Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(23)

"Then I go to Armani." He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "Αντ?ο, γλυκι? Pamela," he spoke the ancient language against her skin. Then he turned and strode away around the corner.

As soon as he was gone, she bolted for the ladies' room and quick-dialed V.

"Please tell me that you're calling because you just won the million dollar jackpot," V said instead of hello.

"Oh my God! I think I have, but I'm not talking about money."

"Get out of town! You actually sound giddy. Wait, let me sit down. If you tell me you're speaking to a man, I may faint."

"I'm not speaking, I'm flirting..." Pamela breathed the word like a prayer, and then she dissolved into giggles that ended in a snort.

"You're drunk," V said.

"I am not. I'm tipsy."

"Oh, good God."

"That's exactly what he looks like. V, you wouldn't believe it! I was wiping up the spilled wine, well, then I cut my finger. Which hurt like hell, by the way. And I even said it. Admitted it out loud. I want romance in my life." She enunciated the words slowly and distinctly before gushing on. "And then there he was. He's dressed in some kind of Greek god costume, but that's because of his sister. You know, like Richard and the Star-Belly Sneetch. Anyway, we've been talking, and as soon as he buys new clothes we're - are you ready? - going for a walk."

"Uh, Pammy," V said. "Where are you right now?"

"In the ladies' room."

"And where is he?"

"Buying new clothes."

"Okay. Listen to me. Sober up. He might be a freak," V said.

"He's not a freak. He's a singing doctor."

"Has lack of sex completely deteriorated your brain? You're talking like a crazy woman." V wanted to reach through the phone and shake her.

"It's not as weird as it sounds," Pamela said, chewing at her bottom lip. "V, I like him. He makes me feel again. And... and I have some kind of connection with him. I know it sounds crazy, but there's a spark between us. It's like we understand each other."

Vernelle opened and closed her mouth. She stifled the litany of warnings that were running through her head. "Pammy, I think that's wonderful."

"So I'm not being stupid?"

"No, doll. You're being young and single. There's not a damn thing wrong with that," V assured her. "Go for a walk with the tripod. Flirt your cute little butt off. But no more wine tonight, okay?"

"I've already cut myself off."

"Good. And use a condom."

"Vernelle! I am not going to have sex with him."

"Pamela!" V mirrored her friend's shocked tone. "Here's a news flash - if you want to have sex with him, you can! What I want is a full report tomorrow. Good-bye, Pammy."

Pamela was picking at the Band-Aid when Phoebus walked back around the corner. She felt her eyes widen, and a thrill that was liquid and hot ran the length of her body to settle deep inside her thighs. In his god costume he had been handsome and exotic in an unbelievable kind of way, like an actor to be "fallen in love with" during a movie. In normal clothes he was no less gorgeous, but now he was suddenly real and no longer something unattainable. He had become a living fantasy. He was wearing cream-colored linen Armani slacks that hugged his sleek waist and hips, and a silk knit pullover that was the same amazing blue as his eyes. Those eyes locked with hers as he approached her. He stopped beside her stool. For a moment he didn't say anything. Then he pulled nervously at his shirt and smoothed both palms down the front of his pants. His smile seemed uncertain, which totally baffled Pamela. How could someone who looked like a Greek god be worried at all about his appearance? The silence stretched between them. He fidgeted with the collar of his shirt.

He was definitely nervous, which was undeniably adorable.

"Do you like the new clothing?" he finally asked.

"You look like a walking Armani ad."

"Is that a good or bad thing?"

"Good. Definitely good. What did you do with your outfit?"

The worry that had tightened his face relaxed. "I left it with the Armani servant. I will retrieve it later. As for now, shall we walk?"

He held out his arm for her to take, just like she was a princess. Or maybe, she thought, glancing up at his profile, a goddess. She placed her arm through his and slid off the stool. She could swear that she felt every nerve ending on her bare arm prickle where it touched his.

"The servant at the Armani shop told me that if we leave Caesars Palace, turn to the right and cross the street, we will come to pool of magnificent dancing fountains."

"The Bellagio fountains. I've heard about them, but I haven't seen them."

"He said it is but a short distance." He raised his eyebrows and looked expectantly at her.

What in the hell was she supposed to do? Of course she wanted to go with him, but would walking to the Bellagio fountains at - she glanced at her watch - at almost 11:00 P.M. be smart? Of course 11:00 P.M. Vegas time was like prime time anywhere else. The streets would be filled with people rushing from casino to casino. Wouldn't they? It should be okay.

On the other hand, she didn't want to make the mistake of being one of those women who acted too stupid to live. And she certainly didn't want to be hacked up into little pieces by a gorgeous but crazy serial killer and have a tragic CSI episode based on her last hours.