Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(24)

"Pamela," he unlinked their arms to take her hands in his. "You have nothing to fear from me." His eyes caught hers and held, and he read the indecision there. It pained him to think that she did not trust him. If only she knew who he was! He quickly cast aside the fleeting thought. If she truly knew who he was, she would also know his past and how he had seduced and discarded countless mortal women. If she knew the truth, she would surely turn from him. And he could not blame her for doing so. But she didn't know who he was; she thought he was a simple mortal healer. She had no reason to turn from him. His jaw tightened with resolve. This time he longed for it to be different. This time it would be different - he would make it so.

Apollo spoke before he could stop himself. "I would never harm you, nor would I allow anyone else to cause you pain. Σου δ?νω τον ?ρκο μου."

The foreign words seemed to linger in the air around them, and for a moment Pamela imaged them as tinged with a bright golden light. Then she blinked, and the image dissipated like smoke in shadow.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I said that I give you my oath. You should know that in my homeland, the giving of an oath is a sacred thing, broken only by one who has no honor."

His words touched her, but more than that, he touched her. His physical allure was obvious, but she was drawn to more than just the beauty of his body. There was something about him that tugged at her insides, something she recognized. Her heart skittered around in her chest as she realized what it was: she saw herself in him. In his eyes she saw the echo of something she had carried around within her for years, the longing for more... and the inability to find it.

"Why aren't you involved with some nice woman, instead of here asking a virtual stranger to go out with you?"

His smile was like dawn breaking the gloom of night. "I am with a nice woman. I am with you."

She sighed and slipped her arm back through his. "Then I suppose I have no choice but to go to the fountains with you."

"You do," he said, starting to walk, "but I do not think any other choice would be a wise one."

"Just so that you know, I'm holding you to that oath of yours."

He smiled down at her. "I would have it no other way, Pamela."

Chapter 8

With linked arms, they made their way through The Forum Shops towards the main entrance to Caesars Palace. As they walked, Pamela couldn't help but notice the looks Phoebus drew; it was totally, nauseatingly obvious. Women couldn't keep their eyes off him. But she also noticed something else: Phoebus paid no attention to other women. He didn't return their smiles. His eyes didn't stray to steal an "accidental" glance here and there.

What he did do was to walk slowly, matching his long strides to her much shorter ones. He was attentive to whatever she said. His responses were witty as well as interesting. And he window-shopped. Really. Without being coerced, tricked or bribed.

He actually seemed to enjoy it.

The thought was enough to sober her up. Or maybe she was completely drunk, had passed out and was still at The Lost Cellar, slumped on her stool in a damp, drooling puddle pathetically passed out.

No, she was alliterating fluently. She couldn't be hallucinating.

Was he g*y? She glanced at him, caught his fabulous blue eyes, and gave him a sexy smile. He returned the smile with an inviting warmth that said that there was no way he wasn't heterosexual. No. He definitely wasn't g*y... So what was wrong with him? There had to be something...

"Are you married?" she asked abruptly.

His golden brows drew together as he frowned. "No. I have never been married."

"How about a live-in girlfriend or something?"

"No."

"So you're totally uninvolved."

"Yes," he said firmly.

Well, at least that wasn't what was wrong with him. In theory anyway.

Without any prodding from her at all, he paused in front of a shop called Jay Strongwater, which specialized in gem-encrusted picture frames.

"This really is excellent workmanship," he said thoughtfully. "The artisan has extraordinary talent."

"They are gorgeous." Pamela peered into the window and caught the reflection of a price tag on one of the very small frames. "Four hundred and fifty dollars! For a little picture frame! I don't think they're that gorgeous."

Apollo turned to her and put a finger gently under her chin, lifting her face. "I think there are some pictures that would be worthy of such a frame."

When he looked at her with that focused intensity (How could she have ever even considered that he might be g*y?) she felt all jittery inside, like she was back in high school and he was her sweetheart. She certainly would have never admitted anything so sophomoric out loud, but that didn't make it any less true. They were standing so close that she could smell him - man mixed with the raw silk of his shirt, and something else... something as subtle as it was seductive. It reminded her of heat. Heat as in warm sun on a white beach where naked bodies basked in uninhibited...

She laughed a little too giddily, pulling her face from his grasp, and started walking again.

"Phoebus..." She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. "I think you're a romantic."