Goddess of Love (3 page)

Venus's smooth brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Hang-ups—it means that they don't think like archaic, barbaric dolts. Well, most of them don't. Modern men don't have the prejudices the ancients have; they know how to appreciate women as equals, and that is very, very sexy.”

From the shadows Vulcan watched understanding dawn over Venus's beautiful face at the same instant he felt a shock of something that he didn't recognize at first because the emotion was so foreign to him—hope. What Persephone had said about modern men being different had given him sudden, sweet hope.

“I wouldn't be recognized as Love?” Venus said at the same instant Vulcan realized that he wouldn't be recognized—or judged or shunned—as the God of Fire.

Persephone smiled impishly. “You could practice your skills of seduction without anyone knowing that you are the incarnation of love.” The goddess sighed romantically. “Sounds intriguing, doesn't it?”

“It does indeed.”

Yes, Vulcan agreed silently. Not being recognized did, indeed, sound intriguing.

“And don't forget the excellent shopping,” Persephone added, gracefully pointing her toe and holding up her foot so that she could show off her black alligator-skin cowboy boot.

“Persephone, my friend, perhaps you would like to show me around your entertaining little kingdom?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The two goddesses linked arms and, laughing, walked off in the direction of Persephone's mother's temple, where Vulcan knew Demeter kept open a portal to the modern city Tulsa.

“Fascinating…” he murmured to himself. Leaving his parents' temple he hurried to the stairs that would return him into the bowels of Mount Olympus and his own fiery realm. By the time he reached his great hall, Vulcan's mind was buzzing like the brown bees of Greece. Modern men didn't have the ancients' prejudices…. They wouldn't even recognize divine Venus as the physical incarnation of love. So it wasn't entirely impossible that maybe, possibly, there might be a modern man in the shining Tulsa Kingdom who could be enticed into stepping into his immortal place. Especially if Love herself was unknowingly involved in the enticing…

With a new sense of purpose, Vulcan strode to the heart of his realm, stripping off his toga as he went so that by the time he faced the pillar of open flame that heated the world his muscular body was naked and already glistening with sweat.

He raised his hands, palms open. In recognition of the presence of the Fire God, the orange pillar rippled and flashed. Vulcan closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he began the incantation.

The fire danced around Vulcan's palms like an exuberant child, mirroring the unusual excitement that suddenly burned within his breast. He was so intent upon the spell that he didn't notice the thread of Hera's power that snaked from around his body and joined the pillar, making it flare and swell with magic straight from the queen of Olympus. Vulcan clapped his hands together and completed the spell.

The pillar of flame exploded with a roar that would have instantly deafened a mortal man. Unscathed, the Fire God watched as a sliver of golden flame, invisible to all except for the God of Fire himself, formed within the pillar and then split free of it to hover in the air in front of Vulcan.

“Go! Do my bidding!” the god commanded. Quick as one of his father's infamous thunderbolts, it dashed from the heart of Mount Olympus. Vulcan knew its path. The questing flame would follow Venus all the way through Demeter's portal and into the Kingdom of Tulsa. There it would seek and search for something it could never find in the ancient world of man—a modern mortal who could take his place as God of Fire.

Vulcan smiled in satisfaction and settled down to wait.

 

Hera felt the tug of her power being used. She glanced surreptitiously at Zeus. He was busy with Demeter. The two of them were arguing good naturedly over the quality of the ambrosia harvest.

“Dearest, I need to check on some last minute details for the feast this evening. Will you excuse me?”

Zeus nodded and waved absently at her. Demeter caught her eye and Hera winked quickly at her. The Goddess of the Harvest nodded slightly and launched into the ambrosia argument with new zeal. Hera hurried from the Great Hall, sure Zeus was well occupied—at least for a few moments. She ducked into a shadowy alcove and closed her eyes, concentrating on the gift of power she'd given her son.

There! Under her closed lids she could see the thread of invisible fire Vulcan had bespelled. She watched as it snaked through Olympus toward Demeter's temple and then vanished into the portal that led to the modern city of Tulsa. Surprised, Hera concentrated harder, and her consciousness expanded, hooked into the thread of questing fire by the power of the queen of Olympus. Through the spark of connection she saw Venus and Persephone enter the modern world, and she could feel the weight of Vulcan's incantation as it followed the Goddess of Love.

Why was Vulcan following Venus and Persephone? Had he finally tired of that sham of a marriage of his? Hera smiled. She sincerely hoped so. Her son deserved more than the shell of a marriage. With a mother's determination she reached out to the thread of fire that carried the gift of her power and spoke to it.

Hera flung out her hands and new power, filled with her words, flew invisibly through Olympus, joining the thread of fire and augmenting its already white-hot strength.

Hera smiled in satisfaction and retraced her steps back to the throne room.

P
ea felt a wash of relief, which was quickly followed by embarrassment
when she heard the fire siren getting closer. Crap crap crap! What a way to start Saturday morning.

“They're almost here, Chlo-chlo-ba-bo!” she yelled up at the tree.

The pitiful whine that replied from the middle of the winter-bare branches squeezed at her heart, but Pea shook her head sternly at the dog, refusing to give in to Chloe's manipulation.

“Okay, look! How many times do I have to tell you? You. Are. Not. A. Cat.”

A black nose appeared from a top branch of the tree. Behind it Pea could see the glint of bright, intelligent eyes staring down at her.

“Hrumph!” Chloe barked the strange, deep growl sound she made when she was highly annoyed.

“Whatever! You can love cats. You cannot be one.”

Chloe had just
hrumph
ed indignantly at her again when the fire engine glided to a smooth stop at the curb. Pea sighed and gave Chloe one more glare. Then she started to walk toward the men who were climbing out of the traditional shiny red fire truck. Instantly Chloe erupted in a pathetic chorus of whines and yaps. Forgetting all about embarrassment and doggie manipulations, Pea rushed back to the tree.

“Chlo-chlo! It's okay, baby girl. I'm right here.”

“Bring the ladder over here, Steve.” A deep male voice called from close behind her. “This is the tree.”

“Hurry!” Pea yelled without taking her eyes from the frightened dog. “She's really scared, and if she falls she's definitely going to break something.”

“Ma'am, cats rarely hurt themselves when they jump from trees. The whole land-on-their-feet myth actually has quite a bit of truth to it,” the voice over her shoulder said.

Chloe whined again.

“Hey, that's not a cat.”

Pea turned to the fireman, an annoyed frown on her face. “I clearly told the dispatcher that my
dog
—” she began, putting her fists on her waist and letting the worry she felt for Chloe shift over to irritation, but one look at the man had her anger fizzling and her tongue stammering. She felt her cheeks flame with heat. Quadruple crap! It was
him
. Griffin DeAngelo. The most gorgeous man she had ever seen. Ever. Even on TV. He was also the guy she'd been crushing on for the entire past year—ever since she'd walked Chloe by his house (which was just down the street from hers) and seen him mowing his yard. Without a shirt on. And here he was. Standing in her front yard like he'd walked right out of one of her very graphic dreams.

Naturally he wasn't looking at her standing there in her baggy sweatpants and sweatshirted glory, and he hadn't noticed her sudden pathetic inability to speak. He was peering up at Chloe with a quizzical smile tilting his delicious-looking lips.

“How in the hell did he get up in that tree?”

“She's not a he, she's a she. And she climbed,” Pea said.

“Oh, pardon my language, ma'am; I forgot you were there. I'm Griffin DeAngelo, captain of the Midtown Station.” He tapped his helmet in an archaic and adorable gesture of a gentleman greeting a lady.

“I know!”

“You know?” He raised an eyebrow as if to punctuate his question.

“Yeah, you live down there.” Pea pointed down the block directly at his house. Like a stalker. “Remember, we met at the fourth of July block party last fourth of July, and also at the summer weenie roast and again at the pre-Christmas light hanging neighborhood meeting,” she babbled, sounding exactly like a stalker.

His beautiful forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I'm sorry, ma'am. I don't remember.”

Of course he didn't. No one remembered meeting her. “No problem, I'm um…” She paused as she stared up into eyes that were so big and blue and beautifully dark lashed that she suddenly and moronically forgot her name.

“Ma'am?”

“Dorreth Chamberlain!” she blurted, holding out her hand like a dork. “And the dog caught in the tree is Chloe.”

He took her hand gently, like he was afraid she might explode at his touch. And why wouldn't he think that? She'd just told him that they'd met three times, none of which he remembered, and she was still standing there gawking at him like a kindergarten kid in a bubble gum factory. And her hair! Pea forced herself not to groan and pat manically at the frizzy mess she'd tied back in her favorite scrunchie.

“Check it out. It's a dog,” said a young fireman who had joined them with two other men carrying an extension ladder.

“How the hell did it get up there?” said another fireman, with a laugh.

Griffin cleared his throat and gestured at Pea.

“Sorry, ma'am,” was mumbled in her general direction.

Pea laughed gaily, gesturing up at the tree, trying hard to sound perky and interesting. “She climbed!” As usual, none of the men so much as glanced at her.

“Climbed? She must be twenty feet up in that old oak,” one of the unnamed guys said.

“She's a good climber. She's just not a good climber downer,” Pea said, and then wanted to dissolve into the sidewalk in embarrassment.
Climber downer?
God, she really was such a dork.

“Well, let's get her down,” Griffin said. The men went to work extending the ladder, and Chloe started growling.

“What kind of dog is she, ma'am?” Griffin asked her.

“She's a Scottie, but she thinks she's a cat. See, I have a cat named Max, and Chloe is totally in love with him, hence the fact she is clueless that she's a Scottie
dog
. Chloe is in denial. She believes she's a Scottie
cat
. I'm not sure whether to get her another dog, get her some Prozac or take her for a visit to the pet psychic.”

Griffin laughed, a deep, infectious sound that made Pea's skin tingle with pleasure. “Or maybe you should just invest in a safety net.”

Pea giggled and tried to have one of “those moments” with totally, insanely gorgeous Griffin the Fireman—one of those eye-meeting moments where a man and a woman share a long, sexy, lingering, laughter-filled look.

Naturally the moment did not happen.

First, her coquettish giggle turned into—horror of all horrors—a snort. Second, blonde and beautiful appeared on the scene.

“Pea! Don't tell me Chloe got caught in a tree again!”

Griffin immediately shifted his attention to her neighbor, who was hurrying up to them, her six-year-old daughter in tow. “Hi, Griffin,” she said.

“Good to see you again, Stacy,” he said, and tilted his hat to her, too.

Pea sighed. Of course he remembered Stacy—tall, sleek, always together-looking Stacy—even though Pea knew for sure that Stacy had only made
one
of the neighborhood meetings in the past year. With Stacy there was no way in hell gorgeous Griffin would give her another thought. If he'd ever given her a first thought. Even with a kid at her heels, Stacy was ridiculously attractive.

But, surprisingly, the fireman's eyes slid back to her. “Pea?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging and launching into the short version of her all too familiar explanation for what everyone called her. “Sadly, Pea is an unfortunate childhood nickname that stuck.”

“Oh, come on! There's nothing wrong with your nickname. Pea's adorable,” Stacy said, grinning at her.

“Yea for Pea!” Stacy's daughter Emili chimed in. “I like your name. It's cute. But it's not as cute as him.” Emili pointed up at Griffin. “Are you married? Pea's not married. Maybe you could marry Pea. She doesn't even have a boyfriend and my mommy says that's a shame because she really is cuter than people think she is 'cause—”

Pea sucked in air and felt her face blaze with heat while Stacy clamped her hand over Emili's mouth and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh.

Thank the sweet weeping baby Jesus that Chloe chose that moment to snarl a warning at the young fireman who was positioning the ladder against the tree.

“Chlo! It's okay.” Pea hurried over to the trunk of the tree and looked up at the black snout and bright eyes. Chloe whined. “Sorry, she doesn't like men,” she said to the fireman. “I really don't think she'll bite you. But she will complain. Probably a lot.”

“I'll get her,” Griffin said.

“She's all yours, Captain.”

Griffin started up the ladder and Chloe's low, rumbling growl intensified.

“Chloe! Manners!” Pea called up to the perturbed Scottie.
Please, God, please don't let her bite him
, she mentally telegraphed over and over…. Until Griffin did something that made Pea's thoughts, as well as Chloe's growls, come to an abrupt halt. He was calling Chloe, but he wasn't calling her like someone would call a dog. He was, unbelievably, kitty-kittying her.

“Come here Chloe, kitty-kitty. It's okay little girl. Come here, kitty-kitty-kitty….”

Dumbfounded, Pea watched her dog's ears lift and her head tilt toward the approaching man.

“Good girl,” Griffin murmured. “Good kitty-kitty, kitty-kitty.” He held his hand out slowly and let Chloe get a good sniff of him. “See, you smell her, don't you? That's right, kitty-kitty-kitty, come on down.”

Pea could only stand and stare as Griffin reached into the tree crevice and pulled Chloe, who was still sniffing him curiously, into his arms and began the descent down the ladder.

“Amazing,” Stacy said with a deep breath. “How did he do that? Chloe hates men.”

“He's too pretty to hate, Mommy,” Emili said.

“Honey, let's keep that for our inside thoughts, shall we?” Stacy said. Then she glanced at Pea and whispered, “Even though it's totally true.”

Pea pretended not to hear either of them, which was easy. Her entire being was focused on her dream man striding toward her with her dog—who was actually wagging her tail—held firmly in his arms.

“Here ya go, ma'am.” He handed Chloe to Pea.

“Th-thank you,” Pea stuttered. “How?”

“How?” he repeated.

“The kitty-kittying. How did you know to do that?”

“Just makes sense. You said she thinks she's a cat, and you have a cat, right?”

Pea nodded.

“That's how you call your cat. Right?”

Pea nodded again.

“I figured she'd recognize the call.”

Griffin scratched Chloe on the top of her head, and Pea watched in astonishment as her dog—her man-hating dog—closed her eyes and sighed happily.

“That's just part of it, though,” Griffin said. “I was counting on Chloe smelling Cali.”

Pea suddenly understood. “Your cat?”

“My cat.” Griffin gave Chloe one last scratch, then turned back to his men. “Okay, let's get this loaded up. Have a good day, ma'am.” He nodded politely to her and then to Stacy. He winked at Emili, and then he was gone.

“Em, honey, go on inside and wait for Mommy. I'll be there in just a second,” Stacy told her daughter.

“Are you and Pea going to talk about how pretty that fireman was?”

“Of course not, honey. Now go on.”

“'Kay! Bye, Pea.” Emili skipped off to her house, singing a song about lemon drops and unicorns.

“Okay, I'd forgotten how drop dead Mr. Tall Dark and Fireman is. I can definitely understand why you've had a thing for him for ages,” Stacy said.

Pea put Chloe down and the dog trotted over to the tree and began sniffing all around the trunk. “Do not even think about climbing up there again,” Pea told her sternly. Chloe glanced back at her and snorted. “I swear that dog understands every word I say,” Pea muttered.

“Hello! Sexy, incredible man. We were talking about him and not your insane Scottie.”

“She's not insane,” Pea said automatically. “And yeah, he's gorgeous and I might have a little crush on him.”

Stacy rolled her eyes, which Pea chose to ignore. “But now he's gone. I don't see the point in going on and on about him.”

“Like you haven't gone on and on about him before?”

Pea silently chastised herself for the one or two—okay, ten or twelve—times she'd mentioned to Stacy how hot she thought their neighbor was. “Whatever,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant and dismissive. “He's still gone, and there's still no point in talking about how gorgeous he is.”

“The point is, Ms. Totally Single, that he seemed interested in you.”

“Get real, Stacy. He wasn't interested; he was polite. There's a world of difference.”

“Bullshit.”

“Stacy, he didn't even remember me, and today makes the fourth time we've met. Men like him are not interested in women like me.”