Goddess of Light (20 page)

His hands moved down her leg, until they came to her foot. His eyes flashed up at her, and then kissed the ankle she had injured the night before.

“I wanted to do that then, you know,” his voice was rough with desire.

“You should have,” she panted. “I wanted you to.”

Phoebus undid the little gold buckle that held the small strap of leather around her ankle, and slid the shoe off. Then he kissed the delicate arch of her foot. Electricity danced up her leg to settle deep in her moist center.

“I'm glad you like it,” he said, moving to her other foot. “Tonight I want you to believe that you are a goddess being loved by a god.”

She moaned and bit her lip as his mouth moved from the arch of her foot to her calf. He had to be a musician, she thought, when he stroked the inside of her thigh and his lips found the hollow behind her knee. Only a musician could have hands that talented. His touch felt hot, and she melted under his caresses. As his lips followed the path his hands traced up the inside of her thigh, she arched to meet him, gasping in pleasure when his hot tongue delved into her. Her orgasm was so quick and explosive that her entire body jerked in response. Somewhere in the violet haze of passion she acknowledged that it had never happened like that before—never so fast or so intense. Feeling dizzy, she reached out for him, and Phoebus gathered her to him.

“Yes, yes, I'm here, my sweet Pamela,” he murmured.

She could feel his heart pounding against her breast. The erratic pace of his pulse matched her own. She opened her mouth and his tongue met hers. She tasted her sex on him—salty and sweet at the same time. Pamela deepened the kiss, lifting herself so that her wet heat was pressed against the hard length of his erection. She reached between them to guide him to her. But she didn't sheath him within her—not yet. Instead she held him there, rubbing his engorged tip against her velvet folds while she stroked him with her hand.

Until she began stroking him, Apollo had been in complete control. He had reveled in the uninhibited way Pamela responded to him, and he had carefully used his immortal power to heighten her sensitivity. He made love to her with his body and his magic. When she found release, he drank in the honey of her ecstasy. But she had a magic of her own, that of a woman's allure intensified by the desire of a god's heart and soul.

“I can not wait any longer.” His voice was raw with lust.

“Phoebus . . .” She breathed his name as she finally guided him inside her and then rose to meet his thrusts so that he buried his entire length within her over and over and over.

Apollo lifted himself so that he could look into her eyes.
Heal,
the God of Light's soul spoke to hers.
Believe that you can love again.

His eyes captured her. She couldn't look away from him. She was consumed by his touch and his scent and the hard heat of him. She responded to him on a level that was deeper than physical. He was touching her, not just with his body, but with his mind, his heart and maybe even his soul. When his orgasm began, he took her with him. She closed her eyes against the intensity of her pleasure, and it seemed that a flash of pure yellow light burst against her closed lids as she heard Phoebus cry her name aloud.

 

 

ARTEMIS froze, midsip of the delightful martini she was sharing with the satyr who had served her so well earlier that evening. Like the vanquished Gordian knot, she felt the ties that bound her suddenly slice away. Apollo had done it. The ritual was completed. The goddess smiled and drew a deep breath, pleased that she was unhampered by the clinging emotions of a . . .

“No.” Artemis ground the word through clenched teeth. “This can not be.”

“Is anything amiss, my Lady?” The satyr's eyes were wide with concern.

“Be still!” Artemis commanded.

The woodland creature looked wounded but instantly obeyed his goddess. Artemis narrowed her eyes and concentrated. There! She hadn't imagined it. The overwhelming pressure that bound her to the mortal woman had lifted, but in its place was a single thread, thin and almost insubstantial. What was this? What had happened? Apollo must have made love to the mortal. That should have fulfilled the invocation. The mortal had asked to have romance in her life. How could being made love to by the God of Light
not
satisfy the woman's ideal of romance? Especially after she had been primed for him by the magic Artemis had used during the wonderfully erotic theater presentation. Her immortal eavesdropping on Pamela's conversation with the concierge had been fruitful; joining the erotic show herself was an inspired idea. The Huntress's full lips tilted up. She was discovering that there were things about the modern world that she enjoyed. She'd had no idea how much fun it would be to take a little sojourn as an adored star of the theater. She'd have to do so again very soon . . .

Artemis cringed as the thread that still bound her to the mortal woman tugged at her. It was just a slight pressure, like a very small burr that had worked its way into her slipper. At first it was only a minor annoyance, but left alone it could cause much irritation.

The goddess blew out a frustrated breath. There was nothing she could do about it right now. She couldn't very well chase down her brother and burst in on his lovemaking, demanding to know why his performance hadn't been romantic enough. That certainly wouldn't help. She twirled the thin, cold stem of her martini glass between her fingers. It was still early. Perhaps by morning Apollo would have managed to do whatever it was that the ridiculous mortal woman required to satisfy her romantic desires. Until then it was pointless to brood about it. She needed a diversion.

She glanced slyly at the young satyr who still sat quietly beside her. He really was a handsome beast.

“Darling,” she purred, and his ears literally perked in her direction. “Remember how exciting it was when you pursued me through the air earlier tonight?”

“Of course, Goddess,” his voice was eager. “An eternity can pass, and I will still remember.”

“I'm not ready as yet to return to Olympus. Pay for our drinks, and then let us go back to that lovely theater. You shall practice your aerial pursuit, and this time perhaps you will be more fully rewarded when you finally capture me.” She ran one finger down his muscular arm and his fawnlike eyes dilated in response.

“I live to serve your needs, Goddess,” he said.

“That is exactly what I am counting on,” Artemis murmured to herself as the satyr rushed off to pay the servant.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

OH, bloody buggering hell. She'd forgotten to use a condom. And not just for the first time. For the second, as well as the third. She rolled her eyes. What. A. Moron. How could she have forgotten? Especially after she'd swallowed down the knot of embarrassment that had threatened to choke her and bought a brand new box of Trojans from the hotel gift shop after her pedicure. And thank God she'd gotten that pedicure. Phoebus had kissed and caressed and even sucked her toes. Just thinking about it made her feel all flushed and weak-kneed, again.

Focus!
Her internal monitor chastised her. Not using condoms had nothing to do with toe-sucking. Or did it?

A movement to her right drew her eyes. Pamela turned her head and looked at Phoebus. He was so beautiful. When she wasn't looking at him, she could think of him as just an ordinarily nice-looking man. And then she'd see him and realize that there was nothing ordinary about him. Nothing at all.

Her body still glowed from his touch. She should be sore and tired and probably battling a raging urinary tract infection from too much sex. Instead she felt marvelous. Lazy and lethargic and very, very well-satisfied.

But she'd still forgotten to use a condom.

“I can feel you frowning,” he said without opening his eyes.

“That's impossible,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. “And anyway, I'm not frowning.”

Still without opening his eyes Phoebus said, “Not anymore you aren't.” He opened his eyes then and turned his golden head so that he could look directly at her. His smile was tender. “Good morning, my sweet Pamela.”

“I forgot to use a condom last night.” She blushed. “And this morning.”

His brow wrinkled. “Condom?” He tried out the unfamiliar word.

“Yeah,” she said, her face getting hotter by the second. She grabbed the sheet, which had come completely untucked, thanks to their aerobics last night, wound it around her naked body, and retreated to the bathroom. Over her shoulder she said, “You know—condom, prophylactic, rubber. I'm not on the pill or anything. You're the doctor. I shouldn't have to tell you how easy it would be for me to get pregnant.”

A condom was something that kept a mortal woman from getting pregnant? How very interesting. Although he didn't think it would stop a god from impregnating a mortal, should he desire her to become with child. Apollo had not impregnated Pamela. He stretched and smiled. He would like to, though, but not until she knew she was his, and she had agreed to spend her life with him.

“You could not have become pregnant from our lovemaking, Pamela,” he said.

She stuck her head out of the bathroom, her toothbrush in her hand. “You've had a vasectomy?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed the thought relieved her, so he nodded and smiled.

“Oh, well. That's good.” Her head disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared, toothbrush still in hand. “But what about, uh,” she faltered, and then she felt ridiculous. She'd just been more intimate with this man than she had ever been with anyone, including her ex, and asking about STDs was making her stutter? Besides that, he was a doctor, for God's sake. She tried again. “But what about sexually transmitted diseases?”

His golden brows drew together. “I have no diseases.”

“Oh, well. Again, that's good. Neither do I. Good,” she repeated for the third time, feeling like a total and utter boob. She ducked back into the bathroom, turned on the water and shut the door.

Apollo listened to her busy herself in the other room. It took a great effort of will for him not to join her. He wanted to pull that sheet away from her and lift her onto the counter; then he could plunge into her while he stared into her honey-colored eyes until, once again, he saw the reflection of his own soul within their depths. His body stirred, already becoming heavy and hard at the thought of her. Time . . . he reminded himself . . . there would be plenty of time for lovemaking in the years they would have together. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath of relief. It hadn't been the invocation ritual that had caused her to desire him. If that had been the case, her desire for him would have waned after their initial lovemaking. It most definitely had not—if anything, Pamela's passion had grown each time they joined. She had slept in his arms, fingers entwined with his. Even in her sleep she had nuzzled ever closer to him. He adored that about her, another thing that truly surprised him. Never before had Apollo nuzzled and cuddled afterwards with a lover—or if he had, it had only been as an impetus to begin another round of sex. He felt so different with her. He actually wanted her close to him, even when they weren't making love.

Now he understood why Hades and Lina often sat near enough to each other so that their bodies would be sure to touch, and why their fingers lingered during simple, ordinary activities, like passing a goblet or a platter of fruit. They wanted that connection. No, he amended. They
craved
that connection. Just as he craved Pamela.

She emerged from the bathroom with the sheet still wrapped around her, face freshly washed and hair damp.

“What shall we do today?” Apollo asked, holding out his hand to her.

Pamela took his hand and curled up against his chest. What an incredible rush of pleasure such simple words made her feel! He wanted to know what “we” would do today.

“Well, since we've missed breakfast”—she looked at the digital clock whose red numbers said it was already 2:05 P.M.—“and lunch, I think food should be on the agenda.” She kissed the strong line of his jaw, wondering briefly why no day-old stubble bristled against her lips. “And I hate to mention it, but I really have to do some work to prepare for tomorrow's meeting with my client.”

Apollo touched the wet hair that stuck out around her head in adorable messy tufts. “What kind of work?”

“Eddie wants a pool built based on the one here at the Palace. I, of course, have never even seen the Caesars Palace pool. So I really have to check it out, maybe do a few sketches so that I have some preliminary ideas to show him.” She frowned. “I've already read through his notes, which were more than a little confusing. It seems he wants a pool, outside, but covered—like the ‘authentic Roman bath downstairs.' I can only hope that it's less ‘authentic' than that wretched fountain.”

“Perhaps I can help. I do know something about authentic Roman baths.”

“I forget that you know all about this old-world mythology stuff. You're a handy guy to have around, aren't you?” she teased, leaning into him.

“You have no idea . . .” He smiled and kissed her.

 

 

“GIHUGIC?” Apollo said, shaking his head.

“Hunormic,” Pamela said. “How in the bloody buggering hell am I going to translate this into a backyard pool?”

“I think that would depend upon the size of his grounds.”

Pamela made a snorting noise.

“You are right.” Apollo said, not taking his eyes from the wide expanse of water and marble and fountains that stretched before them. “This . . .” He broke off, unsure of what to call it.