Parker came around, swinging her door open and offering his hand. “No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad we went. Master Don pulled me out of my comfort zone, but that’s a good thing.”
She took his hand, and he pulled her up as though she was a feather. She linked her arm in his, and it felt like it belonged there.
Tread carefully, Syrinx. You’re in a danger zone with this one.
He walked with her to her door. “Thank you for all of your help with my garden.”
“It’s the least I could do for such a valued customer.” Guilt panged her chest. He was more than a valued customer, wasn’t he? More importantly: did she want him to be?
Parker slid his hand in hers. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back. “We should do this again sometime. You know, have a little more fun next time. Maybe go to some lecture on metaphysics.”
Syrinx laughed. “Or maybe just do something normal—like bowling, mini-golf or ice cream.”
“I’d like that very much.”
He leaned in, and Syrinx’s heart sped. She licked her dry lips. Was he going to kiss her? He stopped inches away from her face as if some invisible barrier between them held him back. He raised an eyebrow as if asking her permission.
Syrinx longed to close the distance and feel what his perfectly sculpted lips felt like against hers. But that would lead in only one direction—the direction she’d already chosen not to go. A direction she’d never gone before. Parker was a customer, she was a goddess of chastity, and that was it.
“I’ll contact you regarding the status of your order in the morning.” Her words fell like cold, hard stones between them. She turned to unlock the door.
Parker grabbed her arm gently and pulled her around. Before she could react, he leaned down and kissed her. As his need grew, his mouth opened, and he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, asking for entry.
He tasted of mint and woodsy pine, everything that reminded her of the forest she’d left behind. Wild abandon surged up inside her, making her crazy with want. She kissed him back, opening her mouth to meet his tongue with her own. He brought his arms around her, one hand traveling up her back to cup her neck in his hands, and the other tightening around her waist.
A wave of heat swept through her, burning away her reason and logic. She couldn’t get enough of him: his wild scent, his warm lips, his hard body. Every nerve within her screamed that this was right.
But it wasn’t. The kiss went against her entire identity, everything she thought she was. Syrinx shook off the fog of desire and broke the kiss.
She pulled away, her back against the door.
Parker breathed heavily and opened his eyes. His face changed from ecstasy to horror. “I’m sorry. It just happened.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Syrinx raised her hand to put distance between them as much for herself as for him. Every nerve still screamed for his embrace. “I must get back to my work.” She composed herself and adopted her well-practiced perfunctory tone. “I had a wonderful time, Parker. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Rain.”
“Sylvia. If I’m going to call you by your first name, then you should do the same.”
He smiled. “Sylvia it is.”
Before she could respond, he turned and walked back to his car, whistling a carefree tune. Syrinx fumbled with the key in her hot, sweaty hand as his sleek black Jaguar drove away.
…
Pan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His blood felt like it was on fire, and his pulse throbbed with desire. Syrinx tasted like sweet roses fresh from the countryside. Her mouth was soft, warm, and inviting. She wanted him. That much was true as Aletheia’s scrolls. Now all he had to do was get through her shield of reason, her stringent vow of celibacy.
After she pulled away, he knew he had to bide his time and build their relationship. Boy, was it hard to control himself. If he hadn’t walked away when he did, he’d be all over her by now, slipping off that little floral dress.
Pan pulled into his massive garage and parked beside his spare Jaguar—a silver model he didn’t like as much as his black one, but dreamed up all the same to keep things real. Cars broke down all the time, so it would be easier to explain a spare instead of something he’d conjured from thin air on the spot. Pan had worked out all the details, down to the last hydrangea bush.
It was paying off.
He entered his mansion to find Rutherford polishing his favorite brass statue in the foyer. Hadn’t he said he was retiring for the night? Had the old man waited up for him just to see how the date went? Rutherford’s overprotectiveness would have annoyed the old Pan of a year ago, but this new Pan was actually glad to see him.
Pan crossed both his arms as if he’d caught him eating cookies out of the pantry. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Was this all some grand facade? Was Rutherford really a god himself pulling a fast one on Pan as Pan pulled a fast one on him? One look at the old man’s tufts of nose hair told Pan otherwise. No god could mimic that detail with such zest.
“When you’re as old as I am, you take every minute given to you.” Rutherford tucked the rag into the pocket of his drab suit coat—the same type of coat he’d worn ever since the day of the interview. Pan started to wonder if his lack of imagination was intentional after all.
Rutherford raised both hairy eyebrows. “Enjoy your date, sir?”
“Let’s just say we need to celebrate with a drink. Do you still have that second-best bottle of wine from the cellar?”
Rutherford pursed his lips as if considering Pan’s invitation and thinking better of it.
“Oh, come on, old man. We’re off the clock. Let’s just sit and talk man to man, shoot the breeze. Isn’t that why you stayed up to see me?”
“Let’s just say I wanted to make sure you didn’t break any hearts.” Rutherford winked and gestured for Pan to follow him down the hall. “The wine’s in the pantry. Seeing as how we’re off the clock, you’re going to have to come get it yourself. Sir.” He added the last word as an afterthought.
Pan chuckled and clapped Rutherford’s shoulder as they walked to a room he’d never seen before. Maybe he needed to get around his own mansion more and quit sulking about his love life.
The pantry had been stocked from floor to ceiling with cans, bags of flour, jugs of water and juice, plastic canisters of rice, and jars of jam.
“Are we preparing for the apocalypse?” Pan gawked at all the food as he took a seat at the small round table in the center of the room. A pity he didn’t need to eat. Of course, to keep up appearances for Rutherford, he managed a bite here and there.
“My job is to keep it stocked.” Rutherford brought out the wine and used a fancy silver corkscrew to open it.
“You do a fine job, my friend.” Pan noticed a storage container full of dishes and pulled out two glasses. “You always have.”
Rutherford poured the wine and took a seat next to him. “It has been a good year.”
“That it has. And you’ve been there with me every step of the way. Without your advice, I would have forced my personal and professional relationships. You taught me patience.” Pan sipped the wine, savoring the flavor. He tasted strawberries, figs, and cloves followed by an oaken aftertaste, leaving him wanting more. “This is good.”
Rutherford hadn’t touched his glass. “You’re right about me staying up to talk with you.”
Pan straightened in his chair. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no. I was just thinking about our conversation the other day about my wife.”
Pan nodded, unable to think of something to say. Finally, he came up with, “She sounded like a brilliant woman.”
“Yes, she was.” Rutherford took off his coat and draped it over the chair. “This is the same suit I wore the day she died.”
“Really?”
Wouldn’t the suit get old and tattered? Didn’t he need to wash it?
Rutherford laughed as if Pan had an expression of horror on his face. �
��Allow me to clarify. Not the same exact one. The same style.”
“Oh.” Pan took another sip of wine. He needed it for such a heavy topic. The old Pan wouldn’t have been interested at all, but he hung on Rutherford’s every word. Why would a mortal get so hung up on one woman? It almost reminded him of his obsession with Syrinx. “Tell me more about her.”
Rutherford nodded. “She was a chess player, and would beat me every time. She liked water lilies. She used to take her umbrella and fish in the pond for the biggest and brightest ones, then take them home and keep them alive in jars of water.”
“Water lilies are beautiful flowers.” Pan wished he could take Rutherford to see the ones that blossomed at the base of Mount Olympus. Some were twice as big as his face.
Rutherford finally took a sip. Then he settled into his seat and breathed deeply. “Time stopped that day.”
Pan placed his glass down on the table, unable to drink any more. Guilt spread through him as he thought of all the times he’d picked on the old man for his lack of imagination. It was more like a loyal, steadfast heart—something Pan critically lacked. “I had no idea.”
Rutherford smiled and patted his hand. “I’ve told you about my son.”
“Yes, a little.” Where was this strange conversation going?
“You remind me of him.” Rutherford studied Pan’s face. “A little too much at times.” He laughed. “I think of you as a son as well.”
Pan glanced down, having a hard time processing Rutherford’s words. As a child of the forest, he had no parents, no siblings, no friends except for the redwoods, the hawks, the wind, and the river. What did it mean to have someone such as Rutherford as family?
He didn’t deserve this old man’s affections.
Rutherford dug into his pocket and brought out a little black box. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I want you to have this.”
Pan took the box, afraid to open it, afraid he didn’t deserve what lay inside. “What is it?”
Rutherford gave him a knowing half smile. “Something you’ll need for the future.”
What could he possibly need for the future besides his reed flute? Pan ran his fingers along the top, feeling the old satin stretched thin over the plastic casing. Rutherford was waiting, and it seemed rude to give it back. Pan glanced at Rutherford, then opened the box.
Two gold rings lay inside, one large and thick, and the other small and slender. Pan shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Those are Eleanor’s and my wedding bands.”
“Your wedding bands?!” Pan reached across the table and offered the box back. “I can’t take these.”
Rutherford closed his fingers over Pan’s and pushed the box back to him. “I want you to have them.”
“What am I going to do with two wedding bands? I’m a bachelor. Tonight, I went on a first date for God’s sake. I haven’t even given a thought to marriage.” In fact, Pan’s very identity went against it.
Rutherford shook his head adamantly. “Someday, you’ll need them.”
“But—”
Rutherford stood. Somehow he’d finished his glass while Pan was preoccupied with the mismatched gift. “Make an old man happy, and humor me, okay?”
“Rutherford.” Pan’s voice had a warning in it. “I’m never going to use these.”
“Then they’ll sit in the box and wait.” He wiggled his finger. “I won’t hear another peep about it.”
Pan closed the box and set it on the table as if it were a poison snake. Marriage? That was like eternal imprisonment, damnation to a hell worse than Hades could imagine. Rutherford had given him the thing he least wanted in all the world. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to insult him. It was a gesture of kindness from an old man with nothing left. How could he refuse?
“Rutherford?”
The old man turned from the door and sighed. “The matter is closed to discussion.”
“The discussion is over.” Pan stood from the table, feeling the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He cared about Rutherford, and that made everything matter so much more. “Thanks.”
Chapter Seven Even Beat
Syrinx hummed to herself while arranging a flower bouquet for Myrna Smith’s baby shower. Daisies, it must have daisies—the perfect complement to the pink roses Myrna had requested. Syrinx couldn’t remember a time when she was this happy, riding on cloud nine all the way to heaven’s gates. As much as she liked to think it was because of the morning’s sunshine and her flourishing business, the real reason lay with Parker’s experienced lips. Lips she shouldn’t kiss again if she knew what was good for her.
Kaye propped open the front door with her butt as she held a tower of ceramic pots in both hands. “Hey, Sylvie. You won’t believe what I found at this yard sale. The blue one has a crack, but I think we can—” She stopped in mid-step. “Are you glowing?”
Syrinx ran her hands through her hair self-consciously. “Oh, it must be the sun. Nice day, huh?”
Kaye set the pots down by the cash register and gave Syrinx a suspicious look. “How did your date go last night?”
Syrinx pretended to be interested in sticking the daisies around the pink roses. “It was interesting. We ate at a nice botanical restaurant and went to see that award-winning poet, Master Don.”
“You mean the ancient-looking Asian guy?” Kaye made a sour face. “You couldn’t drag me to one of his shows with a shotgun.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He makes you think too much about the big questions in life. Sure, we all have to think about our future and our goals. But it’s not something I want to do on my time off. Especially on a date. Who thought of that?”
Syrinx glanced down and fluffed the daisies sheepishly. “I did.”
“Of course.” Kaye frowned in disappointment.
“I wasn’t trying to be a snorefest. I had no idea what his poems were like.”
Kaye leaned against the countertop, balancing on her elbows, and smiled. “And what did Parker think of them?”
“He seemed to like them. I don’t know. During some of them, it looked like he was thinking really hard about something. I wish I could hear his thoughts.”
Kaye stared her down until she thought her friend could see every lusty thought in her head. “Are you blushing? Did he try anything on you like I said he would?”
“Maybe. But I didn’t let it get very far.”
Kaye threw her hands up in the air. “Why the hell not?”
“Because it’s only a first date, Kaye. I really don’t know him all that well. He could be a serial killer for all we know.”
“I doubt that.” Kaye leaned against the countertop, looking away as if envisioning her own private fantasy of Parker Thomas. “More like serial kisser. That…I’d believe.” Kaye laughed at her own joke. “Did he ask you out on another date?”
Syrinx shrugged. “We left it open. I suggested next time we do something fun.”
“Well, it wasn’t a total waste of a hot guy then, was it?” Kaye patted her arm. “Good job. Not bad for such a rusty old spinster.”
“Hey, who’s calling who a spinster? I don’t look a day older than you, and you can’t be more than twenty-five.”
Kaye admired Syrinx’s new arrangement, touching a petal as if it were a baby’s cheek. “Twenty-six, to be exact. At least I try.” Her tone sounded a little too heavy and sad.
“You’ll find your Mr. Right someday.” Syrinx started the next bouquet, cutting the ends of a bunch of lime-hued, button-shaped chrysanthemums. She wished she could help Kaye find someone. Her assistant deserved the same happiness Syrinx had found.
Kaye moved on to her own bouquet. “By the way, did you knock over the pots stacked out back?”
Syrinx froze, remembering the mess she’d cleaned up in the kitchen. “No. Why?”
“Last night, I returned to the shop. I’d forgotten to bring in the pansies, and I was afraid they’d wilt in the cold. When I got there, som
e of the pots had been knocked over. The blue clay one I picked up the other day is cracked even more now.” She scratched her head. “I don’t remember it being a windy night.”
Syrinx’s heart sped. “Was anything stolen?”
Kaye shook her head. “I checked the register, and everything is where I left it. So what do you think? A raccoon? Stray dogs looking for scraps?”
“A stray something.” Syrinx snapped the rose stem in two. Could their intruder be Pan? She’d had a distinct gut feeling last night with Parker. It was the same skin-prickling sensation she’d had when she first caught Pan staring at her bathing nude in the river.
Syrinx dragged the scissors closer on the counter. “Bring in the pots. From now on, we won’t leave anything outside. And Kaye, call the locksmith. We need a new lock on the back door.”
…
Pan awoke to glorious sunlight streaming into his bachelor pad on the penthouse of his grand estate. Even though gods had no need for rest, he still enjoyed the pleasure of sleep. Besides, he had a reputation as a mortal to uphold. Why not indulge in their pleasures as well?
He checked the time. Good gods! It was already eleven o’clock. He shot up in bed, the sheets falling away from his naked body.
The god born of nature with no true family or friends felt oddly alone for the first time in his existence. Pan slipped on his bathrobe and checked the corridor for a tray or note or anything his butler might leave by his door. Nothing. The shelves were so clean, not a mote of dust graced the surfaces—a testament to Rutherford’s excellent skills.
Perhaps he was downstairs in the foyer, or outside in the gardens?
Pan leaped down the stairs two at a time. “Rutherford?” His voice echoed unanswered throughout the grand halls.
Pan's Conquest (Entangled Covet) Page 5