Chapter Nine
He stopped in the hallway to pick up his jacket and shirt from the floor—making sure he didn’t dwell on the memory of her hands sliding across his skin and her fingernails raking down his back—and shrugged them on, before making sure the door latched behind him. He buttoned the shirt on his way down the five flights of stairs he’d carried her up earlier, and by the time he was back outside on the street, he looked like nothing had happened.
Or so he thought, until he walked up to the bar at Dionysus’s and Dion took one look at him and grinned. “How was it?”
Eros shot him a dark look. “None of your business.”
“Sure,” Dion said. “Just tell me one thing. Did you make her keep the shoes on?”
“Fuck you.”
Dion chuckled. “I’ll take that as a yes. So why aren’t you there, reclaiming your manhood and sticking it to the bitch?”
Eros felt himself bristle. “Don’t call her that.”
“Not Annie,” Dion said. “The bitch who left you.”
Oh. Much better. “What’s the point? She’ll never know.”
“You could tell her.”
No, thanks. “I don’t care if I ever see her again. Let what’s-his-name have her.”
“I’m sure he already does,” Dion said. “Right now, probably.”
Probably. From what Eros knew about the warriors of Valhalla, they were pretty much only interested in two things, and they spent all day doing one and all night doing the other. And because the idea bothered him just a bit, even after what he’d just done himself, he put it out of his mind before it could lodge there and bother him more.
Instead, he looked around the bar. “Harry around?” Things had slowed down some in the time he’d been gone. He couldn’t see Harry anywhere, although Brita was still there, probably hoping to end the night with Dionysus. The rest of his office staff had joined her: Iris, the pretty little goddess of rainbows, in a flowing multicolored chiffon blouse, and Carrie—Carya—goddess of the walnut tree, in a pair of jeans that would have made Harry weep. Ari was over at the corner table talking to Silenus and—he assumed—keeping an eye on Brita. Or on Dion. If the Cretan goddess of hunting attempted to go upstairs with the god of wine at the end of the night, the minor goddess of the labyrinth would probably have something to say about it.
Dion nodded. “He left a few minutes after you walked out. Why? Were you gonna hurt him?” He looked delighted at the prospect.
The thought had crossed Eros’s mind. However— “No. Annie told me she wants him. I’m gonna get him for her.”
Dion tilted his head and contemplated him. “What did you do wrong?”
“Nothing,” Eros said. “It was before.”
“Before you showed her paradise. You did show her paradise, right?”
Eros shrugged. “She seemed to enjoy herself.”
“Not exactly the rousing confidence I was hoping for,” Dion said, “but it’ll do. So you took this woman home and nailed her, and she let you, and even kept her shoes on while you did—”
“That wasn’t deliberate.”
“Sorry to hear it. Even so, what makes you think she still wants Harry?”
“She said she did,” Eros said.
“Before you fucked her. And seeing as you’re the fucking god of love, when you fuck someone, they stay fucked, right? They don’t want anyone else afterward.”
“Will you knock it off with the fucking?”
“When I’m dead,” Dion said, and added, “which will be never, since I’m immortal.”
Eros growled, and Dion continued. “But I’ll stop saying it. You walked Annie home. You took her upstairs. Knowing you, you probably carried her. She was pretty drunk when she walked outta here, so she might have needed some help walking. You stayed there long enough to take advantage of her. She kept her shoes on. Very hot shoes. Not to mention, you’re the god of love. I think you can assume she’s over Harry Mitchell.”
“Maybe I don’t want her to be over him.”
Dion leaned his elbows on the bar. “Why not? She seemed nice. Nice ass, nice boobs, nice mouth. Very nice shoes.”
“Are you trying to make me angry?”
“Why would I do that?” Dion grinned. “You’re thinking too much, Ross. Just enjoy her.”
He had. He just didn’t want to do it again. Or rather, he wanted to so much that it was probably better if he just fixed her up with Harry and was done with it. “You just said I took advantage of her.”
Dion shook his head. “You didn’t. You’re the god of love. She would have rolled over for you even if she hadn’t been drunk. Besides, you had quite a bit of ambrosia.”
Maybe. But the fact was that she had been drunk, and he’d known it. He’d known she wanted Harry, and he had seduced her anyway. “I’m scum.”
“No, you’re not,” Dion said. “You’re a god. The usual rules don’t apply.”
“They should. Just because I have an unfair advantage doesn’t mean it’s okay to go around seducing drunk mortals.”
“Oops,” Dion said calmly, “and here I’ve always thought it did.”
Yeah, yeah. “She’s gonna hate me tomorrow.”
“Nah,” Dion said. “She came here looking for action. You gave it to her. She knew the score.”
Maybe. But it didn’t make him feel any better. “What do I say to her tomorrow?”
“Why ask me?”
Because Dion was the one with the experience, while Eros had been a one-woman man until that one woman left him. He had no idea how the singles scene worked in this century, or in this millennium, for that matter.
“Just help me out, Dionysus. Or I’ll say no the next time you ask me to fix you up.”
“When have I ever asked you to fix me up?” Dion started, his voice laced with offense. “You do love. I do debauchery.”
“Fine. But if you ever change your mind and decide you actually want love and not just dirty sex, you’ll be SOL unless you help me now.”
Dion heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Avoid her. That’s what I’d do.”
“Easier said than done.”
Or maybe not. She’d worked across the street from him for two years, but tonight was the first time they’d spoken. If he made a point of never going outside when there was a chance she might be there, and on the off chance that she might be embarrassed enough about what had happened to avoid him…it could work.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Dion said.
…
Annie woke up feeling pleasantly warm and relaxed, her body languid and her muscles almost indecently loose.
She was fully dressed under the blanket—minus her shoes, which was a bit strange, perhaps—but she felt great.
Until she opened her eyes and the bright morning sunlight sliced her retinas like twin razor blades.
“Owww!”
Her body might feel good, but her head didn’t.
What happened last night?
She flipped over on her back, her body still pleasantly loose, and threw an arm up to cover her eyes. And thought about it. After a few seconds it all came back. Dionysus’s bar. The Cosmos. The conversation with Eros. Throwing herself at Harry Mitchell and having him turn her down, quite rudely. Kicking the boxes in the alley. Hanging on Ross’s arm the whole way home, and having him carry her upstairs to her apartment because she was too drunk to make it on her own.
God, how mortifying! Cheeks flaming, she flipped over and hid her face in the pillow. She’d been drunk, she’d been maudlin, and she’d made a fool of herself not just in front of Harry but in front of Ross, too. The only thing that could have made it worse was if she’d vomited. And she was pretty sure she hadn’t done that.
At the moment, however, she was thinking about it.
It was all a bit blurry, thanks to the Cosmos, but after he carried her upstairs—and without breaking a sweat, too—she must have thrown herself at him, because she was pretty sure she co
uld remember kissing him. She’d kissed him a lot, for what seemed like a long time. If she remembered correctly, and it wasn’t just wishful thinking, he was a very good kisser, and he’d tasted like no one she’d ever locked lips with before.
And hadn’t she undressed him, too? She thought she could remember that at some point, she’d had her hands on his skin. Her palms remembered the feel of it, the heat and softness.
Was that why she was sans her underwear? She was wearing everything else she’d started out with—minus the shoes, and minus her panties.
Had she actually seduced the poor man last night? After he’d told her he wasn’t ready to move on from his divorce, too?
She was fairly certain something had been consummated. There were really only two things that could have made her body feel like this, so floaty and relaxed, and one of them was a heavy-duty session of really good sex. It had been a while since she’d had one of those—years—but she remembered the way it made her feel.
The only other possible explanation was prescription drugs, and she knew she hadn’t taken any of those. They wouldn’t have mixed well with the Cosmos. If she’d paired drugs with Cosmos, especially the Cosmos Dion mixed, a hangover would have been the least of her problems this morning.
So yes, they’d had sex. And then he’d left. He must have, because—she looked around—he wasn’t here. Besides her, the bed was empty, and it didn’t look like anyone else had been in it, really. The rest of the apartment was quiet, and small enough that she would have heard him if he’d been around. The shower was silent, and so was the kitchen. She was definitely alone.
Well, good. After embarrassing herself like she had, she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to face him again.
Although she did owe him an apology. He’d been nice enough to walk her home last night. He’d done his best to cheer her up after Harry rebuffed her. He’d even carried her up five flights of stairs. The least she could do was bake a batch of cookies and give them to him as a thank-you.
His wife had left him; it had probably been a while since anyone baked him cookies.
And maybe she could drop them off in the reception area of his office; that way she wouldn’t actually have to face him. She had to go to work anyway in—she glanced at the clock ticking a bit too loudly on the bedside table—just over two hours.
That was just enough time to whip up a batch of dough and stick a tray of cookies in the oven, before taking a shower and self-medicating with half a bottle of aspirin and black coffee.
Groaning, she rolled over and dangled her feet off the side of the bed.
Two hours later, she was upright, moving down the street, and almost back to normal. Her body still felt nice and relaxed, but the banging headache more than made up for it. The aspirin and coffee hadn’t done as good a job as she’d hoped, and she’d had to resort to wearing sunglasses, even though it was overcast and a bit gloomy. It wasn’t raining, but the sky looked like it was thinking about it.
The way to work ran past Dionysus’s bar, and she slowed her steps as she approached. But it was closed this early in the morning, the door firmly locked and the neon signs turned off. Which took care of her idea of going in to ask for a hair of the dog that bit her. It was probably just as well, actually, because she wasn’t sure she trusted Dion. He was a friend of Eros’s—Ross had said they’d known each other forever, and she did trust Ross; at least she was pretty sure she did—but Dion had mixed those Cosmos a lot stronger than any others she’d ever had, and she had a feeling he’d put something else in them, too. Something more potent than alcohol.
Although if he were going to drug someone, he probably wouldn’t have chosen Annie. And anyway, why would he, when he could have any woman he wanted simply by crooking his finger?
At any rate, the bar was closed, the door closed, and the windows dark, so it didn’t matter. As she rounded the nearest corner and headed down Steinway Street, a part of her—the small, cowardly part—wondered whether perhaps the matchmaking agency might be closed, too. That would be preferable, in a way. Part of her didn’t want to see Ross again. It would be awkward. She was pretty sure last night had included things that would embarrass her if she could remember them.
If she’d thought there was a chance she might be able to get away with never seeing him again, she’d totally try. She hadn’t seen him in the two years she’d worked across the street from him, true, but now that they’d met—now that they’d done the horizontal mambo—she’d probably stumble over him every time she turned around. Every time she stuck her nose outside the door, there he’d be. Accidentally, of course. And it would probably be just at those times when she was either hung over, or sweaty from work, or running late, or when she had spilled lunch on her shirt or it had been a while since she’d washed her hair.
No, much better just to get it done now, and then forget about it.
With a little prayer—God, if you’re up there, please let me get through this with at least the shreds of my dignity intact—she pushed down the handle and leaned on the door.
Chapter Ten
The door opened more easily than she’d expected and she practically fell into the room. The only thing that would have been worse was if Ross had been there to see her. Thankfully, he wasn’t. The reception area was full of people, but none of them was Ross.
A huge desk took up space in the middle of the room, and the sleek Ariadne sat behind it. She was wearing deep brown today, a suit several shades darker than her hair, which was twisted into that elegant chignon at the back of her head. Up close, her face was even more beautiful than Annie had imagined.
“Can I help you?” she said.
Annie looked around. The reception was elegant, with hardwood floors, cream-colored walls, and tall ceilings. It had a classic feel, with Greek columns outlining the door into the rest of the building, where—she assumed—Eros’s office, along with a bathroom and maybe a kitchenette—were located. There were a lot of green plants, but the only decoration other than that was a marble statue in a corner of a winged god with a bow and arrow. Someone had covered the god’s private parts with a sticky note saying Do Not Remove.
Annie’s lips twitched. It was probably Eros—the real Eros; the Greek god—and someone, maybe Ari, insisted on keeping him there as a joke. The sticky note must be a concession to Ross’s—the man’s—vanity.
Along one wall stood a long, sleek sofa, also cream colored. Three women sat side by side on it, looking exactly like models at an audition. Long legs crossed at the knees, slender feet in high-heeled shoes jiggling, gorgeous faces. The women didn’t even look like they were wearing makeup save for a smear of lipstick; how did they manage to look so good? They turned toward Annie with identical expressions of curiosity.
One was the stunning Brita from last night. The young woman was slightly more appropriately dressed today, in a business suit whose flaming red color and short skirt did a fine job of emphasizing her long legs and gorgeous curves. Next to her sat a strawberry blonde with a delicate face and huge turquoise eyes, dressed in a beautiful silk dress with all the colors of the rainbow and then some, while a gorgeous brunette in a bright blue dress topped by a black jacket rounded out the collection.
Annie smiled weakly. “Hi.”
They all smiled back, and the effect was like being hit between the eyes with a sunbeam. Exhilarating and painful all at the same time. She could just imagine how poor Harry Mitchell must feel.
“Can we help you?” Ari asked again, and Annie turned toward the desk.
“I…um… Is Ross here?”
There was a pause while all four women looked at one another. Annie couldn’t quite interpret the looks flying among them, but she was afraid they might be saying something like hag alert or incoming; batten down the hatches.
“He’s still upstairs,” Ariadne said, pushing her chair back from the desk, “but I can go get him—”
“No!” If he was upstairs and out of easy reach, that was just fine with
Annie. Leave him there. Maybe he was still in bed. She’d overheard Dion say Ross owned and lived in the building.
The mental picture—all that soft skin and hard muscles warm against crisp white sheets—distracted her for a moment. Until Ari got to her feet. “I’ll just—”
“No. Please.” He wasn’t here. There was no need to disturb him. None at all. Put off the inevitable. “I…um…I met him last night at Dionysus’s bar?”
She didn’t know why she phrased it as a question when it was exactly what she’d done and she knew it.
Ari nodded. “I saw you talking.”
Right. “He…was nice enough to walk me home. To make sure I got there safely.”
“I see,” Ari said, while out of the corner of her eye, Annie could see the other girls exchange glances.
“I just wanted to…um…thank him.” She put the cookies on the desk, right on top of a stack of files, where the grease would probably bleed through the paper bag and stain the folders at any moment. Way to go, Annie. Ruin the man’s work.
Ari looked from the bag to Annie, question clear in her eyes.
“Cookies,” Annie said.
Ari blinked.
“I work in the bakery across the street.”
“The dog bakery?” The question came from one of the other women. The one with the dark hair and blue dress. Her perfect lips were twitching.
“Was he a dog?” the strawberry blonde added, giggling.
“No!” God, no. Flushing, Annie added, “They’re lemon coconut cookies. With…um…sugar crystals.”
All three women were laughing now, and even Ari was smiling. “Just let me get him downstairs for you.”
“No!”
Ari halted, mid-movement, and Annie added, “Please. I don’t want to disturb him. Just give him the cookies when he comes downstairs. Whenever that is. I’m already running late, and…um…”
“Of course.” There was understanding in Ari’s voice, a bit more than Annie had expected, and she wondered if the other woman hadn’t figured out that she’d really prefer not to see Ross face to face, at least not until she’d gotten a bit more distance on what had happened.
Tall, Dark, and Divine Page 6