Warrior Rising (Goddess Summoning #6)(64)

“See,” he said softly, smiling into her gray eyes. “I told you your presence would rejuvenate me.”

Athena smiled one of her rare smiles. “Stubborn man. Will you always insist on flattering me?”

“As long as I am yours, my goddess.”

“Then I will be eternally flattered, for you will always belong to me, Odysseus.” Slowly, as if warring against herself, Athena pressed her hand against his thigh again. This time her touch was caressing instead of healing. Still kneeling beside him, the goddess stroked his skin. “How long has it been since first I appeared to you?”

Odysseus didn’t hesitate. “Just over twenty-two years, Goddess. You first appeared to me before I could even grow a beard.”

“You were a delightful boy—already showing signs of wit and wisdom, and such a sweet, smooth face.” The goddess’s usually sober expression softened into a smile of remembrance.

Odysseus thought his heart would break free from his chest at the sight of such loveliness. When his hand lifted to rub the stubble of his beard he hoped she didn’t notice how it shook. “Unlike now, my goddess. There is no sweet, smooth-faced boy here anymore.”

He expected her to agree with him, laugh and retreat back into what he thought of as her divine mask—the one that hid Athena’s deepest feelings and kept the goddess from flaring with rage or passion. Instead she completely took him off guard by lifting her hand to stroke his cheek.

“I still see the boy,” she said in a voice so low that Odysseus had to strain to hear her above his rapidly beating heart.

Odysseus stared down at his goddess—the woman he’d loved since he was an untried boy. She’d appeared to him many times over his life. She’d chosen him as her warrior, as the mortal man to whom she bestowed her blessings above all others. But she’d rarely touched him, and she’d never come close to fulfilling his secret desire for her.

“What is it, Athena? What has happened?”

She took her hand from his face and stood, turning her back to him. “Why must there be something wrong? May I not touch you for no other reason than because I wish it?”

He stood, too, and moved closer to her. “Of course you may touch me, and for any reason you wish!” Odysseus raised his hands, longing to take her into his arms, but stopped himself. Athena was not a mortal woman. He could never forget that.

Still with her back to him she said, “Did you know that even Achilles has found love?”

“He loves her, does he? I wondered if he would allow himself to.”

“You don’t sound surprised,” Athena said, turning to face him.

Odysseus smiled and shrugged. “It seems to me that love is rarely predictable.”

“Do you love Penelope?”

At the mention of his wife’s name Odysseus’s smile faltered. “She is my wife and the mother of my son. I respect and honor her as such.”

Athena touched his face again. “But do you love her?”

Almost without conscious thought Odysseus pressed his cheek into her hand. “In my way, I do.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means that I gave my heart to another just over twenty-two years ago. Since then there has been little left to give anyone else.”

“My Odysseus…” Athena whispered.

Before he could change his mind, Odysseus bent and pressed his lips gently against hers. When their mouths met a shock of desire sheared through his body with such intensity that it mixed pain with pleasure. Athena gasped, clearly feeling it, too, and her arms wrapped around his neck as she pulled him down to her and opened her mouth to deepen the kiss.

They stood there for what seemed like a very long time, their mouths exploring, their bodies pressed together. Suddenly Athena broke the kiss. She was breathing hard and her perfect mouth looked swollen, her cheeks pink where the roughness of his beard had scraped her. The goddess gazed up at him, gray eyes wide with several different emotions. Achilles prayed silently that desire and acceptance were chief among them.

“Venus was right,” Athena said softly. “We should have become lovers years ago.” Without moving out of his arms, the goddess waved her hand over the beach around them, and a thick satin blanket materialized beneath them.

Very deliberately she stepped away from him, and then undid the ornate brooch that held her robes in place over her shoulder. The gray silk slid down her body to flutter at her feet and remind Odysseus, once again, of the delicate wings of a dove. She stepped out of the pool of cloth and gracefully lay down, creamy skin luminous and perfect in the moonlight as she reclined against the satin. Athena held her hand out to him.

“Come to me and prove the love you’ve had for me these past many years, my Odysseus,” she said.

Odysseus lay beside her, losing himself in his true love’s body. He knew he could not possess her as his own. He knew this might be the only time he would ever know her intimate touch, but he gave his body to her without hesitation and with utter, joyous abandon, much as he had given her his heart all those years ago.

It would have to be enough… he thought afterward as Odysseus held Athena and their tears mingled. Somehow it would have to be enough…

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"I was wrong,” Venus said, bursting into Hera’s private chamber.