by Lyn Cash
Kris reached for the bag then remembered what she’d just done and panicked, knowing that the man she’d sabotaged would be angry with her.
Chapter Three
Pan popped on his wide-lens sunglasses and squinted behind them, trying to see who stood beside Kris, but the women were too far away for him to get more than a scant view.
He pulled out his trademark flute, the slender reed pipes feeling as familiar as his own fingers. He automatically, out of force of habit, shaped his lips and sucked in air, constricting his facial muscles to form the embouchure necessary. Then the faint smell of soap battered his nostrils. Too late, he blew into the pipes, and the aromas of vanilla and spice, much like those of a breakfast biscuit, rose. His eyes crossed as the biscuits inflated into bubbles at the tip of his patrician nose, and then it was as if the entire kitchen exploded, showering him and the entire front row of his admirers with the doughy smells.
The crowd tittered with laughter, and he good-naturedly went along with the joke someone had played on him. Instinct warned him not to look up to see the biker-leathered woman who’d captured his interest from the moment they’d met, but he did so anyway. She was killing herself laughing.
Pan’s blood boiled at the thought of anyone, even the delectable Kris, degrading his instrument, doctoring it with something as frivolous as bubbles of soap, but he rose above his anger to play the clown, to exaggerate his misfortune. He blew harder, forcing more soap through the flute’s piping, his heart sinking at the gurgling sounds coming forth from the instrument. Pan grinned mischievously, though, and he caught Kris’s gaze again, silently vowing to make her pay dearly for having fun at his expense.
He could easily forgive her desire to diminish his allure, to destroy his ability to sway others. Hadn’t Cupid, as well as others, tried doing the same thing for eons? What he couldn’t absolve was Kris’s personal immunity, as if she was impervious to his charms. If he’d learned anything over his lifespan, it was that all were vulnerable, without exception. He’d never come up against anyone so unyielding, unwavering, completely oblivious to him. He had to know which god had charmed her, what secret kept her psyche impermeable. Even if his ego might take the punch, his curiosity couldn’t.
Why was it that he couldn’t seduce her as easily? And why didn’t he want to? What was it about her that made him want to get to know her, to do more than just fuck her stupid?
He’d tried that—didn’t work. She was still the smartest female he’d encountered outside Diana. She may look the typical dumb blonde, but he’d hate to bet against Kris in a chess match.
He watched her closely during the remainder of his show, reverting to scheming, which had served him well on Arcadia. Cupid’s words haunted him, though. What had his trickster friend meant by insinuating that he was to meet a woman who’d make him work for what he wanted? Had the inveterate prankster called on Zeus, done the unthinkable and divested him of his godly powers?
Incorrigible bastard. Pan retreated to his backstage dressing room, awaiting Kris. She’d sent word via messenger that she’d meet him after his show, and he had a few minutes before she’d arrive.
Super human strength. Did he still have that? Pan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He hadn’t attempted anything extraneous or dangerous in a while. Teleportation? When was the last time he’d visited Mount Olympus or Arcadia?
His voice! Now that was something that wouldn’t tax him—a good scream. For centuries, he’d been able to instil terror with his primal yell, just as he had when the Olympians fought against the Titans; hence, the word panic, when they had run like rabbits at the sounds Pan had made.
“I wouldn’t. You might incite a stampede, and there are children in the mall who could get hurt.” The familiar voice sounded as if it came from the shower. Pan looked in that direction to find Cupid staring at him.
“You.” Pan snorted. “I should have known you were behind this.”
Cupid acted hurt. “Me? Behind what, dear lecher?”
“Behind my inability to seduce Kris.”
Cupid quirked an eyebrow and looked at him disdainfully. “I wouldn’t dream of interfering to that extent. I left you your powers.”
Pan sputtered. “As if you could take them from me!”
“No, but I could certainly appeal to Zeus and the others to intervene, especially if I could prove that it’s for your own good. You need to learn humility.” He smiled kindly this time. “You could also use a healthy dose of love. Your new nymph believes in it, you know?”
“Kris is no shy little nymph who runs from me, begging for seduction.”
“I’m not referring to her size but to her innate ability to charm you.” Cupid waved his hands expressively.
Pan eyed him warily. “You haven’t cast some demonic love spell?”
“Nary a one.”
“You haven’t shot me with one of those infernal golden projectiles imbued with love?”
Cupid smirked. “Would I do something like that?”
Before Pan could question him further, Cupid transformed himself into a mall security guard in a flash of golden light just as someone knocked on the dressing room door.
Cupid opened the door and held it politely for Kris, smiling charmingly at her then winking at Pan before closing the door behind him.
Pan heard a distinctive click whose sound seemed to elude Kris.
“You needed an escort from all your adoring fans?” she teased, disrobing from her jacket and tossing it plus her handbag and helmet onto Pan’s dressing room couch.
He crossed behind her as she moved forwards, his hand hesitating above the door’s knob. Kris’s voice made him jump.
“I don’t trust that one.”
“That who?”
Kris flicked a hand towards the door. “The blond man who just left. Do you know him?”
Pan froze momentarily, unable to speak.
Kris prodded. “Something wrong?”
Pan shook his head. “I’m not sure. I thought…” He tried the knob. Locked. That’s okay—I still have my strength. I’ll use it later to free us, once I’ve seduced her. He smirked. My way.
When he turned to face her, however, he saw that she’d taken off her boots and was in the process of removing her pants and shirt as well. He could only stare, open-mouthed, as she finished. Soon she’d carefully rolled her clothing and stuffed them lightly inside her helmet. Then she walked to the shower, grabbed his towel and wrapped it about her, securing it at her breasts.
“You owe me one.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small tape recorder. “I figured if I looked enticing enough, maybe you’d do as I’d first asked…help me with my research.”
Pan put his hands on his hips. “You want me to talk dirty to you? Now?” He advanced, sauntering, hoping to persuade her to rethink her plans.
Kris avoided him by sitting down on the couch and pointing to the chair opposite. “Sit. I’ll give you the phrase, and if you do as I ask, you may actually do something that corresponds with what you speak into the microphone.”
She flipped her long, blonde tresses over one shoulder, spread her legs slightly, just enough to offer his exceptional olfactory sense a whiff of her musky scent and tease him with a quick glimpse of pubic hair. Then she flicked on the tape recorder and said, “Let’s talk about pussy first, shall we?”
Pan felt the skin on top of his head tighten as the horns began sprouting. With a yelp, he ran towards the bar his agent had set up and yanked open the door to the ice compartment. He hastily ripped open a box of plastic bags sitting next to the glasses and stuffed cubes of ice inside. Then he slammed the pack to his head before staring at Kris from across the room.
The look on her face was one of astonishment. “Are you okay?”
“Headache.” He crossed back to the chair she’d indicated and sat.
“You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine.”
“Then start talking. Tell me what you think about my pussy, in
your own words.”
Pan thought a moment before answering. “A woman’s pussy is a thing of fascination for a man. Physically, it’s soft to the touch and has a wonderful smell for most of us. On a mental note, it’s also representative of two things—something that sheaths and protects, and something for us to conquer.”
Her voice was soft, inviting. “Why do men want to conquer it?”
“Because it’s powerful, because it holds secrets that we’ll never know. It’s the Holy Grail of sexuality.”
Kris clicked off the recorder. “You may touch mine if you like.”
Pan recognised two things simultaneously. She, not he, was the seducer, and he rather liked it. He leaned forwards. Keeping one hand firmly on the ice-pack, lest she see his protruding horns, he slipped his other between her legs. Rather than shooting quickly for his destination, he made note of the journey. Her long legs were muscular yet pliable, feminine, sleek, and powerfully provocative.
The dampness at the juncture of her thighs was intoxicating, reminiscent of other moistures he’d experienced and enjoyed. Water in various forms. It reminded him of saliva, sweat, kissing, fucking.
Kris took a sharp breath then clicked on the recorder once again, alerting him that she wanted to move to another topic.
“Tell me what it’s like to touch a woman,” she prompted.
He had no problem obliging. “When a man touches a woman’s skin, he reconnects with himself. He is reminded of his birth, his youth, the softer side of life that gets overshadowed as he grows older.” He paused, thinking.
“More about touch, please.”
Pan nodded. “Touch requires trust. Sometimes we all enjoy being touched softly, especially when we’re feeling vulnerable. We enjoy roughness when we’re secure, when we feel safe to explore.”
Again, she stopped the recorder. “You may touch me—anywhere you wish.”
Astonished, Pan realised the gift she’d bequeathed. Trust. She felt him dependable enough that she could afford to let down her guard and…be herself, allowing him to be himself, and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that! The feeling left him both weak and amazingly energised. He surprised himself by automatically grazing her cheek with the back of his hand, and the gesture brought tears to her eyes, which tugged at his very soul.
I’ve done something right, unselfish. He took a deep breath and shuddered. Why is she doing this? Why does she offer herself like this? Doesn’t she know what a bastard I can be? How insensitive?
Kris’s voice trembled. “One more. Fucking. Describe from a man’s point of view…what is fucking all about, anyway?”
“Penetrating.” It was the first word that came to his mind. “I suppose to a woman, it’s about sharing or giving, isn’t it?”
“Not really. For me, it’s about movement and rhythm. I’m tone deaf, but I love to dance, for instance—fucking is like dancing for me. Fucking affords me the opportunity to express myself physically, to expand, explore, entertain, and entice.”
Pan blinked. “You’re tone deaf?”
Kris nodded. “Most music is just so much noise to me—I can’t hear what others hear, but when I’m dancing, I feel the same things that they do.”
Pan nearly fell out of his chair. “So fucking sort of releases your inner music?”
“That’s exactly it.” She smiled shyly. “Now you know why it’s so difficult for me to understand why my patients are so ga-ga over you. I don’t hear the same things they hear. I don’t understand the attraction.”
He didn’t know whether to be hurt, miffed, or relieved. “Well, fuck me,” he said softly.
“That’s my line.” She clicked the recorder off and grinned. “I told you that you could do whatever we discussed.” She nodded towards the icepack he held. “Doesn’t that hurt?”
“You have no idea.”
“I mean the ice. Isn’t the cold becoming too much for your skin by now?”
Pan removed the pack reluctantly. Might as well get it over with.
Kris leaned forwards. “How did that happen?”
“I’m an Olympian god. Pan. They sprout when I’m horny.”
“So instead of a hard-on, you get a horn-on?”
“Something like that.” He waited for her to scream, but she didn’t. “Isn’t this the moment where you jump from your seat, grab your clothes, and run bellowing into the mall?”
“Uh-uh.” She reached out. “May I?”
Pan chuckled. “Oh, why not? You’ll not believe until you actually touch them, anyway, I suppose.”
Kris perched on the edge of her seat and fingered one horn tentatively. “This is the girl who believed in Santa and the Tooth Fairy until she was six then by the time she was twelve, switched to hobbits and elves when she discovered Tolkien. Give me a break.”
Now Pan was disbelieving. “You’re telling me that you actually accept Arda and Middle-earth as true?”
“This from the man who has faith in the likes of Cupid.”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
Kris pressed on the horn. “Does this hurt?”
He withdrew. “Yes! And I wouldn’t poke fun at Olympians, if I were you.”
“Oh, trust me, I wouldn’t. Not to their faces anyway.”
The more she spoke, the harder it was to keep his thoughts straight. He rose and paced. “Kris?”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t seem surprised to see…that security guard who left my room just as you were entering.”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen him around. Why?”
“What do you know of him?”
Kris looked impatient. “Look, I gave you the perfect opening to fuck me blue, and you have just blown me off, and after such a beautiful lead-in with those questions. What is it with you, anyway?”
“Just answer the question!” Pan demanded.
Kris sighed and leaned against the sofa cushions, facing him. “He’s my cousin. Okay?”
Pan stared at her in disbelief. “Right.”
“Oh, what? You can claim lineage to the gods, but none of the rest of us can?”
Pan’s knees all but buckled. He sank onto the couch’s arm heavily, so hard he was amazed he didn’t break it. “You’re shitting me.”
Kris rolled her eyes. “Prometheus—that’s my connection. Yours is Hermes.” She shrugged. “We’re cousins, several generations removed. Is that a squick factor for you?”
Pan could not believe what he was hearing. As his mind searched for clues he’d obviously missed since knowing her, his eyes settled on her motorcycle helmet and the Harley emblem emblazoned on it. The eagle—of course, symbol of the Titan’s vengeance upon Prometheus during his millennia-long imprisonment on Mt. Caucusus.
His thoughts snapped like a switchblade back to his guest. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?”
“And miss the chance to see you focus on somebody else’s needs beside your own? Although I have to admit, it was damned hard keeping up the pretence.” She reached for her clothes and began donning them, first her underwear, then her boots.
“You missed something—your pants.”
“Screw the pants. There’s no one out there but CB, and I’m sure he’s seen stranger things than me in my underwear.”
Pan clasped one of her wrists, only to have her wrench it from his grasp. “Kris, I’m sorry. I don’t understand where we got off track.”
She gathered the rest of her things, stuffed them into her shoulder bag, then rose and walked to the door. Hand on the knob, she issued one last reprimand. “We have all incarnated many times—you may be one of the oldest of us, but you’re a bit late to the party, mate. It’s not about being worshipped—it’s about serving these days. Life is richer when we help others see the connection between themselves and the rest of their world. That’s why I’m a therapist this time.”
“This time.” He struggled to keep pace with her conversation. “Have you and I met before?”
She g
roaned and jerked open the door, leaving him gaping. Like a strong wind rushing through his brain, he remembered her last name. Selenium. Selen…Selene! Kris was Selene?
He grabbed his flute and hurried after her. Memories of many other moments assaulted his senses. Cupid calling her Pan’s nymph. Cupid knew as well!
Pan cursed himself. How could he have been so blind, so stupid as to have missed all the clues? She was his own darling moon goddess, the one responsible for him having formed the pan flute in the first place. Kris was the one key who could unlock his selfish heart and teach him the true meaning of love.
And he’d blown his chance. His heart froze and shattered at the thought of losing her again. He couldn’t!
He bounded up the stairs after her, praying to every god he could summon that he’d catch up with Kris before she left the mall.
He found her centre stage at the perfectly made bed on display in the main lobby of the building. She was staring sadly at the impeccably made king-sized structure.
His voice cracked as he spoke. “You’re still here.” He felt like crying.
Kris turned to him, barely able to see through the tears shimmering in her eyes. “The mall is closed now, but I’m still here.”
Pan walked slowly towards her. He seemed oblivious to their surroundings. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”
He brushed her arm, and Kris felt the tremors in his body through the slight touch of his hand.
“Seems all I’ve ever done is run from you,” she admitted. “I’m sure that the reason for my aural affliction is so that you couldn’t trick me this time.”
He tossed aside his flute then rushed to hug her, to clasp her tenderly in an embrace that shattered her soul. His lips brushed her cheek, her hair. “Darling, I don’t want to trick you. I only want to love you.”
She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully before replying. “Well, now’s your chance. The woman handling the bedding display just took a break and won’t be back for several minutes.” Kris shrugged. “She’s the only one here now besides us.”
They sank to the bed, and Kris melted into his arms, needing this side of him, craving his touch but dying for his tenderness, his unselfish giving rather than taking.
