Oh, bloody buggering hell. She'd forgotten to use a condom. And not just for the first time. For the second, as well as the third. She rolled her eyes. What. A. Moron. How could she have forgotten? Especially after she'd swallowed down the knot of embarrassment that had threatened to choke her and bought a brand new box of Trojans from the hotel gift shop after her pedicure. And thank God she'd gotten that pedicure. Phoebus had kissed and caressed and even sucked her toes. Just thinking about it made her feel all flushed and weak-kneed, again.

Focus! Her internal monitor chastised her. Not using condoms had nothing to do with toe-sucking. Or did it?

A movement to her right drew her eyes. Pamela turned her head and looked at Phoebus. He was so beautiful. When she wasn't looking at him, she could think of him as just an ordinarily nice-looking man. And then she'd see him and realize that there was nothing ordinary about him. Nothing at all.

Her body still glowed from his touch. She should be sore and tired and probably battling a raging urinary tract infection from too much sex. Instead she felt marvelous. Lazy and lethargic and very, very well-satisfied.

But she'd still forgotten to use a condom.

"I can feel you frowning," he said without opening his eyes.

"That's impossible," she said, forcing a smile on her face. "And anyway, I'm not frowning."

Still without opening his eyes Phoebus said, "Not anymore you aren't." He opened his eyes then and turned his golden head so that he could look directly at her. His smile was tender. "Good morning, my sweet Pamela."

"I forgot to use a condom last night." She blushed. "And this morning."

His brow wrinkled. "Condom?" He tried out the unfamiliar word.

"Yeah," she said, her face getting hotter by the second. She grabbed the sheet, which had come completely untucked, thanks to their aerobics last night, wound it around her naked body, and retreated to the bathroom. Over her shoulder she said, "You know - condom, prophylactic, rubber. I'm not on the pill or anything. You're the doctor. I shouldn't have to tell you how easy it would be for me to get pregnant."

A condom was something that kept a mortal woman from getting pregnant? How very interesting. Although he didn't think it would stop a god from impregnating a mortal, should he desire her to become with child. Apollo had not impregnated Pamela. He stretched and smiled. He would like to, though, but not until she knew she was his, and she had agreed to spend her life with him.

"You could not have become pregnant from our love-making, Pamela," he said.

She stuck her head out of the bathroom, her toothbrush in her hand. "You've had a vasectomy?"

He had no idea what she was talking about, but it seemed the thought relieved her, so he nodded and smiled.

"Oh, well. That's good." Her head disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared, toothbrush still in hand. "But what about, uh," she faltered, and then she felt ridiculous. She'd just been more intimate with this man than she had ever been with anyone, including her ex, and asking about STDs was making her stutter? Besides that, he was a doctor, for God's sake. She tried again. "But what about sexually transmitted diseases?"

His golden brows drew together. "I have no diseases."

"Oh, well. Again, that's good. Neither do I. Good," she repeated for the third time, feeling like a total and utter boob. She ducked back into the bathroom, turned on the water and shut the door.

Apollo listened to her busy herself in the other room. It took a great effort of will for him not to join her. He wanted to pull that sheet away from her and lift her onto the counter; then he could plunge into her while he stared into her honey-colored eyes until, once again, he saw the reflection of his own soul within their depths. His body stirred, already becoming heavy and hard at the thought of her. Time... he reminded himself... there would be plenty of time for lovemaking in the years they would have together. He closed his eyes and drew a long breath of relief. It hadn't been the invocation ritual that had caused her to desire him. If that had been the case, her desire for him would have waned after their initial lovemaking. It most definitely had not - if anything, Pamela's passion had grown each time they joined. She had slept in his arms, fingers entwined with his. Even in her sleep she had nuzzled ever closer to him. He adored that about her, another thing that truly surprised him. Never before had Apollo nuzzled and cuddled afterwards with a lover - or if he had, it had only been as an impetus to begin another round of sex. He felt so different with her. He actually wanted her close to him, even when they weren't making love.

Now he understood why Hades and Lina often sat near enough to each other so that their bodies would be sure to touch, and why their fingers lingered during simple, ordinary activities, like passing a goblet or a platter of fruit. They wanted that connection. No, he amended. They craved that connection. Just as he craved Pamela.

She emerged from the bathroom with the sheet still wrapped around her, face freshly washed and hair damp.

"What shall we do today?" Apollo asked, holding out his hand to her.

Pamela took his hand and curled up against his chest. What an incredible rush of pleasure such simple words made her feel! He wanted to know what "we" would do today.

"Well, since we've missed breakfast" - she looked at the digital clock whose red numbers said it was already 2:05 P.M. - "and lunch, I think food should be on the agenda." She kissed the strong line of his jaw, wondering briefly why no day-old stubble bristled against her lips. "And I hate to mention it, but I really have to do some work to prepare for tomorrow's meeting with my client."

Apollo touched the wet hair that stuck out around her head in adorable messy tufts. "What kind of work?"

"Eddie wants a pool built based on the one here at the Palace. I, of course, have never even seen the Caesars Palace pool. So I really have to check it out, maybe do a few sketches so that I have some preliminary ideas to show him." She frowned. "I've already read through his notes, which were more than a little confusing. It seems he wants a pool, outside, but covered - like the 'authentic Roman bath downstairs.' I can only hope that it's less 'authentic' than that wretched fountain."

"Perhaps I can help. I do know something about authentic Roman baths."

"I forget that you know all about this old-world mythology stuff. You're a handy guy to have around, aren't you?" she teased, leaning into him.

"You have no idea..." He smiled and kissed her.

"Gihugic?" Apollo said, shaking his head.

"Hunormic," Pamela said. "How in the bloody buggering hell am I going to translate this into a backyard pool?"

"I think that would depend upon the size of his grounds."

Pamela made a snorting noise.

"You are right." Apollo said, not taking his eyes from the wide expanse of water and marble and fountains that stretched before them. "This..." He broke off, unsure of what to call it.

"Man-made lake?" Pamela supplied.

Apollo tired to hide his smile at Pamela's aghast tone. "Yes, man-made lake does aptly describe it. This man-made lake would appear ostentatious even on Mount Olympus."

"Huh! I'd like to think that the gods would have better taste."

The God of Light thought about Aphrodite's pink-and-gilt-covered palace with its ever-flowing fountain that rained blush-colored ambrosia instead of water. "One can only hope so," he mumbled.

Pamela was still gaping around them. "At least now I know what his notes meant. He wants it outside, but covered, like that." She pointed at the center of the massive pool. It was a gigantic circular marble dais, which rose several feet out of the water. Marble columns, at least fifty feet tall, supported a copper dome affording shade to the many bikini-clad bathers who swam to, and then lounged beneath it, as well as the bigger-than-life-sized waving statue of Caesar. "But his notes say that he wants the entire pool covered by the dome. And he wrote that he wants the thrones copied exactly, too. That must be what he means." She nodded at a lifeguard's station not far from where they stood. It was marble and had been built in the shape of a large throne flanked by two winged lions.

"Does he want to keep the seahorses, too?" Apollo asked, highly amused by the whole experience.

Pamela squinted at the massive statues of marble horses whose hindquarters morphed into mermaidlike tails. "Oh, God. I hope not." She ran her hand through her hair. "This together with the fountain is going to do me in. It's awful. Tacky. The whole thing screams, 'I have lots of money but no taste!'"

"And," Apollo said, studying the winged lions mounted on rectangular pillars, which flanked the smaller, more distant wading pool, "it is definitely not anything like an authentic Roman bath."

She shuddered. "I hope not. Any country that ruled the world as long as Rome did should know better than to create this mess."

"It's not just the decorations. The ancient Roman baths weren't bathing pools like this. They were a series of heated rooms built in succession, beginning with an area where bathers were oiled and massaged. The next rooms grew warmer, and were often filled with soothing steam."

He grinned at her. "They did not hold great pools of water; instead they were built around small, ever-flowing fountains, which were used to refresh the bathers. Of course the rooms did culminate in actual bathing pools, usually one that was heated and one that was kept refreshingly cold."

Pamela's expression changed instantly from horrified to hopeful. "Do you think you could describe the Roman baths to me well enough for me to sketch up something? I mean, I would have to incorporate some of this, of course," she flipped her fingers at their surroundings, "but maybe I can tame it down and make it more authentic - and sell the idea to Eddie. I mean, he already said he wants it covered. I'll just give him a series of lovely covered rooms, each with its own water element, all surrounding a less offensive-looking pool."

"It is an interesting idea," Apollo said.

"Great! Let's get to work." She started to march towards one of the least occupied rows of white lounge chairs. Then she stopped short. "Food," she said. "I have to have food to work." Her gaze slid across the pool to a marble building that had a short line of people queuing in front of it. She read the gilded, Romanesque letters and rolled her eyes heavenward.

This time Apollo made no attempt to cover his amusement. He threw back his head and laughed heartily. She scowled at him and headed towards the building. Over her shoulder she called, "You know, Snackous Maximus is just not that damn funny."

Apollo closed his eyes and inhaled the golden heat of the desert sun. It caressed his skin lovingly and filled him with power and contentment. He felt indescribably good. The soft sound of Pamela's busy charcoal pencil created a soothing background for his thoughts. They fit well together, he and his sweet Pamela. Her quick wit and impish smile had made spending the afternoon working with her a wonderfully pleasurable experience. She joked easily with him - she even teased him about simple things, like how curly his hair was after one of his dips in the pool, and his surprising obsession with a delightfully salty snack called French fries. He'd had three helpings of them. Women didn't tease the God of Light, but Pamela did. When he made her laugh, her sparkling eyes made him feel truly godlike.

And he had quickly discovered that she was a much more talented artist than she realized. He could already envision their future together. She would never again have to work for rich bores like this writer who obviously thought of himself as a mortal god. Perhaps he would build for her a grand gallery within his temple at Delphi. She could spend her days sketching the wonders of Olympus, and her nights sharing his bed.

Love was so much easier than he had imagined. He could hardly remember why he had been so distraught when he had rushed to Lina and Hades for advice. What had he been so worried about? He had found his soul mate; now all that was left to do was to adore her, and loving Pamela was a delight. True, he had yet to tell her his true identity, but wasn't that just a rather incidental detail? She already knew the real him; he was the man who loved her. And a part of his ego whispered that she would probably be pleased to discover that she had won the love of an immortal.

His lips tilted up, and his mind drifted lazily. Life was good.

"Don't you worry about burning?" Pamela peered at him over the top of her sunglasses. He was stretched out beside her on a lounge chair just like hers, except his chair was situated directly in the still-blazing sun of the desert evening. Pamela had pulled her chair over into the shade provided by a scalloped-edged pool umbrella. Even her bare legs, which were bent so that she could use them as a rest for her sketch pad, were carefully out of the direct sunlight, and still she was feeling a little flushed and overcooked. She had been working at the bathhouse sketch for hours, and for the entire time Phoebus had been lounging beside her, explaining details of ancient Roman baths and giving insightful input about the small, separate rooms and the general layout - while stretched out in full sunlight.

"Burning?" His brow wrinkled.

"Yeah, you've been lying out there in next to nothing all day. I'd be fried to a crisp." But Phoebus didn't even look hot. On the contrary, he looked outrageously handsome in his hastily purchased swim shorts and nothing else. He was one long expanse of golden tan skin and luscious muscles.

"You mean burned by the sunlight?" He chuckled as if he found the idea new and amusing. "No. I do not worry about burning. The sun and I are old friends." He shifted up on one elbow and turned towards her. "Have you finished?"

She chewed her lip as she studied the sketch. "I think so. I actually like it, but I don't know if Eddie will go for it. What do you think?" She handed him the sketchpad.

He studied it carefully. Nodding, he said, "I do think it was a wise choice to make the small fountains in each of the heated rooms more ornate than you originally intended."

"Yeah, I'll just be sure to keep the walls plain marble, then the effect won't be so overwhelming. If he wants more decoration, I'll try to steer him towards the mosaic flooring you suggested."

"You said that he keeps mentioning the importance of authenticity. You can assure him that this sketch is based entirely upon the ancient plans of a working Roman bath. Of course the throne at the edge of the central pool is not exactly..." He paused, glancing up at Pamela. And the smile in his eyes died as something behind her caught his attention.

"Here you are. Finally!"

The woman's voice, filled with frustration, cut over Pamela's shoulder. Before she could turn to see who was speaking Phoebus had leaped to his feet.

"What an unexpected pleasure," he said.

Pleasure? Pamela thought he sounded way more annoyed than pleased. She looked over her shoulder, and had to hold her hand up to shield her eyes from the bright orange light of the setting sun, which perfectly silhouetted the curvaceous shape of a tall woman. She could vaguely make out the flowing lines of a short dress and the fact that the woman's hair was piled up around her head in a style that looked very much like a crown. She didn't spare Pamela a glance. Instead, she launched immediately into a tight-lipped chastisement of Phoebus.

"I waited and waited for you. You didn't come and you didn't come and still you didn't come. So I was forced to come to you."

Phoebus frowned. "I do not believe I specified a time at which I would return."

"I assumed you would return after you - "

"Forgive my rudeness, Pamela," Phoebus interrupted her as he reached forward, snagging the woman's wrist and pulling her around the chaise to face Pamela. "Allow me to present you to my sister. Pamela Gray, this is my twin sister," he hesitated and gave the woman a sharp look, "Diana."

Pamela stood up, smiling brightly with her hand extended. "It's wonderful to meet you, Diana. And please, don't blame Phoebus if he's late for something. It's entirely my fault. When I found out how much he knows about ancient Rome, I couldn't stop picking his brain."

Artemis looked from the mortal's friendly smile to her outstretched hand. She could feel her brother's censoring glare almost as surely as she could feel the invocation thread that still bound her to this woman. Reluctantly, she took Pamela's hand in her own and was surprised by the firm confidence in the woman's grip.

"Wait!" Pamela said, eyes widening in surprise. "I know who you are! You're the beautiful woman from the Zumanity show." Her eyes sliced over to Phoebus. "I can't believe you didn't tell me she was your sister."

"Perhaps he was embarrassed by my performance," Artemis said with a haughty lift of her chin.

"That's ridiculous," Pamela said, giving Phoebus a perplexed look. "Your performance was amazing - athletic, and seductive and incredibly romantic."

One of Artemis' perfectly shaped golden brows arched. "You found it romantic?"

"Definitely!" Pamela said, nodding her head enthusiastically.

"Diana knows that her performance did not embarrass me," Apollo said quickly. "I just hadn't realized she would be appearing last night, so it did surprise me. I would have mentioned it, but after the show I had more on my mind than my sister's theatrics."

He shared an intimate smile with Pamela.

"Tell me, Pamela," Artemis said, as if her brother had not spoken. "Has Phoebus been romancing you properly?"

Pamela's face blazed from pink to scarlet. Her mouth opened and then closed.

"Diana!" Apollo barked. "That question was unnecessary as well as inappropriate."

"Was it?" she hurled back at him. "I think not, Phoebus.'" She enunciated his name distinctly. "The chain is still there! Less than before, but not gone."

Diana's words made no sense to Pamela, but she saw Phoebus' expression change instantly from anger to shock.

"I want it gone," Diana continued in a hard voice. "Need I remind you that our stay here is only temporary? We must leave before dawn."

Pamela felt her stomach tighten. What they were arguing about might make no sense to her, but the word temporary was crystal clear. They were leaving. Soon. Of course she would only be in Vegas for a week herself, but she had been honest about it, telling him up front that she was only visiting to do a job for a client. Phoebus had made love to her and spent the entire day with her, and hadn't once mentioned that he had to leave in the morning. She was an f-ing fool. What had she thought she'd been doing, playing house? Shit. Shit. Shit. She should know better than this. Her inexperience in the dating world was showing. She shouldn't have expected more than fun and temporary games from a one-night stand.

"Ya know," Pamela broke into the sibling rivalry using her brisk, matter-of-fact businesswoman's voice, "if there's one thing I understand, and understand well, it's that sometimes brothers and sisters need to battle things out. In private." She picked up her sketchpad from where Phoebus had discarded it on the lounge chair and stuffed it into her leather bag while she hastily slid her feet into her Mizrahi flats. "Actually, Diana, your timing is excellent. I was just thinking that I really should get back to my room and do some more prep work for tomorrow."

"No, Pamela! Please don't - " Phoebus sputtered.

She barely glanced at him. "I've spent too much time playing this weekend as it is. Good-bye, Phoebus."

Artemis was shocked. The mortal was actually walking away from her brother. Through their invisible connection the goddess could feel much of what was going on inside of the woman. She was... Artemis concentrated, sifting through the emotions pouring through the bond that linked them. Pamela was very upset. And embarrassed. And hurt. She was certain that Apollo had used her. The mortal was breaking into little pieces on the inside, but on the outside she was showing only cool annoyance. Had Artemis not been linked to her, she would never have guessed the turmoil taking place within the mortal woman. How odd. Could this woman's hidden strength have something to do with why the invocation had yet to be fulfilled? Could it be that this young mortal saw through their charade? Diana looked at her with new respect. Apollo had been right about one thing. Pamela certainly was not a simple, silly woman.

"Pamela, my brother is correct. I am being insufferably rude."

Diana's voice stopped Pamela's retreat. She looked at her lover's sister, who smiled at her. Pamela suddenly saw Phoebus' dazzling good looks reflected on her beautiful face.

"I have been experiencing some" - she hesitated and glanced at her brother before continuing - "difficulties of a personal nature of late. I haven't been myself. Please believe me that the last thing I desire is to drive you from my brother."

Pamela met Diana's aquamarine eyes. "Whether I go now or later really doesn't make that much difference, does it? You just said you're leaving in the morning."

"But not forever!" Apollo said hastily, moving to Pamela's side and taking her hand. "You can not believe that I would walk away from you and never return."

Pamela pulled her hand from his grasp. She shook her head and even managed to smile.

"Look, we had fun. Let's leave it at that. You don't need to make a big thing out of it."

Artemis stared at her brother's shocked face. Why didn't he say something? The mortal was leaving him! She obviously didn't want to - not only could Artemis feel Pamela's pain screaming within her own head, but it was apparent in the stiff, mechanical way she held herself. Pamela was hurt and upset. She wanted comfort, not speechless ineptitude.

Apollo, however, was being silently inept.

"We did not mean to offend you," Artemis quickly said. "This is just a misunderstanding. Please. Don't go away upset."

"I'm not upset," Pamela responded.

"I would be." Apollo finally found his voice. This time he didn't touch her. He stood very still and tried to convey everything he was feeling through his words. "I would be upset and angry if I thought that you were planning to leave me before dawn, and you hadn't told me. I should have told you. I meant to. But you must understand, my sweet Pamela, that I knew I would be returning, so to taint our day together by telling you that I must leave soon seemed a cruel thing to do. I can see now that I was wrong. Can you forgive me?"

She should tell him that it was no big deal. She should say that she didn't expect any damn thing from him. And keep walking. She could call V and they'd have a great girlfriend talk about how men are shitheads. Then tomorrow she'd go back to work and forget about him. She'd just slept with him; it wasn't like she'd married him or anything too crazy like that.

But those eyes caught her. Again. She could swear that she saw an echo of herself there, deep within them. He had that same "somethin's missin"' about him, and he'd touched her - body, heart and soul. If Duane had embalmed her, Phoebus had brought her alive again. She didn't want to go back to her tomb of complacency, and she knew herself well enough that she understood that this weekend had been a turning point. Pamela wouldn't go back to being satisfied with the safety of her life. She'd get out there; she'd flirt and take more chances - with or without Phoebus. But everything within her was screaming that she wanted to take those chances with him.

"Okay," she said, biting the word off. "I forgive you." And then crossed her arms and waited. The ball was in his court. Surprisingly, it was his sister who fielded and returned it.

"My brother and I must speak. It is a family matter, and I - "

"Not a problem," Pamela snapped. "I'm out of here."

"Pamela, is it correct that you have a brother, too?" Artemis' gaze was calculating.

Caught again in the motion of turning away, Pamela nodded tightly.

"Then you understand that sometimes family problems can overrule our individual desires. We are needed at home. Please do not judge my brother harshly because of that."

Pamela answered her with equal candor. "I'm not judging your brother harshly; I'm protecting myself."

"You do not need protection from me," Apollo said. Unable to stop himself from touching her, he brushed her long, bare neck with his fingertips. When she shivered, he was unsure whether it was because she desired or rejected him. "Meet me tonight. Let me see you again before I must leave. You have my oath that I will return."

She shouldn't. He made her feel too much. Pamela opened her mouth to tell him no, and then she thought about the night without him. It would be like the morning sky without sunlight - bleak... empty... like her life had become. She wouldn't go back to that, even if it meant taking a chance on getting her heart broken. At least now she knew that her heart was working again.

"Fine," she said, making sure her voice remained neutral. "You can take me to dinner. Snackous Maximous doesn't count as a real meal anyway."

"He will choose the place," Artemis said with a satisfied smile.

"Fine," Pamela repeated. "If we meet at eight o'clock, will that give you enough time to get your family business straight?"

Artemis nodded slightly at her brother.

"Yes," he said. "I will call for you at your room."

"No!" Pamela said too quickly. She cleared her throat and gave a little cough like the word explosion had been a tickle and not a knee-jerk. "I'll meet you at the wine bar. Just like before." Then she instantly regretted saying "just like before." Just like the night before... when they'd ended up in her bed making love until past noon...

His smile was a caress as he remembered all too well what the previous night had held. "I will meet you, sweet Pamela, at our wine bar. Just like before."

This time nothing prevented her retreat.