Cupid’s Misfire (2 page)

Aja was studiously sorting through Olympics results, trying to figure out which events had aired in the States and which hadn’t, when the phone on her desk rang. She jumped about nine feet, and her heart did a gymnastics routine worthy of a 10.0 even from the Russian judges. Too bad it was the Winter Olympics. She snatched up the phone. “Aja Hastings.”

“Hey, I’m sorry to bother you, but there’s someone down here for you at reception.”

“Who?” It was hard not to be brusque when her brain was on Sochi time.

“He says his name is Cupid.” There was a pause, and when the receptionist spoke again, her voice was quiet. “He has flowers. A lot of flowers.”

Aja considered. Cupid, huh? Surely not
the
Cupid, and by
the
Cupid, she meant not the diaper-clad baby from the greeting cards, but the Cupid she’d tucked into an ambulance a few hours ago. Had they let him out already? She’d figured he’d get a 72-hour psychiatric evaluation at the very least. “What does he look like?”

“Um...” The receptionist sounded perplexed by the question. Rightfully so. “About six four, black hair. Kinda swarthy.” Her voice lowered a few more notches, to the point Aja could barely hear it. “He’s kinda hot.”

Aja chuckled. So it was
the
Cupid. “I’ll be down as soon as I figure out if Finland has actually played hockey yet.”

When she’d sorted out the first section of her evening broadcast, Aja headed down to the lobby. But not before a quick trip to the ladies’ room to check her hair and her make-up. She wanted to make a good impression, after all.

Oh, who was she kidding? About 65 percent of her wanted to grab Mr. Naked-on-the-Sidewalk and bone him senseless. Probably not the best idea. But what if he was extra grateful?

When she stepped off the elevator and caught sight of her visitor, 65 percent jumped into the mid-90s range. He was more than kinda hot, now that he was cleaned up, appeared mostly lucid, and was wearing a suit. Not that naked hadn’t looked good on him, but holy shit on a stick. The suit looked like it had come from someplace upscale. What in the world had he been up to since she’d closed the ambulance doors on him?

The flowers in his hands were equally upscale. It wasn’t a huge collection, but it spoke of impeccable taste. A few white roses—damn, roses were expensive today—with tiger lilies and a backdrop of tiny flowers that weren’t baby’s breath. It was an unusual arrangement, but it was gorgeous.

He stepped forward as Aja click-clacked across the tile, trying to figure out what to say. But he spoke first.

“Good evening. I’m so sorry to interrupt what I’m sure is a very busy time for you. But would you accept these flowers as a token of my appreciation for saving my life today?”

The receptionist gave Aja a wide-eyed stare, mouthing, “Saving his life?” Aja waved her off, knowing full well that it was too late and the rumor mill would have that one all over the building before she walked out the door.

“I’ll certainly accept them. That’s so gracious of you.” She took the flowers and set them on the desk so she wouldn’t do something lame like accidentally drop the crystal vase or tip them the wrong way and pour all the water down the front of her skirt. She did things like that. A girl had to take precautions. “I take it you’re feeling better?”

He touched the back of his head lightly, a sheepish smile curving his mouth. And oh, it was a lovely mouth. “Yes. Much better. Again, I thank you. They took very good care of me at the hospital.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I hate to ask, because of course I know you’re a very busy person, but could I do the honor of taking you to dinner?”

Dinner? Aja opened her mouth, closed it again. When it opened the second time—all by itself, because she hadn’t decided what she was going to say yet—she heard herself telling him, “It’d have to be after my broadcast on the six o’clock news. So maybe 7:30. Would that be okay?”

“Of course that would be okay. I thank you very much for honoring me with your acceptance.”

Woah. Was this guy for real? He had an accent she couldn’t place—maybe he was one of those super-slick European types. There was something about him that seemed a little—arrogant, maybe?—even while he was mouthing all the right words and making her heart go pitter-patter and areas south go
Oh, baby, baby
. “Okay, then. I’ll see you at 7:30.”

“I’ll be waiting.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d best go make reservations.”

And then he was gone, slipping out the revolving doors like a Greek god or something. Well, if Greek gods had ever had to walk through revolving doors. Which they wouldn’t have.

“Holy cow, Aja!” The receptionist’s voice cut through Aja’s increasingly muddled musings. “That man is like...like... I don’t even know what he’s like. And you saved his life?”

“Well, sort of. Not really.” Aja gave her the most sincere expression she could muster. “Could you please keep this under your hat? I’d appreciate it.” It was worth a shot.

“Nobody will hear it from me,” she assured her. At which point Aja noticed three other newscasters in the lobby. Trust that damn entertainment reporter to have to have his lobby kiosk coffee right now. Who drank coffee this late in the day?

“Right,” said Aja. “Thanks.” She picked up her flowers and headed back up to her office. She needed to call Billy.

* * *

He picked her up at 7:30 in a limo. Not a fancy stretch limo with a built-in drink bar or anything like that, but still a limo. She couldn’t help but goggle at it.

When he got out to hold the door open for her, she shifted her goggling to him. He wore a gorgeous suit, impeccably tailored, the kind she saw on athletes that set them back thousands of dollars. Of course, this man didn’t need to have the pants specially made to accommodate his hockey ass, but still. It was a gorgeous suit. It was also a different suit from the one he’d worn earlier, when he’d asked her out, and that one hadn’t exactly been off-the-rack, either.

“I thought this might be more comfortable for you,” he told her as she approached the car. “I don’t want you to think I have any inappropriate intentions.” He poked his head back into the limo. “Could you give her your card, sir?”

The driver handed over a business card. Aja recognized the name of the company. Totally legit. “Who are you, anyway?” she asked him, tucking the card away in her purse.

“I’m Cupid,” he said, and before she could protest at the ridiculousness of the statement, he added, “Cupid Petropoulos.” He shrugged. “Parents. What can you do?”

Aja laughed a little. This man had her seriously off balance. “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

“Much better.” He offered her his hand and she took it, letting him help her into the limo. Then he leaned forward and told the driver where to go.

Aja goggled again. The restaurant he’d named was one of the hottest new European dining spots in town. “There’s no way you got reservations there in the last two hours. Especially not on Valentine’s Day.”

Cupid looked smug. “I have connections.”

“Wow.” Had she saved the life—sort of—of some kind of business mogul? A Greek businessman with wads of Euros just rolling out of his orifices? Billy’s head was going to explode when she told him.

“Only the best for the woman who saved my life.”

“I didn’t really...” She stopped. “Okay. If you say so, I saved your life.”

They conversed comfortably on the way to the restaurant, though once they stopped, Aja realized she’d told him quite a bit about herself, but he’d said little about his own history. Odd, that. Although she had to admit it was refreshing. As a sports reporter, she’d dated a few professional athletes, and most of them only wanted to talk about themselves. She could always quiz him later.

“So...” she ventured over their first course. The restaurant offered a
prix fixe
menu at a very high price that Aja tried to ignore. The food was amazing. So amazing she almost forgot she wanted to quiz her date because she was too busy having a soup-induced orgasm. “Where are you from?”

“Greece,” he said. “As you probably already guessed.”

“I had a suspicion.” She took another sip of the soup. She’d never dreamed tomato bisque could be this good. “How long have you been in the States?”

“Not long. I was just getting some things sorted out when we...ran into each other this morning.”

“So...how did you end up naked in the middle of the sidewalk?” It was a question that needed to be asked. Would he answer it?

He gave a delicate, almost sheepish shrug. “That’s rather a long story. I think I was mugged, truth to tell.”

“You don’t remember?”

Touching his forehead, he made a face. “The head injury. I seem to have lost some of my memory.”

“Oh. Wow. I’m so sorry.” As well she should be, since he probably wouldn’t have suffered a head injury if she hadn’t clobbered him.

“It’s quite all right. I have a feeling my memories of you are much more important to me than any memories of being mugged in an alley.”

Oh, but he was charming. She felt almost like she was under some kind of spell, although that of course was impossible. As the meal progressed, as they tried the chef’s specialties with strange names like licorice-crusted scallops and chocolate foam, Aja wanted nothing more than to take this beautiful, charming man home with her and do thoroughly unsightly things to him. It was disconcerting. It wasn’t the kind of thing she normally did. But she wanted it. And, after all, it was Valentine’s Day.

Cupid found the entire evening disconcerting. He could feel the shards of the arrow throbbing in his chest, off-time with his heartbeat, pulsing and shifting whenever he so much as looked at Aja. It wasn’t lust. It was the magic from the arrow. And yet it was more.

Why had the arrow turned on him? Nothing like that had ever happened before. It should have been impossible. And yet here he was, sitting across a table in an extremely expensive restaurant—how the hell did this chef get off charging that much for something called chocolate foam?—and every time his gaze brushed her dark, velvety skin, he wanted nothing more than to pledge his immortal heart and soul to her forever.

But she was human. How would that even work? Gods had done such things before, but was he even allowed? Something told him he was just getting deeper and deeper into something that would change his life forever, and not necessarily for the better. Not to mention what it could do to Aja.

But how could it not be for the better? She was the most beautiful, intriguing creature he’d ever seen. The arrow had turned on him for a reason. Could that reason be that she was, in truth, the true love he’d been denied his entire immortal existence?

“How did you become a sports reporter?” he asked her. The questions flowed from him without his having to think about it. The conversation, he thought, was easy. He wanted to know everything about her. Still, the fact he carefully dodged most of her questions, inventing stories he hoped she would believe, didn’t pass by him. How could this ever work? Would he lie to her for as long as they were together?

“I have three older brothers,” she told him. “They were big into sports—hockey, soccer, lacrosse, football...you name it. I followed in their path. I played women’s hockey and lacrosse for a lot of years until I blew out my knee in college. But I still loved sports, so I ended up majoring in journalism, and here I am.”

“You do your job so very well. So very beautifully.” He reached across the table, stroking a finger across the back of her hand. Her skin was every bit as velvety soft as he’d imagined when he first saw her. He wanted to touch more of it. All of it. But he drew back. The arrow shards in his chest stabbed deeper into him, protesting his withdrawal. He winced, but forced himself to ignore the pain. He couldn’t do the things he wanted to do, not knowing he was driven by his own magic.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Yes. I’m just... I think I twisted something when I fell.” It was as good an excuse as any, and she accepted it with a nod.

“Um...” Her hesitance caught his attention, and he glued his gaze to her face, waiting for her next words. “I know this isn’t necessarily appropriate, and it’s not the way I usually do things but... Would you like to come back to my place? For a nightcap? Or coffee? You know...”

He did know, and the arrow shards leapt in joy at her request. So did other parts of his body, parts not so magical but extremely predictable. “I would love to.” He answered before he could reconsider or even give it much thought. He wanted to stay in this woman’s orbit. Forever. No matter what it took.

So when they returned to the limo, Aja gave the driver instructions, and they drove a short distance to her building, and Aja led the way inside.

Which, in retrospect, was a very good thing, because Cupid hadn’t quite gotten so far as to conjure himself an actual apartment. Thank Hera for forward, twenty-first-century women.

* * *

She had barely closed the door behind him when she tore his jacket off him, started to rip at his shirt. Belatedly, she remembered it was probably a very expensive shirt and stopped herself just shy of sending the buttons flying across the room.

“Sorry. I can be civilized about this.” She focused carefully and eased the buttons open.

“You certainly don’t have to be.” Cupid’s mouth found hers before she could reply or protest, kissing her hard. His mouth was warm, his tongue demanding. Aja’s chest swelled, almost as if her heart were reaching for his. Which was romantic but also more than a little gross and disturbing. Where did her head come up with these things? Her fingers continued to roam downward, unbuttoning, finding hot skin beneath the fine fabric of the shirt.

“Civilized isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she agreed, drawing back from him. She pushed his now-unbuttoned shirt open and leaned forward to bite a collarbone. “Mmmmm. Baklava.”

He laughed. “I do not taste like baklava.”

“No, but it’s the only Greek thing I could think of.” She licked his chest and went to her knees in front of him, fumbling with his belt buckle.

“Aja...”

She peered up at him. He looked strangely hesitant. “Are you serious, Mr. Petropoulos? You want me to stop?”

“Oh, no, most certainly no. But I feel...unheroic taking advantage of you like this.”

Aja laughed outright. “You talk to me about taking advantage of me some time when I’m not about to voluntarily put your dick in my mouth.”

“You...” He broke off, closing his eyes as she jerked his zipper down and reached into his fly for said dick. It was hot and hard and oh...pretty. And uncut. She licked it. “I...”

“You what, Mr. Cupid? You want me to lick a little harder? You want me to figure out what to do with this extra European-type foreskin you have? I can handle this, you know. I’ve seen an uncut dick before.” She’d covered the Vancouver Olympics. She’d seen a lot of uncut dicks.

“I...” He seemed to be having a great deal of difficulty speaking, which was as it should be. Her tongue explored that intriguing foreskin, then probed his slit gently. “I...” he tried again, and this time one hand grasped the poufy ponytail she habitually wore and drew her carefully back away from him. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Honey, do I
look
like I don’t want this? Now how about you shut your mouth and carry me into the bedroom, and I’ll take a closer look at what’s inside your panties.”

He blinked. “Um...okay.”

She pushed his pants into a slight resemblance of orderliness, then came to her feet. He swung her up into his arms. “Where...?”

Aja pointed. “That way.”

* * *

He carried her into the bedroom and deposited her on the bed, following her down to the blankets. His mouth found hers before she’d quite settled in, and she grasped the back of his head, pulling him closer. At the same time, her hand slid down the front of his trousers, long fingers closing around his hard, pounding shaft.

There wasn’t a great deal to say after that. He humped into her hand, reduced to nothing but whiney grunting as she squeezed and tugged, ran her thumb over the slit of his cock, reached back to roll his scrotum until he thought his eyeballs were going to catch fire. His hands found her body, all those yards and yards of dark, velvety skin, stroking every inch. His mouth closed over one breast—it wasn’t big, but the hard nipple pressed against his tongue and she let out a low, shuddering sound when he bit it gently. She was nothing but a mouthful of joy.

She grabbed his hair and pulled his face back up to hers, growling into his ear. “You need to fuck me, sir,” she said.

“I’m getting to it,” he assured her. “Give me a minute.”

He settled back down to her breast for a time, then licked his way down her stomach until he landed between her sleek thighs. His tongue slid into her wet folds. She bucked under him until he had to clasp both buttocks to hold her still; otherwise he probably would have ended up with a broken nose. “Enthusiasm” didn’t quite cover the intensity of her reaction. He felt her tissues swell and pulse under his tongue, felt the wetness of her arousal pouring into his mouth. Then, just as her channel began to tighten under his ministrations, he pulled back again.

She screeched, obviously unhappy with this course of action. But then he pressed toward her again, this time entering her, and she bowed her back, grasping at his shoulders.

He sank deep; she was wet and hot and more than ready. “Oh, that’s what I was talking about,” she said, and began to grind up into him, her body reacting to every shift, every thrust, every tilt of his hips.

It wasn’t long before she clenched down on him, and at the same time he felt his balls draw up hard. She pulsed around him, her breath coming in harsh pants. He shoved deep into her again, feeling the depths of her heat all around him. His body arched, then let go as a glorious intensity of completion washed through him, holding him in a strangely suspended moment of pure bliss.

Until the pain started.

He didn’t quite register the pain until it felt exactly like knives tearing slashes down his back. Mostly because the orgasm distracted him from any other sensation. He’d never felt anything quite like that orgasm. It seemed like it forced everything out of his body but that singular sensation of pure, unadulterated bliss.

It ran down the insides of his shoulder blades. That alone should have told him what it was. He arched back from Aja, trying to stretch himself away from the tearing pain.

“What is it?” she asked.

Shit. Shit. Also? Shit.

His wings tore out through the skin of his back, and he knew nothing good could come of it. At the look on Aja’s face, he said, “Hang on. It’s going to be a rough ride.”