Goddess of Light (19 page)

“She's a goddess,” Pamela whispered to Phoebus.

“She is indeed,” he murmured, glad that Pamela was so transfixed by the performance that she hadn't glanced up to register the shock on his face. He sat very still, trying to school his expression into a mask of polite appreciation for the show his sister was putting on.

And he'd known it! The entire performance had felt snared in an Olympian web of eroticism. Now he understood clearly why—the modern mortals were being honored by the presence of the Huntress Goddess herself. Though she usually preferred her forest and her freedom, the rumor that had been proliferated by her independent ways was false. Artemis was no virgin goddess. She was, whenever she chose to be, an exquisite temptress. What she was up to tonight was obvious. She wanted to be certain that he fulfilled the invocation, so with her immortal kiss of power, she had generously blessed the mortal actors—their allure had been heightened, as had the sexual tension in the audience. He had to admit, it was clever of her—annoying, but clever.

Suddenly, the audience gasped once more as a small, muscular shape ran onto the stage. Apollo's eyes widened in surprise. A satyr! Though his cloven hooves were camouflaged by boots and the magic of the goddess, and the fur that covered his legs not visible beneath the silken pants he wore, his identity was obvious to Apollo. The top of the creature's blond head came no higher than Artemis' waist, but his bare chest and arms were so powerfully muscled that as he raised his arms to beckon the goddess to him, it appeared that he was one of the Titans. The satyr wound his arms in the end of the scarlet scarf, and he, too, was lifted into the air over the stage—and there commenced an erotic chase, which took place not just over the stage, but the two swung out and over the raptly watching audience, where the fey creature enticed and coaxed, stroked and seduced, until finally the goddess deigned to be “captured,” and the two of them were gently lowered to the stage. Shocked, Apollo watched his sister allow the woodland creature to wrap her within his arms, and the Huntress melted into the satyr's kiss in a public display of sexuality he knew she would never allow had they been in Olympus. The two exquisite immortals exited, arms still around each other. The audience was totally silent. All eyes were still staring at the spot on the stage where the goddess had last been seen. Apollo was the first to break his sister's seductive spell, and his applause was soon joined by riotous shouts and cheers.

The house lights came up, but before the audience could begin to get to their feet, the cast of actors, led by Artemis herself, came back onstage. The Huntress Goddess addressed the audience.

“We greet you, lovers and friends, and hope that you have enjoyed our little offering to the shrine of love.” Her voice was like honey, and it drew the mortals close in a sweet trail of words. “Before you depart, I would like to meet some of you—if you would be so kind.”

Clarion bells rang a warning in Apollo's mind, but excitement soughed through the listening crowd like wind through a forest of trees.

The goddess smiled beatifically, as if she addressed crowds of modern mortals every day. Then she began speaking to them, asking them their names, choosing blushing young married couples and newlyweds, sprinkling the magic of her seductive voice throughout the theater. Just once, Artemis glanced up at the balcony where Apollo sat with Pamela close to his side. She met her brother's eyes only briefly, but it was long enough for Apollo to clearly see amusement flash within their cool blue depths. Almost imperceptively, she made a motion with her hand, and Apollo felt the warm shower of her magic rain on him. It tingled over his skin, causing his body to feel flushed and heavy. Pamela's reaction was much more elemental. Almost unconsciously, her hand gripped Apollo's thigh. She leaned into his body and looked up into his eyes. Her breathing deepened, and her lips parted with a moan that was an open invitation.

Apollo cursed silently under his breath, tightened his arm around Pamela, and forced his attention back to the stage. He couldn't kiss her. Under the spell of his sister's immortal magic, neither of them would be able to stop there.
It will pass,
he reminded himself, and even as the thought came to him, he felt the grip of Artemis' meddling magic loosen. He glared down at his sister, who was neatly ignoring him. Within the circle of his arm he felt Pamela shiver and knew that the glittering spell had begun blowing from her skin, too, and he breathed easier. He was not using his powers to seduce Pamela—he wanted her response to him to be honest. Artemis' foolery was no more welcome than his own magic. Neither brought about love, only lust—a temporary desire, which was too easily sated. He wanted more.

“Oh, look,” Pamela said, pointing down at the stage and trying to get her breathing to return to normal. She must be hornier than she thought because this show was driving her completely crazy. Just minutes before if Phoebus had so much as smiled at her, she would have straddled him right there. V had obviously been right; going without sex for too long made a girl lose her mind. “That couple just said that they're here for their fiftieth wedding anniversary.”

“Fifty years!” the lovely Artemis repeated, and the crowd clapped politely. One of the actors rushed over to the goddess and whispered in her ear. Artemis smiled, nodded and addressed the old couple again. “Would you come up on stage and close our little performance with a special dance for just the two of you?”

Apollo leaned forward to get a better view as an elderly couple rose slowly to their feet, and with a smattering of encouraging applause, they walked up the stairs to the stage. The lights dimmed, and a soft waltz began to play. At first the couple moved awkwardly together, before eventually falling into a rhythm that was fluid and familiar. The silver-haired man turned his wife, catching the end of her long, cloak-like dress, and the audience let out their breath in surprise as she twirled, and her dress unwound until she was standing onstage in only a dancer's body leotard and a flowing, wraparound skirt. She curtsied to the theater like a lovely ballerina, and then she and her husband resumed their waltz. This time they moved with the grace of professional dancers. Effortlessly, the old man lifted her still-vibrant body to his shoulder, then turned, dipped, and with a flourish she spun down into his arms once more. The dance ended as they kissed in the middle of the stage.

“And thus we celebrate love. At any age—in any way—it is truly magical and carries with it a touch of immortality. Go with my blessing tonight, lovers, and take pleasure where you will. Love, laugh and be merry!” the goddess proclaimed, and in a blaze of shooting sparks, the entire company disappeared through a trapdoor in the floor of the stage.

The applause continued for a long time, but when none of the actors returned for an encore, the theater began to empty. The audience was almost exclusively made up of couples, and as they left there were many linked hands, intimate conversations and lingering touches.

When the other couples sitting around them in the balcony began to file out, Pamela hesitated. She and Phoebus were standing beside their love seat, and for a moment the two of them were completely alone, as if they had discovered a pocket of intimacy within the darkening theater. Pamela thought it was a little like the night before when they'd kissed in the rain. She looked up at him, overwhelmed by the mixture of lust and longing that was coursing through her body in time with the beating of her heart. And in that moment she knew she would make love to him. She was tired of settling for contentment rather than joy. Pamela spoke in a sudden burst, as if the words had to break through a wall of inhibitions and caution.

“You make me feel like we're in a world alone, all to ourselves. Sometimes when I look at you I think second chances are possible.”

“Believe that,” he said fiercely. “And believe that I would never do anything to hurt you. Think of me as you do your talisman, Apollo. I, too, want you to heal and be whole so that you can love and trust again.”

He touched the coin she wore around her neck, and she imagined that she could feel the healing warmth of that touch all the way through the metal and into her heart. Tired of hesitation and second thoughts, she slid her hands up his chest and pressed herself close to him.

“Would you do something for me, Phoebus?”

“Anything within my power,” he said solemnly.

“Would you take me back to my room and make love to me?” she asked breathlessly.

“It would be my great honor, sweet Pamela,” he said, and bent to kiss her upturned lips.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IN a warm mist of anticipation, they walked back to Pamela's suite. They spoke little but touched each other constantly. Apollo was already becoming familiar with the curves and lines of her body, and he stopped often to pull her into a shadow and kiss her with a tenderness that did nothing to mask his growing desire. He wanted her with an intensity that was a white fire building within him, and to his eternal delight, Pamela was responding with matching passion. She felt so right pressed against him, as if she had always been there. As they walked, he thought about the old couple who had closed the theatrical production. Obviously, they, too, had been actors, planted amidst the crowd, but that didn't mean that they hadn't truly been lovers. Apollo remembered the way the old man's eyes had radiated love and pride as he led his lifelong bride in their special waltz. Apollo knew he would never experience growing old by Pamela's side, but he wanted her with him—and he wanted it with an intensity that filled him with purpose. They would be together, he promised himself.

Pamela slid the key card into the door, and with a green light and a click, she entered the suite ahead of him. Her hesitation was gone. She knew what she wanted. She wanted Phoebus. Forget past mistakes. Never mind about what may or may not happen in the future. Something had happened to her tonight while she was watching
Zumanity
's magical sexuality. She realized that she had been wrong. Duane hadn't killed romance or fun or even sex for her. He had just caused that part of her to hibernate. And now that it had awakened, she was ravenous.

When Apollo closed the door, she turned and stepped into his arms. He kissed her, wanting to take his time to taste her thoroughly now that they were finally alone, but when she moaned into his mouth he bent and cupped her well-rounded buttocks and lifted her, so that the hot core of her pressed firmly against his arousal. She moved restlessly against him and with a gasp he broke the kiss, struggling for control.

“I'm losing my mind with desire for you,” he moaned as her tongue and lips made a hot trail down the side of his neck.

“Put me down, and I'll take off these clothes.” Her warm breath whispered against his skin.

He almost dropped her, and her laughter was deep and throaty. Pamela stepped teasingly away from him, and then began to walk backwards towards the bed, while she used one hand to reach behind her and unzip her little red dress. She shrugged her shoulder. It slid free, and she stepped delicately out of the scarlet heap it made around her heels. Apollo's eyes drank in her body. She was wearing something black and lacy that did next to nothing to cover her breasts, but it lifted them and pointed them enticingly at him, and a matching swatch of lace that barely hid the dark triangle between her legs. The golden dagger-heeled sandals did something incredibly sexy to her long, bare legs. As she reached behind her again to unlatch the lingerie, he closed the distance between them.

He kissed her again and against his mouth she said, “I want to feel you naked against me.”

Breathing hard, he broke the kiss long enough to roughly yank the shirt over his head. While he fumbled with the unfamiliar fastening of his pants, Pamela slid back on the bed, watching him with sparkling eyes. And she still had on those incredibly sexy shoes.

Finally, he managed to make himself naked, but before he could join her on the bed, she half sat up and halted him with her raised hand.

“Wait. Just stand there, and let me look at you.” Her gaze traveled down from his eyes that had darkened to sapphire over the rest of his body. Her tongue flicked over her lips before she spoke again. “Phoebus, you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. God! Look at your skin. It covers your muscles like liquid gold.” She shook her head and gave a small, breathless laugh. “Artists should paint you. Sculptors should sculpt you. How can you be real?”

He sat on the bed beside her. “I am real, and what is happening between us is real. How I look is nothing unusual or extraordinary to me.” He paused, considering. He had made love to countless women, goddess and mortal alike. Always before he had used the magic of his immortal power to heighten his own pleasure during the act of lovemaking. This time was different. Pamela was different. He hadn't wanted to use his powers to seduce or entrap her, but he wanted very much for her to feel the depth of his passion. He wanted her to know him in a way no other woman had. He touched her as he continued speaking. “What is new and wonderful to me is what is happening within, and the only way I know of sharing that feeling with you is to love you.” Gently, he caressed her long neck and let his fingers move up and through the short locks of hair. As he touched her, he allowed some of his immortal power to escape from his hand and to lick through her body. She shivered under his touch. “Let me love you, sweet Pamela. Let me make this real for you.”

“Yes.” She breathed the word into his mouth.

His hands moved over her body as their lips met again. Her skin hummed under his touch. Pamela had never before felt so sensitized. It was like she had become a living conduit for all of the hot, intense, mind-blowingly erotic sensations she had been missing for years.