The Huntress (Olympians In Love) by Honey Andrews

Author:Honey Andrews [Andrews, Honey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-07-23T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter thirteen

Westley couldn’t stop looking at Artemis' hands. Her fingers were slim and graceful, sporting neatly manicured, seashell-pink nails, and they moved with an elegance that was almost dreamlike. They were the kind of hands that should’ve belonged to an artist or pianist; the feminine twin to what his were expected to look like, instead of the rough, calloused fingers he possessed. They were beautiful and, as he was coming to learn, deadly.

His gaze fixated on her as she delicately extracted a rectangular wooden block from the center of the small tower in front of them, before seamlessly placing it back on top, aligning it with its brethren. Her actions appeared as a single fluid movement, and he didn’t understand how that was possible. "You didn't even check to see if it was loose first," he murmured, shaking his head. It wasn't the first time she had done that, either. It was like she possessed a sixth sense, one that made her unusually good at everything she attempted.

Artemis raised her mug of hot chocolate, smirking at him over the rim. "It's called confidence. Maybe you should try it sometime."

"Ouch, okay," he replied, melodramatically pressing a hand against his chest. “Are you going to give me the question, or just keep attacking me?”

The Jenga blocks they had discovered, tucked away in the cabinet beneath the television in Westley’s hotel room, had been altered. Each block bore a simple question, messily inscribed in curly, feminine handwriting. But, seated on the plush carpeted floor of his room, a warm drink in hand, his body pleasantly exhausted, and the faux fireplace cracking merrily, Westley wouldn’t have cared if he and Artemis were solving math equations. The ambiance seeped into his bones, making him feel more relaxed than he had in weeks. And despite Artemis’ deceptively tense posture– legs crossed, spine straight as an arrow even as she leaned against the foot of the sofa– he knew she felt similarly. Even during mid-flight naps, her posture was always perfect, which made him wonder if he had been on to something when he’d theorized about her experiences at a strict, all-girls, German boarding school.

“Boring,” Artemis sang as she read the block. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Peach,” he answered quickly, his thoughts guiltily centered on little plaid school-girl skirts and knee-high socks.

“Peach?” She asked, looking up at him with a frown. He briefly wondered if she had tied her hair in two braids instead of one, then promptly chastised his younger self for watching too many Britney Spears music videos.

She’s your assistant. Assistant, assistant, assistant. Lose the hard-on. It’s only two more weeks. “Yeah, peach. Or blush. That pinkish hue that spreads across the sky just before sunrise. I think it's beautiful.”

Artemis' expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, which happened to share a similar blush shade. Not that it had any relevance to his choice of favorite color, of course.

With the tip of his index finger, Westley gently probed a few blocks, honing in on a loose one and removing it from the tower.

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