Goddess of Light (16 page)

She checked her watch—three thirty. Four and a half more hours until her date. She should get her camera and take pictures of the columns, as well as make notes about colors and textures. All this preliminary work would be needed Monday when she finally met with Eddie at his home. But instead of thinking about work, her mind wandered to thoughts of pleasure. The gilding of the overly ornate columns reminded her of the brightness of Phoebus' hair. Now that her concentration was no longer required to sketch the fountain, Pamela's mind circled back to him. The pretend sky from which fluffy clouds billowed reminded her of his eyes. Hell, even the tacky statue of Apollo was somehow beginning to look like him.

It was like he was one of those glowing bug lights, and she was a love-struck mosquito. She was obsessed. Pamela knew it, and was more than a little chagrined to realize that she really didn't care. On the contrary, she felt like she did when she was reading an exceptionally good book—like she was walking around in someone else's world and enjoying every second of it.

Her smile was self-satisfied and very, very sensual. Maybe she should gamble; she sure felt lucky.

As if echoing her thoughts, a slender young woman breezed up to the fountain, talking in excited little snatches to her friend.

“Can you believe our
amazing luck?
Oh. My. God. Stumbling into the Chanel sale of the year!”

A sale at Chanel? Pamela's ears perked.

“I thought I was going to faint when I saw how far that dress had been marked down.”

Giggling and hefting their full shopping bags, the two women breezed past Pamela's bench.

It must be fate.
Pamela gave the ugly fountain another look and almost laughed out loud. Or maybe it was ordained by the gods. She was going to buy a fabulous new Chanel dress to wear tonight. She was going to go to an erotic show with a gorgeous hunk of a man. And she might even have sex with him afterwards. Her stomach butterflied.

Okay, scratch that. She was getting ahead of herself. Big, deep breath.

How about . . . She might even make out with him afterwards. And heavy petting wasn't out of the question, either. She closed her sketchbook and slid it into her leather briefcase.

Red. She'd buy a red dress that showed just a little too much leg. She might even get a pedicure. Yes, she would get a pedicure. Red toes were definitely a necessity tonight. Humming softly to herself, she headed happily towards couture heaven.

 

 

BACCHUS drummed his fingers on the top of the restaurant table. Things weren't going as he'd planned.

“Bring me another tequila!” he snarled at a passing waitress and then was instantly sorry when she cringed at the heat of the god's wrath and almost knocked over several chairs in her haste to get to the bar to place his order. It was bad enough that the young Olympians were annoying him. It was totally unacceptable that they were causing him to take out his annoyance on the innocent people in his kingdom.

And it was still
his
kingdom.

The waitress rushed up to his table with his tequila.

“I'm so sorry, sir. I should have been paying better attention to you. I didn't mean for you to have to wait for your drink.”

Bacchus smiled kindly at her and touched her arm, transmitting a dose of magic into her body. Instantly her terrified look vanished. Her young cheeks flushed, and her lips parted seductively.

She thought how wrong she had been to have ever considered him a terrifying, obese stranger. His anger wasn't palpable. And he wasn't fat. He was just a big man. She liked big men—
really
liked them. Heat coursed from his fingers into her arm and all through her body, tingling her nerve endings and causing her most private parts to become wet and ready. She stared into his dark eyes and leaned closer to him, wishing he would take his hand from her arm and slide it down between her legs and . . .

Bacchus chuckled and stroked the firm flesh of her young arm. “Later this night you will come to my suite. Just think of me, and your desire will lead you to the correct room.” Only after he was certain that his command had been firmly planted into her subconscious, did he break contact with her skin.

The waitress shivered with intense pleasure. “Yes.” She moaned the word.

“Now be off.” He gestured slightly with his hand, and a veil lifted from her eyes.

She blinked and smiled hesitantly at him.

“Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”

“Later, perhaps,” he said.

She walked away slowly, still looking dazed. Bacchus studied her well-rounded buttocks and let himself imagine how she was going to feel beneath him later that night. She would be delightful and young and fresh and completely enamored with him. He was a god; he could easily be certain of her adoration. Modern mortals needed to worship him. He was actually doing the young woman a favor by adding the intoxicating magic of wine and fertility to her otherwise mundane life.

But he was the only god who had a right to use his power amidst them. Las Vegas had been his discovery. HE WOULD NOT SHARE HIS REALM! He especially would not share it with the golden twins. He had always loathed both of them with their perfection and their nonchalant arrogance about everything. They hadn't been content to remain within Caesars Palace and gamble alongside the mortals. They had actually found their way to his special place—the fountain in The Forum.

Yes, he had loosed his immortal power through the nymphs. He had meant to shock the twins. He had purposefully targeted that repressed little mortal and caused her to drink just enough of his wine to set into motion the sequence of events that would allow the invocation to be completed. He knew Artemis' temper—all of Olympus knew it. He had been certain that the goddess would act to prevent the invocation, especially when he used the caricature of the vain Huntress in such a blatantly disrespectful manner. And in acting against him, the godlings would have betrayed themselves as immortals to the modern world. What an intoxicating spectacle that would have been! Of course Zeus' anger would also have been great, but after the thunderclouds had cleared from Olympus, Bacchus could have slid through the discarded portal, alone once again in his magnificent Las Vegas to reign with no restrictions to bind his desires and no rules to follow.

But neither of the twins had interrupted the invocation, and the mortal had actually bound Artemis to fulfill her heart's desire. Apollo had begun wooing her! Bacchus had watched the two of them fawn over one another the rest of the evening. He was even fairly sure that the God of Light hadn't been using any of his immortal powers to seduce the woman.

Anger mushroomed within Bacchus. Apollo didn't need to use his immortal powers to seduce with magic. He had a muscular, golden body that held a masculine beauty far beyond mortal standards. What the God of Light had been gifted with wasn't fair; it had never been fair.

He'd coaxed the desert sky into sending a rainstorm to ruin the god's little tryst, but that hadn't worked. Then he'd nudged the unsuspecting mortal, causing her to catch her heel. The mortal should have fallen into traffic, and the golden god should have betrayed his presence to save her, but Apollo had managed to foil the accident Bacchus had orchestrated without the mortals of Las Vegas realizing there was a powerful immortal in their midst. It was insufferable.

He would not tolerate another god usurping his place.

Then Bacchus remembered the passionate kiss Apollo and the mortal had shared, and the way the God of Light had carried her through the rain as if he were her savior. She was what was keeping the god's interest focused on Las Vegas. Who could guess how long Apollo would enjoy toying with her? And what if, after Apollo tired of this particular mortal, he found he had developed a taste for modern women? Bacchus certainly had. He threw back the shot of potent liquor. No. That would never do. He would not tolerate Apollo's seduction of his mortals.

But how to rid himself of the God of Light? It would be difficult. He obviously wasn't going to betray himself as a god and bring down Zeus' wrath, and neither he nor his twin sister seemed to be in any rush to tell Zeus about the invocation rite he'd worked. Unfortunately, it was apparent that, after Apollo had begun the seduction of the mortal woman, he was, indeed, thoroughly enjoying himself. Bacchus ground his teeth together. Well, he had himself to blame for that, so it was up to him to discover a way to dampen Apollo's enjoyment of Las Vegas.

Bacchus wanted to shriek in rage. How could Apollo not enjoy Las Vegas? It was a playground fit for the gods, and Apollo had the power to command its dormant magic alive, as did Bacchus. Ha! Scorn twisted the god's face into a sneer. He would like to see Apollo survive in Vegas without his supernatural powers. He would be a child lost in a dark forest. Apollo thought himself so superior to Bacchus, but he didn't know the modern mortal world—he didn't have his reserves of money or his luxurious suite of rooms and vast knowledge of how to manipulate mortals to his will.

Suddenly, Bacchus sat up straighter in the seat that was far too narrow for his bulk. That was it! If he could contrive a way for Apollo to miss the closing of the portal tomorrow evening, the great God of Light would be trapped in the mortal world for the span of five days,
without
his formidable powers. He would be weak . . . helpless . . . miserable. And when the portal reopened, he would be only too happy to depart and never return. Then it was only a matter of time before the God of Light's dislike for Las Vegas would be mirrored in the rest of the snobbish Olympians.

He would do it. Apollo would be trapped in Las Vegas without his powers. Bacchus' smile was filled with awful glee.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“THE garments are certainly odd, my Lord, but we still find your form pleasing within them,” the yellow-haired nymph said in her seductive, musical voice. The cluster of nymphs that had gathered around Apollo after he had emerged from his dressing room cooed their agreement.

Apollo studied his reflection in the large, ornately framed mirror. Last night he had been so distracted when he left Pamela that he had forgotten to retrieve his clothing from the Armani store, but this morning his rendezvous with Pamela had been the first thing on his waking mind, and with thoughts of her came problems like what should he wear and where should they go? His modern clothing had been ruined by the rain. He wondered as he had inspected the rumpled shirt how modern men kept up with the constant demand for new clothing. At least that explained the proliferation of shops hawking all types of garments. It must be time-consuming to be properly dressed in the Kingdom of Las Vegas. But Apollo was a god. He didn't desire to waste his time in the endless acquisition of clothing, so he had done what many of the immortals did; he'd sent nymphs to run his errands for him. The god brushed a small piece of lint from the butter-colored shirt, which was made in the same style as the one he had ruined. It had almost imperceptible lines of light blue woven cunningly through it. The slacks were fashioned of well-made linen, a shade darker than the shirt. It was always wise to call upon the aid of nymphs when beauty and colors were involved. The subtle shades they had chosen were like the first soft rays of the sun mixing with the blushing blue of the morning sky.

“You made an excellent choice.” Apollo smiled his approval at the nymphs, who giggled and fluttered at his praise.

The boldest of the group, a lovely auburn-haired dryad with whom Apollo thought he remembered having a passionate fling several centuries before, approached him. She shook her waist-length hair back, so that the sheerness of her almost nonexistent gown was openly displayed to him. Her nipples had been darkened, and as his eyes were naturally drawn to them, they puckered enticingly in an automatic response.

“Why not stay with us, God of Light?” she purred, running knowing hands over her body. “We can entertain you much better than any mortal woman.”

“Yes,” said another nymph who moved closer, “and you will not need to wear
any
garments for the entertainment we provide.”

The other nymphs laughed seductively and began a little impromptu dance around their favorite god. They smiled clear invitations to him and beguiled him with their blatantly sexual beauty.

He watched them, amused and flattered by their show of affection. He had long been popular with the little semideities. They were like beautiful, erotic flowers, easily plucked, their sweetness easily enjoyed. But this time he was not tempted to taste their charms. If they were flowers, Pamela was the Earth—sensuous and lush. What he desired foremost was to bury himself within her richness.

“Perhaps another time, my beauties,” he told them.

“Begone!” A sharp voice that was the feminine version of his own shot from the doorway. “The God of Light will be otherwise occupied tonight.”

The nymphs flitted from the room, casting nervous glances at Artemis.

“There was no need to offend them,” Apollo said, pulling his fingers through his hair.

“Let's just say I am a little distracted right now, and I have more things on my mind than the honey-sweet feelings of nymphs. For instance, right now I feel shackled to a mortal woman with chains that Prometheus would find heavy to bear.”

Apollo laughed. “It can not be as bad as all that.”

His sister's face remained tense and serious. “I feel the weight of her need and desire. Both are great.”

Her words stilled Apollo's laughter. “Has something happened to her? Is she well?”

“The silly mortal is perfectly fine. She's just filled with lust and need and desire and anticipation. It's overwhelming.”