Goddess of Love (13 page)

“You're my Greek incarnation, Aphrodite. People tend to describe me as shorter and more petite when they call me Aphrodite, so you fit the part perfectly.”

“So you and Aphrodite are actually the same goddess?”

Venus sighed. “I can't tell you how annoying this is for me, especially after finding so many irritating references on the Internet that made it seem like we're two different deities.”

“I guess I thought you were, too. If I'd ever really thought about it.”

“Pea, if you moved to Europe and the people there began to call you by another name because it fit better with their culture, would that make you two different people?”

“Of course not.”

“Exactly. In Italy they call me Venus. In Greece they call me Aphrodite. Either place I'm still me.”

“But tonight I'm going to be you, too.”

“Yes, you are. Make me proud. Debauch like a true Goddess of Love.”

“I'm ready for it if you are,” Pea said.

“Darling, Love is always ready.”

Giggling together, they hurried from the house.

 

A masquerade…Vulcan stroked his chin thoughtfully. Everyone must wear a mask. Venus had said it was a gala event. It would probably be crowded with mortals, all in costumes, ranging from the ordinary to the outrageous. Not that he'd been to many mortal parties—or many parties of the Olympians. But he wasn't entirely ignorant of the way the world worked, mortal or immortal. He had simply chosen to observe, rather than participate.

Until now.

Venus was going to the masquerade as herself. He, too, would go as himself. He'd simply wear a mask and be careful to stay away from Venus. He would be the last person, mortal or immortal, she would expect to see. As long as he didn't draw attention to his limp, there was really no way she would recognize him at all. He'd just stay in the background…blend with the crowd…and perhaps find a way to spirit Pea away.

 

“I feel like a damn fool,” Griffin said to his friend and station lieutenant, Robert Thomas.

“Hey, come on. Ya look fine.”

“That's easy for you to say. Your costume isn't so short it's showing your ass.”

Robert laughed. “This is one of the times being short works for me.” He adjusted a section of his toga. “I don't know why the chief decided we had to be dressed in a theme.”

“Yeah, ancient Rome. He's been watching way too much History Channel. But even that wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't gotten the bright idea that I needed to be God of Fire.” Looking down at his name tag, which read,
Hello, my name is: THE GOD OF FIRE
, Griffin snorted and shook his head. “What the hell was he thinking?”

“He was thinking that as our captain, and fearless leader, it makes sense that you get the best costume.”

“Hey, you can have it.” Griffin gestured at the breastplate with built-in muscles and the short, pleated tunic that ended a couple inches above his knees. “If I go outside to get away from this crowd, I'll freeze my ass off.”

“Nah, Lola has those propane heaters set up all down the sidewalk. People are dancing their asses off out there, not freezing them off. You'll be fine, Captain.”

Griffin snorted again and reminded himself not to spread his legs as he leaned back in his barstool. He hated this kind of crap. Not that fundraising for the station was crap, but the schmoozing and politicking that went with it was absolute bullshit. It was the only thing he didn't like about his promotion to captain. He wished the Powers-That-Be would just leave him the hell alone and let him do his job. And his job was not dressing up in a skirt and being paraded around in public. He'd had enough of that with that stupid calendar cover shoot. He would have never done it if it hadn't been for his sisters' excitement. They loved the thought of their big brother being on the cover of the national firefighter's calendar. Women…His sigh was deep and long suffering. They drove him crazy. Sure, he liked them, and because he'd been raised with four sisters he even kinda understood them. Sometimes. Hell, being raised with four sisters was the biggest reason he was still single, although he'd never tell Alicia, Kathy, Stephanie or Sherry that. They'd go nuts and bug him even more than they did now about settling down and getting married. No thanks. He'd watched three of the four of them go through hellish divorces, and he secretly thought it was only a matter of time before Alicia, the youngest and newly married, dumped Mike. The guy was a controlling dickhead. Nope. Until he saw more evidence of at least a decent statistical probability of love lasting, he was just fine being single.

“Well, slap me and call me Santa Claus. I do believe I'm in love.” Robert thumped him on his breastplate, almost causing him to spill his beer.

“What the hell's wrong with you?”

Robert pointed at the crowded entrance to the restaurant and Griffin felt his mouth go dry.

“Fucking goddesses!” Robert sputtered.

Two women had stopped to pay the cover charge for the fundraiser and were filling out their name tags. Robert had been right. They were goddesses. Familiar goddesses. Not that it was really possible to tell who anyone was for sure in the damn masks they all had on. But…His eyes were automatically drawn to the taller of the two women, and he felt the jolt of recognition all the way down in his groin. It was the woman from the bar—the woman who had been in that little Pea girl's car the day before. He couldn't see her violet eyes through the mask from across the room, but that hair! No way could he mistake that hair. It was an unusually light shade of blond, long and thick, hanging well past her shoulders. God, he loved her hair. It made him want to fist his hands in it and move it out of the way so that he could taste that soft, sweet place where her shoulder met neck and then—

His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his fantasy.

“What?” he growled.

“Griffin, don't sound so grumpy.”

“Alicia, I'm kinda busy here at the fundraiser.”

“I know, but I wanted to remind you that you promised to change the oil in my car,” his sister said.

“Alicia, can't your husband take over this little chore? I mean, you've been married for a year now.”

“You know Michael is totally useless when it comes to cars. And I didn't think you minded all that much.”

Griffin wanted to say that Michael was totally useless when it came to just about anything, and he definitely wasn't good enough for his baby sister. Instead the hurt tone in her voice had him saying, “I don't mind, Alicia. How about I come over right after my next shift? I'll bring the pizza.”

“Cool! I'll have the beer. You won't forget?”

“Only if you keep bugging the crap outta me.”

“Okay, Mr. Grump. I'll see you in a couple days. Bye bye.”

Griffin grunted in the phone and snapped it shut.

“One of your sisters?” Robert asked.

Griffin nodded.

“Stephanie?”

“No. Alicia.”

“Alicia, huh? Hey, she's single again, ain't she?”

“Not yet, but I'm hoping she'll come to her senses soon. Anyway, forget about it.”

“What? What's wrong with me?”

“What about what's her name, uh, Melissa? I thought you were seeing her,” Griffin said.

Robert shrugged. “I am. Kinda. But it's no big thing.”

“And that's what's wrong with you.” Griffin slapped him on the shoulder and started to get off his barstool—carefully, so that his damn skirt didn't fly up too damn far.

“Hey! With your sister I'd be different,” Robert protested.

“Like I said before, forget about it.”

Griffin left Robert still grumbling to himself at the bar and started to weave his way through the crowd of masked partygoers, keeping his eye trained on the silver blond fall of hair and the almost see-through costume of the woman who looked every bit the part of a goddess. He'd buy her a drink. Or two. What harm could a drink or two do? It wasn't like he was going to fall in love or anything stupid like that.

“W
hat do you want on your name tag?”

The woman looked up at him expectantly. Vulcan stared silently down at her.

“You know, who you're pretending to be tonight,” she prompted.

“I am Vulcan,” he said.

“Let's see.” She tapped the capped end of the Sharpie against the table. “Vulcan was supposed to be God of Fire, right?”

“Correct.”

“Yeah, I kicked ass in my mythology class last semester. Hey—I think there's another God of Fire here, too. You'd think y'all would've called each other to make sure you don't have the same costumes.” She giggled a little. “Anyway, careful you don't clash. You could burn the place down, and that would be embarrassing with all you firemen here.”

She grinned at her own joke and handed him a name tag with
Hello, my name is GOD OF FIRE
printed boldly in black marker. Following what the others had done, Vulcan put it on his chest and then he moved slowly into the large, crowded restaurant, already feeling relieved that the lighting was low enough that if he was careful no one would notice his limp—or at least Venus wouldn't. He'd waited until she and Pea had found a table near the dance floor in the main room before he entered, though it had been hard to keep his eye on them through the press of costumed people. Normally he would have hated a crowd like this, but tonight was markedly different. He kept reminding himself no one knew who he was. It seemed true; no one stared and pointed at him. There were no gods or goddesses silently laughing at him, and no mortals cowering away from him in fear. For at least this one night he was accepted; no different than any other mortal man. It was, as Venus and Persephone had already observed, an amazingly freeing experience.

Unconsciously he relaxed his usually too-rigid posture, allowing his arms to swing free and his body to move with an ease he rarely experienced outside his personal realm. His limp became less awkward. Had he been able to observe himself, he would have been shocked to see a tall, broad shouldered man who exuded power. His thick, dark hair, which he wore short because of the heat in his realm, usually evoked disdainful looks from the golden-maned Olympians. Here he fit in perfectly amongst the firemen and their military hair cuts. He wore a half mask that was the warm color of a candle's flame, and only the blue of his eyes, his lips and the firm, square line of jaw were left visible.

“Hey handsome,” purred a woman who ran a quick finger down his bronze breastplate. She was dressed in a short black skirt and matching black sweater that sparkled with tiny threads of glittering silver. Her sweater was unbuttoned low enough that the red of her bra was exposed, along with her generous breasts. Her mask was also red, as were the horns on her head and her wild, shoulder length hair. Her name tag read,
Hello, my name is SATAN
.

Vulcan had to force himself not to jump back in surprise at her touch.

“God of Fire, huh? You can light my fire anytime, baby.” She moaned breathily.

“I'll keep that in mind, Satan,” he surprised himself by saying with a smile.

The woman licked her reddened lips and smiled coquettishly before allowing the crowd to wash her from his side as the tide of people headed to the dance floor.

The mortal woman had flirted with him!
No one knew who he was.
Logically he'd realized it before then; he'd even repeated the fact to himself as he moved through the restaurant. But he hadn't really
known
it until the moment the woman had spoken to him.

It was enough to make him throw back his head and shout with happiness for the first time in his long life!

With growing confidence, he met several of the other mortal women's eyes. Not one of them turned away from him in disgust. Not one of them cringed in fear. One of them actually winked at him. The others smiled invitations. Even through their masks he could easily read their interest. His heart thudded with newly discovered excitement. If those women—those indiscriminate mortals who he had never spoken to, but who clearly were showing interest in him—if those women could find him desirable, then did it not stand to reason that Pea might desire him, too?

Vulcan moved to stand against the wall, just another in a long line of costumed, virile men. When the harried waitress took his order he repeated what the man standing nearest to him had asked for, a Boulevard Wheat Beer. As he sipped the brew, which was actually rather tasty, a little like satyr winter ale only less sweet, he focused his attention on Pea and Venus. Using the invisible thread of fire to amplify his already divine hearing, he listened and waited.

 

“Oh. My. God! This is so much fun!” Pea sipped her pomegranate martini and nibbled at the sweet chili roasted pecans their waitress, Jenny, had brought them.

“Oh. My. Goddess would be so much more appropriate,” Venus corrected.

“Sorry, you're right. We're goddesses. I should get the words right.”

Venus smiled indulgently at her little mortal friend. “Don't be too hard on yourself. I've had an eternity to get used to it. You're doing very well for your first night as a deity. To us—goddesses inside and out!” Venus and Pea tapped their frosted martini glasses together. “And what is this divine music? I've never heard anything like it.”

“The band is the Full Flava Kings. They specialize in oldies. Right now they're singing something called classic Motown. Totally danceable and utterly fantastic.” Automatically, Pea's body moved to the sounds of “The Way You Do the Things You Do,” and she sang along with the chorus.

“You should dance,” Venus said, smiling appreciatively at the sinuous way Pea's lithe body swayed to the music.

“Oh, no. I don't dance.”

Venus laughed. “Of course you do. You said you've been taking lessons since you were a child.”

“That's different.” Pea lowered her voice and looked around nervously. “That's dance class.”

“So you don't really like to dance?”

“I love to dance,” Pea said quickly. “But
that
kind of dancing.” She jerked her chin at the crowded dance floor. “Is different.”

“You need to relax and trust your body. Believe me. Love is an expert on bodies.
That
kind of dancing is exactly what you need.”

Pea opened her mouth to argue with Venus, but a male voice interrupted her.

“Beautiful Goddess, would you honor me with a dance?”

Pea and Venus looked from each other to the masked man who stood in front of their table. He was dressed all in black—black leather pants, black silk shirt, black cape and mask. And he appeared to have a rapier in a sheath at his hip. His name tag read:
Hello, my name is ZORRO.

Venus arched a brow, a movement that was lost behind her mask, but the slight upward curve of her full lips was unmistakable. He was certainly tall and well formed. His jaw line was firm. His manners appeared to be passable. Yes, he might do for a start.

“Hi, Zorro,” Pea said brightly.

The man hardly glanced in her direction. He had eyes only for Venus.

The goddess frowned.

“Dance with me, lovely Venus,” he said.

No, this wouldn't do at all. She wanted Pea to dance. She had been frolicking with men for centuries. It was second nature to her. Tonight it was Pea's turn.

“Go ahead,” Pea said, with a little too much enthusiasm. “I'll be fine waiting right here.”

Venus looked at Pea, easily seeing through her masks—the physical one she wore tonight and the emotional one she'd worn for too much of her life. Pea was used to waiting in the shadows while others danced…loved…lived.
Not tonight
, Venus promised herself. And with a sudden inspiration the Goddess of Love opened her mouth and belched like a Greek sailor.

The masked man drew back half a step.

Venus waved her hand in front of her mouth. “Whew! I think I've had too much to drink! And those pecans were certainly better going down.” While Pea and the costumed man were averting their eyes in embarrassment, Venus surreptitiously wiggled her fingers at Zorro. She didn't bespell him—she wouldn't do that to Pea. The mortal had been right about not catching a man with magic. Pea deserved to capture a man who was truly attracted to her on her own, by her own merit. All Venus did was to divinely erase any interest he had in her, thereby allowing his attention to shift to an alternative “goddess.”

He blinked, for a moment clearly disconcerted, but quickly recovered. With a flourish of his cape he bowed to Pea.

“Aphrodite, your sister goddess is not interested in the dance. Don't break my heart by saying you aren't, either.”

“She wouldn't think of it,” Venus said, giving Pea a sly shove under the table.

“But I…” Pea began.

“You are a goddess,” Venus said. “And goddesses dance.” She met Pea's eyes within the sparkling mask. “Trust me,” she said softly. “And trust yourself.”

“Okay. Well. I'd love to dance. Thank you.” Pea took the masked man's offered hand and let him lead her to the crowded dance floor.

Venus smiled happily as she watched Pea begin to move with the beat of the music. The little mortal really was very graceful. And, of course, she had been right. As soon as Pea started to dance her natural ability and years of training took over. Even from her table Venus could see that Pea was singing to the music and having a wonderful time. The song changed to something called “Brick House,” and even more people surged onto the dance floor. Venus saw Pea begin to swim through the crowd back to her, and she quickly blew a dusting of desire onto one of the toga-dressed men who lined the wall behind her. Instantly he intercepted Pea. Venus met Pea's gaze and nodded an enthusiastic
yes
for her to keep dancing, but even while Pea moved back onto the floor and began gyrating to the new song, Venus could feel her reticence. And she realized the problem. Pea was worried about her! She knew what it felt like to be left behind—to be the one not asked. Pea would probably only dance once more, and then she'd insist that she return to the table and sit with Venus.

The solution seemed simple. Venus should just dance. All she had to do was to meet the gaze of any of the many men who had been throwing her appreciative looks and he would rush over and beg to be allowed to escort her to the dance floor.

The goddess sighed. If she did she knew what would happen. It had happened for countless ages. She would draw the desire of the men in the crowd like candlelight beckons moths. The other women in the room—including Pea—would seem pale and lacking when compared to love incarnate, and then where would they be? Back to Pea not getting enough attention.

She supposed she could scatter around some of her divine magic, directing it to dim her allure, but she knew how difficult it was to camouflage love. And if she left, went back to Pea's home, the child would certainly follow her. She tapped her finger against her martini glass. What, by the moon-colored globes of Diana's firm buttocks, was she supposed to do?

“That was a nice thing you did for your friend.”

The deep voice instantly refocused Venus's attention. The man was dressed in what she was pretty sure was supposed to be a facsimile of an ancient Roman officer's uniform. Of course the modern mortal had missed the mark. What he wore was entirely too pretty, but even as she observed the unauthentic details she was taking in his long, strong legs, wide shoulders, and the sensuous lips that quirked with just the right touch of self-humor beneath the mask. Then she read his name tag and she couldn't contain her smile.

“I'm sorry, God of Fire, I have no idea to what you're referring.”

“The belch. You did that on purpose so the Zorro guy would ask your friend to dance instead of you, didn't you?”

Venus pulled her gaze from his beautiful lips and looked up to meet blue eyes in a red mask that was tied over thick, dark hair. Those eyes…

The Goddess of Love felt the jolt of recognition all the way through her suddenly flushing body. It was Griffin!

She glanced out at the dance floor before speaking. Thankfully Pea's back was to her. She should order him away before Pea recognized him. Venus looked up at Griffin. He was watching her with a simmering heat in those brilliant blue eyes that turned the red mask predatory, and it was clear that she was his prey.

Men simply did not look at the Goddess of Love like that. They showed more respect, more fear, more worship. It was inappropriate of him. It was also terribly exciting.

Purposefully she didn't speak. Instead she flipped her long hair back over her shoulder. Then she took a sip of her martini. She expected him to do the male equivalent of a woman's fidget—to fill the silence between them with the ceaseless, self-involved monologues so many men used to cover any hint of masculine embarrassment. That would certainly lessen his appeal.

But he didn't babble self-indulgently. He continued to trap her with his unwavering gaze and his patient, confident silence.