Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(43)

“You have trouble walking on your own in the sand,” he said.

“Only because I’m trying to keep up with you,” Kat said defensively.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Achilles said softly.

“Oh.” She smiled up at him. “That’s nice.”

“Is it?” He asked, looking honestly perplexed by her.

“Yes, it is.” Kat cleared her throat. “Uh, about last night…”

Achilles’ full lips tilted up. “Do you mean about the relaxation spell you placed on me?”

This time Kat could read the teasing glimmer in his eyes. “Just exactly how much of the, uh, spell do you remember?”

The tilt of his lips lifted and became a full, heart-stopping smile. “Enough.”

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Kat was trying to figure out what “enough” meant when they caught up with Patroklos and Jacky, and deciding okay, fine. She was a professional. She would just ask him. When Jacky turned to her and with a relieved expression said, “Good. There you are. Tell him that we can’t go swimmin’ with them because we have nothin’ to wear in the water.”

Kat looked at Patroklos, who was smiling at Jacky adoringly. “She’s right. This silk stuff”—she picked up a fold of her outer dress and swirled so that it flowed gracefully around her—“is pretty, but not good for the water.”

“Then you should both do what we’re going to do. Shouldn’t they, cousin?” Patroklos said, with a mischievous glance at Achilles.

The corner of Achilles’ lips lifted. “They should, indeed. It would save the lovely fabric of their robes.”

“Shall we?” Patroklos asked.

“Yes, cousin,” Achilles said.

And while Kat and Jacky watched, the two warriors stripped off every bit of their clothes and leaped, shouting, into the turquoise waves.

“Holy shit,” Kat said.

“God. My god.” Jacky fanned herself vigorously. “I owe you an apology, Kat. Even if there has been a mix-up about my skin color there is no damn way we’re in hell. We have gone straight to heaven.”

“Have you ever in your life seen such a beautiful body?” Kat asked dreamily, staring at Achilles and wishing desperately that he would swim back to shallower water. And then stand up.

“Kat, tell the truth. Patroklos looks like Spike, doesn’t he?”

Kat wrenched her eyes from ogling Achilles long enough to roll them at Jacky. “You are such a dork. And your Buffy infatuation is truly pathetic.”

“He does look like Spike! Check out that lean yet muscley physique and that silver-blond hair. All he needs is a change in hair-style and a long black leather coat. Sweet weeping baby Jesus he has a six-pack to beat all six-packs. I’m going to have to shtup him. I think it’s only right. How can I let all of that deliciousness go to waste?”

“He’s not Spike, fool. Patroklos is a nice guy. Spike was the Big Bad.”

Jacky gave her a look that telegraphed you’re a moron. “Spike from Buffy season seven, Kat. Please try to stay with me here.”

“Sorry, did you say something?” Kat’s eyes followed Achilles’ every muscular, naked movement.

“Kat, is Patroklos’ penis pink?” Jacky asked, shielding her eyes with her hand to get a better look as she squinted against the sun reflecting off the waves.

“Jacky, do not even try to pretend like you haven’t had sex with a white guy before.”

“Just Bradley and just those few times. Remember how unsuitable I decided he was, what with his weird addiction to chocolate-covered maraschino cherries? He used to bite the bottom off those wretchedly cheap candies and suck the grossness out. Vile—totally vile.” Jacky shivered dramatically. “Anyway I didn’t notice any overly pinkness with him.”

“Well, Patroklos is a very white guy. Hey, think about it like this. His pink penis matches your blond va-jay-jay.”

“Oh, lord, I need to sit down. Being white is exhausting.”

Jacky was looking around for a log of driftwood when Patroklos ran out of the sea to grab her hand. “Swim with me, my beauty.”

Kat tried to keep her eyes to herself, which was damn difficult with Patroklos standing there dripping wet, smooth skinned and totally nekked. While Jacky babbled about not having a thing to wear, Kat moved her gaze seaward (versus downward). Achilles was walking slowly toward her. The water was still just a little over his waist, with waves lapping to his wide chest, so she was able to watch every bit of him emerge. He is like an ancient god, golden and powerful and seductively imperfect. He made her body feel flushed and ultrasensitive, and her mind kept flashing back to the night before like an erotic projector flipping on inside her head. Just as she was wondering how she could drop her clothes and wrap herself around him without the berserker showing up and ruining everything, Achilles’ posture changed. He left the water, walking swiftly to his discarded clothes.

“A runner from the Greek camp comes,” he said to Patroklos, who instantly stopped the kidding tug-of-war he was playing with Jacky and pulled his clothes on, too.

Kat squinted back down the beach and, sure enough, a man carrying a long, thin spear and a shield and wearing the same kind of scarlet cloak she’d seen Odysseus wearing was running toward them. He arrived minutes later, winded but obviously being sure to show Achilles careful respect by saluting him and bowing his head slightly.