How would you tell your lover you wanted a ménage with his best friend?
Free spirited, passionate Jillian picked the wrong moment to blurt out her fantasy, causing her husband Dylan to turn so cold she asked him to move out. Now, rather than celebrating their sixth wedding anniversary, the Carmichael’s are headed for divorce court.
Enter Eros, popcorn-loving owner of those passion-tipped points. When a hot jolt of lust doesn’t melt Dylan’s hard heart, what’s a demoted demigod to do? It’s gonna be a long night, because Eros has been given only one to rekindle the Carmichael’s love.
Eden Connor graduated from Converse College with a degree in Psychology so long ago, her sheepskin is chiseled in stone. She’s been a graphic artist, a bridal photographer and an antique restorer. Since the death of her true love, she raised two children to adulthood and now has the time to return to writing. She writes primarily contemporary erotic romances, the odd bit of erotica and an occasional paranormal piece. Most of her writing is set where she lives, in South Carolina, so expect the handsome stranger to come equipped with a slow drawl. Addicted to hazelnut creamer, baseball and cranberry glass, she likes the music of Motown and when not writing about adults behaving badly, she takes a stab at the occasional needlepoint canvas.
Ishmael the Lesser looked smug, the prick. Eros used his longbow to shield his eyes from the glare off the intruder’s breastplate, frowning. Li’l Ish, ever the jerk, popped a mass of gossamer bubbles with a hard slash of his heavy sword. Heaving a great sigh, Eros lowered his bow, annoyed his target practice was interrupted by such a disagreeable bastard.
Of all the beings here, he liked One’s warrior angels the least.
The towering fighters had no sense of fun, always rattling their swords and polishing creaky armor. Too damn serious by far, if you asked him. I absolutely do not have plumage envy, he thought, recalling one of Ishmael's many taunts. The angel's long wings draped behind him like the train of a royal robe. My wings might be shorter, but I know how to use them really well.
"You have been summoned." Pointing his sword for effect, the bully sounded all bad-ass.
Eros rolled his eyes. "Cool, there’s an orgy?" He took pleasure from the tight lines appearing around the angel’s mouth. "I’m so there."
"Hardly. The Judicious One requires your presence. Leave the toy bow and arrow here. No more of youraccidents." The angel glared down his nose.
One accident. Eros ruffled his feathers. Just one little accident. His fingers twitched on the taut bowstring. Not for the first time, he contemplated shooting an arrow at the chaste angel. What fun it would be to watch the smug bastard driven insane by a lust he wasn't allowed to enjoy, but he'd never quite worked out what the consequences of that act might be.
The angel's memory was longer than his wings. Millennia had passed since the day they'd all visited Earth to admire One’s new Garden. Eros's arrow had missed the juicy red fruit he’d been aiming for, striking Eve. He was almost positive Ishmael used his massive wings to create the naughty wind that spoiled his perfect aim that fateful day. The warrior never missed a chance to rub Eros's nose in the fact he'd set the downfall of mankind in motion. Seriously, to hear the angel talk, you’d think the serpent had been an innocent earthworm, hanging about holding a hankie in case Eve needed her pomegranates polished.
Flipping off the bubble machine, he poked out his lower lip and waited until Ishmael disappeared to head for his meeting. Strolling through the Grand Corridor with his fingers laced behind his head, he tried to guess the reason for his summons.
Eros had only one purpose. He aroused the erotic emotions of humans. His arrows inflamed them to passion. Lust jolted them out of their self-absorbed lives, giving them the opportunity to open themselves to another.
Adam’s descendants had devolved into obsessed stalker-types or self-involved egomaniacs in recent times, but entering the Antechamber of Applicants, Eros had a sick feeling he was about to be held responsible for the trend.
The line of souls waiting to beg entry stretched before Peter’s gilded podium as far as Eros could see. He felt the eyes of every applicant fixed on him when he cut to the front of the line.
Peter gestured toward two parchment scrolls on the corner of his huge desk. With disgust, Eros noted the way the elegant lace ruffle around his cuff trembled when he picked up the files. He hated showing weakness before these beings. He'd once been a god in his own right, revered by the masses. Hostile takeovers were a bitch.
Apparently, Peter didn’t miss the way Eros’s hand shook. The judgmental bastard’s sapphire eyes flashed with amusement.
"I’ve had your files audited, Cupid. Your closure rate is down. One is giving you a single chance to prove why you should not be eliminated. You have until sundown tomorrow to get this pair sorted." Peter’s expression was as cold as the stone his eyes resembled. Steepling his fingers, the saint tapped his fingertips. His demeanor made Eros think of a cat about to pounce on a rat. All Peter lacked was a furry tail to flick. "Restore their true love. One wants to see their souls entwined as well as their limbs." The saint's snowy brows collided like cranky cumulus clouds. "Your retention rate is reprehensible."
“Eliminated? That seems harsh.” Eros tried to sound cool, but fear caused his heart to hammer his breastbone so hard, three of his feathers floated to the floor. Spittle landed on the corner of Peter's desk when he protested his predicament."Tomorrow eve doesn’t give me enough time! I can make humans bump like bunnies in a single day, but true love requires time and trust to become more than a tryst." True love was above his pay grade, utterly beyond his control, but plucking out all his plumage was preferable to admitting his plight..
"It's a simple repair. A day should be sufficient." Peter appeared unperturbed. "Unless you took credit for a love that wasn't true?"
Avoiding the saint's gaze, Eros leaped into the air, circling above Peter's head. Swooping to the apex of the high domed ceiling in hopes of unknotting his nerves, he ran a wingtip along the elaborate molding. Golden motes of dust sprinkled the air like spring rain, making the saint sneeze several times. Grinning, Eros dove through the archway before Peter could proscribe a punishment. Landing in the Grand Corridor, he leaned against a pillar and breathed deep, trying to get rid of his shakes.
He never took credit for true love at all. Well, okay, he did, but he was in a terrible bind. If Management ever realized he could manipulate only lust, he shuddered to think what Peter might order done to him. He had little doubt Ishmael would jump at the chance to execute whatever punishment Peter might pick. When he unrolled the first file, the saint’s spidery handwriting seemed to coil into an image of his outstretched neck—and Ishmael's broad grin—before the angel dropped his huge sword. Rubbing his throat with a wingtip, Eros blinked, grateful when the words realigned themselves. The note Peter had penned suggested this person might present the biggest problem. Dylan Carmichael. Male. Thirty-three. Carpenter.
The file bulged with photos. Eros studied the image on top. The dude looked like so many others. The human male’s hair had likely been blonde at birth, but was now dulled with age. Perhaps working in the sun burnished it brighter in streaks. This picture mustn't been taken after an evening when Dylan had indulged in a bit too much mead. Stubble covered the lower half of the human’s face. Eros snapped the file closed and fastidiously flicked dust from his immaculate cuffs. No doubt Ish was somewhere nearby, spying.
The second file held more photos. The female was cute, if you liked mocha-haired women with velvety cinnamon-colored eyes, little upturned noses, pointy chins, and lush lips. Eros spent a second imagining how Jillian Carmichael’s lush lips might look sucking cock before he peeked at her personals.
His feathers vibrated with vexation when he saw his initials on the bottom corner of the photo. This pair had, indeed, felt the sting of his arrows before. But that meant… Sliding a wing under his shirt, Eros rubbed his tummy, grinning while he scanned the contents of the scroll. Peter spoke truly. This assignment was a snap. These two already had those evolved feelings. Eros chuckled. Males were easy to motivate with lust. All he needed was to fan the flames with an arrow or two. The resulting tangle of limbs would be enough to soften the hearts of the angry pair of lovers.
Before he could stow the scrolls in his quiver and take off, Peter's voice boomed behind him, making Eros jump. "You're limited to three arrows for this assignment. Considering what little good you do, Cupid, your costs must be cut."
Eros automatically grabbed his finely-feathered shafts. They were his, by Zeus. Half of his ammunition shimmered momentarily before disappearing, leaving only a trace of dust on his palm. Ishmael's laughter rang through the wide hall, bouncing off the tall pillars like pinballs of mirth.
Old fashion love story with a modern twist.
Meet Jill and Dylan... 2 love struck people whose marriage is falling apart all because Dylan can't understand Jill's needs. A sexual fantasy of having a threesome with her husband and his best friend Went, the only man Dylan can trust and suddenly all is torn apart when he thinks that the 2 people he loves most, his wife and best friend are having an affair and this is just another way for them to be together. Enter who else but Eros (Cupid to you and I). St. Peter (yes the very same one) has given Cupid 24 hours to make this right and bring Jill and Dylan back together or Cupid will be eliminated. Oh and oe other thing says St. peer, you only have 3 arrows to use.
Eros, cocky and confident doesn't think he'll need that "extra" arrow.
We go through their journey, knowing love will prevail (it's a happily ever after thing) as Dylan is made to realize how wrong he's been by Teague as she cuts him down a few rings. Will Went the man whom he blames for the fail of his marriage forgive him, will his plan to win Jill back work? Can he become again the man she fell in love with and give her what she really wants, needs and desires?
Book rating: 3 stars
** I was provided an ARC for a honest Review.**
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