Goddess of Light (15 page)

“Do not allow her to turn from you.” Hades' voice had gone flat and deadly serious. His hand tightened on Lina's as he remembered how he had almost lost her because of his own pride.

“Apollo, you have to be sure that you
are
showing her the real you,” Lina said, choosing her words carefully. “That's the trickiest part about love. You have to bare yourself for it to work. And if you really bare yourself, all of a sudden you'll realize that you aren't a god or a doctor or a musician; you're just a man in love. If she loves you in return, she'll see that.”

“If not?” Apollo asked.

Lina answered truthfully. “If not, you get hurt,”

“It is worth the cost,” Hades said, looking into his lover's eyes. “The chance to know true love is worth any cost.” In response Lina touched his face with a gentle caress.

Apollo watched Lina and Hades. At times they seemed to speak to one another in a secret language of their own. They fit together as if they had been fashioned for each other. By all the gods, Hades had changed since Lina had come into his life! It was as if loving her had opened a new world to him. Where once the dark god had been brooding and withdrawn, now he seemed at peace, even affable. Lina had made Hades complete.

Apollo wanted that same completion.

“I will do it!” he proclaimed. “I will make love to her. If it is only a spell that draws her to me, I must know it.”

Lina thought Apollo looked like a man who was getting ready to run a gauntlet. Then his face changed once again, and he rubbed a hand across his brow as if he wished he could wipe away his worries.

“But if it is not a spell, how do I keep her affection?” He blinked at Lina. “What is it that modern women desire?”

“That's no mystery, Apollo.” Lina smiled. “We want the same thing you want, the same thing Hades wants. We want someone who will love who we really are—no masquerades—no pretenses—no games.” She stood up and approached the golden god, laying her hand on his arm. “Can you do that, my friend? It's not like chasing after nymphs and goddesses. It's much less glamorous.”

Apollo thought about how the world had disappeared as Pamela relaxed into his arms and how the growing trust in her eyes made him feel more godlike than all the glories of Olympus. And then he thought about the stab of terror he had felt as he watched her body crumple forward and into the path of the metal machines. If he hadn't used his powers, she would have been crushed . . . killed . . .

He rubbed his hand across his brow again.

“I've grown weary of glamour. I believe that I choose love,” he said wearily.

“Good choice, honey.” On tiptoes, Lina gave him a quick, sisterly kiss. “Uh, you might want to consider telling her who you really are as soon as possible.” She slanted a sideways glance at Hades. “Take it from me, it's best to get the truth out and over with.”

“Yes, yes, I shall.” Distracted, Apollo didn't seem to hear her. “Thank you, my friends.” He patted Lina's hand and then stepped away from her, preparing to transport back to his Olympian palace. “Perhaps I should bring her a gift . . .” His words floated through the chamber as his body wavered and then disappeared.

“I think the heart of the God of Light will be gift enough,” Lina said, sighing heavily.

Hades shrugged one shoulder. “Jewelry never hurts.”

 

 

PAMELA woke up in small degrees. She stretched and then hugged her pillow, sleepily thinking that something wonderful was going to happen today, but in the place between awake and asleep, she couldn't quite remember what it was. She felt wonderful. Her body was well-rested, yet she was filled with a tight hum of anticipation. A finger of daylight broke through the thickly brocaded drapes that were pulled just short of completely closed. The light tickled her closed eyelids. It brought to mind golden rays of sun . . . heat . . . eyes the color of brilliant aquamarines . . .

Last night . . . kisses in the rain . . . Phoebus . . . Her eyes snapped open. Oh. Shit. How could she have forgotten? She was meeting him tonight at 8:00. She looked at the bedside clock and sat straight up. It was almost noon! She was a morning person, and she'd slept until noon?

Well, she was also a woman who had avoided men and romance for the past several years, and last night she distinctly remembered melting into a practical stranger's arms. Pamela hugged her knees to her chest, feeling her heart beat with excitement. She wasn't a dried up old hag—she was young and alive. She'd taken a chance, and it had paid off. Big-time. A delicious shiver ran through her body as she thought about how it had felt to be wrapped within Phoebus' arms. And his mouth! His kiss had seared from her lips to her toes. If he was that good at kissing, she could only imagine what else he could do with that fabulous mouth—

Her phone rang, jarring her out of the erotic daydream.

“Hello, V,” she said without looking at the caller ID number.

“Are you alone?” V asked, using her best stage whisper.

“Yes,” Pamela bit her lip and added, “unfortunately.”

“Oh, nuh-uh! Listen to you, doll!”

“V, I feel alive again. It's like I'd become a desert, and he's a warm spring rain. And let me tell you, I'm ready to lap him up.” She sighed happily.

“You're be-friggen-sotted.”

“You're right! You're right! I
am
besotted—in lust—giddy! And holy shit, it feels good! Oh, let me just get this out of the way right now. Aloud and without coercion, I admit readily that you were right,” she chanted joyfully.

“Wait, I'm pinching myself. Yes, it hurts. No, I'm not dreaming. Damn right I was right! You aren't still drunk, are you?”

Pamela laughed. “I was never drunk; I was just tipsy enough to do what you told me to do. And, ohhhh it was wonderful!”

“Gory details, please. Tell me everything.”

“We went to the Bellagio fountains. First they played some insanely romantic song from an opera, which Phoebus—”

“Phoebus?” V broke in.

“That's his name. It's Greek. Or Roman. Or Latin. Or something. Hey—did you know that Pamela means ‘all that is sweet' in Greek?”

“Pammy, you're losing focus. Again. Snap back. His name is Phoebus and . . .”

“Oh yeah. So first they play the song from the opera. He knew the words. God, it was romantic . . .” She sighed.

“You already said that. Fast forward.”

“Then it started to rain and we ran under a tree. And you won't believe this part—we're standing there and—V, did I mention how gorgeous he is?”

“Focus, please.”

“Sorry. Anyway, we're standing there, and the fountain comes on again—and it's Faith Hill singing ‘This Kiss.' ”

“You've got to be kidding,” V said.

“Seriously. And then we did it.”

“You copulated right there on the street?”

“No! It was on the sidewalk, and we didn't do
it;
we kissed.”

“Then you went back to your room and copulated like naughty heterosexual bunnies?”

“Again, no!” Pamela cleared her throat and had the insane urge to whisper the rest of the story. “But he did carry me up to my room.”

“You mean like Rhett and scrumptious Scarlett?”

“Exactly like that. Only I'd twisted my ankle, and it was raining.”

“So you fell off your stilettos . . .”

“Which shows how distracted this guy makes me, because, as you know, I can jog over a sheet of ice in three-inch heels,” Pamela said smugly.

“He played a knight in shining armor—a cliché I know you straight girls adore, by the by, and you still didn't copulate with the poor tripod?”

“Not yet,” Pamela said breathlessly.

“Yet? Give up the rest of the story.”

“We have a
date
. Tonight. Ta da!” she finished with a verbal flourish.

“Ya don't say?”

“I do say.”

“Okay. What's the plan?” V, the consummate date-aholic, got straight to business.

“Well, I thought we might go to dinner,” Pamela said.

“Pammy, you're in Vegas. You can do better than that.”

“Please don't tell me we should gamble.”

V's sigh was long-suffering. “Of course not. Vegas is a Mecca for fabulous shows. Go see one, a sexy one.”

“That's a good idea, except . . . well . . . shouldn't I wait to see what he has planned?”

“Pammy, you know I'm your friend, so please don't take this the wrong way, but do you really want another relationship where you let the man always take the lead?” she asked gently.

“No!” The word came out in a flash of anger. “I don't want anything like what Duane and I had. I'm not that silly young girl he married anymore.”

“You weren't silly, Pamela. You were just young and in love. You made a mistake. It happens to the best of us.”

“Well, it's not going to happen to me again,” Pamela said firmly.

“Which part? Being in love or being young?”

Pamela opened her mouth to say both, but then she remembered the soft blue of Phoebus' eyes and the way he looked at her with equal parts of interest and desire. And she remembered something else that she was almost sure she had recognized within his eyes and his voice and the way he touched her—a familiar searching that tugged at her heart as well as her soul.
Soul mates
. . . the thought wafted like the fragrance of spring flowers through her mind.

“I'm not young anymore,” she said. “And there's no way I can fall in love in a weekend.”

Vernelle laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, Pammy.”

Pamela frowned. “I'm going now. I have a lot to do before tonight.”

“Such as . . .”

“Such as I have to sketch that awful fountain so I can have something to send to the Fountain Boys.” The Fountain Boys were what Pamela and V called the brothers who owned a huge fountain wholesale business that Ruby Slipper had used several times to fill orders for all types of water features. “I am here to do a job, remember?”

“I thought Faust said you were to loll about soaking up the ambience of The Forum this weekend.”

“That doesn't mean that I can completely ignore work. Which reminds me, are you meeting with Mrs. Graham today?”

“Yes, of course. The crazy cat lady and I have a date this afternoon. We're going to discuss the color of her shutters. Pray for me.”

Pamela laughed. “I'll see if I can find a candle to light.”

“Okay, enough about unfinished jobs. You're supposed to be lolling, not working.”

“Well, I've definitely soaked up enough tacky pretend Roman ambience. The sooner I get going on this job, the sooner I can be done with it.”

“Fantasy and fun, remember?” V said.

“Vernelle, tonight I'm going out with a gorgeous stranger named Phoebus. Isn't that enough fun fantasy for you?”

“Mix a little of that cheeky attitude in with this job without losing your sense of humor, and I think you'll have the perfect recipe for succeeding with E. D. Faust, as well as Phoebus. Have fun with both of them, Pammy.”

Fun . . . her personal life had definitely stopped being fun. She was comfortable and secure, but fun . . . happy . . . joyous? No. Had her job stopped being fun, too? She liked what she did; it satisfied her. But when was the last time she had felt a sense of wonder or a rush of joy at the completion of a job? She couldn't remember . . . The thought brought her up short.

“Pammy? You still there?” V asked.

“Yeah, just thinking.”

“How about this—you give the fountain an hour of your time,
after
you give the concierge a call and arrange for your show tickets,” V said.

“Okay, okay. You're right,” Pamela said.

“And tomorrow I want a full report.”

“You'll get it.”

“Good. Bye-bye, birdie,” V quipped before hanging up.

Pamela rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She just hoped she'd have something worth reporting tomorrow. Then, before she changed her mind, she dialed nine for the concierge.

An efficient-sounding woman answered on the second ring. “Yes, Miss Gray. How may I help you?”

“I would like to see a show tonight.” She paused, drawing a deep breath. “An erotic show. But nothing too nasty,” she finished in a rush.

“Of course not, ma'am. I highly recommend a show that's currently playing at New York-New York. It's by the same company that produces Cirque du Soleil. Have you heard of them?”

“Yes, I've been to a Cirque du Soleil show when they came through Denver.”

“Excellent. This production is called
Zumanity
. It is erotic but tasteful. I've seen it myself and enjoyed it very much. Actually, it's been selling out lately, but the hotel does have access to a few hard-to-find tickets.”

“That sounds perfect,” Pamela said, relieved that everything was falling into place so easily.

“And how many tickets will you require?”

Pamela's grin telegraphed through the phone lines. “Two, please.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

PAMELA shifted her weight and curled her feet under her, completely engrossed in sketching the fountain. Well,
her
version of the fountain. She kept its cloverleaf shape, but she shrank it and ignored the hideous statues of Artemis, Apollo, and Caesar, replacing them with pretty swirls meant to look like waves from the middle of which fish spouted water. She glanced up at the bulbous center statue and sighed. No matter how she “fixed” the rest of the gihugic thing, there was no way she could make Bacchus acceptable—especially if Eddie kept insisting that the thing be animated. Her fingers, which had been flying over the page of her sketchbook, slowed. She drew in the center pedestal, but left blank the area on top of it where Bacchus sat. Surely she could talk Eddie into something less . . . she frowned at the statue . . . less fat and hideous.