“Right.” She zipped her backpack with finality. “Well, have fun at your meeting. But don’t be surprised if he tries something.”
“Mr. Thomas is a customer, and I intend to keep our relationship professional.”
Kaye waved as she left. “Good luck with that.” Before the door closed, she stuck her head back in. “Remember to bring in the pansies before you leave.”
The pansies! Syrinx had almost forgotten about them. She’d left them out back to dry out their moldy leaves. Not only was it bad for the customers to see wilted flowers, she hoped the change of air from the greenhouse to the outdoors might do them some good.
Better get on it before she changed. Wouldn’t want dry soil on her evening outfit. Not that I want to look sexy. Just presentable.
Syrinx kept telling herself that as she walked through the greenhouse to her apartment.
She stopped in the kitchen, staring in shock. The back door lay open, and a puddle of water spread from the fridge to the legs of the kitchen table. Mud had been splattered all over her sink. The sickly sweet scent of moss and decay hung in the room.
She crept toward the sink and dug in the drawer, pulling out a kitchen knife. Scraping the mud with the end of the knife, she found a long dark hair halfway down the drain. She pulled it out slowly using the knife tip.
Her heart thumped loudly as she tiptoed toward the door. The backyard lay untouched. Her pansies glowed under the sun, perkier than before.
Syrinx slid the knife in her belt and brought the trays of pansies inside. She cast one last suspicious glare at the forest around her before closing the door. The woods held no answer.
She locked the door behind her with a final clap of metal. She couldn’t imagine eating dinner alone, waiting for whomever it was to come back. Going out with Parker Thomas may have been the best idea she had all day.
Chapter Three One and Only
Pan drove home thanking Tyche, the crazy goddess of fortune and luck. If those older mortals hadn’t walked in during Syrinx’s rant on shade-loving species, he wouldn’t have a date planned for tonight.
He pulled up to the front door of his mansion and hopped out of his Jaguar feeling as though Tyche had given him a second chance, whether she meant to or not. Probably not. As mercurial and noncommittal as she was, he was just glad he hadn’t pissed her off. Yet.
Pan slipped into the quiet ambience of the foyer and shouted, “Praise to Tyche and all her ambiguity.”
He neglected to notice Rutherford, who stood at the opposite end of the room, straightening a painting on the wall. That particular painting never failed to bore Pan with its prosaic bowl of un-imaginary fruit. He reminded himself to find another before the party. Preferably a sexy one.
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Good day, sir?”
Pan grinned. “You could say that.” He walked over to help Rutherford with the painting. His voice fell to a whisper. “She said yes.”
Rutherford copied his whisper. “She, sir?”
Pan pushed the edge of the painting a little to the left. “The florist. Syri—I mean Sylvia Rain.”
“Ah.” Rutherford nodded, then raised an eyebrow. “Yes to what, sir?”
Wow, did he know anything about what was going on or did he stay in here straightening paintings all day? “To a date, of course.”
“A date.” Rutherford took a step back to admire their work. “I take it you made an effort to get to know her?”
“No.” Pan paced around the vase, too excited to stand in one place. “I didn’t need to. It turned out I already knew what I needed. I just had to pay attention.”
“Paying attention is always good, sir.”
“I’ll say. All these years, I’ve seduced women with my looks. But it’s even better if I get to the heart of who they are and what they like.”
Rutherford gave him a stern look. “Careful, sir. Matters of the heart are not to be taken lightly.”
Pan stiffened. The way Rutherford warned him made him feel slimy all over. What exactly was his butler implying? To play for the heart is to play for keeps? What were his intentions toward Syrinx, anyway? Sure he wanted her, but not forever, right?
Pan flicked a fern to a better position in the vase. “What makes you think I’d take it lightly?”
Rutherford shrugged. “It’s not the number of women. It’s about finding the right one.”
Hmmm. Pan had never considered that view before. Must be a mortal short sight. Still, the sentiment intrigued him. “How do you claim to know such a thing?”
Rutherford’s eyes sparkled as a secretive smile formed on his lips. “You may not believe it, but I used to turn women’s heads in my day.”
Pan almost dropped dead, except he was immortal. Thick-glassed Rutherford, whose nose sprouted more hairs than his head?
Rutherford laughed and shook a finger at him. “Don’t you look so shocked. I could have had any woman in my day. But once I met my dear Eleanor, I didn’t want anyone else. I didn’t need them. Eleanor was enough of a woman for me times ten. Heck, she could hold her own against an entire army of men. All I needed was her.”
Pan found it hard to believe one woman could entrance a man with such a tight grasp. “And where is this Eleanor now?”
Rutherford blinked as though looking back to his own Mount Olympus, his own primordial spring. For a second, Pan glimpsed the young man he once was. “We were married for fifty-one years before she passed away.” He shook his head and smiled fondly. “Even when the doctors said the cancer had spread, she called them liars and went about her business as if she were going to live forever.”
Pan’s lungs deflated and his stomach dropped. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” All this time, Rutherford had given him advice, and he hadn’t even asked about his butler’s own life, his own family.
Rutherford clapped his shoulder. “It’s not something you mention in a job interview.” He looked Pan up and down with envy. “You have your whole life ahead of you—enough time to find these things out for yourself.”
Guilt over keeping his own immortality from Rutherford burned Pan’s heart. He’d always taken it for granted. Had he squandered all those eons with trivial pursuits, knowing he had all of eternity to do anything that mattered? If Hades came knocking on his door, would he think differently about his last days?
A dull ache blossomed behind his eyes. Pan massaged his temples. These thoughts were much too deep for such a joyful day.
The clock at the top of the stairs struck five, and Rutherford pulled away. “Time for me to retire.”
Retire for the day or for life? As much as he made Pan think, Pan didn’t want to lose him. He’d known Rutherford as long as he’d lived in this mortal world. For some reason, back on Mount Olympus, he needed no friends, but here in New England, the days and nights grew lonely. “See you in the morning?”
The old man turned around. “You can count on it.” He winked, then shuffled toward his room down the hall. Over his shoulder he called out, “Enjoy your date, sir.”
“I will.” Pan smiled, but he’d lost some of his earlier confidence. A guilty part of him worried he’d enjoy it a little too much.
Chapter Four Games
Syrinx checked her strapless floral dress in the mirror. Sure, it looked professional. It also accentuated her long neck and legs in ways that her woven river-reed rags could only hope for. There were some advantages to living in the twenty-first century.
She checked the window for Mr. Thomas’s black Jaguar. The parking lot still lay empty and it was five minutes to six.
Guilt plagued her as she drummed her fingertips on the windowsill. She used Mr. Thomas as a means to further her business. But she couldn’t deny that her interest in him was much more than just a client. Mr. Thomas drew her to him in ways that may compromise her vow of chastity.
Well, it was too late to back out now. Not without possibly pissing off her client.
The antique clock she’d found at a yard sale two
years ago rang six long, ominous tones. As if by magic, Mr. Thomas’s black Jaguar pulled up next to her VW Bug.
If anything, he’s on time.
The man who’d spent thousands on her roses stepped out. The sharp angles of his face caught the last rays of the setting sun, and he glowed like a Roman gladiator in his prime. He wore a crisp button-down shirt that hugged the curves of his chest and biceps. He turned his back toward her, closing the car door. His butt owned those black slacks, the sleek fabric falling just right to reveal enough of his manly attributes, while leaving just a bit to satisfy her imagination.
Syrinx’s heart fluttered. As she walked to the door to greet him, she vowed not to let this night get the better of her, even if it meant cutting it short and returning to her kitchen to wait for the intruder to return.
He knocked gently on the door, and the sound sent eager shivers through her heart.
Collecting her composure, she opened the door and smelled the minty scent of cool aftershave and gorgeous man. What was someone like this doing on my doorstep?
His eyes took her in like a boy looking through a candy shop. “Good evening, Ms. Rain. You look marvelous tonight.”
She smoothed her hands over the ripples in the satin around her hips. “Thanks. I’m glad you like it.”
He placed his hand in the small curve of her lower back. “Come with me. I have a wonderful evening planned.”
Bewitched and speechless, she followed him to his Jaguar. He moved his hand from her back to open the door for her, and its absence left a dull ache. She slipped inside, the cool leather of the seat smooth under her bare legs.
Within seconds, Parker slid into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. He backed up in a smooth arc, barely looking behind him. Syrinx whirled around, worried he’d hit one of her outdoor floral arrangements, but he missed every pot. He pulled onto the road and turned on the radio. Light techno music coursed through the speakers.
Syrinx tried not to stare at the way his profile cut strong lines in the reddish sunset haze. Stick to business. “How is the planning going for your party?”
“My party?” For a man who’d spent so much on just the floral arrangements, he seemed a little too forgetful. Maybe he had a lot of parties.
Syrinx turned toward him. “The one with the roses?”
“Oh yes, that one.” Parker turned onto the ramp leading to the highway.
Was he taking her into the city? Seems like an awful lot of expense for a business meeting about his garden. He merged with the traffic and the cars parted around him as though he was a shark not to be trifled with.
Guess no one wants to hit a black Jaguar.
“Rutherford is doing most of the planning.”
Syrinx recalled the older man who’d answered the door. “He seems like a kind man.”
“Indeed.” His gaze softened. For a moment, a deeper emotion crossed his eyes, making him seem more than some rich playboy. Parker shifted in his seat. “Sometimes I worry about him working all day in that mansion at his age.”
His concern shocked her. Was Parker kinder than she thought? “You have no other workers to help?”
He looked away as if driving required all of his attention. “I don’t need anyone else’s help.”
Even Syrinx needed Kaye, and her greenhouse was a fraction of the size of his estate. “Even to take care of the grounds?”
His face hardened as if he had closed a door in her face. “I can do all of the work myself. Besides, I relish my privacy.”
Before she could respond, he took the exit into the city, turning onto the main street where all the expensive restaurants clustered around the Wildcats Auditorium, a massive domed theater that reminded Syrinx of the Roman Colosseum. A few passersby walked on the sidewalk, and one man sang with his guitar under a tree. The traffic was light.
Parker smiled as if he read her mind. “It’s a ghost town, all right. They have some local poet tonight—no rock bands or sports teams.”
Syrinx thought back to the time when Lyria, one of her nymph friends, decided to inspire Homer to write The Iliad. The epic poem was one of her favorites. Lyria had such a great imagination. Too bad Homer dwelled too much on the battles and not enough on the flowers. “It’s a shame poets are no longer revered like gladiators.”
“You mean like athletes?” Parker’s lips curled as if he’d caught her in a game.
Syrinx looked away in embarrassment. Sometimes, she slipped back into her true vocabulary—a good reason not to go on dates like this. “Yes, of course.”
They pulled into a parking spot in front of a building with glass windows. Golden light from inside revealed great potted ferns and vines dangling from the ceiling. The sign above the door said Eden’s Delight.
Parker walked around the car as Syrinx stared out the dashboard window. Her door opened, and she stepped out, taking his arm. “What is this place?”
“You’ve never been here?” Pleasant surprise registered on his face as he guided her to the sidewalk.
“No.” Trying to hide your godlike existence meant not getting out much.
“Good.” He squeezed her hand resting on his arm. “I think you’ll find it…tantalizing.”
Tantalizing? Well, that wasn’t good for her chastity. Not at all. Despite the warning bells ringing in her ears, the natural ambiance intrigued her. Parker opened the door, and they stepped into the waiting area. A giant glass fish tank with brightly colored tropical fish lined the wall. Stone snakes crept up the railings on either side of the countertop. A young dark-haired woman in a glittery red halter top looked up from the cash register. “Two?”
“Yes, there’s a reservation under Parker Thomas.”
She touched the guest list with her red fingernail. “Yes, I have you right here. Follow me.”
The hostess grabbed two menus and led them up a spiral stairway to the top floor, where a glass ceiling covered tables and chairs interspersed with botanical gardens. Stars poked through the twilight, framing a crescent-shaped moon. Their table sat beside a pond trimmed in smooth river stone. Orange and speckled koi as long as Syrinx’s arm lazily swam by their feet. On the table sat a single long tapered candle.
“This is gorgeous.” Syrinx pulled out a cast iron chair and sat on an embroidered satin cushion.
Parker sat across from her, his back to the greenhouse wall. “Reminds me of home.”
Really? Syrinx was intrigued. It reminded her of home as well. “Do you mean your own gardens or your boyhood home?”
Parker seemed interested in unfolding his napkin. “My gardens at my estate, of course.”
“Oh.” Somehow, she wasn’t entirely convinced. “Did you live in the city as a child?”
He folded his napkin across his lap and sighed as if she’d caught him, and he could only give her the truth. “Far from it. Although these particular gardens are only a shadow of what I’m used to.”
Strange, she was thinking the same thing. As much as she tried to re-create the gardens of Mount Olympus with her own greenhouse, she always came up short. This place was another failed attempt, although the botanical gardens came close—closer than she’d been able to achieve with her limited resources.
Before she could reply, a young waiter approached their table with a pad of paper and a pen. “Good evening. My name is Mark, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Something to drink?”
“Water.” Parker spoke with determination, as if it was the only beverage he drank.
The waiter turned to her. A fuzzy sprinkling of hair covered his pimpled cheeks. He couldn’t have been older than twenty. “And you, miss?”
Well, she wasn’t going to order anything fancier than Parker. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. “I’ll have water as well.”
The waiter wrote something down on his pad as if he couldn’t remember they were both having water. Syrinx hoped he’d get their order right, or they could be there all night—which would be very bad for her resolve.
; The young man glanced back up at both of them. “And are you ready to order?”
Parker raised an eyebrow. “I am. What about you, Ms. Rain?”
“Sure.” Syrinx scanned the menu. Better to get the date over with—nice and short. “I’ll have the pan-seared salmon.”
The waiter scribbled half a novel on his pad, then turned toward Parker. “And you, sir?”
“I’ll have the house salad and the Caesar salad.”
The waiter stopped writing in mid-sentence. “Both salads?” Even Syrinx didn’t think she heard him right.
Parker straightened in his chair and gave the young man a steady look. “Yes.”
The waiter nodded, slightly embarrassed. “Okay. I’ll bring the bread shortly.” He wove through the tables and down the staircase.
Syrinx gave Parker a questioning look. “I’ve never heard of a man who likes salad so much.”
He squinted as if defensive. “What’s so strange about being a vegetarian?”
“Nothing.” Syrinx backed off. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate her best customer, or show any form of prejudice. Mortals were sensitive about the strangest things. “There’s nothing wrong with being healthy. You’ll probably live longer in the long run.” She had to remember he was mortal—another reason not to fall for him.
He gave her a strange expression, as if she’d hit the nail right on the head. “None of us knows when our true end will come. That’s why we have to make the most out of the time given to us.”
Interesting. A philosophical playboy? Syrinx placed her elbows on the table and balanced her chin on her hands. “And do you make the most out of life, Parker?”
He leaned over across the table and stared into her eyes. His gaze glowed in the candlelight. “I’ll make the most out of tonight.”
His words hit her like a heat wave, burning her cheeks and neck. She looked away, unable to absorb the intensity in his gaze. She played with the corner of her napkin.
Movement from the koi pond below caught her attention.
Her stomach dropped in horror.
Pan's Conquest (Entangled Covet) Page 3
