Goddess of Light (Goddess Summoning #3)(76)

"Time?"

"I need time to think about what's happening between us, and I can't think when you touch me and kiss me. So I'm asking you for some thinking space. Will you do that for me?"

He wanted to say no - to toss the harp aside and take her into his arms and make slow, passionate love to her until she could not think at all. He knew he could persuade her to give in to him; he felt it in the way her body gravitated to him and the liquid way her eyes stared into his. He knew the passion that smoldered within her, and he knew how to awaken and use it. And then what? In the morning she would just retreat from him again. He wanted her to come to him freely, with no morning-after regrets.

Apollo took his arm from around her. Instead of trying to kiss her again, he brushed back the little tendril of dark hair that habitually fell over her forehead.

"I will give you your thinking space."

He smiled sadly, kissed her hand, and walked slowly from the deck. Alone.

Chapter 25

The 7:30 wake-up call from the perky-sounding young lady who announced that breakfast would be served on the deck at 8:15 came entirely too early for Pamela. What the hell was happening to her? Her internal clock usually woke her right around dawn. To her normal schedule, 7:30 a.m. was sleeping late. But this morning she rubbed her eyes and felt thick-headed, wishing she could curl up and sleep for a couple more hours.

It was Apollo's fault. Knowing that the God of Light was sleeping alone just down that hall from her had kept her tossing and turning most of the night. So had that damn liquid voice of his. It seemed to tumble around and around inside her head. And his touch. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips burning against hers. Apparently it didn't matter that he was minus his immortal powers. To her his touch still felt like fire and light and sweat and...

Bloody buggering hell! She really needed to get a grip on her hormones. She rubbed at her eyes again and reminded herself that Eddie was bound to have excellent coffee all brewed and waiting for them.

Which reminded her that she was certain she'd heard Eddie and Artemis giggle their way back to one of their rooms at practically 2:00 a.m. They might have even had sex, as gross as that was to think about. Would Artemis do that? Wasn't she supposed to be one of the virgin goddesses? Pamela thought about her erotic stint with Zumanity and the sexy way she walked and talked. She seemed as virginlike as Madonna (the singer, not the other one); the exact opposite of an aloof, untouched and untouchable goddess.

Pamela groaned again as she got out of bed. She washed her face and brushed her teeth and reminded herself that it was Tuesday. Not counting today, there were only three more days till the portal reopened and Artemis and Apollo returned to their world to leave her to get back to normal in her own. Her stomach rolled. No, she wouldn't be naive enough to even hope that Apollo would actually stick around long enough to have a real relationship with her. He would leave. And she would return to her normal, boring, dateless life...

No. She'd already been over this with herself. She wasn't going to crawl back into her sexless, manless, romanceless shell. She had to think of Apollo as her beginning foray into the world of dating. It had been a successful reconnoiter. She would change her mission when she got back home. No longer would she be all work and no play. She. Would. Date.

"Bloody buggering hell," she told her frazzled-looking reflection in the bathroom mirror. "I'm thinking like a kooky member of a dating militia. V is going to be so ashamed of me - " She broke off, smacking herself on the forehead. "V! I haven't even checked in with her." She rummaged through her purse until she found her cell phone and punched in V's number.

"Are you tiring of me? You never call me anymore. Say it ain't so," V said instead of hello.

"It ain't so," Pamela said. "God, V, I'm so damn sorry I didn't call you. Things here have been more than a little on the gihugically insane side."

"The author is terminally crazy?"

"No. Actually, Eddie is a pretty good guy, and the job is even turning out to be almost semitasteful. You know, like something Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton would have liked."

"Shut up! Do not tell me you've talked him into creating scrumptious Cleopatra's palace!"

"Well, kinda."

"What does that mean?"

"Yes, I'm creating something like the set from Cleopatra. But it's not me who was responsible for the talking-into part."

"He has a lesbian assistant with an Elizabeth Taylor obsession, too? God, the world's a small and miraculous place," V sighed happily. "Are you fixing me up?"

"Again, no. His assistant is a guy, and I'm pretty sure he's straight. It's my assistants who have persuaded him into changing his focus, and it was just a happy accident that it's looking like an MGM set."

"Wait, wait, wait! You only have one assistant. She is me. And I am definitely not there because I am here dealing with crazy old cat lady Graham - who, by the bye, has finally let me talk her out of the plum-colored velvet settee. We're looking at chintz today. I told her it would show less cat hair. Regardless of the cat lady story, there is still the very important fact that your one assistant is moi, and I am here. Explain."

What could Pamela tell her? If she admitted that she believed Apollo and his sister were immortals stuck in Vegas, V would be on the next plane out there with a carry-on filled with valium and a reservation for her to spend a nice little "vacation" at the nearest psychiatric resting facility. Not to mention that she would needlessly worry her best friend. She definitely couldn't tell her the truth. She drew a deep breath. She wouldn't think of it as lying; she'd think of it as fictionalizing. It's what Eddie did for a living, and no one called him a crazy person. Okay, well, not to his face, they didn't.