The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

Sherri Browning Erwin Mr Sandman

When her life’s usual chaos had suddenly balanced into a sense of order so perfect that it bordered on the supernatural, Eve Daniels should have seen it for what it was: a sign that things were about to go drastically wrong. Eve didn’t do perfect. And yet. .

Almost without effort, she’d finally lost that pesky twenty pounds she’d carted around since college. Her lingerie designs had caught the notice of some leading fashion magazines, drawing an elite crowd to her tiny Brooklyn boutique, leading to her dream move to trendier digs on Fifth Avenue. And at last, she’d met her tall, dark and handsome, (and rich) Mr Right, married him after a whirlwind courtship, and moved into his upper east-side penthouse apartment.

And then.

She came home one day to find Mr Right adjusting his personal antenna in front of his webcam, to the obvious delight of his latest chatroulette buddy on flagrant display through the twenty-six-inch flat screen monitor. Gay. She should have known.

“Not gay,” her husband countered, reaching out for her. “Bi-curious, baby. You know you’re the one for me. This is something we can explore together.”

“Put your pants on,” she said, not bothering to hide her outrage. “And we can explore our legal options. I want a divorce.”

And then.

One of her high profile clients, sexy starlet Natalie Grant, claimed that the underwire in her Mighty Aphrodite Goddess bra (one of Eve’s most consistent bestsellers) broke through the silk to puncture her left breast implant — and cost Natalie a lead role in Quentin Tarantino’s latest blockbuster action film.

Natalie planned to sue Eve and Heavenly Body Lingerie, the tabloids said — “Millions in lost wages!” After two weeks and no word from Natalie’s lawyers, no summons served, Eve realized Natalie was simply using her bra as a smokescreen to cover for the fact that she probably wasn’t even considered for the role in the first place. But the damage was done. Word was out. Eve’s expert workmanship was suddenly considered second-rate. Heavenly Body bras were potentially dangerous, and not in a “beware: deadly curves” kind of way. Business declined at an alarming rate and Eve was forced to close her doors.

And then.

The stress of losing her marriage, her sweet address and her livelihood caused her to turn to Ben and Jerry for comfort. A steady diet of Chunky Monkey with a Cherry Garcia chaser put the twenty pounds back on her five-foot-six frame in no time. Plus an additional ten.

And now.

It was a big relief, and a respite from staying on her best friend’s couch, when her Aunt Mae called to say she needed someone to come watch her place while she went on vacation to Italy with her church group. Mae’s “place” happened to be a bed and breakfast on Moody Beach in Wells, Maine. It was April, still off-season with no reservations on the books, so Eve imagined a quiet two weeks by the sea to regroup and find her bearings. So far, so good.

Eve, on her beach chair with her toes in the sand, looked out at the crashing waves. Mae told her she was welcome to stay as long as she wanted, but Eve knew that she would be taking up valuable space once Memorial Day came around. True, her aunt would never ask her to leave. But how could she stay once ocean view digs started commanding premium prices? Eve would have to head back to the city and look for a new apartment.

Of course, she couldn’t afford a new apartment until she found a new job. She refused to take Alexander’s money, no matter how generous he wanted to be to buy her silence. At last, she knew why he’d married her. True love? Ha! He’d wanted a beard to keep his secrets safe from his ultra conservative boss at Lerman and Schmidt Holdings.

Love. How could Eve have been so blind? So ignorant? One good-looking guy whispered sweet nothings in her ear and she let herself be swept away. Disappointed as she was in his transgressions, she couldn’t judge him. She, too, had been living a lie. She’d never loved him, either. She loved his look. She loved his lifestyle. She was head over heels for the penthouse. But Alexander? Her first week out of the apartment, she missed Alexander’s multiple jet bodyspray shower more than she’d given any thought to missing her husband.

Sure, tall, dark and handsome (and rich), had its advantages. But Eve had always preferred blonds. Big, burly blonds. Daniel Craig’s head on the body of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Matthew McConaughey on steroids. Dolph Lundgren as He-Man, Master of the Universe.

She stood up, picked a stray stick off the beach, and started drawing in the sand, a rough sketch of her perfect man. Very rough. It probably would have gone better had she not downed an entire six pack of Corona Light on her own, but what the hell. This was vacation. At least, if she called it vacation, it felt less like what it was: major life fail. She got one thing right, at least. Her sandman had one very obvious perk. If she was going to design her dream man in the sand, he might as well be well-endowed.

And blond.

With a six-pack.

Blue eyes that shone like a beacon through the heavens.

Solid pecs and knotty biceps.

Thighs as thick as tree trunks.

Did she mention that outrageous bulging. . Oh. She felt dizzy. She lost focus. She thought she was going to throw up, but. . everything went black instead.

Eve Daniels struggled to catch her breath and find her balance but she fell, splayed-out, to the sand.

Cold wet foam tickled her toes, waking her. She drew her feet up, curled them under her bottom and stretched her arms, not ready to open her eyes to the haze of the setting sun. She draped herself over the warm body at her side. Body? She ran her hands over the solid planes of a male chest. A man!

She bolted upright. A completely naked man filled the space on the sand next to her, right over the spot where she’d drawn the image of her dream guy. He was wet, as if recently coughed up by the ocean. But — she watched his chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. He was breathing. He was alive! Who — what — was he?

Her gaze involuntarily dropped to his — ahem. Yep. He fit the design brief, all right. With her eyes, she traced the trail of blond curls up to his navel, well-defined abs, nearly hairless broad chest, square jaw. She guessed his eyes were blue. Of course, she couldn’t draw blue eyes and blond hair in the sand, but she’d said aloud that it was what she wanted. And here he was. Could it be?

No. As if the ocean just washed her fantasy man up at her feet? Ha!

She knelt at his side and shook him gently. “Wake up! Are you all right?”

No answer. She shook again, a little firmer this time.

“Sir?” She was prepared to perform mouth-to-mouth, just in case.

But suddenly, he rolled to his side, away from her, and coughed. The coughing lasted for several seconds. She began to wonder if he hacked up anything significant but she didn’t want to look. She stroked his back instead. “That’s it. Let it out.”

At last, he turned to face her and her breath caught in her throat. He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Gold-tipped lashes framed stunning blue eyes, one slightly half-closed with a scar across the lid. A break in the perfection. But it somehow made him more intriguing. A tad menacing. He was big. The most rugged, most manly of men.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice a velvet husk. “I don’t seem to know — I mean, I–I’m at a loss.”

“A loss?”

“I don’t know.” One large hand flew up to tangle in his gold locks. “I can’t seem to remember anything, not even who I am or how I got here.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. Not so menacing after all.

“You don’t say.” She had drawn him in the sand, and here he was. Her sandman.

“I just said.” His brow furrowed.

“No.” She laughed. “That’s not what I meant. I—” She spied a crowd of teenagers strolling up the beach. “Let’s get you inside before anyone sees you. Here.” She stood, stripped off her wind-breaker, and handed it to him. “Put this, er, you know.”

“I think I do.” He draped it over his bottom half.

“Can you stand? Are you hurt?” She reached for his hand.

“I don’t seem to be injured.” He moved and flexed everything in sight, took her hand and got to his feet, letting the wind-breaker fall back to the sand.

Eve lost her breath all over again. She reached for the jacket and handed it back, careful to avoid lingering eye contact. He took a step and faltered.

“So weak.” He seemed surprised by it.

“Who knows what you’ve been through, you poor man. Here.” She looped her arm around his waist and encouraged him to lean on her. “I’ll help you.”

Somehow, they’d made it up the beach, into the house and to one of the ground floor rooms on the oceanfront side of the house. He’d practically fallen into the bed. She left him there while she went to run him a bath. By the time she returned, he was under the covers, sound asleep.

Should she wake him? Call someone? An ambulance? The police? What if he had a head injury? Amnesia was a sign of something not quite right. But instinct warned her to keep him to herself, for now, and just to keep an eye on him. She watched him as he slept. Before long, the Corona buzz took over and she was asleep in the chair at his bedside.

She woke again, a strong briny stench invading her senses. The sea? Nope. The smell of the sea on him. She should have insisted on that bath first. One look at the window revealed an ink-black, star-dotted sky. Night. How long had they slept? A glance at the clock told her they’d been out for three hours at least. She’d found him at sunset. It was now nearly eleven, but letting him sleep through the night was no option with that smell. Besides, she needed to wake him to make a health assessment.

“Adam,” she said, the name an instinctive choice. “We need to get you cleaned up.” She brushed a hand across his forehead, no fever, and swept sticky blond locks off his face.

He stirred, reaching for her with strong arms. It was impossible to resist him as he pulled her atop him on the bed.

“Ah, Hades, you’ve done it again.” His eyes opened slightly, lids heavy over the shocking blue irises. He raised the scarred brow and tugged at the sleeve of the cambric shirt she’d layered over her tank top. It had been warm on the beach for April, but not bathing suit warm. “Still dressed, lass? This will never do.”

“Hades?”

“Hm,” he murmured, intent on his purpose of taking the shirt off her. She let him. He seemed skilled enough at the art of undressing a female, and she still had her tank top and khaki capris besides. “Mount Olympus is all well and good, but Hades keeps the best serving girls. You can’t beat the Underworld for hospitality.”

She sat up over him, straddling him. It was unavoidable that she could feel his erection under her, but at least she was in the position of power now. He seemed healthy enough, physically. As to his mental state, she had her doubts. “Look, dude, I’m not your serving girl and you’re not in the Underworld.”

With one powerful hand, he urged her off him to the mattress and rolled atop her. “My compliments to Zeus, then. He’s finally upped his standards.”

“I—uh,” she began to protest, to try to explain, but he lowered his head to hers and crushed her mouth in a kiss. A mind-numbing, breath-stealing, toe-curling kiss. She forgot to protest, to worry about her beer breath and just gave in to the moment, taking his tongue between her lips and urging him on.

He laced fingers with hers, stretching her arms up over her head, leaving her body exposed to his whims. He broke contact from her mouth, blazing a trail down her chin and neck to her breasts. With his teeth, he grazed a nipple through her shirt. She moaned eagerly, but he stopped and shot up suddenly.

“What’s that smell?”

She was grateful for the chance to recover her senses. “That smell is you, from the ocean. We need to get you a bath.”

Once she had him in a tub full of fresh, steaming water, she explained to him where he was and what had happened. At least, as far as she knew. He took it all in with a shrug, remaining single-minded in his attempt to get her to join him in the tub.

“There’s plenty of room. It’s a little lonely. Plus, I might need some help scrubbing hard to reach places.” He smiled a lazy half-smile, which looked all the more lecherous thanks to his scarred eyelid.

“I’m sure you can manage just fine. Or do you have someone to bathe you at home?” She moved to stand behind him in the claw-footed tub and got to work on shampooing the sticky salt water out of his hair.

“I assume so, though perhaps I prefer to bathe alone at Mount Olympus. I don’t recall Zeus having any particularly tempting serving girls on hand.”

“Unlike the Underworld.” So he was back to the serving girls bit.

“And here.” He reached up and caught her forearms in his. Even wet, his strength was outstanding. She couldn’t move. “Come on, lass. I still smell the sea and I suspect the stench is no longer coming from me alone.”

She sniffed. He was right. She must have picked it up from helping him inside. She doubted she could trust leaving the poor man alone long enough to grab a shower of her own. What if he left the house? He wasn’t exactly in his right mind.

“Slip out of those clothes and get in.” He released her arms, but did not turn to face her. “What’s the harm? Is it a virgin’s reputation you protect?”

She snorted. “Hardly. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“We’re two consenting adults who share a mutual attraction.”

“I never said I was attracted—”

He laughed. “It would be a shame to waste all this steaming water on me alone.”

She was an environmentalist. At least, she preferred to be, when she remembered to think about it. His arguments all made sense. So what if she got in the tub? She’d already seen him naked. What if he had been sent just for her, a gift from the gods? Why, it would practically be a sin to turn him down.

She stripped off her clothes. “Slide back,” she said, presenting herself at the other side of the tub. “Make room. I’m coming in.”

A gleam of appreciation lit his blue eyes as he took her in from head to toe, and back up to the lush curve of her full breasts. Typical man. “Very nice.”

She could feel the heat of a blush warming her whole body even as she stood barefoot on the cold tile. He reached for her hand as she went to grip the edge of the tub to get in. She met his gaze, those blue eyes twinkling with mirth and mischief, and she knew she was a woman lost. One time with him, this man of her dreams, would never be enough. She wanted it all.

A future. A whole new world at his side. Who knows, maybe he could take her to Mount Olympus, or the Underworld. When his arm wrapped around her and pulled her to his solid length, she felt her inhibitions slip away and she was ready to follow anywhere he would lead.

And he was quite ready to assume full command. Whoever he was, there was no doubt that submissive was not a part of his nature. He dominated her in the bathtub, and later, after towelling each other off, picked her up, slung her over his shoulder, and headed back to the bed.

She squealed with laughter. It felt good to lose control. “You’re just like a conquering warrior.”

“A warrior I am,” he said. “And you’re about to be conquered.”

“Not in here. There’s sand in the bed.” She stopped him before he put her down. “Upstairs. To the—” she was about to say honeymoon suite, as Mae affectionately called the large corner room with the private bath and enormous king four-poster bed, but she didn’t want to scare him. “To the room on the left.”

Upstairs they went, with Eve still slung over the warrior’s shoulder as if she weighed about as much as a sack of feathers. At last, he slung her down to the fluffy white bed.

“Prepare to be conquered,” he said, his voice deep and unrelenting.

A thrill shot straight through her at his words. “My defences are already down. Do your worst.”

He wanted to do his best by her.

This woman. A mere mortal, as pretty as a goddess and twice as voluptuously curved. Why did he want to impress her? “How old are you?”

“A woman never tells.”

“Tell,” his voice gruff, commanding. She wouldn’t dare resist.

“Twenty-six.”

He laughed. “A mere babe.”

But legal, in her world. That much was important to him. He hated breaking mortal laws as much as he disliked bending the rules of Mount Olympus. But he had broken rules, hadn’t he? At the back of his mind lurked a vague recollection of injustice, retribution. What had he done? Who was after him? He knew more than he’d told her, but she wasn’t ready to hear. Mortals were rarely ready to accept that there were gods in their midst.

Or in her bed. He smiled again. Her skin was pink from the hot water. Practically glowing. His own little pearl from the ocean.

How he hated the ocean. Poseidon’s domain. Yes, there was something about Poseidon.

She stretched like a cat, making her rosy nipples jut out, beckoning him. Remembering could wait. He was going to make love to his woman.

Eve lost count of how many times, how many ways, they’d done it. But she ached all over, in the best possible way, and she couldn’t believe her good fortune. The perfect man, except for a few scars that only made him more perfect to Eve. In her bed. Making sweet, hot, animal love to her and now sleeping curled at her side, one arm draped protectively over her. His woman, he’d called her. She loved it.

But she had to extricate herself from his possessive hold and run to the powder room. A lady had needs. Plus, she wanted to check her hair, brush her teeth, and make sure she was completely presentable when he woke up. She felt his erection tickling at her backside. The man was insatiable! Would he want to do it again? She couldn’t believe her luck.

Finally, she managed to pry his heavy arm up and roll out from under his hold. She rose on tiptoe and headed for the bathroom when she realized the shades were up. Dawn’s soft violet rays filtered in through lace curtains. Once the sun came up, it would be too bright to sleep comfortably. After last night, they would both need their rest. She wasn’t wearing a stitch, but who would be out on the beach at this hour? The few dedicated shell-hunters scouring the rocks for bounty deserved to get a peep for their efforts. She opened the curtains, reached for the shade, and drew back in surprise.

“Holy birds, batman!”

There had to be hundreds of them, tiny black birds, all on the stretch of beach directly in front of Mae’s house. And she nearly jumped out of her skin when she turned her head to see two vultures poised like gargoyles on opposite corners of the balcony. Vultures? She’d only seen them in cartoons, or maybe at the zoo. But they were vultures all right. What was going on?

She looked at her sandman, sound asleep in her bed. The sudden appearance of the birds had to be connected to him somehow. She had no idea how. Maybe there was something to his talk of Zeus and Hades after all. She knew nothing about Greek mythology, but Mae had a computer downstairs. After freshening up, Eve grabbed her robe and headed down to do some research.

A look with search engines revealed some interesting information, but not enough to go on. She typed in gods and vultures, and Ares came up. After last night, she might have suspected god of love, but god of war? Hard to imagine. Though, he did say he was a warrior. A conquering warrior. The vulture was a sacred bird and frequent companion to Ares. And the little black birds?

She stood, went to the sliding doors, opened the shades, and gasped. The porch was full of them, so many little black birds that she couldn’t see the tiles beneath them. She rapped on the glass, thinking to startle them away, but they wouldn’t move. A few of them craned to look at her, but showed no signs of fleeing in fear. And their feathers? They looked like little daggers. She ran back to the computer and read the Wikipedia on Ares. Birds liked Ares. Not just vultures, but also owls and woodpeckers. And he was frequently surrounded by little black birds with dagger-like feathers they were known to shower down on Ares’s rivals. Stymphalian birds. Her breath caught in her throat. She leaned back in her desk chair.

The god of war was sleeping in her bed.

The ring of the doorbell interrupted Eve’s musings. She made a quick glance of Mae’s calendar. The bed and breakfast wasn’t due for any guests for at least three weeks. On her way by the window, she passed the porch door and did a double take. No birds. Where had they gone? And so suddenly?

No time to figure it out. She had to get the door before the caller gave up and went away. Not that it would be a problem if she missed a door-to-door salesman or meter reader. Or with her luck, another one of Jehovah’s Witnesses eager to convert her to the flock. No thanks. Not this week. She had enough trouble with gods on her hands.

Though, when she thought about it that way, the whole idea just sounded really silly. God of war? Yeah. And Aphrodite’s at the door.

She opened it. A gorgeous woman, svelte in what had to be a designer suit, stood outside, a black satchel in her hand. Yes, definitely designer. Eve recognized the black, body-conscious, fur-trimmed jacket and skirt ensemble from a Dennis Basso show, one of the last she’d attended as a thriving designer in her own right. The woman even had the matching pillbox hat, perched at a jaunty angle atop her Little Mermaid red curls. Eve didn’t expect to see original Basso designs in Maine. What next, Karl Lagerfeld would stop by for a drink?

“Pardon me, but I believe you have what I’m looking for.” She held out a gloved hand, as if meaning for Eve to take it, then pulled it back. “Amy Nethans.”

“Well, I’m sorry Ms Nethans. We’re closed for the season. We’ll be ready for new visitors in a few weeks. Thank you. Try the Atlantic Motor Lodge on the Wells side.” Eve started to close the door. Ms Nethans didn’t exactly give her the warm and fuzzies, and she was eager to get back to Ares, er, Adam, er. . she had to figure out what to call him. They hadn’t even eaten together yet. He must be starving. She wondered if he liked eggs.

“You don’t seem to understand.” Ms Nethans pushed the door open and stepped in. “I think you found my husband last night.”

“Your hu—” Eve took a breath. Ms Nethans eyes were softer now, a dark blue. She gnawed her lip as if concerned. Maybe Eve had misread her fear for aggression. “Your husband?”

“Hmm. He’s really tall, built.” She made a bodybuilder pose that won Eve over. No one too full of herself could resort to physical clowning in front of a stranger. “Blond hair. Blue eyes.”

Eve just nodded along. One enormous. .

“Mistake,” Eve said, out loud. Then wished she could take it back. “I’m sorry Ms Nethans. Your husband?” She couldn’t confess to the woman right then and there that she had spent the night, all beautiful night, with her husband. Suddenly, she felt underdressed, even though she was wrapped up tight in her plush apple-green Eden’s Temptation robe, one of her favourite designs.

“He went missing from our yacht yesterday. We were anchored off Kennebunkport. Fell right over the edge, we suspect. Our captain traced the tide patterns and figured he might wash up here. He’s a strong swimmer. We didn’t see any reason to worry until we found no trace of him and then—”

“Then?” How could they have found him? What did he have, a computer tracking chip like Malomar, her best friend’s maltipoo?

“Then one of your neighbours called the police and reported seeing a man with you yesterday. On the beach.”

Eve blushed and looked down to the floor. Amy Nethans wore platform peep-toe Christian Louboutins. Last year’s Louboutins. And there was a weird little feather stuck on one of them. A deliberate decoration? Or an accident? Either way, so much for style. But besting Amy Nethans didn’t matter. She’d slept with her husband, for goodness sake. And someone had seen them! Probably that nosy Mr Plimpton. He was always at the windows, watching. He probably saw her passed out after her own little Corona-fest, too. But did he come help her? Of course not.

“And the police led you here?”

“They gave us some addresses to check out. They wouldn’t get involved for another twenty-four hours, not enough time to care, they said. Like the love of your life suddenly disappearing from your yacht shouldn’t be any reason to worry?”

Amy Nethans had a yacht. And a husband. That particular husband.

Eve struggled to catch her breath. She felt light-headed. As if her life hadn’t crashed and burned spectacularly enough, now she was The Other Woman. Why hadn’t she resisted the urge to get into that tub?

“Ms Nethans,” Eve began, not knowing quite what to say.

“Amy. Please. Call me Amy.” Amy gripped her arm, as if she needed the steadying. Eve was the last one to lean on.

“Amy, um.”

“He’s here, then? He’s okay? I’ve brought his clothes.” She held up the satchel.

“His clothes?” Of course the man had clothes. Not that it should come as a surprise. It was just that Eve had gotten to know him so well without his clothes that she couldn’t begin to picture what he would wear. Beyond her silk Adam’s Rib boxer briefs, specially designed for the man who likes to hang loose in style.

“Yes. He, um,” Amy paused and nibbled her lush lower lip. “He sleeps in the nude. It was the middle of the night. He got up for a drink of water, and just — poof. He never came back. In the morning, we found his watch near the railing.”

“So he sleeps naked. Except for his watch?” Eve raised a brow. His skin was bronzed, but she didn’t remember seeing any tan lines where his watch would be. Someone as attached to a watch as to sleep in one, when he takes off everything else, would surely have a tan line. Maybe she just hadn’t looked close enough.

Amy nodded. “And he sometimes just gets up in the middle of the night and doesn’t come back to bed right away, so I wasn’t alarmed. At first. By the time the sun started to rise, well — can you take me to him? Please? We’ll get right out of your way in no time.”

Eve paused. Maybe she should deny it, say he wasn’t here? On the other hand, what reason did she have to suspect Amy Nethans of anything hinky? Why would some strange woman just show up at her door after some strange man just washed up on her beach unless there was an honest connection? His wife.

The word landed in the pit of Eve’s stomach like a big, barnacle-encrusted rock.

“He’s upstairs. Asleep. He seems to be in fine shape. Just a little, uh, worn-out.” Eve couldn’t meet Amy Nethans’ striking blue eyes. “And he’s suffering from a bit of amnesia.”

“Amnesia? So he doesn’t know who he is?”

Eve shook her head. “No idea.”

“And he doesn’t know who I am?”

Eve felt the blush stinging at her cheeks again. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Take me to him. Please.”

“Of course.” Eve gestured toward the staircase, around the corner from the entry hall. “Right this way.”

At the top of the stairs, Amy called his name. “Arthur.”

Arthur? It seemed weird and foreign to Eve, not the right name for him at all. She pictured some grizzle-bearded wizard from Harry Potter, though that was Albus and not Arthur. Still, Arthur? It simply didn’t fit.

“In here,” Eve said, pointing to the door of the honeymoon suite. “Why don’t you let me wake him for you?”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Wake him? You? But he’s not wearing a stitch!”

“Yeah. I noticed.” Over every inch of him. Over and over again. “But he’s all tucked in snug. He recognizes me now. I don’t want to startle him.”

“I’m his wife,” Amy said, with some fire in her voice. “Step aside.”

Eve sighed and moved out of the way.

Amy went in and shut the door. For a few minutes, Eve stood outside, trying to listen, wondering if Adam (Arthur?) would be shocked, would protest, would insist he belonged here, with Eve? But she didn’t hear a thing. After ten minutes, she felt defeated as well as out of place, and just plain nosy, and she decided to go get some clothes on and putter around the kitchen until the happily married couple would finally emerge.

Forty minutes later, Amy appeared in the door of the kitchen, holding Arthur’s hand and pulling him like a recalcitrant child along at her side. He wore a blue button-down shirt, tucked into khaki pants, with topsiders. Like a waiter at any of the seashore dives trying to pass themselves off as classy restaurants. Not what she pictured him in at all. The shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders. It barely fit.

“We would like to thank you for your hospitality.” Amy spoke for them both. “Say thank you, Arthur.”

His hair was parted in the middle, combed neatly to both sides and tucked behind his ears. Again, it didn’t fit. She wanted to run her fingers through to muss it up.

He cleared his throat, looked down. It was a bit of a surprise to see her big strong warrior, Mr Commanding, acting so sheepish and shy. It simply didn’t fit. One thing Eve, a bra designer, knew was the importance of fit.

“Adam,” Eve said loudly. She didn’t give a damn what Amy thought about the name. “Adam, look at me. Are you okay? Do you know where you are? Who you are?”

He met her gaze, the formerly brilliant eyes clouded over. “I’m Arthur. You brought me in from the beach. Thank you. I’m going home with my wife now.”

“Very well, Arthur,” Amy said. “We’ve taken enough of your time. I’ve left enough for a night’s stay on the bed upstairs. I wouldn’t want to be a bother. Now we’ll be on our way.”

Eve rushed after them as they headed for the door. “But wait — breakfast!” She’d made eggs, reheated muffins. Mae’s famous Maine blueberry muffins, fresh from the freezer.

But by the time she got to the door, they were gone. Absolutely gone. As if they’d vanished on the wind. The only thing left on her porch was — feathers? Eve crouched and picked up one of the hundreds of little black feathers that dotted the pavement. Sharp, like an arrow. And black.

“Stymphalian birds,” she said aloud. “Stymphalian birds on attack.” And she had a feeling that something was wrong, very wrong, with this picture.

That feeling was intensified when another hulking blond man suddenly appeared at the end of her driveway and made his way briskly up her walk. She stood transfixed. As he got closer, she could make out the differences in appearance between this new one and her bedtime warrior. This one was fair, while her sandman was bronzed. His hair was a dazzling platinum, while her sandman’s was golden. Her sandman had the menacing scar across his eye. This one, no scar. Ice-blue eyes, she noticed, as he drew closer, close enough to look in his eyes. Eyes wide open. And challenging hers.

“Where are they? Where did she take him?”

Eve took a step back, his proximity overwhelming.

“I don’t know.”

“But you let him go?”

“Um,” she gestured down the length of her body. She’d put on a sundress, a little cool for the weather, but it was a pretty colour that matched her green eyes, and had a flattering drape. It tied at the neck, downplayed her weight gain, and emphasized her assets, her full breasts and shapely legs. “I’m five four. How was I supposed to stop him?”

He followed her hands with his gaze. One blond eyebrow shot up. “I’m sure you would have found a way.”

She found herself blushing again. “I—”

“We don’t have much time. Give me your hand.” She hesitated. “Give me your hand,” he repeated in a more commanding tone. She gave it to him. He held it in his large warm grasp.

Suddenly she felt a shock, then a tingling sensation running up her spine to the base of her brain. And then she knew. She knew. “Eros.”

“That’s right,” he smiled. “I’m usually more gentle, but we’re in a rush. You’ve no idea what they’re prepared to do to him.”

“They — Aphrodite? Amy, I mean. She was Aphrodite, right? Was she jealous because I — because we — Ares and I? She knew?” She assumed Aphrodite, because she’d read about Aphrodite’s affair with Ares in the Wikipedia entry.

“Not Aphrodite.” Eros shook his head. “I guess our connection wasn’t as strong as I’d thought. I usually have no trouble with women when it comes to connecting.”

“Connecting? You mean that Vulcan mind meld trick?”

“Yes. It usually works best when there’s some mutual attraction, but it’s already too late for you. You’re a goner.”

“What do you mean?”

“For Ares. You love him. I don’t know how it happened so fast, but you couldn’t make a full connection with me because you’re in love with him.”

She was about to protest. He put a finger to her lips. “Trust me. I know.”

“Of course. You’re the god of love.”

“And you prefer the god of war.”

She shrugged. “I’ve always had a thing for chaos.”

“Then you’re in for some conflict. War is order, not chaos. But the most enduring love stories are filled with conflict.”

“Enduring? Not exactly, considering he’s already off with — whoever she was. Not Aphrodite.”

“Tell me. What did she call herself? What did she look like?”

“She was tall, slender, but curved in all the right places. A beautiful face. Blue eyes. Long red hair like Ariel’s.”

“Ariel’s?”

“Disney’s the Little Mermaid? Never mind. Red, long hair. Slightly curled. She called herself Amy.”

“Amymone.” Eros nodded. “One of Poseidon’s consorts.”

“What do they want with Ares? You should have seen him, Eros. He seemed defeated and out of sorts.”

“She must have drugged him. It’s the only way he would have followed.”

“But he was lost. He didn’t know who he was.”

“He knew. He might have been a little out of it, at first. But he knew. Come. We have to go. We must rescue him before Poseidon carries out his revenge.”

“His revenge?” And before she knew it, Eros swept her into his arms and held her tightly. Time seemed to stop. Her lungs felt frozen, as if she couldn’t breathe, but yet she was not panicked. She was at peace. Complete peace. Surrounded by a soothing white light. Her mind flooded with images.

Ares, enraged. A father’s rage. And shame. He should have known. He should have been able to protect his daughter, his beautiful Alkippe. Alkippe, raped by Halirrhothios, son of Poseidon. Who could blame Ares for his brutal actions? Eve watched Ares lose control, wild with a dagger in his hand, stalking his weaker opponent, hovering over Halirrhothios. She felt his pain. He wasn’t a killer, not really. This was justice. Justice!

She didn’t even bother to ask how it happened, how she could see it all? Feel it as if she had been there? Some sort of magic. Why question the gods?

She opened her eyes and felt breath — blessed breath! — fill her lungs. Fog had closed in around she and Eros. When it cleared, she saw that they were on a small island in the middle of the ocean, a bare stretch of sand, little more than a sandbar with one lone palm tree. Ares was across the sand, tied to that tree, his head hanging, hair falling loose. Was that blood? Blood dripped from the side of his face. He wore only a small cloth around his middle. She could see the bruises all over his body. He had been beaten!

The important thing now was that she had to get to him, to let him loose and tend his wounds.

“Ares!” She launched into a run, not even caring that her robe opened.

“Stop!” Eros called, but it was too late.

The sand in the middle of the bar dissolved into water, and she crashed into the waves as they churned into a wild whirlpool. She struggled against the water, but could not stay on the surface. Any minute now, her body would fail her. Her lungs would fill with water. She would die.

But all she could think about was Ares, and the future they would be denied. It didn’t matter. As long as he was safe.

“Ares!” she called out. “I’ll always love you.”

She heard high-pitched feminine laughter. And then she could hear no more.

Ares looked up in time to see her go under. He ripped from his bonds, ran to the narrow pool and struggled to reach for her. The pool was too small for them both. He had no idea how deep. Instinct warned him it was a cleverly designed trap of Poseidon’s. If he jumped in to save her, his weight would force her deeper and she would surely drown. All that was left, to try to reach her and pull her up and out. Eros, the fool, stood back and watched it all, a bemused observer.

“You idiot!” Ares hissed. “She’s going to die! Why did you bring her?”

“I brought her because she’s the only one who could save you.”

“Clearly.” He snorted, still struggling to grasp her hands, still reaching up through the waves. She was a fighter, his woman. How he admired her!

Admired? No. He loved her, he knew. He loved her! Ares had never known true love before. The feeling astounded him. “Make it stop! I love her! Take me, Poseidon. Take me instead!”

Poseidon and Amymone appeared at his side.

“Delighted to make the trade,” Poseidon said, and pointed his sceptre at the pool. It turned into sand, bringing Eve to the surface. She was unconscious, but she—

“She is alive?” Ares asked.

Poseidon shrugged. “She will live.”

Amymone laughed, a shrill and irritating noise. Even death would be better than a lifetime at Amymone’s side. No wonder Poseidon was such an ogre.

“I mean to keep my bargain, then. Do it, Poseidon. Take my life. As I took your son’s, the raping bastard.”

Poseidon raised his sceptrre, as if about to inflict the final blow.

At last, Eros stepped forward. “Poseidon! The court’s decision is final. You will not harm Ares on penalty of your own death. He has fulfilled our expectations. Aeropagos has concluded.”

Aeropagos! The special court formed on Mount Olympus to determine Ares’ guilt or innocence in killing his daughter’s rapist. He had been acquitted, or so he’d thought.

“It was a conditional acquittal,” Eros explained. “I was sent to see that you lived up to the condition.”

“And the condition was?” Ares raised a brow, the scarred one.

“That you showed you could set aside your warring ways and sacrifice all for love. Why else would they send Eros? I know love more than anyone. And you did. You were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, your life for hers.”

“Anything for her,” Ares nodded. “I love her. We’ve only just met, but I feel I’ve known her always, body and soul. I need her as I’ve never needed.”

He approached and scooped her in his arms. “I want her as I’ve never wanted.”

“Then we’ll take the girl,” Amymone said, a wicked smile on her pink lips. “It’s only fair. To make up for the loss of our beloved Halirrhothios, you give up your beloved Eve to Poseidon.”

“Halirrhothios got what he deserved. The court has determined justice in this case,” Eros interrupted. “The girl is free. Ares is acquitted. Aeropagos is concluded. Let us go our separate ways.”

Poseidon and Amymone, no doubt disappointed by the court’s decision, disappeared as quickly as they’d come. Ares had no recollection of leaving Eve’s bed. And now, she was limp in his arms.

Ares watched her, but Eve did not seem to be breathing. He leaned to her tender lips and offered her a breath of his own. “Breathe, my love! Live!”

Just as his heart felt squeezed to a pulp, she coughed, sputtered, and turned away from him to spew the water in her lungs to the sand. She was naked, her dress long lost, torn off in the force of the tide pool. He smiled at the coincidence. It was exactly how she’d found him, on her beach, the previous day.

“We’d better get you inside,” he said, stroking a finger down her petal-soft cheek before taking her back in his arms. “Before anyone sees you.”

He held her in such a way to protect her nudity from Eros’s observance. Not that he hadn’t already seen it all.

“Where’s inside,” she asked, once she regained her power to speak. “Where are we?”

“An island in the middle of nowhere,” Eros answered. “And if we don’t leave soon, Poseidon will send a storm to wipe us out.”

“Do you want to go back to your house?” Ares asked. “Or would you do me the honour of coming to Mount Olympus and becoming my consort?”

“Consort?” She wrinkled her nose.

“He means wife,” Eros interjected.

“You want to marry me?” Her voice lifted so that it sounded nearly angelic to Ares’ ears.

“Indeed. I wish to marry you. I wish to be with you, always.”

“And I want to go with you,” she said. “There’s nothing for me in New York. But — I promised my aunt Mae. I’m supposed to be watching her house.”

“Consider it done,” Eros said. “I’ve arranged for your cousin Candace to arrive for a surprise visit and stay with Mae awhile.”

“How did you arrange that? She’s married and living in New Jersey. Why would she just suddenly give everything up and go to Maine?”

“Her husband left her,” Eros said. “When he came home and found her in a compromising position on chatroulette.”

Eve laughed. “You don’t say.”

“I didn’t,” Ares said. “I didn’t say a word.”

Eve laughed harder. When Eve laughed, it was a lilting, lyrical sound that reminded him of cherubs singing. He could live with that laugh for eternity and consider it a blessing.

“I will marry you, Ares,” Eve said. “And I’m dying to see Mount Olympus!”

“Then let’s be off,” Ares said. “What are we waiting for?”

“For you to kiss the bride,” Eros said. “I consider you god of war, and wife.”

And as Ares leaned to kiss her, the naked blushing bride, Eve felt the earth move and shake and rock, and her toes curled, and she lost all awareness of everything else — until she opened her eyes and found herself in a honeymoon bed on the clouds of Mount Olympus, with Ares about to make love to her.

Finally, life was perfect, so perfect that it was well in the territory of the supernatural. And Eve was not the least afraid to find out what would happen next. In fact, she couldn’t wait!