Tall, Dark and Divine (14 page)

He shook his head to dislodge the memory. Better not go there. She’d gone home, and he wasn’t getting any more tonight.

If she’d stayed, he could have carried her to bed, laid her down, and stripped her clothes off—might be nice to make love to her without anything between them for a change—and kissed her and tasted her and buried himself inside her and felt her quake and shudder under him…

Yeah, better not go there. That wasn’t happening again. Next time, it would be Harry stripping her clothes off and kissing and tasting and—

He needed another drink. He reached for the bottle and realized that the picture of Psyche was still there, leaning against it.

Way to go, shit-for-brains! He’d just made love to Annie while his ex-wife was watching.

His almost naked ex-wife.

Instead of lifting the bottle, he lifted the picture and looked at it, preparing himself for that old clutch behind the ribs…and feeling a bit surprised when it didn’t come.

She was still as stunning as ever. The most beautiful woman the world had ever seen.

Forget Helen of Troy. He’d seen her, and Psyche blew her out of the water.

She was naked in this picture. Why?

And then he remembered. Vacation to the Greek Islands. It had been winter in New York, and his wife had been cold. Frigid, too. Holding back until she got what she wanted. Which was for him to forget work for a while and take her to the beach.

That’s where she’d met what’s-his-name, wasn’t it? Apparently Valhalla wasn’t quite paradise enough for Erik, because he’d gotten away to Greece for a few weeks to bask in the sun. And had picked up Eros’s wife while he was at it. She’d never been quite the same after that vacation, and it wasn’t too long after that that she’d up and left.

He had met the guy while they were there. Big and muscle-bound, with long blond hair and a bunch of scars. Not the pretty-boy type he’d thought his wife would go for.

Ex-wife. And Erik was welcome to her. Her and her perfect breasts.

He put the picture down and closed his eyes, picturing red lace and soft, pale skin overflowing in his hand. Pictured Annie, warm and sweet and coming apart in his arms. So vulnerable. So mortal.

Tomorrow, he’d fix her up with Harry. And make sure it stuck. Bring out the big guns. She deserved it.

But tonight, she was his. He’d give her up when he had to—mortals belonged with other mortals, no matter how soft they were and how sweet they tasted—but for a few more hours, he could pretend that when she stopped by the office tomorrow at seven, it would be him who’d get to enjoy her and not Harry Mitchell.

“Have you lost your mind?” Ari demanded.

Eros shook his head, hands steady as he cleaned and polished his weapon. It had been a long time since he’d had occasion to use it, and it needed a bit of attention before it would be ready to fire. Hopefully he hadn’t lost his aim. “Of course not.”

It was the next morning, and he’d been up early. Feeling better than he had any right to, considering what he was doing today. When Ari walked in, he was already at his desk, planning and preparing.

The minor goddess of the labyrinth glared at him, hands on her hips. “This isn’t the old days, Ross. You can’t just go around shooting people.”

“It’s just Harry,” Eros said. And after the way Harry had treated Annie the day before, he deserved a whole lot worse than what Eros had planned for him.

She shook her head. “Not even Harry. Especially Harry.”

“Annie wants him.”

Ari snorted. “So you’ll shoot him and bag him and drag him back to toss at her feet, like a caveman? Is that it?”

Something like that. He looked back down to the golden arrow he was polishing to a high sheen. “He’ll be at the office at seven to pick up Brita. Annie will be there at seven for dinner.”

“Dinner with you,” Ariadne said.

“All I have to do is shoot him. You make sure Annie is the first woman through the door, and he’ll forget all about Brita.”

“Don’t you think he might turn and run the other way if you greet him with a cocked bow?”

Perhaps. “Maybe I’ll just scratch him instead. A quick jab somewhere out of the way.” That worked, too, as he knew too well.

Ari watched him for a second without speaking. He could feel it, but he didn’t look up. Eventually she asked, “Does Annie know what you’re doing? Or does she think she’s going out to dinner with you?”

Annie probably thought she was going to dinner with him. After last night, she wasn’t likely to agree to go out with Harry again. Not unless Harry groveled. Which he would, once Eros poked him in the ass with the golden arrow.

“Won’t she be disappointed?” Ariadne asked.

Eros shook his head. “She doesn’t want me. She wants Harry.”

“How do you know?”

“She told me she wanted Harry that first night at Dion’s.”

Ariadne tilted her head to look at him. “But she was drunk, wasn’t she?”

“Tipsy.” Beautifully tipsy, unsteady on her feet, and clinging to him, all big eyes and soft lips and lush curves.

“How do you know it wasn’t just the Cosmos speaking?”

He didn’t.

“She still slept with you after that,” Ariadne reminded him. “That doesn’t sound like she wants someone else.”

Sure it did. She’d slept with him last night, too. But it was his fault, not hers. He’d taken advantage of her. He was the fucking god of love. How was she supposed to resist?

Ari contemplated him in silence for a few seconds before saying, “I take it the date with Harry didn’t go well last night?”

He grimaced. “He made her walk to the dog park so he could exercise his schnauzer, and then he bought her a hot dog for dinner.”

Ari’s perfect lips twitched once before she caught herself. “I’m sorry. I know it isn’t funny. But how can you think she still wants him after that?”

Because she’d been upset about it. She’d practically cried. And besides— “She said she wanted him.”

Ari threw her hands up. She turned toward the office door, as if she were thinking of going out into the reception to leave him alone, but then she must have thought better of it, because she turned back around. Finally she went over and sat in the chair in front of his desk. “Why are you doing this, Ross?”

He glanced up at her. What kind of question was that? “It’s what I do. I’m the fucking god of love, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Ari said, “you are, indeed, the fucking god of love.”

The expletive sounded even worse coming out of her mouth, and Eros winced. She added, “And I’m very happy that you’re taking an interest in work again. It’s been difficult to keep things running on my own. Good thing we’re not dependent on the income.”

Right.

“But I can’t help but wonder why you’re so determined to put Annie and Harry together when it’s obvious they’re not into each other.”

“She said she wants—”

“I don’t really care what she said,” Ari interrupted. “You can’t always trust what people say. I think it’s more important to consider what they do. And what Annie did was go home with you. And have sex with you. And bake you cookies. And go back to you after Harry hurt her feelings a second time.”

“Because she was angry.”

“I’m sure she was angry. I would have been angry, too. And I might have shown up at your doorstep to give you a piece of my mind. But I wouldn’t have slept with you again just because I was angry with Harry. Especially considering that it was your fault.”

“Yeah, well, I’m the—”

“Fucking god of love.” She nodded. Eros winced again, and her voice gentled. “When have you ever used that to get women?”

Never. He’d only ever wanted Psyche, and she’d only ever wanted him. Until the Viking came along and tossed his braids at her, anyway—or so he’d always thought. Although now it seemed like maybe she’d wanted Dion, too, and possibly any number of other men. And gods.

At any rate, there had never been a reason to use who he was to get laid.

“I leave that to Dionysus,” Eros said. And immediately wished he hadn’t when he saw the expression that crossed Ariadne’s face.

“Right.” She clamped down on the emotions his quip had stirred up. Later, Eros promised himself. “Dion isn’t above using any advantage he has to get what he wants. But you’re not Dion. You wouldn’t trick her. And besides, you haven’t told her who you are, have you?”

“Of course not,” Eros said. And he wouldn’t. There was no need, because tonight he’d set Harry straight once and for all, and after that, Annie wouldn’t care about anyone else. She’d have Harry. Harry would have her. And Eros would be back in business as the neighborhood matchmaking genius. At some point, he might even find another woman who was soft and sweet and who tasted of sugar and vanilla. An immortal this time, so he could actually have her for longer than a night. Or two.

Good luck with that. Goddesses weren’t sweet. They were goddesses. Even Ari, for all her vulnerabilities, could be as haughty as the rest of them.

“You said you wouldn’t use the arrows anymore.”

“Yes, but look what happened when I stopped. You had to run the agency by yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “That had nothing to do with the arrows. That had to do with you brooding and drinking too much ambrosia.”

Point taken.

“I’m just concerned that you’re making a mistake.”

Eros leaned back in his chair and contemplated her. “What kind of mistake?”

She hesitated. “You must have liked Annie, to go to bed with her.”

Pretty and soft, with a taste of sugar and vanilla… “So?”

“So why are you so quick to fix her up with Harry?”

He opened his mouth, and she lifted a hand. “If you like her, why are you trying to foist her off on someone else? It can’t be just because she told you she wanted him.”

Eros hesitated. “She’s a mortal.”

Ari nodded. “While you’re the—”

“Don’t say it.”

“God of love. Immortal. Timeless. I’m not arguing with that. But there are a lot of them out there. The mortals. It doesn’t have to be him.”

“She wants him. And I want this settled quickly.”

“Because…?”

Because the idea of Annie with Harry bothered him more than he wanted to admit. And before he got any more attached than he already was, before he started to think of her as solely his, before he started believing that there could be something between them other than a few hot and heavy moments in bed…and on the sofa…and up against the wall, he needed to see her settled with someone else. No matter how sweet she was.

“Because I like her a little more than I should.”

“I think this is a mistake.”

“But you’ll help me, right?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. I suppose you could step in front of Annie on the way through the door and have Harry fall madly in love with you instead.”

She shuddered. “No, thank you.”

Then it was settled. “He’ll probably be early. He’ll be eager to see Brita.”

“Annie will probably be early, too. And she’ll be eager to see you.”

Eros ignored her. Or tried to. “If he gets here first, we’ll tell him that Brita will be right out. Meanwhile, you’ll keep her busy in the other room until Annie arrives.”

“And if Annie comes first?”

“Then you’ll keep her and Brita busy in the other room until I’ve stabbed Harry with the arrow. Then you make sure Annie is the first one of you he sees.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” Ariadne said.

“She’s mortal,” Eros answered. “He’s mortal. She said she wants him.”

“And I think you’re protesting a bit too much.”

Maybe. “Just do it.”

She stood. “I will. I don’t have a choice. You’re my boss; I have to do as you say. But I’d like to register my claim to say ‘I told you so’ afterward.”

“It won’t come to that.”

“Of course.”

But he could tell she didn’t believe him. She closed the door gently behind her, and Eros went back to readying his bow and arrow, and planning just where he’d stab Harry Mitchell.

Chapter Seventeen

The afternoon seemed to last forever, probably because Annie couldn’t wait to close the dog bakery and go home.

She needed to buy a new dress. Nothing in her closet was special enough for a date—an actual date—with Ross.

All right, so she knew he liked her, at least a little bit. Or at least he liked making love to her.

Yes, it was probably because she was convenient. She’d pretty much thrown herself at him in the bar two nights ago, and yesterday she’d shown up at his apartment. Just when he was feeling horny, too.

But asking her to dinner was different. That meant—without him actually saying it—that he wanted to see her again.

She definitely needed a new dress. And enough time for a shower and makeup and to dry her hair…and maybe she should buy a new set of underwear, too. Something extra special. If the last two nights were anything to go by, it was quite likely they’d end up in bed again. Or on the sofa. Or up against a convenient wall. And he had seemed to like that red lace a lot.

As people and dogs came and went, and as bowls of dough turned into biscuits and trays went into and came out of the oven, she replayed the last part of last night in her head and tried to imagine what tonight might bring.

Candlelit dinner for two in some romantic out-of-the-way place? She was confident she didn’t have to worry about a hot dog on a bench in the dog park. A walk home through the misty autumn night? Like two days ago, except this time she wouldn’t be tipsy. She wouldn’t be crying over Harry, either. It would be romantic instead of maudlin and embarrassing. And when they got back to her place, she’d invite him up, and one thing would lead to another…

Or maybe he planned to eat in. With—or without—Annie as the main course.

Just the two of them, on the sofa in his apartment. The same sofa where he’d blown her doors off last night.

She imagined him feeding her tidbits of something decadent—pâté or stuffed grape leaves or even figs—his fingers depositing each tiny, tasty morsel between her lips and his dark eyes watching as she chewed and swallowed, before bending his head to kiss her…and then she’d be on her back on the sofa with him on top of her, her legs wrapped around his waist while he thrust into her…