Goddess of Light (39 page)

“He sounds like a paradox.”

“He is what all of us are, not simply one thing or another, but a mixture of many.”

“That doesn't sound like a god of gods; it sounds like a man,” Pamela said.

“Exactly,” Apollo said. “In the Ancient World the gods did not create the universe. It was the other way about; the universe created the gods. Think of the universe—the heavens and the earth, the sun and the moon. Are they all one thing or another? It's much like the serpent today. It aroused my anger—so much so that I killed it—but it wasn't truly evil, though its venom feels like the burning fires of your world's hell.”

“So what you're saying is that Zeus isn't evil, he's just imperfect.”

Apollo smiled and lifted his glass to her in answer. Pamela watched him as he drained his second glass of wine. The day had taken its toll on his temporarily mortal body. Even if he wasn't in danger of dying, the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the new lines of strain on his face were disturbing.

While Eddie's doctor had been examining him, Apollo had changed into a pair of drawstring pajamas. He'd left his top unbuttoned and loose so that the medical team that had hovered at his bedside for the past several hours could keep a constant check on his vital signs. Thankfully, they had all gone and taken with them their IVs, monitors, frowns of disapproval and the distinctive hospital smell that seems to cling to scrubs. Now Apollo looked like a normal, handsome man who had just been through a very difficult and long day.

And that's all she wanted to think of him as. Sure, they could discuss gods and the ancient world, but that all felt very abstract and surreal in the reality of his warm flesh and his kind smile.

But the truth was that on Friday he would return to Olympus. The portal would close, and he would leave her life. Her heart felt suddenly very heavy in her chest.

“What is it?” Apollo asked.

Her eyes met his. He looked so tired. She couldn't add to his pain, not tonight. She made herself smile at him.

“I just realized that I haven't thanked you for saving my life.”

Apollo leaned forward and brushed his fingers against the gold coin she wore around her neck.

“I am pledged to protect you. I never break an oath.” His touch moved from the coin to lightly caress the side of her long, bare neck.

She shivered.

“Are you cold, sweet Pamela,” he murmured.

“How could I be cold with you touching me?”

His smile was filled with sunlight. “There, you see—I am the same whether I am mortal or immortal. You still feel my heat.” He leaned closer to her and captured her lips with his. When she tried to soften the kiss and resist its erotic tug, he whispered against her mouth, “Help me to forget the pain. Let me lose myself in you.”

How could she resist him? She burned for him.

She loved him.

But she pressed her hand against his chest, and he broke their kiss, giving her a baffled look.

“Tonight I want to make love to you. Let me give you this, Apollo.”

When she pressed his shoulders back on the down pillows, he didn't resist. She stood and pulled her shirt fluidly over her head. Then she peeled her shorts and shoes off. Then, instead of joining him on the bed, she took a couple of steps back, so that he had a clear view of her entire body.

She loved the way his eyes devoured her. He made her feel beautiful and desirable and powerful.
This must be how a goddess feels,
she thought. Accepting Apollo's love had transformed her. Choosing to open herself to him had taken her from the darkness of Duane's shadow and breathed light into her world. He was a god, and she was a mortal, but with his love she became her own Goddess of Light.

Slowly, she reached back and unsnapped her simple, white lace bra. As she took it off, she let her hands glide over her breasts, taking her time to tease her nipples into blushing hardness. Caressingly, her hands traveled down her body, peeling her panties from her sleek hips. All the while, Apollo's eyes devoured her.

Naked, she approached the bed.

“No,” she said teasingly when he tried to sit up to meet her. “Tonight it's my turn.”

“You are so beautiful, my sweet Pamela,” he said. “I—I hope I—” he began and then gave a shaky laugh.

What had she been thinking? He was in terrible pain, and she was acting like a stripper when he really needed a nurse. Pamela rested her fingers lightly on his arm above the bandage. “I can just lie here beside you. We don't have to do anything.”

“It's not that,” he said quickly. “I want you; I want you to make love to me. I just hope I don't disappoint you. I know I told you that I didn't use any of my immortal powers to seduce you, and I didn't. But when I loved you . . .” He moved his shoulders restlessly, “I could not help but touch you with my magic. Tonight I have no magic, no powers. I am just a man.”

“You will never be
just
a man, Apollo. You will always be
the
man I love.”

“My sweet Pamela . . .” Her name changed to a groan of sweet pleasure when she slipped her hands into his shirt, opened it, and rubbed the tips of her nipples against his muscular chest. She nipped lightly at his bottom lip and the firm line of his jaw. Then she nibbled a hot trail down his body, deftly unlacing the tie that held his pants closed. She could hear him gasp when she took him in her hands and rubbed the softness of her breasts against his pulsing shaft. And then her mouth was on him. First she used her lips and tongue up and down the thick, hard girth of him, loving the way his body trembled and strained beneath her touch and how he moaned her name over and over. She swallowed him, sucking and teasing until she heard his ragged cry.

“I can not wait!”

In one swift movement she straddled him. Holding herself up on her knees, she rested his tip against her wet heat. She locked her eyes with his blue-hot gaze.
Let me take away his pain, if only for a moment.
She prayed silently to any god or goddess who might be listening. Then she impaled herself on him, slowly, deliciously, taking his length within her. With a deliberately teasing motion, she lifted herself back up on her knees, so that his tip was throbbing against her opening. Then she slid down again. Slowly. She sheathed him within her, until the exquisite tension built beyond her bearing. Only then did she guide his hand to her hips and let him increase their tempo. They moved together urgently, the white light of mortal passion filling their bodies with exquisite heat that built and built until the sweetness of it was unbearable. When she felt his body gather beneath her, she rocked forward, pulsing down against him so that when he spilled his hot seed within her, she exploded around him.

Collapsing against him, she felt the slickness of their bodies join and his arm tightened around her. “I love you,” he gasped, kissing her gently.

She nestled her head into his shoulder, careful to keep her weight well away from his right arm. As she shifted her position to draw the sheet up around them, her contented smile widened to a happy grin. Eyes closed, his face was finally free of pain—relaxed and peaceful. Apollo had fallen into a deep sleep.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the listening air.

 

 

“I don't know, Apollo. I just don't feel right about leaving you.” Pamela stood near the bed, fidgeting with the leather strap of her briefcase. At his insistence, she'd gotten dressed and ready to go back to work on the villa. After all, he'd reminded her, there was really nothing wrong with him. And she still had a job to do.

“All will be well. I have this.” He picked up the remote. “And this.” He tapped his finger on the channel guide. “And you have explained to me all about cable television. I will be well entertained.”

Pamela frowned. “Don't forget the phone. My number is—”

“Yes, yes, your number is written on the paper near the phone. Be off now. Eddie will be waiting.”

“Okay.” She leaned down to kiss him. “But I feel like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Tonight when you return to my bed, I promise that I will allow you to make up for leaving me.”

“I don't want to leave you!”

He laughed and then grimaced and rubbed his still-painful arm. “I only tease you, sweet Pamela. Actually, I envy you. I will miss the job site today. Are you quite certain there is no way that I—”

“You've already been all over this with Eddie. He totally refuses to let you leave this room to do more than to have dinner on the deck until Friday.”

Apollo's annoyed response was interrupted by a knock at the door. Pamela opened it to find Eddie's bulk filling the doorway.

“I believe I have a compromise in which Phoebus will be interested.” The author stepped aside and made an imperious gesture. Two men carried into the room a small drafting table, followed by the architect Apollo had been working with on the bathhouse. “Behold, if you cannot come to the mountain, the mountain will come to you!”

“Brad! Shouldn't you be at the villa?” Apollo said.

“I should, but so should you, except I hear that a snake decided to change our plans.” The architect clapped him on the shoulder and then apologized when he saw Apollo grit his teeth against the pain the abrupt movement had caused. “Sorry, Phoebus. Rattlesnake bit my brother-in-law last year. He said it hurt like hell, and it put him flat on his back for a week.” He glanced up at Eddie. “Maybe we should take up where we left off tomorrow.”

“No! Whatever you have in mind, I can assure you that I am up for it.” Apollo said hastily.

“Ah, but only if you promise that you will not literally be ‘up' for it.” Eddie stepped into the room. “Bradley has the blueprints of the bathhouse to finalize with your help—but only if you stay abed and continue to rest.”

“You have my oath,” Apollo said, already sitting up straighter, his attention caught by the long, slick papers Bradley was unrolling and laying out on the drafting table.

“Come, Pamela,” Eddie said. “We shall leave the bathhouse to the experts. The goddess awaits us in the car.”

As they left the room, Apollo's gruff “The car is something that I will not miss today . . .” followed them down the hallway.

“Thank you, Eddie,” Pamela said, squeezing the big man's arm.

He smiled down at her. “You are quite welcome, my dear. Phoebus does not strike me as a man who is comfortable with inactivity.”

“You're right about that. Actually you're right about more than just that.”

His smile turned contemplative. “You look happy this morning, Pamela.”

“Yes, I am. I have decided that Semele didn't regret her choice,” she said softly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

PAMELA glanced at her watch and gasped. “Eddie! It's four! Didn't you say our dinner reservations are for six?”

“Quite right you are, Pamela!” Eddie bellowed from across the chaotic courtyard. He lurched up from his bench and lumbered over to stand behind Matthew, who was hastily putting the finishing strokes on the fountain sketch. Artemis stepped delicately from her perch and joined him. Pamela could hear them both congratulating Matthew on a job well done.

It was Friday afternoon, and this job was anything but done. How had two and a half days passed so quickly? Pamela ran a hand through her hair. She was exhausted and stressed beyond belief. Her days had been filled with the intricacies of designing Eddie's dream villa: juggling painters and stone layers, solving fixture problems and fabric glitches. Her nights had been filled with Apollo and the sun's love. She'd had very little sleep, and had been working her butt off. And they were still behind schedule.

She wouldn't have traded one single instant of it.

“Pamela, how is this for the faux design on the home theater room walls?” The faux finisher flamboyantly pointed the tip of his feathered pen at a mock-up board that had been covered with a deep burgundy paint marbled with delicate webs of onyx and gold.

“Absolutely perfect this time, Steve!” she said with relief. “This is the exact finish I meant for the room.”

“Fabulous! It's going to be just fabulous, dahling.” He waved the feather in triumph. “I'll start on it first thing Monday morning,” Steve gushed.

“I'll be here,” Pamela said.

Steve nodded and fluttered back into the house to happily clean up and leave for the weekend. Much more grimly, Pamela began arranging the day's notes neatly into her briefcase. She would be here Monday. In Las Vegas. The modern mortal world. And Apollo and Artemis would be in Olympus.

There would be no more dinners for them on the deck with the fantastically entertaining Eddie. No more late-night discussions with Apollo about the new marble that had just arrived for the master bathroom—and had been completely the wrong color. No more sketches that the two of them created together, which would soon become stone mosaics on the floors of Eddie's new bathhouse.

But still her lips tilted up in a secret smile as she thought about the past couple days. Besides working with the architect, in person and then later through the phone and a lovely little laptop Eddie had provided, which the god had taken to with remarkable ease, Apollo was becoming quite the movie buff. Ancient god or not, there were certain things that were very like a modern man about him. Like the way he enjoyed learning about electronics, and how he had taken to the remote control and channel surfing. When she came in from working at the villa last night, he had been totally engrossed in the second movie of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.