Tall, Dark and Divine (21 page)

The girl fumbled her keys out of her purse and took forever to choose one and insert it in the lock. Eros had to forcibly keep himself from taking the damn keychain out of her hand and doing it himself. When she finally pushed the door open, it was all he could do to wait for her to turn to him and beckon.

“Thank you.” He was through the door and up the first flight of stairs a bit faster than he should have been.

“Slow down,” Ari called after him. “You’ll fall and hurt yourself.”

Right. Or rather, wrong. But superhuman speed might tip someone off that there were Greek gods and goddesses moving around among them, and then all Hades would break loose. It had been one thing to be the god of love back when the world was young and the population small, but if every would-be lover in modern day New York realized he had the power to get them anybody they wanted, he’d never have a moment’s peace.

So he slowed down and made it to the top floor only a little before a normal mortal would have. And stopped in front of Annie’s door to smooth his hand over his hair once before he knocked.

There was no answer.

He knocked again and put his ear to the door. “Annie?”

Nothing.

“Annie!”

The door on the other side of the hall opened, and a disheveled head appeared. “What the hell’s going on? It’s the crack of dawn on a Sunday! Haven’t you ever heard that God rested on the seventh day?”

I am a god, Eros thought, but didn’t say it. “I’m looking for Annie Landon.”

The man, a disheveled musician type with a five o’clock shadow, scratched his shaggy head. “Gone,” he said.

“Gone?”

“Left about thirty minutes ago. I was on my way home. Passed her outside. Her and a guy with glasses.”

Harry.

Eros forced himself to sound calm. “Any idea where they were going?”

“Sorry, man. But she was dressed nice. Skirt and heels.”

Champagne brunch. Dammit.

“Thanks.”

“De nada, dude.” The musician type disappeared back into his own apartment. Eros took the stairs down three steps at a time, at warp speed, and burst out of the door into the courtyard. Three sets of eyes turned to him: Dion’s brown, Ariadne’s blue, and Brita’s bright green.

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“With Harry.”

“Where?”

“The Plaza,” Eros said. “At least I think that’s what he said yesterday. Champagne brunch at The Plaza.”

Dion turned on his heel and headed for the entrance to the courtyard. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, not for the first time, as he extended a hand to help her out of the yellow cab. “I know I said nine o’clock, but I just couldn’t wait to see you.”

“It’s all right. Really.” Annie smiled back. It was hard to be angry with a man who just liked you so much he couldn’t wait two more hours before seeing you again. Even if that meant that you’d had to scramble to put on clothes and hadn’t had a chance to do anything about makeup.

He’d rung the buzzer at seven thirty in the morning. She’d just been waking up; she hadn’t even had a chance to take a shower.

“I’m coming back from walking Fiona,” Harry had told her. “I thought maybe if you’re ready, you’d like to walk with me. And then we can go to brunch from my place.”

She’d hesitated, and he’d added, “I’m sorry, Annie. It’s just…I woke up thinking about you, and I couldn’t wait any longer to see you again. Please say you’ll come!”

It had been impossible to refuse.

Good thing she’d chosen her outfit for brunch last night before going to bed. It had been ready and waiting when she woke up—easy to throw on. And she did look pretty good in it, if she said so herself. The skirt was the same black ruffled one she’d worn to the date in the dog park—and to Eros’s apartment afterward—but instead of the red shoes and red blouse, she’d paired it with boots and a sexy V-neck sweater that showed a bit of cleavage.

“You look beautiful.” Harry had beamed when he saw her, and the admiration in his eyes behind the glasses made it clear that he wasn’t just saying so; he really meant it. What a difference a couple of days made.

“Thank you.” Annie ducked her head, smiling.

This was going to be all right. He wasn’t Eros, but really, no one was. And there was nothing wrong with Harry. He was a nice guy. Reasonably handsome. Good job. Flatteringly devoted.

And with no inconvenient ex-wife he was still hung up on.

So what if he didn’t make her stomach swoop when he looked at her? What if the look in his eyes didn’t make her weak in the knees, and the feel of his mouth on hers didn’t make her want to rip his clothes off?

That was just sexual attraction. It was what she’d gone out last week looking for—a hot guy to take her mind off her singlehood for a few hours—and Ross had certainly delivered. But that wasn’t something you could build a life on. Not with a man like him. And she wanted more than a one-night stand or even a fling. She wanted a relationship. She wanted a man she could grow old with. A man who was steady and stable and devoted and there.

Not just one who’d rock her world for a few nights before he moved on to bigger and better.

She could do a lot worse than Harry Mitchell.

As he put a hand on her lower back, Annie looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back, his dimple popping into view and his eyes warm behind the glasses. “You’re gonna love this, Annie. I promise!”

“I’m sure I will,” Annie said and let him guide her through the big doors of The Plaza Hotel and into the lobby.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The driver pulled the yellow cab to a stop beside a tired-looking horse and carriage on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park South and turned to Eros. “That’s twelve fifty, man.”

“Pay him,” Ross told Dion, since he was already in the process of opening the door. “And get there as fast as you can. I may need help.”

He didn’t wait for Dion’s answer, just headed across the four lanes of traffic at a dead run. You spend a few centuries in New York, and you learn to dodge people and vehicles. ‘Course, there were a lot more of them now than there used to be…

He made it to the other side in one piece and burst through the doors of the venerable Plaza Hotel, scanning the lobby for Annie. There was no sign of her.

He turned to the nearest employee, a tall, skinny man with a prominent Adam’s apple and very little chin. “Champagne brunch?”

The man swallowed. “Um…the Palm Court?”

“I don’t care what you call it. Where?”

The man pointed across the lobby.

“Thank you.” Eros headed in that direction, his heart beating double time in his chest. They were here; they had to be. What if he was too late? What if Harry had already popped the question? And what if Annie had already said yes?

Then it would be too late. He may have his faults, but stealing another man’s fiancée wasn’t one of them.

And what was he supposed to say to her? I love you, I’m sorry I screwed up, please forgive me, sure. But those were the easy words. The part about, See, I know it sounds crazy, but I’m really the Greek god of love, and I jabbed your boyfriend with a golden arrow so he’d fall madly in love with you, but I’ve just realized he’s not actually in love with you, he’s just infatuated, and the love that I feel for you is more important, and more real, because I came to it on my own, without any arrows… Well, that part wasn’t going to be quite so easy to communicate. She’d probably think he’d lost his mind. And then she definitely wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

As he pushed open the doors to the venerable Palm Court, recognizable from countless movies and films, Brita came up on the side of him. “Are they here?”

The goddess of hunting scanned the room right along with him, unmindful of the hostess trying to get their attention. Dion, coming in on the heels of Brita, sent her a melting smile. “Morning, gorgeous.”

“Oh.” She blinked, as if the sun had suddenly appeared, and reached up to smooth her hair. It seemed to be an automatic reaction in women who came face to face with Dion. “Um…table for four?”

“Looking for someone,” Eros said. “Pretty girl with brown hair, guy with glasses?”

“Oh. Um…” She blinked again, her eyes unfocused.

“I see them,” Brita said, her voice tight.

“Where?”

“Is he on his knees?” Dion added.

Brita sent him a look. Eros had no idea what was going on, or what had changed and why, but clearly the minor goddess of hunting was over her crush on the god of wine and debauchery. “Yes.”

What? “Where?” Gods dammit, was he too late?

“There,” Brita said, pointing, “by the palm tree.”

Eros looked and saw them, his gut clenching with a mixture of desperation and pain.

Yes, Harry was on his knees. Or just getting up to take his seat again. Annie was smiling at him, that sweet smile that never failed to turn Ross’s insides to mush. It hit him like a knife, or a fucking arrow to the heart. Mine.

“Is she wearing a ring?” His voice was tight. Say no. Please say no. Have it be that she dropped her napkin or her fork and he just picked it up for her…

Brita squinted. “I can’t see one. Too far away. No, wait—”

Enough. “Fuck this.” Eros glanced at the hostess and at Ari, silent behind her oversized sunglasses. “Sorry. But let’s stop wasting time. Just give me the bow and arrow.”

Brita handed them over, and he lifted the bow and took aim, the golden arrow glinting with light from the tall windows.

“Don’t worry,” Dion told the hostess, who was looking from one to the other of them as if she suspected they’d escaped from the nearest loony bin, “it’s all part of the show.” He flashed another grin, and the hostess subsided into dumbstruck adoration. It was impossible to see Ari’s eyes behind the dark glasses, but Eros was sure they were rolling.

Brita was already on her way across the floor, weaving through the white-draped tables and potted palm trees, her appearance in stark contrast to the elegant and sophisticated Sunday best of the diners. A few people turned to look at her, the men with the same glassy eyes that the hostess was currently displaying toward Dionysus.

“Do it,” Dion said, as Brita made her way closer to the table where Harry and Annie sat. Eros couldn’t see Annie’s face, but he could see her hair, glossy in the light, and the back of a soft and fuzzy sweater that he bet was almost as soft to the touch as the skin underneath.

Harry looked up and saw Brita, and—gentleman that he was, at least in some situations—stood.

“Now!” Dion said, and Eros let go of the arrow. It zinged through the air with a high-pitched whine, over the heads of the other diners—almost getting lost in the elegant upsweep of a Park Avenue matron’s hair and narrowly missing a tuxedo-clad waiter—before hitting Brita in the shoulder.

Fuck.

“Oops,” Dionysus murmured, as the Cretan goddess of hunting stopped in her tracks. Eros lowered the bow, cringing.

After a second, she turned to look at him, and he felt the force of her glare all the way to his soul. Moron.

“Sorry,” he mouthed. Brita scowled.

“Shit.” Dion’s hands flexed. “Guess we’re done for. Sorry, man. It was a good try, but—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eros growled.

In front of them, Brita reached up to pull the arrow out of her shoulder. She turned to Harry with it in her hand. It looked like she hesitated for a second, before she lifted it and plunged it into Harry’s chest.

Eros held his breath. For a second, nobody moved. Harry’s eyes widened. He clutched his chest and staggered. In slow motion, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. And then they rolled back in his head and he crumpled to the floor.

Someone screamed. It might have been Annie, although it didn’t sound like her voice. A few people got to their feet, and a buzzing spread across the room.

“Everyone remain seated,” Dion bellowed, hands cupped around his mouth to make his voice carry. “Everything is under control. No mortals were hurt shooting this scene. Please, stay calm.”

He and Eros, with Ari and the restaurant hostess trailing behind, set themselves into motion, pushing through the now-thronging breakfasters, rubbernecking and chattering, their gazes avid. Meanwhile, the hunting goddess Britomartis bent over Harry. When she stood up again, she had him flung over her shoulders fireman-style, much like Robin Hood with his steer. She made her way toward the doors, with apologies for the mortals whose heads she accidentally hit with Harry’s feet.

The hostess squeaked.

“Russian bodybuilder,” Dion told her, sotto voce, as he accepted the bow and arrow from Eros. “She’ll be a big name one of these days. With that face and that figure—and the ability to throw a grown man over her shoulder and walk out with him—I’m sure she’ll have a long and varied career.”

Brita, close enough now to hear what he was saying, sent him a look full of active dislike as she maneuvered her way past with her burden. Harry’s eyes were closed, and he looked like he was out cold. Eros reached out and rescued Harry’s glasses, which dangled from one ear. Beyond them, he could see Annie’s face, wide-eyed.

“I’ll make sure they find a cab,” Ariadne told Eros, her voice cool and businesslike as always. “You’d better go talk to Annie. She might wonder what’s going on.”

No doubt. “Take these. He’ll need them when he comes to.” He handed her the glasses.

“I’ll go along,” Dion said, “and help Ari.”

She gave him a look, too, obvious even behind the dark glasses. “Ari doesn’t need help.”

“Sometimes Ari needs help,” Dion said. “Don’t forget who it was who rescued you from that island, sweet cheeks.”

“You got paid for that,” Ari said. “In full.”

“See, that’s where we see things differently. I think you still owe me. Big.” He winked at her, and then at the hostess. “She’s playing hard to get.”

The hostess sent Ari a look that said, plainly as words, idiot. Dion grinned.

“Just get out of here,” Eros said. “I have things to do.”

Dion nodded. “We’ll wait for you outside, bro. There’s still that small matter of eternity to deal with.”

Gods, yes. He may have neutralized Harry, at least for the time being, and he was pretty confident in his ability to get Annie to see things his way, but he hadn’t given much thought to what would happen after she said yes. At the moment, she was still mortal and he was still a god, and that would cause problems down the road. Much sooner than he wanted it to.