Goddess of Light by P. C. Cast Page B

irritation. Just because she was pretty didn’t mean that she was incapable of intelligence, and she truly hated the patronizing attitude that said the opposite . . . Wait . . . She studied his handsome face. Wasn’t that just what she had thought about him? She was chagrined to remember that she had instantly been surprised to hear such a gorgeous man have something intelligent and interesting to say. When had she become a walking double standard? Actually, now that she was able to form a few coherent thoughts, she realized that he looked pleased, not patronizing. Maybe he hadn’t meant to insult her. Maybe she had become too damn sensitive. Couldn’t he simply be doing his part in carrying on a polite conversation? He did look genuinely interested in her answer. Maybe her knee-jerk annoyed reaction said more about her than about him, or even men in general. And she was still babbling—only this time (thankfully) it was internal babble. She cleared her throat and smiled.
    â€œYes, it does, but I’m interested in all kinds of architecture. It’s an important part of my business.”
    â€œYou are an architect?” he asked.
    This time the shock in his voice was so apparent that Pamela frowned and narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not tell me that you are one of those men who believe women should be relegated to certain roles. Please. It’s the 2000s, not the ’50s.”
    The annoyance in her voice and the cold, intelligent snap in her clear eyes suddenly reminded him very distinctly of his sister, and Apollo felt surprise begin to build within him. He had known countless mortal women, many of whom he had thought beautiful and tempting, but not one of them had ever reminded him of his willful, independent, outspoken twin. They had all been too busy worshiping him to remember to be very interesting. He had just begun speaking to her, yet this modern mortal was already proving a delightful change. He laughed, and shook his head. “I did not mean to insult you—it is just that you are so young. All of the architects I’ve known have been old, wizened men with gray thickening their beards.” He leaned forward and pretended to study her cheeks. “I see no gray, hence my surprise.”
    â€œMa’am should I bring another glass?” The waiter asked. He handed her a Band-Aid before he placed a new glass on the table and carefully filled it.
    â€œI would be honored if you allowed me to join you.”
    He inclined his head to her in the kind of chivalrous half bow that she imagined men used to execute to their “ladies” on a regular basis. That small, old-world affectation did something to the pit of her stomach. That and the fact that he was undeniably gorgeous was beginning to outweigh the weirdness of his costume. And anyway, why shouldn’t she have a drink with him? He was probably paid to dress like that and to entertain vacationers at Caesars Palace. She’d just think of it as helping him out with his job, which was actually exceedingly considerate of her. Who said alcohol inhibits rational thought? Her thinking was perfectly clear. She nodded at the waiter.
    â€œYes, please bring us another glass.”
    The waiter hurried away. Pamela tore open the Band-Aid, but before she could wrap it around her finger, the tall man leaned forward and took it from her.
    â€œHere,” he said, “let me help you.”
    Apollo placed the small bandage securely around her slim finger, and as he did, he sent a tiny sliver of his healing power through his hands and into her.
    Pamela blinked in surprise at his gentle touch.
    â€œThank you. It feels better already.” She grinned at him. Holding out her hand with the newly bandaged finger she said, “I’m Pamela Gray.”
    His hesitation was so brief that it was only much later that she thought about it at all.
    â€œPhoebus,” he said with a smooth smile. “Phoebus