Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(42)

The servant nodded and hastily retreated. When Apollo turned back to Pamela, her face was blazing, and her hands were covering her cheeks.

"I can't believe it. I'm making out in public, and I'm a sober adult."

"Then let us go somewhere more private," he said, stroking the hand that covered one of her flaming cheeks.

Pamela opened her mouth, looked at him, sputtered something incomprehensible, closed her mouth, and looked at her watch.

"Oh, bloody buggering hell!" she gasped.

"What is it?"

"It's almost nine," Pamela grabbed her little gold purse and leapt up from the table. "Oh, God... I've forgotten. Which way is it to the front of Caesars Palace?"

Apollo pointed in the correct direction, wondering what was wrong with her. She started to hurry off, then she stopped, drew a long breath, and came back to where he was still standing. She ran her hand through her short hair as she spoke.

"I'm sorry. It's just so unlike me to kiss you like that, right there in front of everyone." She blushed again as she remembered how it had felt to meet his tongue and return his passion. "That freaked me out. Then I suddenly remembered that I managed to get tickets for us to a show that has been selling out, and that show starts in" - she glanced at her watch again - "fifteen minutes. So that's why I rushed off like an idiot. Accidentally without you." And without any sense, she added silently to herself.

"A show?" he asked.

"Yes, it's called Zumanity. It's... it's supposed to be erotic but tasteful." Her eyes skittered away from his. "It's by the same people who do Cirque du Soleil."

When she finally met his eyes again, they were smiling.

"An erotic circus of the sun? Fascinating." He took her hand and linked it through his arm. "We had better hurry."

Chapter 14

Apollo couldn't believe that the Zumanity players were mortal. The women moved with the grace and seduction of nymphs. The men were all beautiful of body and face. And the music! The music was ethereal. It was the perfect backdrop to the parade of sensuality performed on and above the stage. He and Pamela had been quietly ushered to their intimate seating on the balcony in a lushly upholstered couch that was fashioned like a chaise lounge. The performance had already begun. In the middle of the round stage there was an enormous glass, made to look like a wine goblet filled with water. Within the glass were two nubile young women, who wore very little except nude-colored loincloths. In time to the pulsing tempo of the seductive music the girls swam a dance of innocent seduction, personifying the awakening of uniquely feminine passion and desire. Though the golden god was much more interested in the woman who sat close to his side, his body stirred in appreciation. He glanced sideways at Pamela, gauging her reaction. She was watching with eyes that were large and round. When the scene was over, she applauded enthusiastically. Then she looked away from the stage and caught Apollo watching her. Her already flushed cheeks blushed even pinker.

"Did you find the young women pleasing?" he whispered as the stage temporarily darkened.

"I did. I mean, I'm definitely not a lesbian, but they were so beautiful." Her voice was breathy, and her laugh was a sensual purr. She'd have to remember to tell V that she finally understood her attraction to women.

Apollo leaned into her, drawn by her earthy response to the show. "There is nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of the female body. You would have to be made of stone not to be moved by them."

She had been about to whisper back that it was definite that she wasn't made of stone when the spotlights illuminated the stage again and the appreciative audience fell silent. This time an exquisitely muscled man with black velvet skin appeared on the stage through a trapdoor in the floor. He, too, had almost nothing on. He moved in time with the music as he was joined by a woman who was as blond as he was dark. She was covered in sheer layers of a filmy dress, and as the two met in the center of the stage and began an erotic version of the lover's scene from the ballet Romeo and Juliet, he slowly unwound piece after piece of her covering, until they both wore only the briefest of G-strings.

They moved with a fluid, sensual grace and a passion for each other that Pamela could not believe was feigned. The scene ended, and this time Pamela readily met Phoebus' gaze.

"They must really be in love. No one can act that well. I swear I could feel the sexual tension between them up here."

"Now who's the romantic?" he said, putting his arm around her and pulling her close to him.

For the rest of the performance, that's where she stayed, tucked against Phoebus' body. About midway through the show, her hand found his thigh. It rested there, against the soft fabric of his slacks, through which she could feel the heat and hardness of his leg. His fingers traced a lazy pattern over the bare skin of her arm, caressing the smooth indention inside her elbow and causing gooseflesh to rise up and down her body.

Zumanity was, indeed, an adventure in eroticism. It titillated and teased, seduced and sensitized. When Phoebus' hand traced its way up her arm to slowly caress her neck, she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning aloud.

A tall, stunning redhead, who reminded Pamela very much of Nicole Kidman, left the stage after performing an incredibly sexy version of autoerotic mast***ation, and before the audience's applause had died, the lights flashed on a thick length of red silk that dropped from the darkened ceiling of the theater as if an inattentive giantess had haphazardly thrown her scarf from a bedroom window. It unrolled to expose a woman whose waist-length hair shined golden in the spotlight. Her arms remained cunningly twisted in the scarf so that only the tips of her bare, gracefully pointed toes touched the stage. Beneath her, the end of the scarf pooled like wine on the slick onyx stage. Her beauty was blinding, and as the audience caught sight of her, the theater let out a collective murmur of awe. At first it seemed that she was nude except for body glitter, but as the lights flashed and changed, Pamela could tell she was really wearing a sheer body leotard, nude-colored and covered with brilliant, diamondlike sparkles. The music began, and the scarf was pulled up, and along with it up went the glistening golden woman. She spun and twisted in a sensual dance, all the while dangling over the stage. It was breathtaking.