Page 81 of Divine Temptations

He was hot.

No, like, stupid hot. Like “God called in a favor from Aphrodite and told her to make something special” hot. And that kiss—that lightning bolt of a kiss we’d shared in the healing center—still echoed through me in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack. His lips had been soft but demanding, his scent some maddening mix of herbs and heat. His hands, when they’d touched my waist, had seared through the fabric of my shirt and branded themselves onto my skin.

And I’d blown it by getting too carried away with my stupid lust for him. It was a first for me, being humiliated by a man, and it would never happen again.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to focus on the windshield, where the outskirts of Riverbend came into view. It still looked like something out of a Hallmark LSD trip. People were walking around in floaty skirts and patchwork pants, some of them barefoot, most of them holding woven baskets like they were on their way to gather wild herbs or kidnap children into a cult.

I snorted. “Okay, Summer Solstice Barbie, calm down.”

A woman in a crocheted shawl walked past carrying a tambourine and a taxidermied fox. She waved.

I waved back before I could stop myself.

Then I remembered the outfit I was wearing.

I glanced down at the loose-fitting cotton shirt, dyed a deep burgundy with some kind of vaguely tie-dye swirl across the chest. The wide-legged corduroy pants were from a vintage thriftstore in Brooklyn, and the leather sandals had required a lot of internal bargaining with my ankles.

I looked like a damn extra in a Fleetwood Mac video. But that had been the point—blend in. Don’t spook the herd. Look crunchy enough to get invited to drum circles and maybe even sneak into a ritual or two. That was the plan.

But it didn’t stop me from feeling like a poser, especially now that I was back and not sure if I was here to take Jude down or throw myself at him like a slutty man-shaped offering.

The Riverbend Inn appeared up ahead like a mirage. Wind chimes whispered from every corner, the entire place ringing softly like a fairy grandmother breathing secrets into the breeze.

I pulled into the gravel driveway and parked under the shade of a massive magnolia tree. My sandals crunched as I stepped out, stretching my legs and staring up at the inn with more hesitation than I wanted to admit.

The last time I was here, I’d been curious. Cynical. Detached.

Now I felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my emotional firewall and dared me to walk back inside.

You’re not here to get laid, I told myself. You’re here to expose Jude Brooks.

Right. Totally.

I walked up the steps, hand dragging along the wooden railing. It was smooth and warm under my fingers, worn down by time and touch. The scents of lavender and cedar hung in the air, with the faint smell of patchouli competing for attention.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The lobby was empty. All I sensed was the faint scent of incense and something that sounded like…

Chanting?

I tilted my head. The voice was feminine, low and rhythmic. I followed the sound past the front desk, leaned over the counter, and—

“Oh, what the fuck…”

The desk clerk was sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the desk, eyes closed, palms up, and murmuring something in a language I didn’t recognize. Probably Sanskrit. Or Elvish.

She opened one eye slowly, like an ancient owl who’d just been mildly inconvenienced by a very loud squirrel.

“Hello, Julian.”

I blinked. “Uh, hi. I’m checking in?”

She closed her other eye, sighed, and stood up with the grace of someone who’d spent her entire life in yoga classes with names like Starlight Flex. Her long hair was braided with tiny beads and what looked like a damn feather.

“I know who you are,” she said coolly, walking around to the desk.

Her fingers moved over the keyboard with an eerie quiet. No smile. No small talk. Just a side-eye that could freeze boiling water.