Excerpt of How To Worship A Goddess by Stephanie Julian

"Will you be at the game tonight?"

Lucy opened her eyes to look at Brandon, lying on his stomach next to her on her bed, his head pillowed on his crossed arms.

After that last bout in the living room, he’d cradled her against his chest and carried her back upstairs. She’d fallen asleep in his arms and woken to find him staring down at her.

She hadn’t done that in years, fallen asleep with a man in her bed. It just never happened, mainly because she didn’t have sex in this bed. Not since she’d moved here.

She wondered what Brandon would say if she told him where and how she’d been having sex. Would he believe her? She knew he still didn’t truly believe she was a goddess.

And really, what normal eteri would?

"Can I ask you something, Brandon?"

His eyes narrowed for a brief second before he pushed himself up onto one elbow and rested his head on his hand. "Sure."

"Do you believe in electricity?"

He didn’t react immediately, just stared at her with an intensity she recognized from watching him play. She knew he was weighing his answer carefully. Brandon was known on the ice as an enforcer with a wicked right hook, but the man also had a blazing slapshot, quick skates and a mind that was always three steps ahead of the play.

Why he wasn’t a star in the NHL was a mystery she’d never understand.

"Yeah, I believe in electricity."

"When I was…" Created? Came into being? Spontaneously appeared? "…young, electricity would have been viewed as magic. And really, what is electricity except harnessed power, yes? Magic is merely another way to harness power."

Nodding, he held her gaze. "I understand the theory behind magic. Hell, I have an aunt back home who makes potions from weeds that’ll cure whatever ails you. Last night, you touched my shoulder and now it doesn’t hurt. I believe you did that."

"But you don’t believe I’m a goddess."

His expression didn’t change one bit. "I didn’t say that."

Heat began to gather in her belly. A furious, vicious heat that wanted her to snarl and rage at him. But on its heels was a more sober threat. Tears.

And Lusna, the Etruscan Goddess of the Moon, didn’t do tears.

"What time do you need to be at the arena for the game?"

He gave an almost imperceptible flinch that let her know he’d correctly interpreted her question.

"You know," he said, his tone calm, almost amused, "I could play stupid and just answer the question. I could play the dumb hockey grunt and ignore the fact that you want me to leave now."

"I didn’t say—"

"But I don’t play those games. Hell, I don’t even play games on the ice. Out there, it’s a battle but there’s always a winner. If you tell me you’re not playing mind games with me, then I’m gonna take you at your word. Now, you tell me you’re an Etruscan goddess," he took a deep breath and released it before continuing, "well, then, I guess until someone can prove otherwise, I have no cause to doubt you."

That cold ball of rage died a fast death. Could it truly be that easy?

No, nothing was ever that easy. Men—no matter if they were gods or mortals—would tell a woman whatever she wanted to hear if it advanced his cause. Or got him laid.

She forced a smile that made his gaze narrow on hers. "I’m glad to hear it. And yes, of course I’ll be at the game."

It took him a few seconds, but Brandon finally nodded and rolled off the bed and walked across the room to retrieve his clothes from the chair she’d set them on last night.

She didn’t say anything, just enjoyed the show as Brandon moved naked across the room. The play of muscles in his thighs and ass was enough to make her mouth water.

At thirty-five, he still had the body of a twenty-year- old. And he got it the natural way. He hadn’t been born with it, as had the gods she knew.

No, he earned those muscles on the ice and at the gym. Hard, physical activity that sculpted his body into a work of art.

His scars merely added to the appeal. Even his crooked nose appealed to her in a way nothing ever had. What was it about his man that set her on fire?

And what would she have to do to douse the flames when it came time to get rid of him?

Dressed in his shirt and boxers, Brandon returned to the side of the bed, carrying his jeans. He stopped to stare down at her, heat and a promise in his gaze.

"I knew you weren’t there last night, you know." He pulled his jeans up his muscular legs. "Not that it’s your fault, but I knew something was wrong. I was off my game all night."

She knew his injury had been her fault. She nodded as he zipped his jeans. "You were and I’m sorry. But I was in the arena, just not in my regular seat."

She didn’t think she could live with herself if something else, something worse, happened to him.

Wipe his memories, you idiot. And do it right this time.

The conversation with Tessa and Cal played through her head again. She truly wasn’t worried about Charun coming after her. She didn’t think he’d have the nerve.

But what if he did? What if Charun sent one of his demons to get her? What happened if Brandon got between her and tukhulkha demons? He’d be hurt. He was eteri. He didn’t have the power to protect against what one of those fiends could throw at him.

She would need all of her powers to protect herself. But she knew if Brandon was in danger, she would protect him at her own expense.

Ugh, when did you become such a sap?

Damn it, she wasn’t. If Charun came after her, she didn’t want Brandon anywhere near her. Or any of her lucani, for that matter. But all she could think about was when she would see Brandon next.

Wipe his memory.

Her chest tightened as she stared up at him. She couldn’t do it. And not only because the sun had spilled over the horizon, severely limiting her powers. But she just didn’t want to.

"Babe, don’t even think about it." Fully dressed now, Brandon leaned down and planted a hard kiss on her lips.

She really shouldn’t melt every time he touched her. But she couldn’t help herself when he kissed her or caressed her—hell, all he had to do was look at her and her entire body surrendered.

She opened to him as his arms wrapped around her and his tongue slipped into her mouth, cutting off any reply she might have thought about making. With no visible effort, he lifted her off the bed and against his body. She let him kiss her, allowed his hand to roam over her naked body, palming her breasts and tweaking the nipples before smoothing down her back to cup her ass and press her mound against that firm ridge in his jeans.

He kissed her until she wrapped her legs around his waist and tilted into him, her sex wet and aching for him again. When she moaned and tilted her head to make him kiss her even deeper, he pulled away and set her back on the bed. Then he looked straight into her eyes.

"If you take my memories, I will turn up here again tonight. And when I figure out what you did, again, I might just think you don’t want me."

He slipped a hand between her legs, stroked her wet lips and tweaked her clit until she shuddered .

"And I know that’s not true." He kissed her one last time then headed toward the door. When he got there, he stopped, turned and flashed her a quick smile.

"Wait for me after the game. I’ll tell Chester the guard to expect you."

She shook her head and he was about to argue when she said, "Why don’t we just plan to meet here after the game? Is that okay with you?"

He couldn’t stop smiling. "Absolutely. I’ll see you later. And don’t miss warm-up."