeast Celtic Britain, 13 AD
Territory between the Iceni and Trinovante Kingdoms