“She’s mortal. She needs to be with another mortal.”
“You didn’t used to be such a stickler,” Dion said.
“I learned my lesson.”
“Right.” Dion nodded. “Well, I hope you’re happy. You had a chance at something good. Some of us never get a chance like that.”
Ari muttered something, and he glanced at her and added to Eros, “Some of us never get a second chance. You did. You screwed up with Psyche, and you got a second chance with Annie. What kind of idiot would you have to be to throw it away?”
The kind of idiot who couldn’t imagine falling in love again, only to lose her in a few decades.
Except it might already be too late for that, if the ache in his chest were any indication.
He lifted his glass again. “Leave me alone. Go back to the hussy. Just make sure you keep the drinks coming.”
“She’s actually a very nice woman,” Dion said mildly. “An elementary school teacher.”
Ari snorted and Dion glanced at her. “Don’t knock it, sweetheart. We’re not all happy to be alone.”
“We’re not all happy to change partners the way some people change undergarments,” Ariadne shot back and slid off the barstool. She picked up her glass. “Excuse me. I’m going to sit with Silenus.”
They watched her walk away, her back ramrod straight.
“Good going,” Eros remarked.
Dion shot him a look. “Not sure you have any room to talk, bro. What the fuck happened?”
“I told you. She’s mortal. She—”
“Scared the mess out of you, didn’t she?”
Yes, she had.
“Here,” Dion said, and put the bottle in front of him. “Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks.”
“If you get too drunk to walk, I’ll pour you into a cab at the end of the night.”
“I won’t be too drunk to walk.” Just too drunk to think. Or remember. He reached for the bottle.
“Enjoy,” Dion said and walked away, to let him drown his sorrows in peace.
…
The French restaurant was everything Annie had imagined and more. The food was outstanding, the service even better, and the company…the company wasn’t actually bad, either.
What a difference from last night!
She still couldn’t quite figure out what had happened between then and now, but it seemed as if Harry was actually sincere in his desire to want to be with her. He asked her questions about herself and seemed genuinely interested in her answers, and he did his best to entertain her with stories about his family back home in Ohio and about Fiona. He didn’t bat an eye when she ordered pâté a foie gras as her appetizer, just smiled fondly as he watched her devour it, and after the main course—seared duck breast with dried cherries and port—he even encouraged her to order dessert.
After a while, she forgot to wait for the other shoe to drop.
And he kept giving her compliments. Telling her how beautiful she looked, how smart she was, what a great smile she had, and how amazed and grateful he was that she’d agreed to go out with him tonight, especially after the way he’d disappointed her last night.
“What about Brita?” she asked at one point, as they were lingering over coffee and crème brûlée.
Harry’s brows drew together. “What about her?”
“I thought you were going out with her tonight.”
He shook his head. “Oh, no. I mean, maybe I was. I can’t really remember. After I saw you—have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?—I knew I didn’t want Brita; I wanted you. I have no idea why I didn’t see it earlier. It was like…” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like lightning struck me from a clear blue sky. I looked up, and there you were. Like an angel. And I knew there’d never be anyone else for me.”
His eyes were—amazingly—completely sincere behind the glasses. They were practically gleaming with sincerity. Or was that gleam something else?
Annie leaned closer. Something wasn’t right here. Had Ross hypnotized Harry? Or drugged him? Shot him up with roofies or something, so he’d be pliable, and then told him he wanted Annie, not Brita?
What would happen when the hypnosis—or the drugs—wore off? Would he still want her? Or would he revert to being the same jerk he’d been for the past two nights running?
It wasn’t something she could ask him, she supposed. He probably had no idea he was doing it.
No, she needed to talk to Ross.
Tomorrow morning. Before she saw Harry again.
They took a cab back to Queens. It dropped them off outside Annie’s apartment building.
“I’m going to walk home from here,” Harry said when she looked at him.
“But it’s raining.”
He grinned. “It’ll help to clear my head. I feel drunk.”
He wasn’t. He’d only had a glass or two of wine with dinner.
“It’s the company,” he added, fumbling for her hand. “You make me feel this way.”
Sure.
She glanced from Harry to the door and back, wondering if she ought to invite him upstairs. For coffee or something else. Did he expect her to?
“I want to see you again,” Harry said. “As soon as possible. Are you free for brunch tomorrow?”
If she kept this kind of dining up, she’d end up as big as a house. At the same time, it was impossible to say no when he looked so sincere. “Sure.”
He smiled, big and relieved. “Great. Is nine too early?”
“It’s fine,” Annie said and waited for him to let go of her hands.
He didn’t. “I don’t expect you to invite me in. It’s too soon for that. And I want you to know that I respect you.”
Right.
“But…” He blushed. “Would you mind if I kissed you good night?”
He was actually asking for permission?
Clearly he was, because he just stood there, watching her and waiting, his eyes warm behind the glasses.
“Um…”
She thought about saying no. It would serve him right, after the way he’d treated her before. But he seemed so nice now, and so determined to make her believe he really liked her. He wasn’t Ross, but Ross didn’t seem to want her. Still not over his ex-wife, she supposed. She and Harry might have a shot. She’d have to kiss him eventually; it might as well be now. At least she’d figure out, sooner rather than later, how he affected her.
“Sure.”
She tilted her face up and waited for his to descend. His eyes fluttered closed just before his lips found hers, so she closed her own, too. His lips were soft, undemanding, but not unpleasant. They didn’t awaken any kind of desire to rip off his clothes, but then it wasn’t that kind of kiss.
His lips seemed reluctant to let go, but when he stepped back, he was smiling. “Thank you. That was nice.”
“Thank you,” Annie said primly. “For everything.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at nine.”
She nodded. He headed down the street before she turned to the front door, fumbling with her keys.
Chapter Twenty
The scuff of a shoe on the bricks behind her came out of nowhere. She hadn’t heard anyone approach and hadn’t realized she wasn’t alone. Her heart felt like it jumped up into her throat and continued to beat there. For a second, she thought about pushing the door open and escaping inside, hoping whoever was behind her wasn’t near enough to be able to follow…but then she heard his voice.
“Annie.”
“Ross?” She turned and squinted into the darkness.
Yes, it was him.
He.
Whatever.
That heart in her throat made it awfully hard to get words out. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you.” He came a step closer, into the light, and she saw that he was dressed in just the same white shirt and dark slacks as earlier. No jacket, in spite of the rain and the chill in the air. The shirt was wet across the shoul
ders, and raindrops sparkled in his hair where the light caught them. He looked a little less suave than usual, and not just because he was wet and almost bedraggled, or because she knew he’d stood outside in the rain waiting for her to come home—but because of the look in his eyes.
The words were out before she’d had time to consider them. “You’ll catch a cold out here. Come on upstairs and I’ll get you a towel and something warm to drink.”
She pushed open the door. He smiled. “I’ve never had a cold. But I won’t say no to a drink.”
From the looks of him, he’d already had several. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve never had a cold?”
She held the door until he’d walked past her into the hallway. “I’ve never had a lot of things,” he said softly.
She wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but she didn’t ask, just let the door close behind them both. He didn’t offer to carry her up this time, maybe because tonight, she suspected he was drunker than she was. It wasn’t anything about the way he spoke or even the way he moved—he was as graceful as always, like a big cat, barely leashed power hidden underneath smooth movements—but his eyes glittered and…well, he was here. Standing in the rain outside her apartment building.
The question was, why?
…
“Did I tell you how beautiful you are tonight?” Eros asked when they were upstairs in her hallway and she’d shrugged out of her coat without waiting for his help. His reflexes were shot to Hades tonight—the result of that bottle of ambrosia he’d enjoyed at Dion’s before coming over here.
She glanced at him, and the look in her eyes was difficult to decipher. Wariness, mixed with a hint of hurt, and maybe some embarrassment. And a smidgeon of defiance. “You didn’t. But Harry did.”
Ouch. He winced, but he couldn’t blame her. He deserved that.
She brushed past him into the kitchen, and he turned to stare after her, once again just a beat too slow to anticipate her next move.
“Coffee or tea?” She reached for the kettle on the stove and went to the sink to fill it with water.
Tea sounded good, but coffee would probably be more helpful. The ambrosia had made his head muzzy. Then again, that was the effect he’d been going for, so maybe he shouldn’t ruin it by getting rid of the buzz too soon. “Tea.”
She nodded and put the kettle on to boil. That done, she pulled a mug out of a cabinet, a teabag and sugar out of another, and a spoon out of a drawer, and put it all together on the counter. The mug had doggie paw prints on it.
Finally, while the water heated, she turned to him. “What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t entirely sure himself. He just knew that he’d sat at Dion’s for a couple hours, drinking ambrosia and watching the god of debauchery sweet-talk the kindergarten teacher while Ariadne pretended not to care and while Brita, who usually did her best to catch Dion’s attention, spent the time playing pool. Maybe she had changed her tactics. Feigned indifference seemed to work for Ariadne, after all. While Dion wooed the teacher, he kept shooting glances into the corner, where Ari sat with Silenus. The teacher probably assumed he was making sure the bar business ran smoothly, but Eros could tell who it was who drew Dion’s attention.
They were idiots, and as soon as this was over, he’d deal with them. But first he had his own problems to fix. And overindulging in ambrosia didn’t seem to be the answer, because no matter how much he drank, he still couldn’t get Annie out of his head.
Eventually he’d just walked out of the bar, intending to go home and sleep. He’d give Morpheus a call and make a trade: some form of hook-up at some point in return for the gift of sweet dreams, and maybe that way he’d be able to forget the mess he was in, at least until he woke up again. But somehow his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. It wasn’t even a conscious decision, but before he knew it, he was halfway to Annie’s building, and by then it seemed a shame to turn back.
He’d been hanging out in the courtyard, tucked away in the shadows, for a half hour or so by the time she came home. He would have been willing to wait longer—he would have waited as long as it took—but he still didn’t really know why he was there. He just wanted to see her. Needed to see her. To make sure she was all right. That Harry hadn’t hurt her feelings again.
Lame excuse. Harry was head over heels, and Eros knew it. Such was the power of those damned arrows.
The teakettle whistled, and Annie turned away from him to take it off the burner and pour the boiling water into the mug. “Go have a seat in the living room,” she told him over her shoulder. “I’ll be there in a minute. I think I have some cookies somewhere…”
If there was one thing he didn’t need, it was more of her cookies. They tasted like her, and he had a hard enough time getting the taste of her out of his head. But he didn’t say so, just padded into the living room and sat on the couch.
She followed a minute later, with his mug in one hand and a plate of cookies in the other. The same kind of cookies she’d given him the other morning. Lemon and coconut and sugar. His mouth actually watered at the sight.
She handed him the mug, and his fingers brushed hers as he took it from her. Immediately a blush flooded her cheeks and she took a step back. “Let me get you a towel.”
She escaped—there was no other word for it—in the direction of the small bathroom. Eros leaned back on the sofa and sipped his tea.
When she came out again, the blush was gone—she’d probably splashed cold water on her face—and she was carrying a fluffy white towel, which she set on the cushion next to him. Then she walked to the other side of the table and curled up in the chair there. And watched as he used the towel to rub the rain out of his hair. When he moved to unbutton his wet shirt, he could see her swallow, but she didn’t stop him.
He draped the shirt over the arm of the sofa and used the towel to dry his shoulders and chest. Then he put it on the arm of the sofa, too, and grinned at her across the table. “That’s better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her eyes were a bit glassy, he thought. At least that power over her was still his.
“So how was your date with Harry?” He took the warm mug between his hands and watched as the glassiness went away at the mention of Harry’s name.
“Fine.” She looked down, demurely, to where her fingers were busy pleating the silk in her lap. Her eyelashes made shadows against her cheeks.
“He didn’t say anything rude tonight?”
She shook her head. “He was a perfect gentleman.” And then she looked up, her eyes as direct as a knife to the gut. “What did you do to him, Ross?”
The mouthful of tea went down the wrong way, and he coughed. By the time he was finished, she was still looking at him, waiting for him to answer. Damn.
“I didn’t do anything to him.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He tried to laugh. “What are you suggesting? That I threatened him into asking you out? ‘Take Annie to dinner and be nice to her, or else’?”
She shrugged, but blushed.
“I didn’t threaten him. He asked you of his own free will.” Sort of.
She nodded. “He acted like he did. But he didn’t act normal. That—” She gestured to the window and, he assumed, to Harry, now halfway home. “That wasn’t the same Harry from last night and the night before.”
“I should hope not.” He took another sip of tea.
“You did something to him. We heard him yelp when he walked into the office earlier.”
Shit. “He stubbed his toe on the marble statue.”
“Sure. Did you drug him? Hypnotize him?”
Gods, no. What did she think he was, some sort of gangster? “Would you believe I stabbed him with a golden arrow and made him fall madly in love with you?”
There was a beat of silence. “No,” Annie said, although she didn’t seem a hundred percent sure.
Enough of this. “So he was nice to you?”
She perked up. She even s
miled. She had a great smile. “He was wonderful. Very attentive. Very complimentary. He took me to the best restaurant in Manhattan and he wants to take me out again tomorrow. For breakfast.”
Wasn’t wasting any time, was he? “Why didn’t he just spend the night if he was so eager to see you again?”
Annie flushed. “He said it was too soon.”
Great. Not only had Harry been wonderful, attentive, and complimentary, but he was a gentleman, too. While Ross was the rat bastard who’d taken advantage of her tipsiness that first night to practically take her against the wall in the foyer. With her shoes on.
And then what she’d said registered. “He said?”
She shrugged.
He breathed carefully through his nose. “Would you have gone to bed with him if he’d wanted?”
“Not sure,” Annie said.
Not sure?
He clenched his fists, and then carefully unclenched them again. What was that Dion had said…was it just two days ago? You’re the fucking god of love, right? When you fuck someone, they stay fucked.
He’d fucked her. She shouldn’t be considering going to bed with someone else. Not less than twenty-four hours later.
“Why would you do that?”
She blinked at him, probably surprised at the edge in his voice. It surprised him a bit, too, honestly. “Why wouldn’t I? You’ve made it pretty clear you’re not interested.”
He had?
“You said it from the start,” Annie reminded him. “You’re on the rebound. Not ready to get involved. And you’ve been working overtime to try to fix me up with Harry. That’s a pretty good indicator you don’t want me yourself, wouldn’t you say?”
It probably seemed that way.
And he didn’t, he told himself. He didn’t want her. Shouldn’t want her. Couldn’t have her for more than a few decades, and that wasn’t fair to either of them.
“You’re right.”
Her face fell a little at that. Maybe she’d hoped he’d tell her the truth, which was that he wanted her more than anything he could imagine right now, more than he should, and it was all he could do not to crawl right across the coffee table to lift her skirt up and bury his face between her thighs.
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