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He snatches her arm, stopping the retreat. Swaggering up to her, Envy aligns his abdomen with her spine. His mouth grazes her jaw, and his voice licks across her skin. “I can prove you wrong.”

“If you had been any good in the first place, you would’ve already done that.”

So much for keeping things light. Envy swings her around. “I know a plethora of immortals who would testify to the contrary, but no matter. Hear this: I gave you the perfunctory screwing you wanted and the superficial release we both needed. I tried to indulge in more, but I’m not about to squander my talents on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.”

“I thought the God of Envy could seduce anyone.”

“He can. He has.” Envy grins to his best advantage, knowing precisely which kind of sass will infuriate her the quickest. “You put out, didn’t you? I wasn’t imagining it.”

She opens her mouth, but he sets a pinky against it, no longer in the frame of mind to be magnanimous but in every mood to attack. “If you had been more adventurous, I might have indulged. But now, I’m seeing things clearly. I’m guessing that from your attitude about pleasure, you’ve been exposed to few examples. You may have slept with others, you may have slept with me, but you haven’t known sensuality. You’ve only known the mechanics of a stiff cock, not the exquisite suffering of an orgasm just out of reach.

“You accuse me of blowing smoke? Honey, don’t give yourself airs. If you had been worth the effort instead of a disappointment, I would’ve known. Like you said, it was just a bit of fun. I had no one else with whom to lower my standards.”

Shit. That’s going too far.

Sorrow sucks in a breath, her chin wobbling. To a small degree, they’ve talked about feeling pain. But they haven’t scratched the surface, and they certainly haven’t broached the subject ofgivingpain.

That’s what this moment is. That’s what presently roosts in his gut.

This is the pain of hurting someone.

And now he knows what that feels like.

In addition to the slap that follows.

10

Sorrow

His head whips to the side. The wet clap of a waterfall hitting a nearby pool punctuates the contact between Sorrow’s hand and Envy’s face. Moreover, his torso jerks from the impact, aggravating his wound.

She’s pushing through the foliage and out of the cul-de-sac before he turns back to her. Pebbles crunch beneath her bare soles, and damp soil stains the flannel hems, and the pink clouds agitate across her body. Striking across the pathway, she berates herself. That was the dumbest move she could have made, because she should know better than to trust her visceral responses to him.

Yet they’d been having such a nice time, such a friendly time. While it had made her uncertain at first, they’d inched past the discomfort, and she had allowed herself to get carried away. Sorrow would go so far as to describe this evening as magical, tranquil with its shrouded lagoon, and mini feast, and meandering chatter.

Drumroll: She’d had fun.

After their discussions loosened the kinks in her reserve, she was game to see where this insanity took them. He’d said things she hadn’t expected, dispelled myths about himself.

All the same, he’d reconfirmed other facts. If Envy knows anything, it’s how to romance a partner. And how to offend her.

He’d gone and ruined this night. And she’d helped him ruin it.

She’d done it again, made a spectacle of herself. If anything, she should have dismissed his rebuttal rather than flying off the handle, because that only proves his opinion matters.

It doesn’t!

Lastly, she should have slapped herself, not him. She should have boxed her own ears for letting her guard down, for believing they could spend a jovial night in the same proximity.

He’d smelled like jasmine and myrrh.

Sorrow whisks out her arm, knocking aside burgundy shrubs. She will not fall victim to swoonery, not after the hunky, godly fucker had criticized her, tried to invalidate her worth. That’s the deal breaker of all deal breakers.

And yes, she’s cognizant of the irony.

Jasmine and myrrh. Whatever. His stench is immaterial, a ploy for the weak who think being a dickhead increases the sex appeal of heroes. If anyone asks her, the more despicable one behaves, the uglier one gets. A chiseled jaw and full lips haven’t a prayer of amending that.

Sorrow has always been aware of his extreme looks, his handsomeness more fact than dazzling spectacle. She’s used to his face.