“I’m not a kid,” he said quietly, squaring his shoulders.
“I know that.”
“Okay.” Eyes on his shoes, Dean moved toward the basement stairs. “I’m done here.”
“Lock your door.”
He paused and stared back at her, his expression unreadable. “Sure.”
Confused, Claire went to her own rooms, hoping that Jacques had been released from his attendance on Persephone. The way she was feeling, if he pushed her tonight…
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately since she knew she’d regret it in the morning, Jacques’ nightly petition had been preempted by a goddess.
Dean had a suspicion that a locked door would stop no one in the hotel except him. He locked his anyway.
Right about now, down at the Portsmouth, Bobby would be attempting to wrest control of the jukebox away from the inevitable crowd of country-western types. He’d be unsuccessful, and Karen would have to go over. They’d have finished talking about the news from home and begun making plans to go back. Mike would be suggesting Colin’d had enough to drink and Colin’d be telling Mike to mind his own business.
The same thing happened every Saturday night.
Lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, Dean realized Claire hadn’t actually asked him to stay and cook dinner. They’d both simply assumed he would because it needed to be done.
That seemed to make him more than a mere employee.
What would Aphrodite have done if he hadn’t moved?
As more than a mere employee, did that give him…
Would she have done it right there in the kitchen?
…a chance to talk with Claire as an equal or would that whole Keeper thing…
So she was a bit older, but she was a goddess. She was probably a lot more flexible than she looked.
Claire was a bit older, too….
“Okay. That’s it.” That was as far as those trains of thought were merging. Closing his eyes, he resolutely counted sheep until sleep claimed him.
Next door, in the furnace room, Hell sighed.
“Claire. Claire, wake up.”
Pushing Austin’s paw away from her face, Claire grunted, “What is it?” without actually opening her eyes.
“I just thought you ought to know there’s a swan in your bathroom.”
“A swan?”
“A really old swan.”
“I am not going to sleep with you for a multitude of reasons, but for now, let’s just deal with the first two.” She flicked a finger into the air. “One, I am not even slightly attracted to poultry.” A second finger rose. “And two, you’re married.”
“Hera’s sound asleep.” Shaking off his feathers, Zeus stepped out of the bathtub; chest out, stomach sucked in over skinny legs. “We’re perfectly safe if no one wakes her up, and no one’s going to wake her up.”
Eyes closed, Claire missed seeing an orange something with yellow highlights speed out from under the sink and disappear through the open bathroom door. She groped for a towel and held a terry cloth bath sheet out in Zeus’ general direction. “Here. Cover up.”
When she felt him take it, she opened her eyes. Wrapped around his waist, the towel was a small improvement.
Leaning toward her, Zeus leered. “Would you prefer a shower of gold?”
“No.”
“An eagle?”
“No.”
“A satyr?”
“No.”
“A white bull?”
“I said no.”
“An ant?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Eurymedusa, daughter of Cleitus, bore me a son named Myrmidon when I seduced her in the form of an ant.”
“Must’ve been some ant.”
“Ant it is, then.” Before Claire could stop him, his features twisted, his eyes briefly faceted, and a hair from each eyebrow grew about three feet. Panting, he collapsed against the vanity. “On second thought…” His right clutching his chest, he flung out his left arm, the flesh between elbow and armpit swaying gently. “…take me as I am.”
Claire sighed. “Out of respect for your age and your mythology, I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t get out of my bathroom and go back to your own bed, you’re going to be very sorry.”
“I could call down the lightning for you,” Zeus offered, continuing to support his weight on the sink. “And with any luck it’ll strike more than once. Wink, wink, nudge…” The second nudge remained unvoiced as a violent banging on the door to Claire’s suite cut him off.
“Open this door right now, you tramp! I know you’ve got my husband in there!”
Zeus paled. “It’s Hera.”
“What was your first clue?” Claire snapped, furious that the Lord of Olympus had involved her in such a humiliating situation. “I’ll stall her, you get back to your own room.”
“How? She’s right outside the door.”
“How did you get into my tub?”
His face brightened. “The tub. Right.” Staggering back to it, he stepped inside and pulled the shower curtain closed. “I’ll hide in here. You get rid of her.”
Claire yanked the shower curtain open. “I meant that you should disappear the same way you appeared.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“I’m old. Do you have any idea how much effort that took?” His lower lip went out in a classic pout. “Not that you appreciated it.”
“Keeper, I’m warning you!” Mere wood and plaster did little to hinder Hera’s volume. “Open this door, or I’ll blow it off its hinges!”
“Can she?” Claire demanded.
Zeus shrugged. “Probably not.”
“All right. I’ve had enough. Get out of there.”
“But…”
“Now.”
Muttering under his breath, the god obeyed.
Once he stood squarely on the bath mat, Claire grabbed his wrist and dragged him, mat and all, toward her sitting room.
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to explain this whole mess to your wife.” Working one-handed, she released the wards around the sitting-room door. “This is your problem, not mine.”
Zeus winced. “Actually, Keeper, if you’ve studied the classics, you’ll know that’s not how it usually…”
The door crashed open.
Framed in the doorway, her eyes blazing, Hera shook her hands free of the feathers trimming the sleeves of her peignoir and pointed a trembling finger at Claire. “I knew it, another one who can’t keep her hands off him!”
“That’s not…”
“Well, I know how to deal with you, you hussy, don’t for a moment think that I don’t!”
“Hera, I was asleep. I found him in my bathroom.”
The goddess’ lips thinned to invisibility. “That’s
