Free A Scent of Greek: Out of Olympus by Tina Folsom Page A

instead unlocked the door himself. A moment later, the light in the foyer came on, and Ariadne followed him inside.
    “Upstairs or downstairs?” he asked.
    Panic skidded through her. She eyed the door to her right, where a brass letter gleamed. ‘B’ it said simply, which meant apartment A had to be upstairs. But she remembered clearly that on his wine order neither A nor B had been listed. He’d only given the house number. Frantically, the reels in her mind spun. Would he live upstairs or downstairs? If she brought him to the wrong apartment now, he’d never believe that they were engaged.
    She let her eyes glide over his body, and despite the rumpled clothes and the bloodstains on them, she knew they were expensive. The wine he’d ordered hadn’t been of the cheap varietal either and whenever he’d taken her out, he’d insisted on paying. The restaurants he’d taken her to had been the best in the city. No, she was pretty sure that Dio was reasonably well off. So, would he really live in a downstairs apartment where he’d be subjected to the sound of footsteps from above?
    “Upstairs, of course,” she said and prayed that her hunch was correct.
    Her heels echoed on the wooden steps as she followed him up the narrow stairway. She was glad that he went first. If she was wrong and his key didn’t fit, at least she wouldn’t be trapped between the closed door and his body and have to face the inquisition. She could simply bolt. And maybe that would be the preferred course of action in any case since she could clearly not muster the courage to tell him the truth. She darted a cautious glance over her shoulder, eyeing her escape route and wishing she wasn’t wearing high heels.
    Chicken! her inner voice chastised. Remember, you want to teach him a lesson because he hurt you.
    Ari swallowed away her doubts and lifted her head.
    That’s the spirit!
    Now if she could only stop talking to herself in her head, things would be perfect.
    The clicking of the lock and the sound of the old door hinges made her release the breath she’d been holding. Lucky guess, Sherlock! It seemed that the many hours spent reading detective novels had sharpened her powers of deduction and finally paid off. Putting two and two together had resulted in her guessing the correct apartment.
    “Aren’t you coming in?” Dio stood holding the door open for her, the apartment behind his broad shoulders flooded in light.
    “Sure, of course.” Ari crossed the threshold and heard him close the door behind her.
    The place wasn’t big. There was no foyer. Instead, she already stood in the open plan kitchen—or rather, kitchenette—which quickly melted into a comfortably furnished but utterly male living area: a big flat screen TV dominated one wall, and in front of it an oversized black leather couch took over most of the floor space. Tasteful modern prints adorned the walls, and rugs hid the worn—and most likely original—wooden floor.
    She watched as Dio inspected the place like a new tenant would during an open house. He strode through an open door.
    “The bedroom,” she heard him say.
    Ari planted her feet firmly in the living room, determined not to follow him into the bedroom. No, that was definitely a place where she had no intention of being caught alone with him.
    “Don’t you want to see?” he asked and turned back to her.
    “Seen it already,” she lied.
    Dio came back into the living room. “Guess I’m the only one for whom this is new.”
    She gave him a faint smile. “I think we should clean your wounds and see whether you need some bandages.” The least she could do in exchange for deceiving him was to take care of his injuries.
    Ari turned on her heels and headed for the bathroom. The sooner she helped him take care of his wounds, the faster she could leave and bring her thundering heart under control. She had hoped that after the way he’d treated her, she wouldn’t feel this continuing attraction for him.