Goddess of Light (23 page)

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“I have to love her as a man loves a woman.”

Artemis raised both brows questioningly.

“With my heart and not my powers,” he said.

“Which means exactly what?”

“When I understand that, I will have gained something priceless. Her love,” said the God of Light.

“Do you think you can win her love before dawn tomorrow?”

“It seems doubtful,” he said.

Artemis sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful that the bond between Pamela and me has loosened. Now it is more like an itch that is difficult to scratch than a constant, jabbing annoyance. Bacchus certainly set a great deal of mischief afoot with his little prank.”

“Have you spoken to him at all?”

“No, he has been conspicuously absent from Olympus these past days.” She shrugged. “Although it's not as if he ever spent much time here. He has long preferred the company of mortals. When this ordeal is over, we must remember to deal harshly with his impertinence.”

Apollo was silent. How could he tell his sister that “this ordeal” would never be over? He knew little of love, but he was already certain of one thing. Love couldn't be ordered around—it didn't begin and end on demand. Unfortunately.

“Apollo? Pay attention. I asked for your plan of action tonight.”

“I don't know!” The walls glowed dangerously, and the God of Light reined in his frustration. “Dinner—she asked that I take her to dinner. You heard her.”

Artemis' smooth brow wrinkled as she thought about what Pamela had said, “Snackus Maximus? What type of name is that?”

“A poorly chosen one.”

“I still think you should bring her here tonight. Woo her in Olympus, in your very own temple. What could be more romantic?”

“Artemis, I already explained to you that I refuse to use my powers to win her love.”

“Then don't use your powers, stubborn! But this is your home, and it's certainly much more beautiful than anything the Kingdom of Vegas has to offer.”

Apollo considered his sister's words. “She does appreciate ancient architecture.”

“So bring her here. Tell her it's an exclusive part of Caesars Palace. At least you'll be assured privacy.”

“I suppose I could use my powers just enough to veil her senses as we cross through the portal.”

“Then transport her here quickly, before any of the other Twelve glimpse her.”

Apollo was beginning to enjoy the idea. “I wouldn't have to worry about accidents, or metal monsters, or any of the other distractions of the modern world. I could focus on assuring her of my love.” And he honestly wanted to show Pamela his home and to witness her reaction to its beauty—even if he couldn't claim it as his own.

“I'll plan the meal myself, and have my own handmaidens wait upon you. The nymphs can't be trusted.”

“Excellent!” Apollo said. “Be certain that you remind them not to call me Apollo.”

“Yes, yes, my maidens will continue your charade,
Phoebus
,” she said.

“I am in your debt,
Diana
,” he said, smiling.

She returned his smile, thinking how charming and handsome her brother was. Pamela would not be able to resist him, especially if Artemis had anything to do with it—which she would make sure she did.

“Then we've decided, and there is much to do to prepare. Time is short. By dawn Pamela must be returned to the Kingdom of Vegas. Hopefully, completely enamored with Phoebus,” Artemis said. Then she clapped her hands together twice, and in the commanding voice of the Huntress of Olympus, called, “Handmaidens, attend me!”

Before a breath could pass, twelve beautiful young women materialized in a puff of glittering silver dust that looked like it had been borrowed from the light of the moon.

“Ladies, my brother has need of our aid. Here is what we must do . . .”

Apollo watched the flurry of activity until his sister shooed him from the room, reminding him that it was almost time for him to meet with his lover. The God of Light smiled as he readied himself. He was bringing his true love to his home. He would woo her and love her here, where he was most comfortable. She would see that she need not fear being hurt again. Safe within his realm, he was certain that nothing could go wrong.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I don't have a clue what to wear,” Pamela sighed into her cell phone. “Something hot, but not too hot,” V said. “He has some explaining to do before you fall on your back, legs all akimbo again.”

“My legs were not akimbo.”

V's silence weighed heavily against Pamela's guilt-ridden ear.

“Okay, okay. Maybe they were a little akimbo,” she admitted.

“Pammy. There's no such thing as ‘a little akimbo.' That's like being a little pregnant, or engaging in a little nuclear war.”

“Oh, God. I'm a slut.” She covered her eyes with her hand.

“Please. You've had sex with two men in, what, eight or nine years? That absolutely does not even begin to qualify you for slutdom.”

“But I slept with him on what was barely our second date,” she whispered.

“You don't have to whisper. You're alone. And you're making your case to the wrong woman here. Let us review the old joke. What does a lesbian take with her on a second date?” She paused expectantly.

“A U-Haul trailer so she can move in,” Pamela provided.

“Right you are. So you see, from my point of view I think you've shown amazing discretion.”

“You're right. I'm talking to the wrong woman,” Pamela said.

V ignored her. “Which does not mean that you shouldn't play it cool. At least for a little while tonight until Young Jedi Phoebus explains why he's cutting out on you in the morning and, more importantly, why he failed to mention that little fact before, during, or after your legs were akimbo.”

“I really wish you wouldn't call him that.”

“Why? I mean it as a compliment. Besides, according to your gushing descriptions, it fits him perfectly.”

“He's not like a Jedi. If you want the truth, he's more like a young god.”

“Oh, get a grip on yourself. Nothing trumps a Jedi Knight except Princess Leia.”

“Vernelle! You're so not helping.”

“Sorry. Okay, what to wear . . . How about that adorable little butter-colored silk dress, you know, the one with the spaghetti straps. It's a spring fashion staple and always a hit with the masses. You did bring it with you, didn't you?”

“Yes I did. And do you remember how low it's cut? Hello! It has spaghetti straps! Bare shoulders and cleavage do not add up to hot without being hot,” Pamela said.

“True. Okay. Did you bring those black slacks with you? The ones with the little slits that show a pretty glimpse of your calves?”

“Yeah, I think I did.”

“Wear those with one of your sleeveless shells. Just be sure it's a shell that's also high-necked. That way he gets to see a little of your legs and a little of your arms, and just the outline of everything else. Then if he's a good boy, he can unwrap the rest of the package after he's made amends.”

“V, you're incorrigible,” Pamela said.

“Yes, I am, but I also know what looks good on women.”

“You've got me there. Okay. I'll wear the slacks. And I won't sleep with him. Again.”

“Sleep with? You didn't say anything about
sleeping
with the Jedi. I may not be hetero, but even I know no one
sleeps
with Jedi Knights.”

“Stop it. You know I'm talking about sex.”

“Pammy, you can have sex with him. Just make him miserable first.”

Pamela started to say something, and then changed her mind. “Okay. Maybe.”

“Don't
okay maybe
me. I know that tone. What's wrong? Give, girl.”

“I like him,” Pamela said softly.

“Yes, you've made that more than clear. So what's wrong with that?”

“No, I mean I
really
like him. And I don't want to. It's just not very smart.”

“Pammy, listen to me. What's not very smart is letting Mr. Control Freak Duane poison your future. This Phoebus guy might not be
the one.
He might just be someone to have a fun Vegas fling with, and you will forever remember him as the man who got you out there again. But you'll never find out what he is, or what any other guy is, if you aren't willing to take a chance. Love's like that. You have to chance losing to win.”

“I don't know if I can,” Pamela said. “We've already established that I'm not a very good gambler.”

“You can,” V said firmly.

“How can you be so sure?”

“If you were meant to be alone, you wouldn't agonize over the should I or shouldn't I's. You'd accept the shouldn't I as what feels best for you and move on with your life. Be honest. Can you really tell me that it felt better before you met Phoebus?”

“It felt easier,” Pamela said dryly.

“Well, doll, it's easier to make bedroom window treatments out of the same material as the bedspread. Does that make it better?”

Pamela grimaced, visions of perfectly matched floral prints assailing her. “Definitely not.”

“Please take a chance, Pammy. You deserve to be able to really live again.”

“I love you, V,” Pamela said.

“That's what all the girls say. Have fun tonight. And try not to overanalyze the poor tripod. Remember, you can be smart without being uptight.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Go get dressed.”

“Okay, I'll call you tomorrow,” Pamela said.

“By the way, you do realize that this is the second phone call in a row during which you haven't once mentioned work, don't ya?”

“Bloody buggering hell! I am losing my mind. How did it go with Mrs.—” she began, but V's laughter cut her off.

“Pammy! Stop. It's a
good thing
that you actually have something besides Ruby Slipper on your mind.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but everything's fine. As usual. You have no worries. Call me tomorrow after you meet with Faust. And remember—fun and fantasy, Pamela, fun and fantasy . . .”

 

 

“YOU look beautiful as well as amazingly seductive tonight,” Apollo said, kissing her hand with his lips lingering on her skin almost as suggestively as his eyes.

Great,
she thought as her stomach pitched and rolled at the sight of him,
the exact opposite of the look I was going for.

“I'll bet you say that to all the girls,” Pamela quipped, borrowing V's line.

“Not lately, I haven't,” he said, his summer-sky eyes going all dark and serious, “and never with as much sincerity.”

“Then thank you,” Pamela said, trying unsuccessfully not to fall under the blue spell his eyes cast. Like a cat ridding itself of water, she shook herself mentally and neatly changed the subject. “How's your sister?”

“She is well. Still troubled, but well.” He kept Pamela's hand enclosed in his own as he propped one foot up on the bottom rung of the tall chair next to her. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly right there in front of their café, but her body language told him clearly that he needed to take it slow and easy. “Diana did not mean to offend you this afternoon. As she said, she has not been herself lately.”

Pamela started to shrug an offhanded “no big deal” comment when she stopped herself. Instead, she squared her shoulders and looked directly into his bottomless eyes. “I'm not going to pretend that it didn't hurt my feelings to find out you're leaving so soon and you didn't say anything to me about it. To tell you the truth, it made me want to run away from you.”

“Ah, truth . . .” He nodded his head thoughtfully, thinking how very much he appreciated her honesty, and at the same time realizing how few women had ever been honest with him. They had adored him—worshiped him—vied for his attention. But he didn't think any of them had ever really been honest with him.

“It caused you pain to think that I would leave you without an explanation. And I am sorry for that.” He touched her cheek. “The last thing I desire is that you feel that you have to run from me to protect yourself.” He let his finger touch the gold coin that dangled around her neck. “Please trust that your feelings are safe with me.”

Again, she answered him with total frankness. “I'll try to trust you, but I can't promise you anything yet.”

He lifted her hand to his lips again. “Then I'll settle for your honesty and the opportunity to win your trust.”

“Can you tell me why you're leaving?”

“Would you mind very much if we talked about it over dinner? I have something rather special planned for you tonight.”

“Oh, okay,” Pamela felt a flush of pleasure that she wished she could control better. “I am hungry.” She stood up, very aware that Phoebus still held her hand, but unwilling to pull it from his warm grasp. “Where are we going?”

“Mount Olympus,” he said, eyes shinning.

“That sounds like a restaurant that would fit right in around here, but I don't remember seeing it while I was walking around The Forum. Is it in Caesars Palace?”

“It can be entered through Caesars Palace, but it is very exclusive. Few people know of it.”

“Just the gods, right?” Pamela kidded.

“Just the gods,” Apollo agreed, grinning at her.