Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(25)

His eyes glinted when he smiled at her. "Good."

She gave him an appraising look. "A lot of men wouldn't like being called a romantic. It's not macho enough."

"Quite often men are fools."

"I couldn't agree with you more," she said firmly.

Apollo laughed, enjoying her honesty. "You should know that I am not like most men. You should also know that it is my intention to thoroughly romance you."

"Oh..." She faltered, not sure how to respond to his announcement.

He laughed again, and nodded, but said nothing. Instead, he watched her. His words had flustered her, and he liked how her cheeks had instantly flushed a light rose. Her short hair made her neck look impossibly long. It invited the touch of his lips against the hollow of her delicate throat. The style of her dress was as foreign to him as was the clothing he now wore, but he liked the flattering, feminine lines of it and how it dipped down in a teardrop shape to reveal the tops of her softly rounded br**sts. She was petite, but fully a woman. Her legs looked long and lean... How did she balance on those perilous shoes? They were little more than a swatch of fabric attached to spikes. Odd as they were, he did enjoy the way they caused her calves to stretch and flex, and her well-rounded bu**ocks to sway enticingly as she walked beside him.

She could feel him watching her, and it made her already jumpy insides turn into a pinball machine - What's he looking at? God, he's handsome. He smells good enough to eat. Is he thinking I look fat? Please don't let him be a serial killer - her thoughts pinged around and around. What was it about him that made her feel like each of her nerve endings had suddenly come screamingly alive? Maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe it was just that she was so totally out of practice with men.

Don't be stupid, she told herself. She'd never had a hard time dating before Duane. She was the same person, just older and smarter. At least in theory. She paused in front of a Fred Leighton jewelry store where beautiful chandelier diamond earrings were showcased hanging from beveled mirrors. Pamela caught the reflection of his gaze in the glass.

All she had to do was to quit analyzing the situation so damn much. She was making this harder than it should be.

His steady gaze caught hers, and again she felt it, that wordless connection that sparked between them. She drew in a deep, relaxing breath.

"When you said that you gave me your oath that I would be safe with you, what language were you speaking?" she asked.

"Greek," he said.

"Is that the only other language you speak?"

He shook his head and hesitated before answering. "I have a gift for languages. I speak several."

"Really? I don't speak any other language. Well, I don't count my limited ability to order cheese dip, extra-hot salsa, and beer in Spanish. Actually, what I pretend to speak is probably more like Spanglish anyway."

In response to his questioning look she grinned and explained. "Spanglish - a bad mixture of Spanish and English. I am decidedly not good with languages, and I do envy people who are multilingual."

Her praise made Apollo uncomfortable. His "gift" with languages was nothing special - at least not for the God of Light. He was one of the Twelve Immortals; none of the languages of man were unknown to them.

"I am most fluent in Greek and Latin," he amended.

"What was it you said to me before you went to Armani's? Was that Greek, too?"

He loved how her tawny eyes reflected the faceted light of the diamond jewelry. "Yes, it was Greek. I said, 'Goodbye, sweet Pamela.' Did you know that in Greek your name means exactly that - all that is sweet? Pan is all, and meli is sweet, as in the honey, or the nectar of a flower."

She turned from the mirrors and looked directly up at him. "I had no idea. I've always thought that it was a boring, ordinary name."

"It is anything but that, Pamela."

When he said her name, his accent made it sound mysterious and beautiful. Of course, he could probably make the word excrement sound like a seduction, but, she admitted to herself, she loved knowing that what she had thought of as mundane for her entire life had really been hiding so much more.

"What about your name? What does Phoebus mean?"

"It means light," he said.

Pamela looked up at his bright hair and his eyes that were bluer than a summer sky. "Light," she repeated. "It suits you."

"Now I have a question for you," he said, changing the subject smoothly. "What does the word ginormous mean?"

Her little burst of surprised laughter made her mouth look even more inviting.

"Ginormous is a word my friend, V, and I like to use, but I don't think you'd find it in any dictionaries. It's gigantic and enormous mixed together. Like gihugic is gigantic and huge."

"The same as Spanish and English making Spanglish," he said.

She nodded. "Yep."

"So ginormous means bigger than large," he said as they both remembered that ginormous was how she had described him.

"Exactly," she smiled saucily. Well, there was something about him that went beyond height, that seemed to make him bigger than large. He was ginormous.

One of the multitudes of bellboys opened the glass doors for them, and they exited Caesars Palace. It was, of course, fully dark, but the night teemed with light and sound and excitement. Apollo and Pamela stood frozen, both awestruck by their surroundings. The entire front grounds of the Palace were filled with ostentatious, spurting fountains lit up like a beacon to the heavens. Stretch limos dropped well-dressed couples at the door, and uniformed valets scurried around like liveried mice.