Freefall Read online

  Freefall

  Sons of Zeus

  By

  Tyler Blackwood

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Freefall, Sons of Zeus

  ISBN: 1-59836-040-X

  Copyright (c) 2005 by Tyler Blackwood

  Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Marianne LaCroix

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

  For information, you can find us on the web at,

  www.VenusPress.com

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  Prologue

  Hermes expelled an airless breath. Hovering at the foot of Sara’s bed, he allowed himself to feel the burn of desire, the need for human touch. The sleeping woman before him had no idea he was there. Even if she’d awakened, she wouldn’t know. Hermes was trapped between his world and hers, punishment for a crime–a mistake, really, but one that had cost him dearly.

  Damn them! His ire flared, catching him unguarded for a moment. The gods of Olympus had sentenced him unfairly. Spiteful and wicked, their interests had not been in justice, but rather, entertainment.

  His fist clenched.

  But no, he wouldn’t dwell on that now. Later, when these next few moments had passed and he was returned to his dark prison, he would remember this face, and it would keep him from madness.

  Hermes drifted forward, through the bed so that he was mere inches from her beautiful face. Her dark hair, nearly black, fanned across the pillow. If he were part of the physical realm, he’d have no choice but to take a strand in his fingers, lift it to his nose, and inhale her scent. And if his body were corporeal, it would ache to feel her satiny skin beneath his, her breath spiraling across his chest and shoulders, her mouth welded to his in a heated kiss that would set his very soul afire.

  But it was not to be.

  Hermes had a message for her. Only one simple message to deliver and then the veil between his world and hers would come down and she’d be lost to him forever.

  He reached out to touch the creamy satin of her skin. Her long lashes lay against high cheeks, her lips soft, parted in repose. Her beauty astounded him. He was certain she rivaled many of those on Olympus.

  His hand, of course, passed through her. He wasn’t real and didn’t expect to be for the next hundred years.

  He cursed them again, his captors.

  No woman was more beautiful than Sara Camille Steadman. And, by the gods, he would have her as his own. No matter the cost.

  “Is that true, Brother?” Aphrodite, the goddess of love and his half-sister, appeared beside him.

  “Is what true,” he asked without looking at her.

  “You mean to have her, by whatever means necessary. I love it. May I help?” Aphrodite asked brightly, twirling her long copper-colored hair around one slender finger.

  “Leave me, you iniquitous minx,” he snarled. “It’s your fault I’m here.”

  Aphrodite pouted. “It is not my fault, dear Brother. But I know I will never convince you of my innocence, so I would offer you an opportunity to redeem yourself.”

  Hermes leveled his gaze on her. “Redeem myself? Have you lost your mind? Why, in the name of Zeus, would I so much as think of accepting anything you offer? You feign innocence, dear Sister, but I know the truth of what happened so long ago. Oh yes, I know and I’m fair certain you’ve caused me enough grief to last a thousand lifetimes.”

  She sniffed and turned away. “Perhaps I shall allow Prometheus to enjoy the benefits of my magic. He would not speak to me as unkindly as you.”

  Hermes snorted and returned his gaze to Sara. His body heated at the mere thought of lying next to her, of touching the silken skin, of tangled bodies surrendering to a primal need to become one. “He hasn’t been screwed by you… yet.”

  “How dare you say such a thing,” she snapped. “I think you have been alone far too long, Brother.” Her anger seemed to fizzle as some internal scheme took shape. She smiled, caressing his jaw with a casual sweep of her hand.

  He’d gone so long without the simple pleasure of touch that he leaned into it, unable to stop himself.

  “But I have good news for you,” she continued. “Your life is about to change and so is hers, for the Fates have deemed that it shall be so.” She glanced askance. “Perhaps you will have that for which you yearn.”

  Hermes could hope. “For her, dear Sister, I will play your fool yet again,” he said softly. A thousand lifetimes in this hell would be worth the joy he would discover in Sara’s arms.

  Aphrodite smiled, clasping her hands together. “Splendid. I am most pleased that you accept the challenge. I give it to you thus. You know that Zeus has sent Prometheus to guard her. I shan’t tell you why, but the little mortal is in danger and the only thing that can save her life is the kind of trust that comes with real love. Who she comes to love, if she does at all, is not my concern. If you can somehow convince her to fall in love with you, perhaps she will live. I will return five days hence. If she is still alive, I will release you from this mid-world. If not…” She tilted her head. “Here you will remain.”

  Hermes nodded, turning his gaze back to Sara. Her beauty, quite simply, took his breath away. “I accept your challenge, Aphrodite. Who better than the god of thieves to steal her heart?”

  She smiled and caught his chin. Placed two fingers on his forehead, she smiled. “Welcome to the mortal world, Mr. Hunter.”

  Chapter One

  The doorbell rang twice before Sara realized it wasn’t part of her dream.

  She bolted upright. Someone really was at the door. In her dream, a black dog, of all things, had just…

  Poof.

  The memory of what she’d dreamed simply dissolved, right into thin air. Gone.

  “I’m coming,” she called, struggling to get out of bed.

  Damn, caught in the sheets again. Seemed like she was forever running marathons in her sleep. Since she seldom remembered her dreams, she had no idea what caused her to get all twisted like that. She knew only that by the time morning rolled around, she was often more tired than when she’d gone to bed the night before.

  Thank heavens for caffeine.

  After unwrapping herself from the soft Egyptian cotton, she threw on sweats and a T-shirt then stumbled to the front door.

  She glanced through the peephole.

  Flowers?

  She opened the door. “Hello?”

  Behind a grand display of irises, baby’s breath, ferns, and some blue-ish flowers she couldn’t identify, stood the most incredible delivery guy Sara had ever seen–not that she saw that all that many.

  Mint-green eyes and collar-length, wavy hair, a thick, muscular body to die for, he looked like he should’ve been on the cover of a romance novel. One of those really hot stories that people read on their pocket PCs (so nobody knew why they continuously shifted in their seats).

  “G’morning. Sara Steadman?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  She nodded. “That’s me.”

  “These are from Bryan.” He extended the huge crystal vase with its glorious collection of flowers and ferns. “He says he had a great time in the
Keys, and he’ll call when he gets back.”

  “Oh?” Back from where? When he’d dropped her off last night from the airport, he hadn’t said a word about leaving. She surveyed the gift. “No note?”

  “It’s a personal delivery, Sara. I’m the note, so to speak,” he said. “Can I put these somewhere for you? The vase is rather heavy.”

  He pronounced it VOZ.

  “What? You’re the note? Who did you say you worked for?” she asked, not at all certain many delivery guys–or any guys from this planet–ever said VOZ.

  “I didn’t, actually. My name’s Elliott Hunter. I’m Bryan’s personal assistant.” He grinned again. “Ah… where can I set this?”

  “Oh,” she said, stepping aside. “Come on in. You can put them right here on the coffee table.” She pointed at it, then realized he probably knew what a coffee table was. She lowered her hand and curled her fingers into a small fist. Idiot, she chastised.

  He bent to set the vase on the table, giving her a very nice view of his tight buns, clad in snug-fitting cotton shorts. And what a view. His wife or girlfriend must be either deliriously happy or perfectly miserable. Elliott Hunter was a shining example of utter male perfection.

  Oh, yeah. His girlfriends were all miserable. Who needed that much competition?

  Not her.

  He turned the voz a little so the best view faced her. “Do you like them?”

  “Yes, they’re incredible,” she said with a smile. “Even the vase is breathtaking. Thank you.” She turned from the flowers to Elliott. “When is Bryan coming back?”

  He shrugged. “He didn’t bother to tell me. Most of the time, he just calls me from the airport, pissed off because I’m not there. Like it’s my fault he forgets to e-mail me his itinerary.” Elliott shook his head in silent annoyance.

  Sara smiled. It wasn’t hard to believe that about Bryan. She hadn’t known him all that long, but sensed he had an extraordinary ability to focus on whatever task lay before him. Once the goal was accomplished, he moved on. He was relentless, a whirlwind of dominant male and muscle, intelligence and raw determination. He was the kind who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to reach out and take it.

  The kind who knew a woman’s body well, and could take her to the stars again and again.

  She sighed. That’s just what he’d done.

  Bryan had whisked her away for two days of sun, sand, and sex. They’d done little more than bask in the early summer sun, savor rich Chardonnays and Champagnes, and feast on cold seafood, salad, and one another. He’d balanced the hot climate with chilled food and drink, but there was nothing to offset the heat of his lovemaking.

  Sara wouldn’t have it any other way.

  No one knew how to make love like Bryan Hodges. She loved the feel of his dark blond hair sweeping across her skin when he kissed, licked, and nibbled every inch. Loved the flex of his strong shoulder and back muscles, the raw power that sizzled beneath the surface. Pure sexual heat emanated from that warrior’s body.

  She loved that first pounding drive of his sinfully thick cock. She would cry out, and he would take her mouth with crushing force. A god of seduction and sex, he brought her to orgasm with a few hard thrusts, a swirling massage from his finger against her clitoris, and soft words whispered against the back of her neck. Just that fast. No one else could make her explode so quickly.

  Just Bryan.

  But it was more than just great sex. He was enchanting, worldly, charismatic, and she genuinely liked him. Two days at his side was definitely not enough.

  A small cough shattered her reverie.

  Sara’s cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”

  Elliot gave her a half smile that made her think he knew what was on her mind. “Does Bryan have all your phone numbers and your e-mail addy?”

  She nodded. They were all on her business card, which she’d left with him when they’d met, a month ago now.

  “I’m sure he’ll call the second he has a chance,” Elliott assured.

  Sara gave him a quick smile. “Hope so.”

  “Oh–I have one more thing for you. I left it in the car,” he said sheepishly. “Be right back.” He trotted back to the car–a long black limousine–for the rest of her gift.

  She folded her arms over her breasts and waited in the open doorway. The morning sun warmed her skin, just as it had on the small island of Islamorada, in the Florida Keys. Her eyes closed as she remembered lying on the golden sand with Bryan.

  They were on their stomachs, both resting their chins on their arms, watching the surf come in. It was Sunday morning, and nearly time to leave.

  Bryan let out a soft breath. Sara turned to study his profile. Tousled blond hair shielded his eyes from view, but she suspected his beautiful green-gold eyes were closed. He seemed peaceful. Happy.

  “What are you thinking?” she wondered aloud.

  He faced her, squinting when the sun hit his gorgeous face. “I wouldn’t mind staying here a little longer.”

  Neither would she, and she’d told him so.

  Hours later, she was home, and he was gone. Indefinitely.

  “Sara?” Elliott stood at the base of the porch steps, resting his weight on one hip. His hair glistened in the morning sun, strands of black silk billowed by the summer breeze. He wore that knowing half smile again, making her cheeks flush a little. Again.

  She smiled. “Sorry. My mind was someplace else.”

  He laughed. “I can see that. You must’ve had a great time.”

  She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip. Oh, yeah…

  “He’ll be happy to know that. Here,” Elliot said, holding out a small white box tied with a blue satin ribbon. “From Bryan.”

  She untied the ribbon and opened it. “Oh, my God. Is this real?”

  The pendant was like nothing she’d ever seen. A small golden sword, less than two inches long, hung from a thick gold chain. Set into the blade was a row of brilliant diamonds. It was an utterly unique design, and the diamonds, somehow, managed to capture the light so perfectly, they all but glowed. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Yeah, it’s eighteen karat gold. He had it made just for you,” Elliott told her. “It’s a protection charm, to keep you safe.”

  She looked up. “From what?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “I couldn’t say. Things happen.” Grinning, he waved casually and strode back to the car. “Enjoy your flowers, Sara. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “You too, Elliott,” she said absently. It bothered her just a little that he’d said, specifically, that it was a protection charm. Why that? Why not just a token of his undying love?

  She watched Elliott drop into the car, start it, and back onto the street. A second later, he was out of sight and she was still in the doorway, her thumb lightly caressing the golden sword.

  Three days later, Sara still hadn’t heard from Bryan. The excitement from her trip was beginning to fade, and now that she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him, she wasn’t sure what to believe. The whole thing was starting to reek of an extended one-night stand. Since she hadn’t expected to be treated that way, she was, in no uncertain terms, quite pissed off.

  “Damn it,” she said to the monitor.

  She sat at her personal computer, browsing the internet when she should’ve been working. Well known and respected as a freelance graphic designer, she had several clients around the country and lots of work due in only a few days. The drawings weren’t going to finish themselves, much as she wished they would.

  It wasn’t as if they’d decided to see each other exclusively. There’d been no promises. In fact, she was quite certain she was more enamored of him than he was of her. Still, was it so hard to make one simple, teensy phone call? E-mail? Text message on her cell phone? Another personal note from the delivery guy?

  Maybe let her know he was thinking about her?

  Annoyed, she drummed her fingers on the keyboard.

  That jerk.

&nb
sp; Well, she decided with a snort, there were several perks to owning one’s own business. Not the least of which was deciding when it was time to call it quits for the night in favor of some strawberry ice cream and well-deserved self-pity. Maybe a movie–maybe a tearjerker to go with her utterly foul mood.

  Sara went to the freezer to search for her favorite comfort food and discovered, several seconds later, all she had was the self-pity, the foul mood, and a movie. The ice cream was sadly missing in action.

  She’d remedy that right away.

  Donning her shoes and a warm coat, she left the warmth of her home for the convenience store just five blocks away. Strawberry ice cream beckoned.

  Now, five blocks wasn’t a great distance at all. In fact, she could see the blue haze of the convenience store lights from her small front yard. Yet, she was only halfway when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in warning. They always did when something bad was about to happen.

  Suddenly, the two blocks in either direction seemed to stretch endlessly.

  She was in danger.

  Sara whirled around to return home–

  And smacked into a man’s chest. Holy cow! Where had he come from?

  He gripped her shoulders and thrust her backward into the arms of another man – who smelled like a wet dog. A blade came up against her throat and a cool hand closed over her mouth.

  The man before her leaned closer. “Not a word out of you, Missy. You understand me?”

  She nodded her head. Astonishment had stolen her voice, but adrenaline was flooding her body and that sharpened her mind. Prepared her for what needed to be done.

  The man behind her uncovered her mouth. The blade remained at her throat.

  Now, how to get out of this without using the pepper spray in her pocket. She’d never had a reason to use it before, but carried it with her anytime she left the house. You never knew when you’d need it. Like now, for instance. If she sprayed the guy in front of her, the guy in back might just cut her throat. No, she needed a better plan. She didn’t know many people in this part of the neighborhood. Even if she screamed now, she had doubts anyone would get to her before one of these guys did something awful. With a knife at her throat, it wasn’t looking good.