Cupid shrugged, unsure of what else to say.
“No, that’s all. Just the four of us.”
Drawing on a boldness born of absolute necessity, Cupid asked, “What about the boys’ father?”
“He’s out of the picture.”
Cupid had not been on Earth long enough to understand exactly what she meant, but he remembered the mortal custom of wearing wedding bands and cursed himself for not being more observant earlier. He definitely detected metal under his palm, and with a lump in his throat, he lifted his hand to inspect Mia’s jewelry. Two rings on the right hand.
She continued, saving him from the pain of asking. “We’re divorced. Fifteen months, two weeks, and three days.”
“Fifteen months?” Cupid was well aware of the gestation period for human babies, even if deities sprang forth in unpredictable ways from all sorts of body parts. “How old is the baby?”
“He’s nine months.” Mia tortured her napkin again. “Yeah, I know. I was three months along when the final papers came through.” Her voice floated away on a river of regret. “Anyway, the asshole is gone, and he stopped going through the motions of visiting more than a year ago, and we’re all better off for it. Actually,” she added, “I’ve heard he’s gained twenty pounds, and his hair is falling out.” A smile curled the edges of her lips.
Cupid sensed he should leave this thread of conversation on that relatively light note, but he was stuck on the math. “He’s never met his youngest son?”
“Nope. And yes, he knows about Lucas. Knew I was pregnant when we signed the papers.”
A sadness settled over Mia, and Cupid lifted the bottle and refilled both their goblets.
“From what I can see, it seems you’re doing great on your own,” he said.
“I do the best I can for my boys. I take on as many classes as they’ll give me down at the gym, and it helps that they offer free childcare, but the only break I get is the occasional night my mother can watch them. We make do. Anyway . . .” Mia flicked her hand as if batting away a housefly. “You don’t need to hear my problems. This is why I didn’t want to tell you all the gory details. Now you’re looking at me with ‘those eyes.’”
“What eyes?”
“Pity.”
Cupid searched every chamber of his heart, but all he could find was love. “No, Mia. What you’re seeing is admiration.”
Mia’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Just so you know, Q, you’re the first guy I’ve invited into my home since the asshole left. I’ve actually never taken a chance like this.” Mia downed half the new pour, eyeing Cupid with suspicion, as if she weren’t quite sure what kind of magic he’d worked on her. Cupid might have wondered the same about Mia if not for the gods pulling the strings from above.
“Maybe you were waiting for me,” Cupid said.
She let out a soft sigh. “You know, you really don’t have to be so damn perfect. Your chances are really, really good tonight.”
“My chances?” Cupid felt Mia searching his eyes for something, and he held stock still until she found it.
She nudged her chin toward his soup bowl. “Eat. You’re going to need your strength.”
19
Dessert
Mia swapped her empty dessert dish for the steaming mug of coffee waiting on the side table and drew her feet up beneath her on the love seat they were sharing. “You must be a fan of Greek mythology.”
Q’s dessert spoon halted suddenly, sending one of the blueberries tumbling over the edge and into his lap, causing Mia unclean thoughts. “Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Your vivid description of the chimera earlier. I swear you had me looking right through your eyes at the monster.”
Leaning in closer, Q asked, “You know the chimera?”
“Not personally,” Mia said, shaking her spoon in his direction. “Not like you, apparently.”
A cloud of panic seemed to cross his face but blew over just as quickly. “Oh. Yeah.” Mia watched the berry with envy as Q plucked it off his jeans and popped it into his mouth.
“I guess I’ve always been a little fascinated by those stories,” she said. Q studied her wordlessly as she continued. “A rainbow appears in the sky one day and poof! Iris, the messenger, appears on the scene. Must be nice—you have a problem you can’t solve or a phenomenon you can’t explain, you invent a god or two, and it all makes sense. Those ancient poets sure were a creative bunch, huh?”
“I suppose,” he said guardedly. “Is that how most mort—people view the gods?”
“As opposed to what?”
Q shrugged and scraped at the raspberry seeds stuck to the side of his dish as if he were mining diamonds. Mia couldn’t help but notice the blush that crept up his cheeks.
“Wait, you’re not saying you believe those myths?” she asked.
Q took a long drag from his coffee mug. “Some of the stories feel quite vivid to me.”
There he went again, displacing Mia’s center of gravity with his profoundly simple worldview. She reached over and rubbed Q’s knee through his jeans. He watched uneasily at first, but after several strokes Mia could sense the tense cables of his thigh relaxing. “I find that incredibly romantic for some reason.”
Q tipped his chin up, finally peeking at Mia from beneath those inhumanly long, coal-colored lashes. He blinked slowly, seeming to measure her comment. His lips inched up into a cautious smile. “I’m romantic?”
Though Q’s easy confidence was heady, it was his shy uncertainty that made Mia’s heart lurch. “Mmhmm,” she hummed, setting her mug out of the way for what she hoped he’d do next.
Q did not disappoint. Cupping his hand behind Mia’s neck, he drew her closer and leaned in to meet her lips. They fell right back inside their perfect kiss from earlier, testing and tasting slowly at first, then devouring each other with renewed urgency.
Was she imagining that tug again, the musky rope binding her to this stranger? Had it been so long she’d forgotten what it felt like to be with a real man? No, this wasn’t something forgotten; this was a brand-new experience, so much desire pulsing through her. Between kisses, his tumbled-out “Gods, Mia” sent a shiver down her spine. She leaned into Q’s hard angles.
If he noticed Mia’s desperation, he was too much of a gentleman to let on, even as she opened her legs around his knee. Q responded with a low grunt and pushed his tongue further into her inviting mouth. She’d basically made up her mind at the gym, but every word since, every gentle act of kindness had cemented her decision. How much lovelier that she really liked this man, that he surprised her at every turn. There was no way she could deny herself this exquisite treat.
He startled when she stood, but his features softened immediately when she reached for his hand. “Not out here,” she whispered, adding a directed arch of her brow as understanding dawned from deep within his hooded bedroom eyes.
Q hopped up from the sofa, giving Mia the distinct impression he would’ve followed her to the end of the earth. There was only one place she wanted him right now, though, needed him more than even she’d realized. His hand glided across hers, and their fingers linked as if they’d held hands forever. She steered him away from the berry-stained custard dishes and soiled soup bowls in the sink, away from the boys sleeping across the hall, away from the backbreaking yoke of providing and worrying and hoping.
She reached around him and softly closed the bedroom door. He was riveted to her—watching, waiting, wanting. Q’s otherworldly aura seemed to vibrate and glow brighter as the two of them approached the inevitable, as if he were somehow designed solely for this purpose. Ridiculous, but then again, she had no clue how he’d suddenly materialized in her life, whether he had three wives, or if he’d been lying earlier when he’d promised he wasn’t a serial killer.
“Mia.” Q’s fingers skittered up Mia’s bare arms and disappeared un
der the billowy short sleeves of her top. “Where’d you go?”
Her attention snapped to his dazzling gaze, and she rattled her head to shake out the crazy. There had been no indication he meant her any harm, and if the guy was after loot, good luck to him.
“I’m right here,” she mumble-sighed into his striped shirt, letting his magic seep into her bones. His heartbeat pounded firm and quick against her cheek.
“I need to see you,” came his gruff reply. He slipped his fingers into the sliver of space between her jeans and her top. “Please?”
Mia had never been shy. Genetically gifted and painstakingly toned, she was used to being admired at the front of class, later in the locker room, and—though not in a good long while—in the bedroom. So it surprised her that her hands were trembling as she opened the button at the back of her neck and that they continued to shake as she started the blouse upward.
Q’s lips trailed after the disappearing fabric, pressing soft kisses into her belly and higher while Mia wriggled out of her blouse. He unclasped the bra hooks at her back and slid the lace straps down her arms. She handled the rest, revealing and then removing the matching pink panties edged with a tiny black lace ruffle while Q repeated, “So perfect,” like a mantra. At the time, her purchase had seemed wishful and extravagant. It was all worth it for tonight, for the way Q’s tongue swiped across his lips, the way he looked at her as if she were his oxygen.
His shirt buttons gave way, uncovering the muscular chest she’d suspected beneath his T-shirt at the gym. Her palms rode up his firm belly, skating along the delicious playground of satin over sinew as Q dropped to his knees in front of her. He worshiped her right there, with soft brushes of his tongue, teasing her into a frenzy with warm, skillful strokes, pulling her to the very edge of her sanity. Finally, when the elastic band of her arousal had stretched so thin she was about to snap, he touched her—a gentle, barely-there stroke that sucked her breath away and sent her spinning into oblivion.
Tears trickled down Mia’s cheeks as her body shook with sweet, miraculous release. Her knees buckled, and Q steadied her and held her upright.
Unable to speak, Mia raised Q by his shoulders, guiding him up her body with grateful kisses. She opened his belt and button-fly, attacking with the precision of a hawk swooping in for its prey. Between their four frantic hands, they worked his jeans and underwear down the firm arcs of his quads and pushed the fabric to where Q was able to kick everything off.
Mia nearly lost her balance once again as their impatient bodies collided. Damp heat gathered between her legs, her freshly awakened desire greedy and demanding. His heavy erection pressed against her hip, and Mia worried she might just swallow him whole.
Instinct took over, which suited Mia fine because all her coherent thoughts were playing hide-and-seek. Q let out a breathy whimper as Mia’s hands wrapped around and underneath him and captured what remained of his attention.
He offered no resistance as she shoved him onto the bed and spread him out on his back like a picnic. She feasted on his body, drawing low moans from her willing victim as her mouth glided along bands of muscle and dipped into the delicious hollows in between.
He yelped and hissed as she gnawed on his sensitive nipples, his hands flying into her hair but not pulling her away. In fact, he seemed to relish every single thing she did to him, which only egged her on. She made a game of teasing him, drawing her tongue in wide circles around where he wanted it most, his hips thrusting uselessly into the air.
Q’s need was as raw and exciting as her own. She couldn’t imagine that the sexual dynamo beneath her had been deprived in any way, but you’d never know it from the way Q was writhing around, begging and moaning and reaching for her.
“Mia, I can’t stand it much longer.”
Her resolve crumbled. She pressed one last kiss to his lips before taking him in both hands and finally, into her mouth. The noises that man made . . . holy shit, he was killing her. With each grunt and flex of his hips, Mia’s own desire snowballed. She clenched her thighs together and tried for friction, anything to relieve the tension.
His fingers tightened around her hair and held her exactly where she wanted to be. She consumed him with all five senses. When he tensed, Mia gripped him with renewed enthusiasm. He exploded, and she skimmed the crests of his pleasure right along with him, crashing from one to the next with giddy abandon.
They burrowed under the sheets, taking turns nuzzling and caressing each other. Remarkably, Mia felt him stir again and marveled at her incredibly good fortune in finding such a gifted lover. Q rolled onto his elbows and hovered over Mia, his body stretched taut with desire.
“I need you,” he mumbled inside a tender kiss. “Need to be inside you.”
“Yes,” was all she could manage.
Without being asked, Q produced a condom and made quick work of covering what was easily the finest specimen of manhood Mia had ever seen. She opened for him, and he claimed her. He held the bulk of his weight above her, but Mia—needful of the contact—hooked her hands under his arms and pulled him flush against her body.
Muscles flexed and rolled just beneath the sweaty surface; they rocked together, graceful and efficient. Q only stopped kissing her to tell her, once more, that she was perfect. Their pleasure expanded and multiplied, weaving a spiral of shared ecstasy until finally they lay blissfully exhausted in each other’s arms.
Mia pulled her fingers lazily through Q’s wavy hair, relishing his soft hum of contentment against her breast. She listened in the quiet afterglow for signs that one of the boys had been awakened by all the noise, and an unspoiled quiet answered. Then, cutting through the dark night, Cupid surprised her yet again.
“I love you, Mia.”
20
Static
Mia’s hand froze, ceasing the hypnotic grazing of fingernails along his scalp. Cupid held still as a statue, but he couldn’t stop his heart’s wild hammering or the pounding in his ears from the cannon fire of his foolish declaration.
His I-love-you was truer than any words ever uttered, but hadn’t Pan warned him about blurting out his feelings? This adjustment was going to take some practice and, apparently, involve pain. How could Cupid be expected to contain this colossal sense of well-being and rightness? How could he not share the news with Mia that she was his destiny?
Her fingers raked through his hair again, and for a moment, he thought it might be okay. Surely, her heart must be on his same frequency, must be vibrating like his—
For the love of Zeus! How could he have forgotten to listen for the echo beat?
Time stopped. Cupid strained against Mia’s chest to listen for the almighty buzz. Nothing more extraordinary than the standard tha-thump, tha-thump. He shifted, sliding his ear over Mia’s chest in a widening arc around her heartbeat until there was nowhere else to try.
Nothing.
The truth gutted him. Cupid’s love, announced or not, had no bearing whatsoever on Mia’s heart. Right Love can’t grow where it hasn’t been planted, any more than a pomegranate can grow from barley seed. Who knew that better than Cupid?
The contents of his stomach tumbled, and he jumped out of bed and raced across the bedroom just in time to spill his dinner into the toilet.
He rested his forehead against the cool, hard seat and sucked in quick gulps of putrid air, nearly bringing on a second bout of vomiting. A terrifying ache rolled in, a bottomless emptiness he’d never known before. As high as his first love had lifted him this morning, he’d plunged that much to the surface and again that far below. His heart felt like five kilos of fresh lamb run through a meat grinder. So this is a broken heart.
Releasing his grip on the toilet, he sank to the floor, alone and adrift amid the random sea of black and white tiles. Tartarus had shown itself at last.
“Q? Are you okay? Oh, shit!”
Cupid sensed Mia’s wa
rm form behind him, her hands gently lifting his head into her lap, the soft touch of cloth greeting his cheek. Mia had pulled on a shirt, yet another barrier between them.
“Could it be the soup? Maybe you’re allergic to soy.” She rambled on, blaming herself one ingredient at a time. “I didn’t buy organic broth this time. Money’s been tight. Shit.”
She needed to stop. Her guilt was suffocating them both. “Not . . . the soup.”
Mia tensed. Cupid could almost hear his confession replaying in her head. “Oh.”
Right.
“I’m sorry,” she said, as if that could matter. “You caught me off guard, is all.”
While he tried to make sense of her words and formulate a coherent response, a confusing layer of static rolled in around the crushing heartache. He squeezed his eyes shut and listened inward so fiercely he could actually hear the blood whooshing through his body, but it was no use.
“You’re a great guy,” Mia was saying, “I mean a really, really great guy, and there’s nothing not to love about you.” Her apologies were more than he could bear.
Cupid’s eyes blinked open to the tortured face of the girl he now knew for certain he could never have. He reached up, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and tacked on a brave smile. “Mia.”
Her monologue ceased, but the pity in her eyes made his heart ache in a new way. He fumbled out a retraction, aware even as the words left his lips how lame they sounded. “I don’t suppose we can pretend I didn’t just say that thing I just said?”
Her thighs shifted beneath his neck, and Mia did her best to look anywhere but at Cupid.
Okay, then. Guess not.
Taking a different approach, a mortal approach, Cupid dipped his toe into the waters of untruth. “I made a mistake.”
Mia’s forehead crinkled and tilted. “Oh?”
Cupid could only read curiosity in her response; anything deeper was beyond his reach. “Please don’t get me wrong. What just happened was fantastic. Amazing. Life-affirming.” Mia giggled. The sound soothed Cupid’s frazzled nerves like aloe on a burn.
First Quiver Page 10