Quinn winced, her cute nose wrinkling. “Is Hera really that awful? Because I often wondered if the myths weren’t embellished just a teensy bit.”
“She’s a nightmare of a horror.”
She sucked in her cheeks—adorably so, and planted her hands on her hips. Gone was the meek, sad-over-her-recent-breakup Quinn, and in her place was the warrior who thought she was saving a rare Greek artifact. “Forget that. Is that really the point here?”
Nina gave Quinn a small shove between the shoulder blades. “What is the point, Lite-Brite? Because if you don’t make it soon, I’ll wring it the eff out of you. Are you in or are you out?”
She flapped her hands at Nina, dismissing her without even realizing she was brushing the vampire off—which in his estimation was a good sign she’d rally if the going got tough, because sometimes in matchmaking, it did.
“The point is, will these gods dole out some sort of excessive punishment if I refuse to participate? And I want the truth, Khristos. Don’t sugarcoat—just straight-up honesty, please.”
As he watched her make a demand of him, watched her eyes flash and her full lips move, he realized she was only perceived as weak, and not just by others but also herself. On the inside, this woman had the ’nads of a gladiator if she was willing to attempt to keep him from the wrath of his ancestors.
And she wasn’t just stronger than she thought, she was compassionate. She didn’t know him, yet he saw the fear in her eyes when she realized he could end up punished severely. That trait would go a long way in her matchmaking.
But if the gods chose to punish him for his carelessness, they wouldn’t care what the explanation was. They were all burn-him-at-the-stake overkill now, ask questions later.
Quinn would eventually find out about it, and for some reason, he didn’t want her to think poorly of him for lying.
“That is a possibility,” he finally said, because it was the truth.
Quinn rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, her mouth set in a line of determination. “Then consider this Aphrodite thing on.”
* * * *
A hand brushed the hair from her face; the fingertips were callused, the touch gentle. “Quinn,” a voice, thick and deep, rumbled in her ear.
Yes, sexiest man on the face of the planet? “What?” she groaned.
She had a goddess hangover the size of Yankee Stadium. As she peeked at her alarm clock, she realized why. She’d had only two hours of sleep. Two hours of restless, haunted-by-horrible-dreams sleep.
The apple, in all its bitten glory, sat on her nightstand. Still just as perfect and gold as it had been before she’d gotten on her high horse and had chosen that brief moment in time to finally take control of her life.
After deciding she was all in last night, she’d handed out blankets and as many pillows as she could find to everyone and gone to bed, determined to keep Khristos from doing time. While she lay in bed, what she’d done began to really sink in and she’d come to the conclusion she was mostly to blame.
Distracted or not, it didn’t matter what Khristos had been doing at the time the apple fell from the column. She’d refused to heed his words, his very clear warning. She’d stomped all over his wish for her to give it back because she was too busy playing Joan of Arc.
Thinking about it now, it made complete sense that he’d been so evasive when she’d demanded to know why he thought it belonged to him.
Because seriously, who’d believe it anyway?
“Quinn,” he said again. “It’s time to begin.”
She shivered, burrowing deeper into her comforter and trying to ignore the un-ignorable.
Khristos. And being Aphrodite.
The Khristos who’ll be punished severely if you don’t damn well get up, Quinn. Think Actaeon, for example. Do you want this man, whose apple you defiled because you all of a sudden found your backbone, to end up eaten by a wild pack of dogs?
No. She didn’t want that.
She sat upright with a jolt, not even thinking to take the comforter with her—now that her jugs were enormous, none of her nightgowns fit properly, which left her spilling out of them.
But Khristos averted his eyes like a consummate gentleman. He smiled at her as perfectly as if he hadn’t had the exact amount of sleep she’d had. “It’s time to rise and shine, Goddess of Love. The Love Boat leaves in an hour. So up and at ’em. C’mon, lets hit the showers and carpe diem!”
Her stare was blank when she looked up at him, pushing her long tangle of hair from her face. “I take it you’re a morning person?”
“I’m a whatever-I-have-to-be-to-keep-my-butt-out-of-the-pokey person.”
God. The guilt, followed by the flashes of visions of heinous Greek punishments. “Right. I’m on it. Just give me twenty minutes.” She scrambled upward, this time remembering the comforter, and rose to a standing position. But her bedroom was so small, there was little choice except to end up almost touching.
Her heart pounded hard in her chest as she sucked in her stomach. Wow, he smelled good. In fact, if she were to have a picture in her mind of what a god would look and smell like, Khristos with a K certainly fit the bill.
“There’s coffee right there on the nightstand. Marty made it, and Wanda baked some cinnamon rolls.”
“They actually stayed the night?” All but begging Nina to stay after Aphrodite had shown up, she’d also requested Marty, Ingrid, and Wanda stay, too. She’d even offered to pay them for their services. Not that they would hear of it—except for Nina, who named her price at two-point-two-million. The point-two being for her hoodie fund.
There was something about them as a group, something she innately trusted—needed at this very moment in her life—and she was afraid if they left, she’d miss something she couldn’t define or find the right words to describe.
Warmth spread throughout her limbs. These people didn’t know her, even if they’d talked about her with Ingrid. Yet, they’d targeted her fears and offered a soothing balm of comfort to ease them all because of their relationship to her friend.
They were really good at this OOPS thing.
Khristos nodded, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants “They did. I only know of them through Nina, but they’re exactly as she described. Well, almost. I don’t find Marty at all offensive when she recommends colors that are in my color wheel.” He yanked a hand from his jeans and circled his face just the way Marty had last night when she’d explained what a color wheel was.
Quinn giggled. “I can’t believe she owns Bobbie-Sue Cosmetics and her husband owns Pack Cosmetics. Talk about the Jets and the Sharks.”
“They’re good people. They’ll protect you from me.”
Her cheeks went bright red; she felt the flush of them. “I…I’m sorry. It’s just that—”
“That I’m a stranger. I’m not offended by that either. Anyway, wasn’t sure if you were a New York Times reader or whatever, but I know you love to read, if the mountain of books versus actual food in your kitchen pantry is any indication. So I went out and bought a slew of reading material, just in case it’s what you do in the mornings.” He pointed to the stack of newspapers he’d set right under her white lamp with the ruffled lampshade.
He was so nice. So considerate. Sweet, in fact. Her heart clenched, and then she froze and took a deep breath.
This would not happen. No way was she going to let any warm feelings for this man creep into her heart. Absolutely not. He was her teacher and she was his student.
Grasshopper and sensei. Coach and football player.
“Do you have to call in to work? Will anyone worry if you don’t show up?”
Ugh. Work. She loved her job because she could drown herself in books. But how would she ever explain her hooters? Thankfully, she had plenty of time to figure it out.
“No. I had a ton of vacation saved up. The plan was to spend two weeks in Greece and then come home…” Engaged and wildly in love. “And spend the next couple of weeks looking for an apartment.”
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Together. Jesus, she was an idiot. Had she even consulted Igor about any of the dreams she’d spun in her head? Had she ever once considered he’d say no to her proposal, let alone agree to move into a new place with her?
“Good to know.”
“I have another question. If I’m in charge of all this matchmaking and procreation and whatever else I’ve managed to commit myself to in my absurd efforts to save your homeland, how do I do it? I mean, do goddesses of love ever sleep? How can I be everywhere? I’m not just the Goddess of Love of New York, am I? Did I only win that tiara at the pageant—or am I holding the world crown?”
“You’ve got the world crown, but eventually you’ll be able to do this in your sleep—literally. Your command to make a match will happen as effortlessly as you breathe.”
“Then why do I need these lessons you keep insisting I need?”
“Honestly?”
“No. Lie to me. All the best messes in history come from a well thought out lie.”
“Fair enough. Because you’re rusty and very unclear about what makes a good match. You need to experience a few before I hand over the reins completely.”
“So you have the reins right now? Like this second?”
“Even as we speak. Look at me, no hands,” he joked.
“Then why can’t you be Aphrodite and I’ll just go back to being boring Quinn Morris from the bookstore?”
“Because you bit the apple, and my reign can’t last forever if I’m doin’ time.”
“I swear I’m going to do everything in my power to prevent that.”
“Then hustle, Aphrodite.”
Instead of lingering, she squeezed around his big body. As she did, she remembered the disembodied voice of his mother from the night before and swallowed hard. “Have you heard from your mother?”
He knelt and scooped up Spike, setting him on his shoulder and scratching his ears. “Not a peep.”
“Which means she’s really, really mad. I know when my mother’s beyond angry and well into homicidal, she gets eerily quiet.”
He rose again and shrugged his shoulders. “Homicidal’s probably a kind adjective where my mother’s concerned. But I don’t want you to trouble yourself with any of that right now, Quinn. She’s mad at me, not you. Right now we need to teach you how to make solid matches that will last a lifetime.”
“Because those happen so often.” She winced the moment the words shot out of her mouth. Bitter Spice had arrived at the party.
He cocked his deliciously dark head and smiled. “You’re just sore from an ugly breakup right now, Quinn. But you won’t always be. Trust me.”
When he said the words “trust me” her knees trembled a little. Then she shook it off. She was all out of trust at this point. Igor had taken the last ounce of trust she had in her judgment and smeared it all over like finger-paint on her broken heart.
She felt foolish now for all the times she’d berated her mother for man hating, for all the times she’d defended Team Soul Mate. Her mother really was right. Soul mates didn’t exist. Real, deep, abiding love and forever were enormous jokes.
“Trust you? Here’s a thought. If the whole soul mate thing is real, why haven’t you found yours then?” Yeah. Why hadn’t the matchmaker’s son made a match? She looked up at him, searching his amber-brown eyes. Damn, he was amazing to look at. Even in the bright light of early morning.
He winked when he looked down at her. “I guess it’s like the shoemaker’s son. Everyone in the village has shoes but him?”
“FYI, the village has DSW now. I think you haven’t found your soul mate because you’re too fond of leggy blondes. Not that I blame you because honestly, who isn’t?”
“Not everyone likes leggy blondes, Quinn. Your scorn for Igor’s rearing its ugly head. Besides, I thought Shawna was a redhead?”
Quinn bobbed her head as she dug a pair of jeans out of her dresser. “That she is. A redhead with all the trimmings.”
And if that sounded bitter—tough titties.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t see the appeal to leggy and gorgeous. On the contrary. She totally understood how Igor might find the jeans Shawna spray-painted on and the navel ring that lay against her lean abdomen just beneath her belly shirts appealing.
If she were to push that sex-bomb theory to the limits of the anger it brought, she could even see how thirty-six double-Ds might appear more exciting than her mere thirty-four Bs
Without question, Shawna was young, supple and beautiful. Young, supple, beautiful, and dumb as any inanimate object you could buy at The Dollar Store.
To be left for someone who pronounced the goddess Persephone’s name “Per-sef-phone” or who mispronounced the word disoriented, twisting it to “disorien-tay-ted”, was like a slap in the face. A hard one.
Khristos put his warm hands on her shoulders as she looked through her closet for a scarf. “Slow down.”
A warm heat traveled up her spine and stopped right in her chest. “Pick a speed. First we have to seize the day, and now you want me to slow my roll. Which is it?”
He turned her to face him, Spike still perched contentedly on his shoulder, his face buried in Khristos’s neck. “You’re frazzled. When you’re frazzled, it means you’re overwhelmed, and if you’re overwhelmed, you’ll be too focused on your anxiety to open up your heart and make proper matches.”
Her shoulders slumped. “How am I supposed to know who’s a good match and who isn’t, anyway? Is it a feeling? A vibe of some kind?”
“There are all sorts of things on the checklist for a successful match, and sometimes, you’ll match people knowing they won’t be together forever. You just have to know when to make a match like that for the greater good.”
Her fist tightened on the comforter still wrapped around her. “You’re a bundle of contradictions. Am I making matches for life or just for temporary flings?”
“Sometimes you’ll make a match to teach a lesson.”
“Like?”
“Like, sometimes someone is so hell bent and focused on what they think they want in a partner, they don’t really know what they need to be fulfilled in a relationship—even when it’s right under their noses. It’s your job to show them what’s all wrong by allowing them to stumble.”
Oh, she was good at that. Queen Stumbler, at your service.
Taking a step back from him, mostly to ease the warmth he created in her belly, she waved an ironic finger. “Now that I can do. I know heartache and a bag or ten of Lay’s Sour Cream & Onion potato chips. After all my failed attempts, I have some skill in the what’s-all-wrong-in-a-relationship area.”
“The best way I can describe what happens, and these are my mother’s words, is this: You know the feeling you get right in your chest when you see the person you love? Or hear their voice, or know it’s them calling you on your cell? That’s love, Quinn. You’ll feel that and much more, but that’s the Reader’s Digest version of it.”
In her chest? Her chest was many things these days, but it had never had any special feeling. Yet, he naturally assumed she was familiar with this feeling. Probably because of Igor and her confession of love. But maybe she really had no clue what falling in love truly felt like.
Maybe how distraught she’d been over her breakup with Igor had nothing to do with love and everything to do with pride.
“I promise to remember to check for that feeling in my chest.”
He chuckled, silky and low, his hand lifting to stroke Spike’s spine. “That’s the spirit.”
A loud bang on the door made her jump. “Hey, Ta-Tas! Would you get the hell in the shower and get this damn show on the road? I should GD well be sleeping right now. But instead, I’m playing bodyguard to you, whiny pants. Now make haste, Chariots of Fire—your ride leaves in twenty, and if you’re not in it, I’ll find your scrawny as…er, butt, and run you over with it!”
Gathering her clothes, she slipped past Khristos and headed for the door. “Coming!” she shoute
d as she popped open the door to find Nina, pale, beautiful, a heavy stripe of zinc oxide over her nose, her brow furrowed. “Sorry. I’ll hurry. Swear it.”
Nina flashed her fangs and snapped her teeth as Quinn zipped past her to the bathroom and shut the door behind her with a heavy sigh, closing her eyes.
“I don’t hear the water running, Glow Stick! Lickety-split!”
Nina’s voice from behind the door made her push herself forward, dropping her clothes on the back of the toilet and tearing off her nightgown.
She looked down at her breasts.
Yep. Still like cantaloupes.
Jesus, they were ridiculous—too big for her body, and a complete distraction. Were they always going to be like this? How was she ever going to explain them to everyone at the bookstore? Her mother? Her father?
Her gynecologist?
But there was one saving grace—she could still breathe when she lay down.
Which meant Shawna Sutter wasn’t going to suffocate herself to death right next to Igor on the fuchsia sheets he and Quinn had bought together at Bed Bath & Beyond.
More’s the pity.
Chapter 6
“Christ, you blow slimy chunks at this,” Nina said on a yawn, leaning back and crossing her long legs on the bench they sat on in Central Park. She made the most beautiful portrait, sitting under the harvest colors of the trees with her long, dark hair and pale skin.
“It’s a good thing validation isn’t something I need today,” Quinn said, tightening her scarf around her neck.
Nina tilted her sunglasses forward. “Just keepin’ shiz real, Love Maker. We’ve been here six damn hours and nothing. Maybe your Aphrodite radar is on the clink.”
Quinn blew warm air into her fists and shook her head with a firm back and forth. “No. Khristos said I’d feel it, and I felt something and that something led me here.” She just couldn’t be sure if it was what she was supposed to feel.
This feeling, this gut instinct, happened shortly after they’d left her apartment. It was warm, imminent, and tinged with urgency, and like nothing she’d ever felt before. But the feeling, rather like an odd homing device, had demanded she sit here.
Accidentally Aphrodite (Accidentally Paranormal Novel Book 10) Page 7