Eros ignored her. Or tried to. “If he gets here first, we’ll tell him that Brita will be right out. Meanwhile, you’ll keep her busy in the other room until Annie arrives.”
“And if Annie comes first?”
“Then you’ll keep her and Brita busy in the other room until I’ve stabbed Harry with the arrow. Then you make sure Annie is the first one of you he sees.”
“I have a feeling I’m going to regret this,” Ariadne said.
“She’s mortal,” Eros answered. “He’s mortal. She said she wants him.”
“And I think you’re protesting a bit too much.”
Maybe. “Just do it.”
She stood. “I will. I don’t have a choice. You’re my boss; I have to do as you say. But I’d like to register my claim to say ‘I told you so’ afterward.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“Of course.”
But he could tell she didn’t believe him. She closed the door gently behind her, and Eros went back to readying his bow and arrow, and planning just where he’d stab Harry Mitchell.
Chapter Seventeen
The afternoon seemed to last forever, probably because Annie couldn’t wait to close the dog bakery and go home.
She needed to buy a new dress. Nothing in her closet was special enough for a date—an actual date—with Ross.
All right, so she knew he liked her, at least a little bit. Or at least he liked making love to her.
Yes, it was probably because she was convenient. She’d pretty much thrown herself at him in the bar two nights ago, and yesterday she’d shown up at his apartment. Just when he was feeling horny, too.
But asking her to dinner was different. That meant—without him actually saying it—that he wanted to see her again.
She definitely needed a new dress. And enough time for a shower and makeup and to dry her hair…and maybe she should buy a new set of underwear, too. Something extra special. If the last two nights were anything to go by, it was quite likely they’d end up in bed again. Or on the sofa. Or up against a convenient wall. And he had seemed to like that red lace a lot.
As people and dogs came and went, and as bowls of dough turned into biscuits and trays went into and came out of the oven, she replayed the last part of last night in her head and tried to imagine what tonight might bring.
Candlelit dinner for two in some romantic out-of-the-way place? She was confident she didn’t have to worry about a hot dog on a bench in the dog park. A walk home through the misty autumn night? Like two days ago, except this time she wouldn’t be tipsy. She wouldn’t be crying over Harry, either. It would be romantic instead of maudlin and embarrassing. And when they got back to her place, she’d invite him up, and one thing would lead to another…
Or maybe he planned to eat in. With—or without—Annie as the main course.
Just the two of them, on the sofa in his apartment. The same sofa where he’d blown her doors off last night.
She imagined him feeding her tidbits of something decadent—pâté or stuffed grape leaves or even figs—his fingers depositing each tiny, tasty morsel between her lips and his dark eyes watching as she chewed and swallowed, before bending his head to kiss her…and then she’d be on her back on the sofa with him on top of her, her legs wrapped around his waist while he thrust into her…
She fanned her flaming cheeks. Boy, the oven was hot today.
At five o’clock, she was out the door like a shot. The dress she found in a boutique down Steinway a block or two cost more than she had to spend, really, but Ross was always dressed so nicely, and she didn’t want to look like a poor relation next to him. She wanted him to see her and think she looked pretty. That she looked like someone he wanted to take home and undress slowly before making love to her all night long.
The blue dress went a long way toward accomplishing that. The bodice was tight and low cut—he was a breast man, after all—while the skirt skimmed her hips and swirled around her thighs. Not short enough to look cheap; not long enough to look dowdy. She added a pair of strappy sandals because they were on sale and made her legs look longer and leaner. It was a bit late in the year for sandals, but she’d suffer the chill because they looked so good.
She rushed through her shower and took her time drying her hair and rubbing lotion onto her body, thinking about Ross’s hands and Ross’s mouth on her skin. The new lingerie was midnight blue, satin and lace, and she thought she might not mind so much if he actually got around to taking her dress all the way off this time and stripping her down to just these panties and this bra. They made her look good enough that she’d feel almost comfortable standing in front of him in nothing but her underwear and shoes.
And then she slipped the dress over her head and stood back from the mirror and fluffed her hair, examining herself critically.
She’d do. She’d never look like Brita—or Ari or Iris or Carrie—but she looked as good as she ever had. The dress fit well, the shoes made her legs look great, and her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling with anticipation. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she looked like she was in love.
The thought floored her for a second—surely it was too soon for that—but if she hadn’t fallen in love with him, she had at least managed to develop the mother of all crushes in just two days.
And it wasn’t just the sex, either. She genuinely liked him. He was a nice guy. He was fun to talk to. He was caring. Just look at the way he’d rescued George.
Although the fact that he was tall and dark and ridiculously handsome certainly didn’t hurt. Nor did the fact that he could play her body like a violin.
But that was the least of it. Even if they didn’t end up having sex, she still couldn’t wait to see him. The thought of spending time with him, just sitting and talking, was enough to make her heart beat faster. She just wanted to be with him and hear his voice. See his smile and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.
She glanced at the digital readout on the alarm clock beside the bed. It was a little earlier than it should be, maybe. He’d said seven; she could sit down and watch TV for a few minutes before she headed out, just so she wouldn’t look too eager.
On the other hand, she didn’t want her dress to wrinkle in the back before he could see it, and besides, he already knew she liked him. If she showed up for dinner a few minutes early, it wouldn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. Grabbing her coat and purse from the hallway, she headed down the stairs.
She hesitated for a second outside his building. When she saw that the stairway leading up to the apartment was dark, but that there were lights still on in the office, she tried the door there first. Maybe he was ready early, too, and had come down to do some work while he waited.
The door was open, and in spite of the late hour—surely the office had to be closed at ten minutes to seven on a Saturday night?—Ari was at her desk, still dressed in a trim business suit with her hair in its usual no-nonsense knot. She looked up when Annie walked in, but although she smiled, there was a visible line of tension between her brows.
“Something wrong?” Annie asked. “It isn’t Ross, is it?”
“No, no. He’s fine. He’ll be down in a minute.” Ari smiled. “Just a minor work emergency.”
“Oh.” Matchmaking services had emergencies?
Well, yes. She supposed they did. She’d dropped an after-hours emergency of her own in Ross’s lap last night, and he’d handled it with aplomb.
“Is there anything I can do?” she asked.
Ari hesitated. “As a matter of fact…”
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you come into the back for a minute.”
It was Annie’s turn to hesitate—what if Ross showed up while she was gone?—and Ari added smoothly, “We’ll hear Ross when he comes downstairs.”
“Of course.”
“This way.” Ari gestured her through the door in the back, and Annie followed Ariadne down a hallway leading to the back o
f the building. Doors on either side opened into other offices, as well as a powder room and, all the way in the rear of the building, a kitchenette. The lights were on, and Brita sat at a table nursing a can of Coke. The real thing. Harry probably wouldn’t give her a hard time about it.
She looked up when the two of them walked in, and for a moment her face bore the same expression Ari’s had earlier, tension sharpening her features. Then she smiled. “Annie. Nice to see you.”
“You, too.” Annie looked around. Over in the corner, the dog was chewing on a nylon bone. His tail thumped when he saw Annie, and he abandoned the toy and his folded-up blanket to make his way over to her. His limp was less noticeable today, and he also looked better overall. He was clean, his fur shiny, and his eyes bright. Annie bent to run a hand down his back. “You’re both working late.”
“I have a date,” Brita said.
“I don’t,” Ari added.
Annie smiled, even as she recalled that yes, Brita had a date with Harry. That was why Harry had suffered through her—Annie’s—company last night, so he could go out with Brita tonight.
“He’s not a bad guy,” she offered, since Brita looked less than thrilled about the prospect.
Brita shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’ll find something to talk about.”
If Harry could talk at all. He might spend the entire date just staring at Brita with his eyes bugging out of his skull.
Annie reminded herself that it wasn’t Brita’s fault that she was gorgeous. It wasn’t like the other woman worked at it. She hadn’t even dressed up, but was wearing jeans, boots, and a green sweater. Of course she looked fantastic, but she didn’t look like someone who was ready to go out with the man of her dreams.
Maybe that had been Annie’s mistake yesterday. Maybe she should have greeted Harry in jeans and sneakers and a sweater. The walk to the dog park and back would have been a lot more comfortable then, and she might have felt more…empowered, if she hadn’t dressed to try to impress him.
“I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,” Ari said, even as they heard footsteps in the outer office. “There’s Ross, I think.”
Annie could feel a blush creep into her cheeks, and she kept her ears peeled for the sound of footsteps in the hallway, but none came. Meanwhile, Brita looked her over from head to toe and back. “You look nice.”
“Great shoes,” Ari added.
“Thanks.” Annie looked to where the silver straps crisscrossed her ankles. “It’s a little cold, but I thought it would be worth it.”
“Oh, definitely.” Both women nodded.
“I used to have a pair of shoes a lot like that,” Brita added. “Without the heels, though. We didn’t wear heels like that back then.”
Back…when? Brita couldn’t be any older than Annie. If anything, she looked a year or two younger.
She looked up in time to see Ari frown and Brita’s eyes widen, as if the blonde had just realized she’d said something she shouldn’t have. Annie was just about to query when the door to the street opened out in the reception area. George’s ears pricked up.
“That must be Harry,” Ari said, even as Harry’s voice reached them, faintly, from the front room. George emitted a faint growl, and Annie put her hand on the dog’s soft head.
“Is she here?”
Ross answered, but too softly for Annie to hear what he said. There was a pause, and then a yelp from Harry, followed by a curse.
What on earth?
“What the hell?” Harry bellowed, his voice laced with anger.
“That’s our cue,” Ari said.
Brita nodded. She stood as smoothly as she did anything else. Annie really wanted to push past both of them and rush into the reception—Ross was out there, and she couldn’t wait to see him—but Harry was here for Brita, and it seemed only polite to let her go first.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, but Ari looked at her and smiled. “Go ahead, Annie.”
Annie glanced at Brita, who smiled, too. “After you.”
She didn’t mind if she did. Leaving the other two in her wake, Annie crossed out of the kitchen and headed down the hall. To the reception, and to Ross.
Chapter Eighteen
It had been a lot easier to jab Harry with the arrow than Eros had thought it would be. The mortal had been so focused on Brita and looking around the front office for her, that a herd of elephants could have snuck up behind him and he wouldn’t have noticed. All Eros had to do was tell him that Brita was in the kitchen and wait as Harry headed for the door to the back. At that point, it was a simple task to poke him in the ass with the golden arrow on his way past.
“Oww,” Harry yelped and swung on his heel. “What the hell?”
Eros smiled benignly. “Something wrong?”
“You poked me in the ass!”
Ross let the benign smile slip in favor of a forbidding expression. He laced his voice with enough of the imperious I’m a god so you better watch your mouth unless you want me to knock your teeth down your throat, puny mortal tone to make lesser men quake in their boots. “Absolutely not. I don’t swing that way.”
Harry blushed, of course. “I didn’t mean—”
He heard footsteps in the hallway, and Harry forgot all about Eros, and the gaffe, and the arrow stabbing him in the rear. He turned toward the door eagerly. Eros sidled over to the wall to plant the arrow in a flowerpot, point down, where it couldn’t hurt anybody else. Harry’s posterior seemed fine, and of course there was no blood visible against the navy wool.
Yes, the man had dressed up for his date with Brita. Eros was pretty sure that hadn’t happened for the walk to the dog park with Annie yesterday, and for a moment he felt a stab of anger along with a tiny jab of guilt. Harry had seemed sincerely taken with Brita, all without Eros’s help. The god of love wasn’t really supposed to mess with people’s emotions after they’d fallen in love on their own. Always assuming Harry was in love, of course, and not just in lust.
Annie stepped through the door into the office, and he forgot all about Harry and what he should and shouldn’t have done.
She was beautiful, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. Her blue dress was soft and shiny, with a tight waist and a swirly skirt. No red shoes, but the silver sandals were no less sexy, and let those sweet little toes with their glossy polish peek out.
Eros really liked her toes. One of these nights, after another foot massage, he’d like to kiss each one of them individually and make sure she knew that every part of her was sexy to him, before he made his way up her legs, underneath her skirt, and…
Her gaze skimmed right past Harry to him, the blush in her cheeks deepening when she met his eyes. She could probably tell what he was thinking. But gods, could she blame him, when she walked in here looking like that?
“Annie!” Harry said, and that’s when Eros realized—with a feeling that hit him like a sucker punch to the most vulnerable part of the gut—what he’d just done. What he’d lost.
No, not lost: thrown away with both hands.
Annie turned to Harry, her eyes wary. “Hello.”
His voice was hushed, almost reverent. “You look beautiful!”
She blinked. “Um…thank you?”
Her voice was uncertain, and who could blame her? Harry had been a jackass to her the past two nights, making her feel both undesirable and unwanted. She had to wonder what he was up to now.
Ari and Brita slipped out of the hallway behind Annie. Harry glanced up for a second—no more—and didn’t seem to care. He moved his attention back to Annie. “Are you ready to go?”
“Go?”
Ari glanced at Eros, but it wasn’t I told you so that was in her eyes. It was sympathy. It was too much to deal with, and he looked away, to Brita, who was watching Harry and Annie with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.
They should all be pleased to be back to work, happy that they’d put two deserving mortals together, yet none of them was cheering. Ari l
ooked concerned—about him?—while he probably looked jealous, and Brita…was that wistfulness in her eyes?
“To dinner,” Harry said.
Annie hesitated. She glanced first at Brita and then at Eros. “Um…aren’t you supposed to go to dinner with Brita?”
“Brita?” Harry glanced at her. A very quick glance, as if he couldn’t keep his eyes off Annie for very long before they were drawn back. Eros remembered that feeling from when he’d accidentally made himself infatuated with Psyche all those years ago. That debilitating obsession, the inability to think about anyone or anything else. The blindness to everything around him.
Annie nodded.
“I want to go to dinner with you,” Harry said.
“But Brita…”
“I’m sure Brita won’t mind.” Harry turned to her. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Brita shook her head. Harry turned back to Annie. “See?”
She nodded. “Um…” Her gaze sought out Eros’s. “I think I was supposed to go to dinner with Ross, actually.”
Except he wasn’t dressed for dinner, and she realized it. The look she gave him was half surprised, half hurt. It cut like a knife.
“I’m sure Ross won’t mind, either,” Harry said, looking at him. “Do you, mate?”
Eros hesitated. Yes, he minded. He wanted Harry far, far away from Annie. He wanted her for himself. Those blue eyes gazing at him with adoration, that sweet smile lighting up her face when he came into the room. Not Harry.
But this was his own stupid fault. He’d been so determined to put them together, so hung up on the fact that she was mortal and needed to be with another mortal, that he’d brought this on himself. He couldn’t go back on it now. It was too late.
“Of course not.” The words threatened to get stuck in his throat, but he got them out.
“Great!” Harry turned back to Annie, beaming. “Let’s go!”
She hesitated. Looked at Eros. Looked at Brita. Looked at Ari, maybe hoping that Ari’s cool head might prevail. When Ari didn’t say anything, Annie looked at Eros again, with her heart in her eyes. “Ross?”
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