Dogs and Goddesses Read online

  “I believe we were both involved in the kissing,” Christopher said politely. “As a matter of fact, you were the one—”

  “Apology accepted,” she said hastily. She knew perfectly well she’d been flirting and she’d only gotten what she deserved. The best kiss she’d ever had in her entire life.

  “Since I’m here, why don’t I give you a hand getting that mattress in place?” he said.

  She would have liked to refuse the offer, but the mattress was now resting in the upstairs hallway and her delusions of being superwoman were rapidly vanishing. “That would be very kind of you,” she said, trying to sound distant and failing miserably. Especially since he came up the narrow, enclosed staircase so that he was very, very close.

  “Where’s it going?”

  She edged backward, away from him. No cookies, Abby. No punch, no cookies, no superpowers. “In my room. If I can get past it, I can pull it while you push.”

  “Sounds logical.” He was his usual practical self, all math brain and no heart. So why was she caring? She managed to squeeze past the thick mattress, into her bedroom, and then grabbed onto the pillowed end of it. “Ready,” she said, prepared to use all her strength to haul the damned thing into the room.

  A second later she jumped out of the way as the mattress flew into the room, landing crosswise on the box spring, followed by an unruffled Christopher. “Why didn’t you let the furniture store deliver this instead of trying to drag it up here by yourself?

  She really didn’t want to be talking about beds with him. “That would have taken a week. I’ve been sleeping on an air mattress and it sprang a leak. I decided if I was going to stay around here for a while, I might at least be comfortable, and I didn’t want to spend another night on the floor.” She started to yank the mattress onto the foundation, and he pushed it into place with seemingly no effort.

  It went right up under the window, and it looked so wonderful that she immediately sat down on it, bouncing lightly. “Good God, this is heavenly,” she said in a voice that came out almost sexual in its pleasure. Damnation, she thought, jumping up quickly.

  “I’m sure it is,” he said, his voice cool and even. “You never let me tell you what I came to apologize for.”

  God, they weren’t going to talk about the kiss again, were they? She sat back on the bed, bouncing lightly. “No need,” she said.

  “I’m not usually rude.”

  “Really? You could have fooled me.”

  He grimaced. “My life is … complicated. Not that it’s any concern of yours. I just wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

  “You mean you’re not really a stiff-rumped bastard who cares more about numbers than people?” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. There was no way she was going to soften around him again.

  She saw a flash of amusement in his eyes, but he still didn’t smile. “No, I’m definitely a stiff-rumped bastard who cares more about numbers than people. I’ve never wasted much time on social skills.”

  “Could have fooled me. Maybe you’ve just been having trouble sleeping. I gather your house is haunted.”

  The amusement fled, leaving his eyes cool. “Who told you that? I don’t happen to believe in ghosts. There’s a rational explanation for everything.”

  “And what’s your rational explanation? Who’s haunting you? The old math professor who used to live there?”

  “Someone has been far too busy talking about my personal life. And I’d like to know what business is this of yours?” His voice was frosty.

  “Just curious. I’ve never known anyone who’s actually seen a ghost.”

  “And you still don’t,” he snapped. “There are no ghosts. There are just…” His voice trailed off.

  “Just what?”

  “Voices.

  Abby froze. “You hear dogs talking?”

  He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Of course not. Why in the world would dogs be talking? That’s totally ridiculous.”

  “Totally,” she said as Bowser grumbled in the corner. “So who is that you hear?”

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to say anything, just turn and leave. “A four-thousand-year-old mage.”

  Abby hooted with laughter. “Been playing too many computer games recently, Professor?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do play,” he said stiffly. “But this has nothing to do with it. The wizard I’m talking about is from Mesopotamia.”

  Suddenly things were no longer so amusing. “Mesopotamia?” she echoed, uneasy. She shook her head, as if shaking off the shadows. “That’s easily explained. The college is a major center for Mesopotamian studies. Even the ancient history building has been moved from the Middle East. It just sank into your subconscious and…”

  “And whispers math equations in my ears? The kind of thing no one else could possibly think of?” He sounded as removed and logical as one of his math equations.

  “Well, Shar said you were some kind of child prodigy. You’re brilliant. Maybe that’s just the way your twisted brain works,” she suggested, trying to be helpful.

  “My brain isn’t twisted, thank you very much. And I know exactly who’s talking to me. The man who invented modern mathematics. Milki-la-el.”

  “I hate to tell you this, Professor, but if he lived four thousand years ago, it’s not modern mathematics.”

  He just looked at her. “You’re fairly pedantic for a flower child. Are you sure you’re not a closet mathematician?”

  “Perish the thought.” She shuddered. “So you’re being haunted by the ghost of an ancient math professor. What’s that got to do with me?”

  “Hearing voices isn’t normal.”

  “You’re telling me,” she muttered.

  “And this isn’t the first time I’ve heard them.”

  She was momentarily at a loss for a snappy comeback. “When did you first hear them?”

  “When I was a child I had an imaginary friend named Uncle Milki who told me stories about the beauty of numbers. It annoyed my foster parents no end, so I eventually stopped telling them about him and eventually he stopped talking. But once I moved here, he started up again.” He pushed away from the dresser. “Ever heard of John Nash?”

  “A Beautiful Mind,” she said promptly. “And you think you’re crazy as a loon like he was?”

  “Such a delicate way to put it,” he said. “It appears to be that way. So I have no business getting involved with anyone, kissing anyone, moving beds with anyone.…” He gestured toward the bed angrily. “I have no business being around you.”

  “So why are you here again?” she said, climbing off the bed. He was still leaning against the dresser, and on impulse she moved closer. Something was moving in the air between them, mystery and desire and irrational longing, and she had no idea whether he felt it as strongly as she did.…

  “Oh, hell,” he said, and pulled her into his arms.

  “Oh, hell—” The word was cut off as his mouth silenced hers, and she flung her arms around his neck, pressing her body up against his, trying to get closer, for one brief moment not giving a damn about anything but kissing a crazy mathematician.

  And then Christopher tore himself away with a muttered curse. “Hell, no,” he said.

  “Hell, no?” she echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean there’s no room in my very complicated life for an irresponsible flower child. There’s no room in my life for anything but numbers.”

  “Numbers are pretty cold comfort in bed.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting we sleep together?”

  “Of course not,” she said. Oh my god, yes, she thought. For a moment she didn’t move, as everything suddenly became clear. She knew what she wanted. He was standing right in front of her. He heard voices, but then, so did she. A crazy, annoying, gorgeous math genius with the social skills of a kumquat.

  She was out of her mind. Maybe the temple tonic had a long-lasting effect; maybe the cookie