Tall, Dark and Divine (18 page)

Finally, while the water heated, she turned to him. “What are you doing here?”

He wasn’t entirely sure himself. He just knew that he’d sat at Dion’s for a couple hours, drinking ambrosia and watching the god of debauchery sweet-talk the kindergarten teacher while Ariadne pretended not to care and while Brita, who usually did her best to catch Dion’s attention, spent the time playing pool. Maybe she had changed her tactics. Feigned indifference seemed to work for Ariadne, after all. While Dion wooed the teacher, he kept shooting glances into the corner, where Ari sat with Silenus. The teacher probably assumed he was making sure the bar business ran smoothly, but Eros could tell who it was who drew Dion’s attention.

They were idiots, and as soon as this was over, he’d deal with them. But first he had his own problems to fix. And overindulging in ambrosia didn’t seem to be the answer, because no matter how much he drank, he still couldn’t get Annie out of his head.

Eventually he’d just walked out of the bar, intending to go home and sleep. He’d give Morpheus a call and make a trade: some form of hook-up at some point in return for the gift of sweet dreams, and maybe that way he’d be able to forget the mess he was in, at least until he woke up again. But somehow his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, but before he knew it, he was halfway to Annie’s building, and by then it seemed a shame to turn back.

He’d been hanging out in the courtyard, tucked away in the shadows, for a half hour or so by the time she came home. He would have been willing to wait longer—he would have waited as long as it took—but he still didn’t really know why he was there. He just wanted to see her. Needed to see her. To make sure she was all right. That Harry hadn’t hurt her feelings again.

Lame excuse
. Harry was head over heels, and Eros knew it. Such was the power of those damned arrows.

The teakettle whistled, and Annie turned away from him to take it off the burner and pour the boiling water into the mug. “Go have a seat in the living room,” she told him over her shoulder. “I’ll be there in a minute. I think I have some cookies somewhere…”

If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was more of her cookies. They tasted like her, and he had a hard enough time getting the taste of her out of his head. But he didn’t say so, just padded into the living room and sat on the couch.

She followed a minute later, with his mug in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other. The same kind of cookies she’d given him the other morning. Lemon and coconut and sugar. His mouth actually watered at the sight.

She handed him the mug, and his fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. Immediately a blush flooded her cheeks and she took a step back. “Let me get you a towel.”

She escaped—there was no other word for it—in the direction of the small bathroom. Eros leaned back on the sofa and sipped his tea.

When she came out again, the blush was gone—she’d probably splashed cold water on her face—and she was carrying a fluffy white towel, which she set on the cushion next to him. Then she walked to the other side of the table and curled up in the chair there. And watched as he used the towel to rub the rain out of his hair. When he moved to unbutton his wet shirt, he could see her swallow, but she didn’t stop him.

He draped the shirt over the arm of the sofa and used the towel to dry his shoulders and chest. Then he put it on the arm of the sofa, too, and grinned at her across the table. “That’s better. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her eyes were a bit glassy, he thought. At least that power over her was still his.

“So how was your date with Harry?” He took the warm mug between his hands and watched as the glassiness went away at the mention of Harry’s name.

“Fine.” She looked down, demurely, to where her fingers were busy pleating the silk in her lap. Her eyelashes made shadows against her cheeks.

“He didn’t say anything rude tonight?”

She shook her head. “He was a perfect gentleman.” And then she looked up, her eyes as direct as a knife to the gut. “What did you do to him, Ross?”

The mouthful of tea went down the wrong way, and he coughed. By the time he was finished, she was still looking at him, waiting for him to answer.
Damn
.

“I didn’t do anything to him.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He tried to laugh. “What are you suggesting? That I threatened him into asking you out? ‘
Take Annie to dinner and be nice to her, or else
’?”

She shrugged, but blushed.

“I didn’t threaten him. He asked you of his own free will.” Sort of.

She nodded. “He acted like he did. But he didn’t act normal. That—” She gestured to the window and, he assumed, to Harry, now halfway home. “That wasn’t the same Harry from last night and the night before.”

“I should hope not.” He took another sip of tea.

“You did something to him. We heard him yelp when he walked into the office earlier.”

Shit
. “He stubbed his toe on the marble statue.”

“Sure. Did you drug him? Hypnotize him?”

Gods, no. What did she think he was, some sort of gangster? “Would you believe I stabbed him with a golden arrow and made him fall madly in love with you?”

There was a beat of silence. “No,” Annie said, although she didn’t seem a hundred percent sure.

Enough of this. “So he was nice to you?”

She perked up. She even smiled. She had a great smile. “He was wonderful. Very attentive. Very complimentary. He took me to the best restaurant in Manhattan and he wants to take me out again tomorrow. For breakfast.”

Wasn’t wasting any time, was he? “Why didn’t he just spend the night if he was so eager to see you again?”

Annie flushed. “He said it was too soon.”

Great. Not only had Harry been wonderful, attentive, and complimentary, but he was a gentleman, too. While Ross was the rat bastard who’d taken advantage of her tipsiness that first night to practically take her against the wall in the foyer. With her shoes on.

And then what she’d said registered. “
He
said?”

She shrugged.

He breathed carefully through his nose. “Would you have gone to bed with him if he’d wanted?”

“Not sure,” Annie said.

Not sure?

He clenched his fists, and then carefully unclenched them again. What was that Dion had said…was it just two days ago?
You’re the fucking god of love, right? When you fuck someone, they stay fucked
.

He’d fucked her. She shouldn’t be considering going to bed with someone else. Not less than twenty-four hours later.

“Why would you do that?”

She blinked at him, probably surprised at the edge in his voice. It surprised him a bit, too, honestly. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve made it pretty clear you’re not interested.”

He had?

“You said it from the start,” Annie reminded him. “You’re on the rebound. Not ready to get involved. And you’ve been working overtime to try to fix me up with Harry. That’s a pretty good indicator you don’t want me yourself, wouldn’t you say?”

It probably seemed that way.

And he didn’t, he told himself. He didn’t want her. Shouldn’t want her. Couldn’t have her for more than a few decades, and that wasn’t fair to either of them.

“You’re right.”

Her face fell a little at that. Maybe she’d hoped he’d tell her the truth, which was that he wanted her more than anything he could imagine right now, more than he should, and it was all he could do not to crawl right across the coffee table to lift her skirt up and bury his face between her thighs.

The thought must have shown on his face, because she shook her head. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Whatever it was you were thinking of doing.”

“You didn’t mind yesterday.”

“That was before I saw the picture of your ex-wife,” Annie said, a residual blush staining her cheeks. “I can’t believe we made love while your ex-wife was watching.”

“It was a photograph.” He’d never have made love to her while anyone was watching. Least of all Psyche. “She couldn’t actually see us.”

“But you could see her.”

“I didn’t look.” Once Annie got there, she was the only thing on his mind. It was as if Psyche had never even existed. “And anyway, it was a lifetime ago.” Longer than Annie had been alive, in fact, although he probably shouldn’t tell her that. It would only complicate things.

“It’s my fault,” Annie said. “You told me from the start you weren’t ready. I slept with you anyway. And I don’t regret it. You were great.”

“Thank you.”

“But I can’t do it again. If this thing with Harry has any hopes of getting off the ground, I can’t keep sleeping with someone else.”

There was a bad taste in his mouth. “You want it to get off the ground?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d like him, not after the way he talked to me for the past two nights. And I have no idea what changed. It seems almost magical.”

Or divine.

“But if it isn’t drugs or hypnotism—”

She glanced at him; he shook his head.

“Then he actually seems like he’s serious about me. He told me how our first date, at the dog park, would be a great story to tell our grandchildren.”

Grandchildren?

“And since you’re not interested in a relationship,” Annie said, twisting the metaphorical knife in the metaphorical wound she’d just dealt him, “I figure my best shot is with Harry. Now that he likes me, too, I think we have a chance of making things work. At least I want to see how it all goes.”

It was hard to get the words out, but he managed. “I understand.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, so beautiful his heart clenched, and for a moment, it was all he could do just to look at her.

Until he came back to himself and remembered she wasn’t his to look at. She belonged to Harry now.

He got to his feet and reached for his wet shirt. “I guess that’s it.” The wet fabric clung to his now-warm skin like the clammy embrace of a Nereid. Annie watched for a moment, and then looked away, blushing. The fact that he could still make her blush like that probably shouldn’t give him as much satisfaction as it did.

She walked him to the door and stood there for a second looking up at him. “Thanks, Ross. This wouldn’t have been possible if it weren’t for you.”

Right. Eros, Greek god of love. Master of matchmaking.

What a joke.

He forced a smile. “Happy to help.”

She smiled back. “How much do I owe you?”

“Let’s just say this one’s on the house.” He ducked out the door because he couldn’t stand to look at her anymore. “Good night, Annie.”

Her voice floated after him. “Good night, Ross. Be careful out there.”

Sure. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to prematurely derail his immortal life.

“I’ll see you around.” In his thoughts. For the next millennium or two.

He headed down the stairs. If he put on a burst of superhuman speed, he’d be three floors down by the time the door latched behind him. Maybe it wouldn’t sound so final.

…

Annie listened to the receding footsteps, heard them echo against the walls. He was moving fast, almost a bit too fast. Hopefully he wouldn’t fall on his way down, especially as he seemed to be a little under the influence.

When she couldn’t hear him anymore, she crossed to the window in the living room and peered down through the dark and the rain, in time to see Ross cross the courtyard five stories below. He passed through the gate onto the street and disappeared down the sidewalk, and Annie sank onto the sofa, her teeth in her bottom lip.

What had that all been about?

Surprising enough that he’d been here, waiting for her. More surprising how he’d looked when she saw him. Wet, bedraggled, not at all the suave Greek god type she was used to seeing.

Of course, he pulled off wet hair and wet shirt with the same aplomb as he pulled off everything else. And when he’d taken the shirt off…well, she’d almost swallowed her tongue.

Was he checking up on her? Making sure she’d had a good time? That Harry had been nice?

She could understand that, she supposed. He’d put them together. It was natural that he’d want to make sure he’d done a good job. That the client was satisfied.

He’d just seemed so…so haunted. Like, after all the effort he’d made to put her and Harry together, he wasn’t happy that they seemed to be working things out.

But it was probably just the sex. Sleeping with a woman for two nights in a row and then having her go out with someone else…well, it was likely to mess with a man’s head. It would have messed with her head, if he’d been the one going out to dinner with another woman. Especially one who clearly adored him, the way Harry suddenly and inexplicably adored her.

And it was Ross’s own fault, wasn’t it? She’d have been more than happy to hang around and wait for him to get over his ex-wife. She liked him. A lot. And she would have enjoyed finding out whether there could be something more between them once he was ready to move on. Obviously he didn’t feel the same way, or he wouldn’t have been so quick to fix her up with Harry.

So yeah, he had only himself to thank. And she had a date to get ready for. Tomorrow morning. With Harry.

Pulling herself to her feet, she went to take her dress off and get ready for bed.

…

Harry Mitchell lived a dozen blocks from Annie’s place, and in the opposite direction of Eros’s own building. It took him less than ten minutes to get there. It was a Saturday night, and New York was the city that never slept, but out here in Astoria, it was usually pretty quiet. Between the rain and the late hour, the streets were fairly deserted, and the few people who were out and about didn’t seem to notice that he moved with more than human speed as he made his way down the sidewalks.

He’d been a little concerned that maybe Harry had gone out somewhere after dropping Annie off. In fact, he’d called Dion to make sure Harry wasn’t whooping it up at the bar, but the god of debauchery had told him no; the place was hopping, but Harry wasn’t among the mortals gracing them with his presence.