“Uh, Hope . . .” I say.
She’s at the counter with a customer and waves that she’ll be with me in a moment. Connolly walks over to the prominent display of dolls.
“Seems someone took advantage of your absence,” he says.
“I was away twenty-four hours. Where the hell did she get all these so quickly?”
“Language,” Hope trills as she walks and moves a doll into an empty place. “You were gone twenty-nine hours. A few are from my collection. The remainder I’ve been keeping in storage, waiting for the right moment.”
“The moment when I was out of the shop and fighting for my life against the king of the gods?”
“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “You weren’t fighting for your life the entire time. You were shacking up in a cozy little roadside motel with this one.”
“We didn’t sleep together,” I say, just to see that knowing grin fall from her face. Also, there was no actual sleeping involved.
“What?” she says.
“Is it just me?” Connolly says. “Or are those dolls really creepy?”
“That’s the point,” Hope says proudly.
“Are they supposed to look like they’re watching me?”
“Yep. Isn’t it cool?”
Connolly shakes his head. I give Ellie a pat and then hand Hope her sushi bag.
“So you two aren’t . . .?” she says.
“Together?” I say. “Of course we are.”
She exhales. “Good. I thought—”
“We’re together right now. We’ve been together all day. Most of yesterday, too,”
“Except for the part where my father kidnapped you,” Connolly says.
“Right. But then you rescued me.”
“That’s very romantic,” Hope says. “So, then you two . . .?”
“Actually, I believe Leon rescued you,” Connolly says. “Was that romantic?”
“Not a bit.”
Hope clears her throat loudly. “Are you or aren’t you?”
“Aren’t,” I say. “We aren’t staying long. Sorry.”
I start to walk past Connolly. He grabs me around the waist, and I lean in and kiss him,
“Yes!” Hope says, yanking out her phone.
I quickstep away from Connolly.
“Hey!” Hope says. “I need photo evidence for Rian.”
“Photo evidence of what?” I say, and then kiss Connolly again, too fast for her to snap a photo.
I crook a finger, and Connolly follows me to the store room door. We zip inside, and I shut it before Hope can catch up. Then I lean against the door, hands around his neck.
“You’re together!” Hope calls through the door. “I know you are.”
“Yep,” I call back. “We’re together in the storeroom. Maybe we’re making out. Maybe we’re finding proper antiques to replace those godawful dolls.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“Don’t I dare make out with Aiden?” I pull him to me. “Too late!”
He laughs against my lips, and then he kisses me, and I decide maybe, just maybe, I have never been luckier in my life.
Goddess of Summer Love
In case you missed it, there’s a Cursed Luck novella set between Cursed Luck and High Jinx.
It’s Memorial Day weekend in Unstable, and Kennedy has invited Aiden and Rian. She’s also invited Vanessa, who narrates the story. There’s nothing Vanessa likes more than matchmaking, and the three Bennett sisters are ripe for her skills.
Goddess of Summer Love is available now as part of an anthology, Hex on the Beach, also containing novellas by Jeaniene Frost and Melissa Marr. It will also be available as a standalone novella January 4, 2022.
Turn the page to read the first chapter!
Goddess of Summer Love
I do not know how I became the goddess of love. Oh, I understand the “goddess” part. I am immortal, and I possess certain powers, and in ancient Greece, “deity” was the only language they had to describe us. We were lucky to be born in that world. A monotheistic culture has far different words for such a thing, as Denny—Dionysus—discovered when he had a little too much too drink in Inquisition-era Spain and started showing off his powers. Marius—Ares—had to ride to his big brother’s rescue, roping me into it because Athene decided a little pyre-burning might teach Denny to hold his liquor. Yes, Athene still goes by Athene, and dear Lord do not spell it Athena. She once snuck a chisel into the British Museum to fix a statue.
No, I understand why the appellation of goddess. It’s the “love” part I’ve never quite fathomed. Goddess of beauty, yes, and that is no show of ego. I know how I look, and if Fate had given me some say in the matter, I would have denied that particular gift. I suppose “love” arises from that. What else is a beautiful woman good for?
My powers have nothing to do with love. Or sex, though I am very fond of it, and rather good at it, as one might certainly hope to be after three thousand years of practice. No, I lack any powers of love or sex or fertility, and yet one can even find twenty-first century sects that worship me in hopes of receiving those blessings.
I have no dominion there, and so after centuries of confusion, I did the only thing I could. I slammed down my banner and claimed the territory for myself. Aphrodite aka Venus aka Vanessa. Patron deity of lovers. Matchmaker extraordinaire.
And I am about to do what I do best.
Marius arrives to the soft blip of the security panel as he lets himself in. He doesn’t call for me. Doesn’t ask where I am. He strides straight through to my dressing room as if by homing beacon. We have been friends since we were children, lovers since we were adults, and even if we are currently “on a break”—as we have been too many times to count—he is first in my life, and I am in his. As he says, “Venus and Mars, planets with the entire earth between them sometimes, but still always within each other’s sight.”
He doesn’t say hello. We are far past pleasantries. He walks in, and I don’t turn from the mirror, but I do watch him enter through it. I will never be past that.
Marius looks in his forties. We all do. Our immortality took hold as we passed our youth and settled into early middle age, which is a very comfortable place to inhabit. He is handsome, of course. Athletic, of course. Confident and self-possessed. He is Ares, after all. God of War. But every statue leaves out the best of him. The easy-going charm and the kindness. Most of all, the kindness.
He walks up behind me, looking at me in the mirror. Dark blond hair curls over his forehead. Beard stubble signifies he is taking the long weekend off. Chinos, a golf-shirt and loafers.
“You’re look very corporate,” I say.
“Don’t worry. I have my Hawaiian shirt in the car.” He catches my look and grins, showing perfect teeth. “Hawaiian shirt. Deck shorts. Sandals. With socks of course. Memorial Day appropriate attire.”
“I love the corporate look,” I say.
“I thought you might. And I see we’re still trying to pick an outfit.”
His gaze moves to the clothing hanging from every surface of the room.