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NICKED BY EROS
By
Karin Huxman
© copyright February 2005, Karin Huxman
Cover Art by Kat Richards, © copyright February 2005
ISBN 1-58608-200-0
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication:
This one’s for Lisa, my sister who lives with her hero in Plymouth, MA.
Author’s Note: As always, when an author writes about a real place she strives for keeping place names and events as close to the truth as possible. Many fine bed and breakfast inns can be found in Plymouth, but The Rock B&B is strictly a figment of my imagination. The Children’s Museum is closed at current, but Plymouth Rock, The Mayflower II, and many other fine representations of the early history of our country and the crossing of cultures are still to be found today. This is a work of fiction, all mistakes in place names and descriptions of real places are strictly mine.
Chapter One
The jangling of the telephone jarred Steve Martucci out of a dream. It had been a good dream, too. One filled with palm trees, warm breezes, and sexy women in bikinis.
He rubbed his face and listened to the wind whipping ice pellets against his bedroom window. The end of January in Boston held no resemblance to tropical paradise.
"Yeah?" he said into the phone. He squinted at the red numbers of his clock. Two-thirty in the morning, this better be important.
Palpable silence from the other end of the line, then a kind of sob reached him. Heaviness settled in his gut. "Mom, is Dad okay?" Who else could it be?
He heard a sniff, then a female voice said, "Is this Steve Martucci?"
Relief caught him by the throat. Not Mom with another piece of bad news about Dad’s health.
"This is Martucci. Do you know what time it is?"
"My name is Marion Ramos, I run the B Street Women’s Shelter." Her breath hitched.
A cold sweat broke out on his exposed chest. It chilled him to the bone. He’s sent a client and her daughter to this shelter just two days ago to get them away from an abusive husband and father. It was a safe haven, unless they’d told someone where they were.
He hoped they’d kept quiet.
"What can I do for you, Ms. Ramos?"
"Your name was in her file as a safe contact. The police said I should call you."
"What? Why?" He sat straighter in bed. A beam of light edged through the opening between the window and the drapes. The cold glow filtered into the room.
Ms. Ramos cleared her throat. "A man entered the shelter tonight. He … somehow he knew how to find Sheila Jones and Becky. They … he killed them both." Her voice quavered to a whisper.
Steve’s heart sank in his chest. "Killed them? No."
"I’m sorry. It’s been a difficult night. The police told me that you could call them for more information." She gave him a name and phone number at the police department.
Anger, hard and bitter as the weather, welled up in him. "Did they arrest the bastard who did it?" His fists knotted in the sheets.
"No, he climbed out a window just as the police arrived."
Steve hung up the phone and stared into the shadows of his room. The range of emotions flowing through him was so many and so strong that he couldn’t name them all. He pounded his fists against the bedclothes and stared at the phone, at the clock, at anything to get the vision of Sheila and her little girl out of his head.
She’d trusted him to help her be safe until they could put her husband in jail. A restraining order and a stay at the anonymous women’s shelter should have been enough.
But it hadn’t been.
He’d failed her and now she and five-year-old Becky were dead.
* * * *
Lucy Symons walked up the flagstone walk to a wood shingled house on Water Street in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Her little car with the Colorado license plates huddled on the road looking out of place just opposite the waterfront. It, and Lucy, were more used to parking in the shadow of Pikes Peak and the front range of the Rocky Mountains.
Still, here she was. She put her hand on the brass knocker, lifted it, and let it fall. Then she noticed the sign, The Rock B&B--Please come in. So she did.
A small room full of antiques and welcome greeted her. The smells of cinnamon and roast beef wafted to her nose. Warmth suffused her as the last of the bitter wind was pushed out as she shut the door.
"Adele?" she called. She let her suitcases drop to the floor. The house clearly welcomed her; she hoped that Adele’s invitation had been as well meant.
She wandered further in, following her nose, and found the kitchen. A note was propped against an unlit candle in the center of the table. "Gone to the store, be back soon. Make yourself at home. Adele."
Lucy hadn’t seen her aunt Adele in ten years, but somehow the older woman had learned that Lucy needed someplace safe and far from Colorado to recoup. Lucy’s lousy choices in men had almost caused her sister to be killed at the hands of Lucy’s latest lousy choice. The fact that Lucy had also been blackmailed into helping the creep steal technology from her ex-husband had turned her into an all around loser, in her opinion. The only thing she could think to do was leave. Let her sister get on with a life without Lucy around to create chaos.
But where to go? That’s when Adele’s invitation, to spend some time during the off season at the Rock Inn B&B, had arrived via email. It had been a sign, or a miracle, one that Lucy could not refuse. She packed quickly, drained her savings account, put her belongings into storage, and left Colorado.
Days of driving later, here she was. Unfortunately, with a new lease on life staring her in the face, she still had no idea what to do with herself. But do something, turn her life around, that was definitely in her plans.
This time she’d do it by herself, for herself, without the wishes of some guy messing her up. Because that’s what had happened before. Drake had been all wrong for her, she’d been afraid of his raw sexuality. Jack had been a mistake for the opposite reasons. He’d been so lackluster that she’d considered him safe. But he’d been the one who’d drawn the gun. She’d sworn off men after him.
He’s in prison half a continent away. A good thing to remember.
So here she was, ready to start a new life as … as what?
* * * *
The palace of the gods on the top of Mount Olympus had never been more welcoming. Aphrodite sat in her private salon and enjoyed the caress of Helios’s golden rays. Eros’s entry jerked her out of her pleasant thoughts.
His golden curls would have looked feminine on any other male, but on him they just accentuated his broad shoulders and laughing eyes. The skimpy white draping of cloth didn’t hurt either, Aphrodite allowed. Tiny wings that protruded from his back along with the bow and quiver of arrows strapped across his right shoulder added to his mystique. Just as she had planned that they would all of those ages ago.
High cut cheekbones sat on either side of a strong nose. His wide set blue eyes could blow cold with ire and warm in passion. Yes, he was her son. But the son of the Goddess of Love wore a frown and a childish pout.
"You know I hate this get up," he said as he threw his length across a delicate divan.
Aphrodite sent a measure of strength to the beleaguered piece of furniture. "You know that this time of year it’s especially important that we remind everyone, even our fellow immortals, about the importance of love. It has been this way for several hundreds of years."
He raised a golden eyebrow. "You needn’t lecture me on my duty, Mother. It wears thin. I’d rather be garbed in something more comfortable when you insist I consort with mortals. Something from Ralph Lauren would suit me just fine."
Aphrodite allowed a golden smile to light her face. She knew just how it looked, having practiced it for millennia. "You needn’t tread among mortals in your current form this year, dear son."
He sat up. "Really? I hope you have something more challenging than the usual hearts and flowers routine."
"Yes, I do. The man is heart sore. He’s the driven sort and his whole life has revolved around assisting victims of violence. But something went wrong and he cannot forgive himself. He needs a woman who sees him with clear eyes and a gentle heart to help him."
"And you need me because?" He stood and twanged his bowstring.
"The woman needs him just as much, but she refuses to trust herself again. She’s made poor choices in the past. Choices of the heart that could have been disastrous for those she loves."
"Sounds like same old, same old to me."
She pushed a curl back into place and called her golden mirror to her hand. "The difference is that you will be in disguise."
"I’ve done that before."
"This year you will go in the guise of a middle aged woman named Adele."
"Hunh?" He stopped fiddling with his accoutrements.
"It’s the only way. This woman is the only one that both parties trust. So, don’t mess it up." Like last time, she almost said.
"Why can’t I be a dolphin or a stallion or something interesting?"
"Really, Eros, whining does not become you. This is your task, to help these mortals understand that to first love another, they must love the person they are."
"Fine. When and where do I go?"
She waved a gilded hand at him. He transformed immediately into a woman of about fifty. This was Adele. Her hair was shoulder length and salt and pepper. Sparkling brown eyes and a full, soft mouth set off a pleasant face made interesting by experience. Adele stood at five feet, seven inches tall and she wore a well cut pair of charcoal wool slacks, leather boots with a two inch heel, and a lipstick red cashmere cowl neck sweater.
"You leave with Helios in the morning," Aphrodite said. "The place is called Plymouth. It is winter, of course, in that part of the world. I know you prefer the tropics, but it couldn’t be helped."
"This body feels odd."
Aphrodite waved her hand again and a full length mirror appeared suspended in front of Eros. She walked to his side. "What do you think?"
He grimaced. "I think I’m going to like the clothes but the rest … sucks."
She laughed and transformed him back to his usual self. "I’ll keep an eye on you. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Just…."
"Just what, Mother?"
"Just don’t do anything stupid like the last time. Just don’t fall in love."
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