Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(75)

He opened his eyes. Artemis floated across the deck, recreating Terpsichore's masterpiece. He smiled fondly at his sister. Tonight she had no immortal powers, but she needed none. The little silk slip of a dress Eddie must have purchased for her swirled gracefully around her body. Her movements were languid and filled with a unique, hypnotic suppleness. His fingers flew over the strings, increasing the tempo of the tune. Artemis matched him, twirling and undulating in perfect time with the music until the crescendo, after which she collapsed in an elegant heap near Eddie's feet.

"No!" Eddie cried, pulling her up so that she stood beside him breathing heavily. "It is I who should be at your feet, my goddess."

Artemis laughed breathlessly. "Then you liked your reward?"

"I will cherish the memory of your dance even unto my dying day."

The goddess's expression instantly sobered. "I do not wish to think of you dying."

It was Eddie's turn to laugh, and he did so heartily. "Then think not of it, for that day is far off, my goddess!"

Artemis' smile returned. "Eddie, will you walk with me? I know it is dark, and night has fallen, but - "

"Your wish is my command," he proclaimed. "Come, the grounds are well lit and it is my great honor to escort you."

Without so much as a glance at Pamela or Apollo, the two of them left the deck, heads already bent together as Eddie began asking her about the origins of her dance. Still dazzled by the goddess's incredible performance, Pamela watched them leave. She couldn't believe it. Artemis had danced for Eddie as if she really meant it, as if she really cared for him and wanted to thank him. What a difference a single day had made. This morning Artemis had been arrogant and impossible. Granted, the goddess was still impossibly arrogant, thoroughly spoiled and ridiculously self-indulgent and vain. But when she looked at Eddie there was no doubt about the softness that came into her eyes. Could Artemis really have a heart?

Two soft, magical chords waterfalled over one another, calling Pamela's attention back to her immortal. Her immortal. The thought shivered through her. Before tonight she would have imagined that a man playing a harp would look, at the very least effeminate, at the most, definitely g*y. Apollo was neither. He was magnificently masculine. He didn't just play the harp; he stroked it with a lover's touch, coaxing beautiful music from it as if his caress had brought it to life. With his golden, well-muscled body and his sun-colored hair, he looked like an ancient warrior who had paused between battles to rest and recite heroic deeds. She met his eyes as he began to sing while his fingers teased a sensuous, rhythmic hum from the strings.

"I am that man who sits opposite you

and, while close to you, listens to

you sweetly speaking

and laughing with love - things which cause

the heart in my breast to tremble. "

His voice was so perfect it was almost indescribable, and Pamela tried to imagine how he must sound when he was able to use his immortal powers. No wonder generations of people had built temples and carved statues in his honor. And now here he was, singing just for her. At that moment she wanted him so much that the force of it almost choked her. Without conscious thought she stood and walked to him.

"When I look at you,

I can speak no more.

My tongue freezes silent and stiff,

light flame trickles under my skin,

I no longer see with my eyes,

my ears hear whirring,

cold sweat covers me,

shivering takes me captive,

I become more green than the grass,

near to death to myself I seem. "

She stopped in front of him. The only power he had at his command was that of a man in love, but still he entranced her. She shivered as he repeated the chorus and blanketed her with the warmth of his emotions.

"I am that man who sits opposite you

and, while close to you, listens to

you sweetly speaking

and laughing with love - things which cause

the heart in my breast to tremble. "

When the little night breeze blew the last note away, she reached out tentatively and with one finger stroked the back of his hand that rested against the strings of the harp.

"Did you write that?"

He smiled and took her hand in his. "No. It was written by Sappho. She was a Greek poetess, and a passionate lover of women. I borrowed her words. She had a caustic sense of humor and a sharp wit. I think she would find our situation sublimely entertaining, and I do not believe she would mind the small changes I made to her verse."

"It was very beautiful. Your voice is..." She paused, trying to find words to describe what she had heard. "Your voice is like a half-forgotten dream. Something too fantastic to be real."

"But it is real. I am real." He pulled her towards him. She came hesitantly, and so he looped his arm around her waist, drawing her against him. "What you feel for me is real." Apollo pressed his lips gently against hers. He hungered for the taste and feel of her, but she was so stiff and unyielding that he contented himself with an almost chaste kiss - first on her mouth, and then on her cheek. Finally, she relaxed enough that her head rested against his shoulder, and he breathed in the clean scent of her hair. When he bent to kiss her again, she lifted her hand and pressed her fingers against his lips.

"I'm going to ask you to give me time," she said.