Tall, Dark and Divine (7 page)

It felt like an eternity—two inches forward, one inch back—before he was buried inside her, and even then, a tilt of her hips and a different angle caused him to gasp and slide a crucial inch farther in. And then he was lodged deep inside her, and the whole world narrowed to just him and her and what was happening between them. Each thrust of his hips sang through her, spiraling the tension in her body ever tighter, pushing her higher and higher…until she finally broke and—gasping and clutching him—let him take her over the edge and soar with her through time and space, before drifting gently to rest in utter bliss.

…

Dion was right. There really was nothing like having a woman under him, with her legs wrapped around his waist and her soft body cradling him, to reaffirm that he was alive.

She was still wearing those red shoes, by the way, and if Eros were the type to kiss and tell, he’d make sure Dion knew it. Yes, sweet Annie Landon could indeed be talked into making love with her heels on.

Not that the question of taking them off had come up. She was still wearing her dress, too. And everything else except her panties. Those he’d managed to get rid of. But only because he had to, to get to what he wanted.

Gods, he’d come close to taking her against the wall in the hallway. What was wrong with him? How much ambrosia had he had? He’d just meant to kiss her.

Or he hadn’t really even meant to do that. He’d just intended to walk her home, and to make her feel better after that jackass hurt her feelings. But she’d looked so sweet standing there, tipsy and swaying a bit, with those big eyes unfocused, and those soft lips and soft breasts and red heels. And once he started, it was difficult to stop. Her lips tasted like she smelled, like sugar and vanilla, sweet and warm and delicious, and one taste wasn’t enough. He needed more. And more. Until he was unable to think of anything but hiking up her skirt and taking her right there, against the wall.

And that was when he’d come to his senses, or at least managed to gather what little wits he had left. It had been a long time for her. (Much longer for him, of course, but his perception of time was different.) And she deserved better than that. It was something Dion would do.

Hades, it was what Dion had threatened to do: take her into the snug behind the bar and push her up against the wall.

Dion was the god of debauchery. That kind of thing was fine for him. But Eros was the god of love. When he took a woman to bed, he took her to bed. He didn’t take her in her hallway, three steps from the front door, with her shoes still on, because he couldn’t control himself.

Not that she seemed to be complaining. She was lying beneath him, boneless and spent, with her cheeks still flushed from her climax and her lips swollen from his kisses.

She probably thought he couldn’t see her. From what little he already knew about her, he imagined she preferred it that way. But he was the child of Nyx and Erebus, and his night vision was excellent.

And she was lovely. Not perfect, like Psyche. But soft and warm and open and giving.

And almost asleep.

He levered himself off her, only to have her turn her head on the pillow and blink up at him.

“Go to sleep.” He layered his voice with a heavy dose of
I am a god so obey me now
. Seeing in the dark wasn’t the only benefit of being the son of Night and Darkness. He was almost as good as Hypnos when it came to putting people to sleep. She nodded obediently and closed her eyes again. Eros went to pull the blankets up over her, and he hesitated. There wasn’t much he could do about the dress—he should have gotten her out of it earlier, and it wasn’t like he could just snap his fingers and have it be gone; he was a god, not a magician—but at least he could take her shoes off.

She twitched a bit when he did, and he couldn’t resist running a finger along the sole of one foot to test his theory. His lips curved as he watched her try to pull away from him, even in sleep. She was ticklish. He’d have to remember that—except he’d never be here with her again. Not like this.

This was a one-time thing. It had to be. She was mortal, and he was done with mortals. It was a chance he couldn’t take again. No matter how soft the mortals were or how sweet they tasted.

So he pulled the blankets all the way up to her chin and made sure not to look at her again as he made his way out of the bedroom.

Chapter Nine

He stopped in the hallway to pick up his jacket and shirt from the floor—making sure he didn’t dwell on the memory of her hands sliding across his skin and her fingernails raking down his back—and shrugged them on, before making sure the door latched behind him. He buttoned the shirt on his way down the five flights of stairs he’d carried her up earlier, and by the time he was back outside on the street, he looked like nothing had happened.

Or so he thought, until he walked up to the bar at Dionysus’s and Dion took one look at him and grinned. “How was it?”

Eros shot him a dark look. “None of your business.”

“Sure,” Dion said. “Just tell me one thing. Did you make her keep the shoes on?”

“Fuck you.”

Dion chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. So why aren’t you there, reclaiming your manhood and sticking it to the bitch?”

Eros felt himself bristle. “Don’t call her that.”

“Not Annie,” Dion said. “The bitch who left you.”

Oh. Much better. “What’s the point? She’ll never know.”

“You could tell her.”

No, thanks. “I don’t care if I ever see her again. Let what’s-his-name have her.”

“I’m sure he already does,” Dion said. “Right now, probably.”

Probably. From what Eros knew about the warriors of Valhalla, they were pretty much only interested in two things, and they spent all day doing one and all night doing the other. And because the idea bothered him just a bit, even after what he’d just done himself, he put it out of his mind before it could lodge there and bother him more.

Instead, he looked around the bar. “Harry around?” Things had slowed down some in the time he’d been gone. He couldn’t see Harry anywhere, although Brita was still there, probably hoping to end the night with Dionysus. The rest of his office staff had joined her: Iris, the pretty little goddess of rainbows, in a flowing multicolored chiffon blouse, and Carrie—Carya—goddess of the walnut tree, in a pair of jeans that would have made Harry weep. Ari was over at the corner table talking to Silenus and—he assumed—keeping an eye on Brita. Or on Dion. If the Cretan goddess of hunting attempted to go upstairs with the god of wine at the end of the night, the minor goddess of the labyrinth would probably have something to say about it.

Dion nodded. “He left a few minutes after you walked out. Why? Were you gonna hurt him?” He looked delighted at the prospect.

The thought had crossed Eros’s mind. However— “No. Annie told me she wants him. I’m gonna get him for her.”

Dion tilted his head and contemplated him. “What did you do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eros said. “It was before.”

“Before you showed her paradise. You did show her paradise, right?”

Eros shrugged. “She seemed to enjoy herself.”

“Not exactly the rousing confidence I was hoping for,” Dion said, “but it’ll do. So you took this woman home and nailed her, and she let you, and even kept her shoes on while you did—”

“That wasn’t deliberate.”

“Sorry to hear it. Even so, what makes you think she still wants Harry?”

“She said she did,” Eros said.

“Before you fucked her. And seeing as you’re the fucking god of love, when you fuck someone, they stay fucked, right? They don’t want anyone else afterward.”

“Will you knock it off with the fucking?”

“When I’m dead,” Dion said, and added, “which will be never, since I’m immortal.”

Eros growled, and Dion continued. “But I’ll stop saying it. You walked Annie home. You took her upstairs. Knowing you, you probably carried her. She was pretty drunk when she walked outta here, so she might have needed some help walking. You stayed there long enough to take advantage of her. She kept her shoes on. Very hot shoes. Not to mention, you’re the god of love. I think you can assume she’s over Harry Mitchell.”

“Maybe I don’t want her to be over him.”

Dion leaned his elbows on the bar. “Why not? She seemed nice. Nice ass, nice boobs, nice mouth. Very nice shoes.”

“Are you trying to make me angry?”

“Why would I do that?” Dion grinned. “You’re thinking too much, Ross. Just enjoy her.”

He had. He just didn’t want to do it again. Or rather, he wanted to so much that it was probably better if he just fixed her up with Harry and was done with it. “You just said I took advantage of her.”

Dion shook his head. “You didn’t. You’re the god of love. She would have rolled over for you even if she hadn’t been drunk. Besides, you had quite a bit of ambrosia.”

Maybe. But the fact was that she had been drunk, and he’d known it. He’d known she wanted Harry, and he had seduced her anyway. “I’m scum.”

“No, you’re not,” Dion said. “You’re a god. The usual rules don’t apply.”

“They should. Just because I have an unfair advantage doesn’t mean it’s okay to go around seducing drunk mortals.”

“Oops,” Dion said calmly, “and here I’ve always thought it did.”

Yeah, yeah. “She’s gonna hate me tomorrow.”

“Nah,” Dion said. “She came here looking for action. You gave it to her. She knew the score.”

Maybe. But it didn’t make him feel any better. “What do I say to her tomorrow?”

“Why ask me?”

Because Dion was the one with the experience, while Eros had been a one-woman man until that one woman left him. He had no idea how the singles scene worked in this century, or in this millennium, for that matter.

“Just help me out, Dionysus. Or I’ll say no the next time you ask me to fix you up.”

“When have I ever asked you to fix me up?” Dion started, his voice laced with offense. “You do love. I do debauchery.”

“Fine. But if you ever change your mind and decide you actually want love and not just dirty sex, you’ll be SOL unless you help me now.”

Dion heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Avoid her. That’s what I’d do.”

“Easier said than done.”

Or maybe not. She’d worked across the street from him for two years, but tonight was the first time they’d spoken. If he made a point of never going outside when there was a chance she might be there, and on the off chance that she might be embarrassed enough about what had happened to avoid him…it could work.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Dion said.

…

Annie woke up feeling pleasantly warm and relaxed, her body languid and her muscles almost indecently loose.

She was fully dressed under the blanket—minus her shoes, which was a bit strange, perhaps—but she felt great.

Until she opened her eyes and the bright morning sunlight sliced her retinas like twin razor blades.

“Owww!”

Her body might feel good, but her head didn’t.

What happened last night?

She flipped over on her back, her body still pleasantly loose, and threw an arm up to cover her eyes. And thought about it. After a few seconds it all came back. Dionysus’s bar. The Cosmos. The conversation with Eros. Throwing herself at Harry Mitchell and having him turn her down, quite rudely. Kicking the boxes in the alley. Hanging on Ross’s arm the whole way home, and having him carry her upstairs to her apartment because she was too drunk to make it on her own.

God, how mortifying! Cheeks flaming, she flipped over and hid her face in the pillow. She’d been drunk, she’d been maudlin, and she’d made a fool of herself not just in front of Harry but in front of Ross, too. The only thing that could have made it worse was if she’d vomited. And she was pretty sure she hadn’t done that.

At the moment, however, she was thinking about it.

It was all a bit blurry, thanks to the Cosmos, but after he carried her upstairs—and without breaking a sweat, too—she must have thrown herself at him, because she was pretty sure she could remember kissing him. She’d kissed him a lot, for what seemed like a long time. If she remembered correctly, and it wasn’t just wishful thinking, he was a very good kisser, and he’d tasted like no one she’d ever locked lips with before.

And hadn’t she undressed him, too? She thought she could remember that at some point, she’d had her hands on his skin. Her palms remembered the feel of it, the heat and softness.

Was that why she was
sans
her underwear? She was wearing everything else she’d started out with—minus the shoes, and minus her panties.

Had she actually seduced the poor man last night? After he’d told her he wasn’t ready to move on from his divorce, too?

She was fairly certain something had been consummated. There were really only two things that could have made her body feel like this, so floaty and relaxed, and one of them was a heavy-duty session of really good sex. It had been a while since she’d had one of those—years—but she remembered the way it made her feel.

The only other possible explanation was prescription drugs, and she knew she hadn’t taken any of those. They wouldn’t have mixed well with the Cosmos. If she’d paired drugs with Cosmos, especially the Cosmos Dion mixed, a hangover would have been the least of her problems this morning.

So yes, they’d had sex. And then he’d left. He must have, because—she looked around—he wasn’t here. Besides her, the bed was empty, and it didn’t look like anyone else had been in it, really. The rest of the apartment was quiet, and small enough that she would have heard him if he’d been around. The shower was silent, and so was the kitchen. She was definitely alone.

Well, good. After embarrassing herself like she had, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to face him again.

Although she did owe him an apology. He’d been nice enough to walk her home last night. He’d done his best to cheer her up after Harry rebuffed her. He’d even carried her up five flights of stairs. The least she could do was bake a batch of cookies and give them to him as a thank-you.