Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(48)

"Does he want to keep the seahorses, too?" Apollo asked, highly amused by the whole experience.

Pamela squinted at the massive statues of marble horses whose hindquarters morphed into mermaidlike tails. "Oh, God. I hope not." She ran her hand through her hair. "This together with the fountain is going to do me in. It's awful. Tacky. The whole thing screams, 'I have lots of money but no taste!'"

"And," Apollo said, studying the winged lions mounted on rectangular pillars, which flanked the smaller, more distant wading pool, "it is definitely not anything like an authentic Roman bath."

She shuddered. "I hope not. Any country that ruled the world as long as Rome did should know better than to create this mess."

"It's not just the decorations. The ancient Roman baths weren't bathing pools like this. They were a series of heated rooms built in succession, beginning with an area where bathers were oiled and massaged. The next rooms grew warmer, and were often filled with soothing steam."

He grinned at her. "They did not hold great pools of water; instead they were built around small, ever-flowing fountains, which were used to refresh the bathers. Of course the rooms did culminate in actual bathing pools, usually one that was heated and one that was kept refreshingly cold."

Pamela's expression changed instantly from horrified to hopeful. "Do you think you could describe the Roman baths to me well enough for me to sketch up something? I mean, I would have to incorporate some of this, of course," she flipped her fingers at their surroundings, "but maybe I can tame it down and make it more authentic - and sell the idea to Eddie. I mean, he already said he wants it covered. I'll just give him a series of lovely covered rooms, each with its own water element, all surrounding a less offensive-looking pool."

"It is an interesting idea," Apollo said.

"Great! Let's get to work." She started to march towards one of the least occupied rows of white lounge chairs. Then she stopped short. "Food," she said. "I have to have food to work." Her gaze slid across the pool to a marble building that had a short line of people queuing in front of it. She read the gilded, Romanesque letters and rolled her eyes heavenward.

This time Apollo made no attempt to cover his amusement. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. She scowled at him and headed towards the building. Over her shoulder she called, "You know, Snackous Maximus is just not that damn funny."

Apollo closed his eyes and inhaled the golden heat of the desert sun. It caressed his skin lovingly and filled him with power and contentment. He felt indescribably good. The soft sound of Pamela's busy charcoal pencil created a soothing background for his thoughts. They fit well together, he and his sweet Pamela. Her quick wit and impish smile had made spending the afternoon working with her a wonderfully pleasurable experience. She joked easily with him - she even teased him about simple things, like how curly his hair was after one of his dips in the pool, and his surprising obsession with a delightfully salty snack called French fries. He'd had three helpings of them. Women didn't tease the God of Light, but Pamela did. When he made her laugh, her sparkling eyes made him feel truly godlike.

And he had quickly discovered that she was a much more talented artist than she realized. He could already envision their future together. She would never again have to work for rich bores like this writer who obviously thought of himself as a mortal god. Perhaps he would build for her a grand gallery within his temple at Delphi. She could spend her days sketching the wonders of Olympus, and her nights sharing his bed.

Love was so much easier than he had imagined. He could hardly remember why he had been so distraught when he had rushed to Lina and Hades for advice. What had he been so worried about? He had found his soul mate; now all that was left to do was to adore her, and loving Pamela was a delight. True, he had yet to tell her his true identity, but wasn't that just a rather incidental detail? She already knew the real him; he was the man who loved her. And a part of his ego whispered that she would probably be pleased to discover that she had won the love of an immortal.

His lips tilted up, and his mind drifted lazily. Life was good.

"Don't you worry about burning?" Pamela peered at him over the top of her sunglasses. He was stretched out beside her on a lounge chair just like hers, except his chair was situated directly in the still-blazing sun of the desert evening. Pamela had pulled her chair over into the shade provided by a scalloped-edged pool umbrella. Even her bare legs, which were bent so that she could use them as a rest for her sketch pad, were carefully out of the direct sunlight, and still she was feeling a little flushed and overcooked. She had been working at the bathhouse sketch for hours, and for the entire time Phoebus had been lounging beside her, explaining details of ancient Roman baths and giving insightful input about the small, separate rooms and the general layout - while stretched out in full sunlight.

"Burning?" His brow wrinkled.

"Yeah, you've been lying out there in next to nothing all day. I'd be fried to a crisp." But Phoebus didn't even look hot. On the contrary, he looked outrageously handsome in his hastily purchased swim shorts and nothing else. He was one long expanse of golden tan skin and luscious muscles.

"You mean burned by the sunlight?" He chuckled as if he found the idea new and amusing. "No. I do not worry about burning. The sun and I are old friends." He shifted up on one elbow and turned towards her. "Have you finished?"