Sons of Zeus: Risky Business

by Amanda McIntyre

  * * *

  The rain from earlier in the week had rushed past, now soaking the eastern seaboard with its dreary bleakness. Psyche welcomed the sunshine as it poured through her picture window overlooking the city. Her mother, a believer in the power of crystals, had sent her a large ball shaped crystal. Faceted on many sides, it twirled from its suspended chain on the curtain rod. Brightly-colored jagged Rainbo pieces wavered in the sunlight, across the hardwood floor, on walls, and the ceiling, bathing the room in a profusion of color.

  A multi-colored prism of light skittered across the page of the article she'd immersed herself in over an hour before. Psyche scolded herself for staring at the photo of Eros Windgate for close to thirty minutes. She tried to guess what his breath smelled like, what his lips tasted like. Were they cool and wet, soft and warm?

  With hesitancy weighing her good reason, she tentatively traced his mouth with her fingertip, almost able to sense his breath on her flesh.

  That thought alone sent a tingle up her spine, rounding her ribcage and causing her nipples to stiffen as though a cool breeze touched them. Psyche licked her lips, perplexed at how a picture alone could excite her so powerfully.

  The article itself however hadn't helped any. Eros Windgate within the context of his interview blatantly shared his real-life experiences regarding how they tested various products from his company.

  Psyche took a sip of her bottled spring water as she continued to read further.

  Eros: "Yes, Ken. We test all of our products before we put them out for public use. Most of them I try to test personally—with volunteer partners, of course."

  Psyche imagined his sexy grin. She swallowed as she read on.

  Eros: "We feel the human body is a glorious thing. So we take great care in manufacturing products that enhance both the physical and the mental well-being of our clients."

  Ken: “Does this include your latest product?”

  Eros: "The mink-lined two person swing?"

  Ken: "Right, how does a product like that create an environment of physical well being?"

  Psyche's imagination raced to what this type of devise might look like. For a moment or two her mind clicked through various images until at last a light snapped on in her head. She stared down at the page in wide-eyed wonder.

  Eros: "Well, you know what they say. All work and no play, makes Eros a dull boy."

  Ken: “That hardly seems likely in your line of work, Mr. Windgate.”

  Eros: "You'd be surprised. Trying to tap into people's ultimate sexual fantasies is not an easy task. It requires many, many nights of intense research."

  Psyche's hand covered her mouth, curious but cautious, she read on.

  Eros: “For example, the other night we had a special product, Valentines Massage oil that we're considering. We probably researched this one product with seven women that night."

  Ken: "In one night?"

  Eros: "Fortunately, I have a strong stamina." The multi-million dollar Vice-president laughs.

  Psyche shifted, crossing her legs as she tucked herself under the afghan at the end of the cream-colored, tufted couch. Her eyes stay glued to the text in front of her as she neared the bottom of the page.

  She prayed it continued on the back. It did.

  Eros: "Massage technique works differently depending on the woman, Ken. Touch, pressure, environment, even the kind of day we've had, all impacts the validity of the experiment. I had one study who the minute I touched her, flipped over on the table, flung off her towel and pulled me down on top of her. Now you may be saying, how can that be such a bad thing?"

  Psyche swallowed, asking herself that very question. She blinked away the foggy image in her brain and returned to the article. Her palms began to sweat.

  Eros: "It was so sudden; I mean what could I do? She wouldn’t stop rambling incoherently something about how she had broken up with her boyfriend and hadn’t had a man in months. I mean she was so desperately in need. I think she might have incurred serious emotional repercussions had I not been quick on my feet."

  Ken: “Uh, dare I ask what you did?”

  Psyches heart began to beat faster. That catch-your-breath state just before you dive off a board into a swimming pool.

  "I quickly pulled the poor woman to the edge of the table, lifted her ankles over my shoulders, and tried to talk her down, while I took care of her problem."

  Ken: "You mean you…?"

  "Damn straight, man. She needed Dr. Eros cure for the lonely heart. Fortunately for me I have quick reflexes."

  Ken: "Really? And she was okay with this?"

  Eros laughs. "You should have seen the almost immediate transformation. It was amazing. I mean it does my heart good, you know? The oil on her hips, our new product, never before tested, combined with that slick waxed tabletop, virtually no friction, just an easy glide, slow and deep. She loved the product, or at least she screamed in utter joy at the top of her lungs. We gave her an extra complimentary case as our thanks for helping in the study."

  Ken: “What is the name of your new product?”

  "Give It To Me, Baby!"

  Ken nods: "Sounds like a successful test.

  Eros: "To be frank, I generally prefer more time for the product to gain its full effect, to develop slowly before acquiring the end results. But in her case, I had to make a quick decision. Who knows, I may have saved an emotionally distraught young woman. I was truly humbled to receive her thanks—oh, and for the massage oil as well."

  Psyche's skin was clammy. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. She glanced down her prim white sports bra as her gaze followed a single bead as it disappeared into the darkness of her jogging suit. It seemed to sizzle on her flesh.

  A table? The idea of copulating on the same place where one ate at first disgusted her, but her stomach growled, alerting her that she hadn't eaten anything. That in fact, she was starved. Starving herself, maybe from the ecstasy her sisters consumed on a steady diet. She began to wonder what it might be like to have Eros Windgate for lunch.

  What was wrong with her? She was having tawdry fantasies about the one man who was the epitome of everything she spoke out against. It was true that the more she read, the more she had the desire to ask this man some very personal, very revealing questions. Perhaps, she considered as an afterthought, more revealing to herself, than about him.

  What if her sisters were right? Was she too tightly wrapped? Maybe it would help her to throw caution to the wind. After all, how could she expect to achieve a balanced relationship unless she understood what it was she was opposed to?

  Psyche chewed at the corner of her lip, deep in her thoughts. Was she opposed to a healthy sexual relationship? Her gaze was drawn back to the photo in the magazine, the same one that stirred this unknown chaos inside her.

  With a quiet sigh, she folded the article and stuck it in her ultra-organized briefcase. She hesitated briefly, considering whether to lay back and ponder these questions swimming in her brain, or go over the speech for her presentation Friday Night once more. Preparing won out over daydreams as she picked up the worn copy of her book outlining the problems with today's society. She'd bookmarked the passages she used most often in her public presentations, color-coding them by order of importance so her speech flowed precisely. Psyche flicked her fingernail over the upright paper soldiers, standing ready to give her the verbal weaponry she'd used a hundred times to slay the dragons and demons of a wanton society.

  There was much to be said for statistics and book learning.

  But practical experience no doubt had its rewards, Psyche's brain argued.

  And also its risks, she countered mentally reprimanding her wayward thoughts.

  She laughed, but the sound was shallow to her ears. Even if she wanted to step out on the wild side, if only for experimental purposes, her entire career, which was based on her reputation and beliefs, would be at a high risk. Could she truly afford that kind of frivolity?

 
Chapter Three

  Eros glanced in the mirror again scrutinizing the shade of blue shirt against the hue of his skin. There was something in the air. An unsettled feeling he got about tonight. Perhaps it was only that he was at odds with his mother over this idea that Psychedelic Rainbo posed a threat to his mother's company. Still, he wouldn't argue with his mother. She could be a powerful woman, when push came to shove. And Eros didn't wish to be on the end of one of his mother's "shove" episodes. It wasn't pretty.

  He held his palm up inches from his mouth and blew out his breath. The cinnamon breath mints, still one of the company's best selling items gave his tongue the tingle he desired. With any luck, Ms. Psychedelic would also experience the same tingle tonight.

  Eros spritzed his patented "Capture" cologne on his neck and walked through a cloud of the provocative mist just for good measure. One more look in the mirror and he tossed his keys in the air, grabbing them with one hand as he headed toward the elevator.

  * * *

  Psychedelic assessed her clothing in front of the closet mirror. Refined, a bit understated, totally professional. She didn’t want to make her fans uncomfortable. She glanced at her array of hats. A passion she acquired as the number of public appearances increased.

  She chose a pillbox style hat, black and white to compliment her suit, with a black, netted veil that gave a mysterious look to her persona. It was a façade of course, for while she could see clearly through the veiled barrier, her viewers were not able to detect her facial expressions, or the panic in her eyes due to standing in front of so many strangers.

  Besides, she liked mystery. It gave her power.

  Adjusting the hat to fit properly, she straightened her shoulders and faced her image full view in the mirror. Her snug fitting black tailored suit and pencil skirt complete with a sexy slit up the left leg fit her beautifully, she had to admit. She turned her leg to make sure the line on her thigh-hi black hose was in proper alignment with her leg. Satisfied, she picked up her keys and attaché and scooped a pack of artic ice gum from her dresser.

  * * *

  She'd been answering a borage of questions for the better part of a solid hour. Psyche tipped back her bottled water, letting the cool liquid quench her parched throat. Who would have guessed so many people were in the same boat as her?

  Psyche scanned the faces of the massive standing-room-only audience packed tight into the reading room of the Oracle bookstore. She could see the questions in their eyes, the intense longing etched on their faces.

  "So what you're saying is all we need to do is relax, be ourselves and true love will find us?" The young man, his thick, black-rimmed glasses making his eyes appear twice as large peered at her from the crowd.

  Psyche moistened her lips, carefully considering her words. Should she advise the young man to go out and take risks? Could she tell him that what he really needed to do was dig down deep in his soul, face his fears and flaws, and make positive changes in his life?

  "Dr. Rainbo?" The man insisted, a tinge of panic edging into his voice.

  "I'm not sure it's wise to just sit back and expect love to find you." She couldn't believe the words had actually come from her mouth.

  A tittering of murmuring arouse from the audience.

  "But in your book, you indicate—"

  Psyche blinked a couple of times and from the corner of her eye noticed the silhouette of a man leaning against one of the rooms' marbled pillars.

  "Um, what I mean…." Psyche scrambled to find her train of thought. "It's true that we don't or shouldn't need to go beyond what is comfortable and familiar to us when seeking a companion. The media does a good job of belittling the concept that if you don't frequent bars and date a multitude of people that you will never find your soul mate." Psyche's brain swirled with how she was going to neatly package the new discovery in her heart with what was written in the ink of her book.

  "So what the media says is good, is really just a boatload of crap and we should boycott anything that doesn't fall into our realm of what comfortable is, right? Do you print a list of businesses we should boycott, Dr. Rainbo?" A middle–aged woman stood, waving a copy of Psyche's books in her hand like a warrior going into battle.

  "No, that’s not what I suggest." Psyche's voice wavered. When had she lost control?

  "But in here, you indicate the media puts little emphasis on truthful meaningful relationships, right? That they promote a shallow lifestyle meant only for immediate gratification?"

  "Well, society in general as a rule—" Psyche stopped herself realizing that she could well end up with a full scale riot on her hands if she wasn't careful.

  "Let me just say this. How you perceive yourself and what you want in a mate is an individual assessment. Don't go by what the media says you ought to be, or drink, or wear. Or by the perception of a business's view of what can give you pleasure or enjoyment. These are as individual as your fingerprint. Don't follow the crowd, but don't hide away in a bubble either. This is your life and only you can make the decision about what you want, and the kind of person you want to spend it with."

  A moment ticked by, followed with a thunderous applause. Somehow she'd managed to pull off finding a neutral ground between her heart and her mind.

  And apparently her answer thwarted a possible uprising. The store owner glanced at her, offering a weak smile of gratitude.

  Now if Psyche could get rid of the gnawing hole that existed in her gut.

  "Thank you, thank you. Dr. Rainbo will take a moment before she proceeds with the signing of your books. Meantime, you can make your purchases at the special register we have set up at the back of the room." The store owner smiled as she surveyed the crowd. "Thank you all for coming and thank you Dr. Rainbo for your informative insight."

  Psyche wished right now that she had half the insight the woman was praising her for. What was wrong with her? She felt unsettled, like she was missing a piece of the puzzle her sisters had already found.

  "Excuse me, I'll be right back." Psyche nodded to the owner as she skirted behind her, as a buffer against the hungry fans wanting to shake her hand.

  At the moment, she wasn't sure that all she'd written in her book wasn't taking on the form of a witch-hunt. She hurried down a deserted back hallway, grateful to be cut off from the noisy crowd. A strange woman, at least twice her mother's age, emerged from the ladies room.

  "Wonderful discussion this evening, my dear," her voice croaked, "I'm so glad to see your thoughts reflect mine. I think all this talk about sex is over-rated anyway, don't you? Good work honey, and keep writing your informative books." She patted Psyche's shoulder as she teetered past.

  Psyche watched her hobble down the corridor wondering dismally if that would be her in a few years.

  I like sex. Or at least I think I would. Psyche blinked, her brows arching with the realization.

  Yeah, if you could find the right guy to form a life-long relationship with. Good luck with that one.

  Her conscience warred with the rest of her, mainly the part of her directly tied to the "I like sex," part.

  "The body oil was wonderful, allowing an easy glide, slow and deep…"

  Psyche stiffened, turning abruptly in the hall and shaking off the image created from the interview with Eros that she'd read.

  She shoved open the door, happy to see she was alone. Her heels echoed in the divided ladies room. One half lined with highly polished stalls the outer room decorated in a posh and feminine seating area.

  Psyche was just finishing drying her hands when the room went black. She held still, fearful that the power had gone out all over the building. She retraced her path mentally preparing to feel her way back to the reading room, when a large hand slid gently over her mouth. She stifled a scream.

  * * *

  "Do not scream. There is no need to be afraid, Psyche. I have no intention of touching a hair on that lovely head of yours." Eros pressed close capturing her body between him and the marble counter. He
held one hand clamped over her mouth, the other he used as a brace to the countertop.

  He had to admit, from what he could feel beneath the confines of two layers of clothing left him curious about why this woman wasn't more in tune with her sexuality.

  "What do you want?"

  Her breath was hot against his flesh, her words muffled by the barrier of his hand. "I want nothing, but an answer that is eating me alive, Psychedelic." Eros whispered near her ear, unprepared for the assault of the sweet soap and water clean scent of the warmth of her flesh. It was an odd reaction for him to notice such detail.

  "What question?" she asked.

  "Are you going to scream?" he countered.

  "You won't hurt me?"

  "Not in the least."

  "Then remove your hand." Eros paused a moment, wondering if she would hold up to her word. Instinct told him, she would.

  He eased his hand away, lowering to rest, his fingers on the counter, encasing her between his arms.

  "Should I turn around?"

  "Feel free, Psyche. I only want to talk."

  He could sense her hesitancy, but also her stubbornness.

  "Why are there no lights?"

  Eros grinned. "Because I don’t wish for you to know who I am. Think of me as a secret admirer. Have you ever had one of those?"

  "Are you going to step away if I turn around?"

  Her voice though edged with concern was still defiant.

  "That wasn't part of the deal." Eros noticed that she'd sidestepped his question.

  "But, what if—"

  "I won't touch you, Psyche," Eros grinned with an afterthought. "Unless you ask me, of course." Her breasts rubbed against his dress shirt as she turned in the confines of his arms. Under the cover of darkness, he could feel her shallow breath on his face. A fresh mint scent tickled his nose. Eros stood his ground, unyielding to the temptation to renege on his promise.

  "What did you want to ask me that you couldn’t ask in the crowd?"

  The utter master of control to her emotions was impressive and it intrigued him. She wasn't necessarily the retiring wallflower he'd pegged her to be. Still, the jury was out on the subject.