Good Gods

Chapter 2

I wake in the middle of the night to the smell of wood smoke filling the master suite. Two things we don't have any of in our house, wood or chimneys. The wood thing is because Roman's design tastes strongly veer into the use of metal, stone, and concrete. This originally was his house, thus the marble feast that covers most of the floors and walls. And no chimney's because our house is very modern in its design, and Roman hates flames.

Sniffing the air in alarm, I reach over onto Roman's side of the bed. It's empty. Of course it is. I'd forgotten.

I slide my feet onto our bedroom's cold floors and reach for my silk bathrobe. Upon returning from Greece, I'd discovered that Roman had moved himself into a guest bedroom on the far other end of the house. I've asked. He won't say why. I can't get over it.

Our smoke detectors seem fine. I move to the large floor to ceiling windows of our bedroom. Several hills over, I see a long red line of flames. A forest fire? My heart pounds in my throat. How close? I think of Quin and turn for her room.

Roman is leaning in the doorway. I see Quin's black hair poking out of a bundle of blankets he's carrying.

"Blaze started two hours ago." He nods toward the window.

I place my hand on my chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of my breath. "How close?"

He hunches his shoulder. "Not very, over thirty miles. The wind is switching and will blow the smoke away from us and most of the homes." He sounds kind of irritated with the last part like he's the one who had to foot the bill for this travasty. Roman always hates paying for anything, this from a man who is all but made of money.

I glance to the window, in several places along the line, I see the flames bloom. I think to our daytime view, the ridge that's on fire is heavily populated. "Homes are burning now."

"Yes," he says. "Rip's had a busy night." My husband and Rip are in real estate planning, or inheritance law, or the like. I wonder how this fire could so quickly affect their business. Above the fiery ridge, I see lightening strike within the clouds.

Roman sighs. "The storm will extinguish the worst of it by morning."

"Is that why you're up, business?" I glance at the clock in our room, it's past two AM. Still, I'm a jealous lover and Roman's doing work in the middle of the night and well, not doing me.

He shrugs his broad shoulders. "Yes things are busy for me right now, and I heard Quin, thought I'd let you sleep."

That sooths my kindled anger. The part about him taking care of our child, not the work part. Since having Quin, I've discovered a fact that other mothers all over the world were already privy too. Husbands, holding their babies, are hot stuff. Husbands, who care for their babies in the middle of the night so their spouses can rest, are really, really hot stuff. Wake up to find them shirtless, like mine is, in black silk pajama bottoms with a sleeping baby in the crook of their arm, and it's about the single most sexiest thing on the planet. Like stop-the-world-I-want-to-do-him-this-second sexy.

I brace myself against our brushed chrome dresser, telling myself to stop swooning.

Roman possesses a perfectly sculpted masculine physique, and this doesn't help my reaction. Before I changed, we were always a bit unequal that way. I wasn't ugly, more cute. His appearance turns heads, especially here in LA where everything is about appearances. His dark hair is always smooth and shiny, he has a strong male chin, and stands at a towering six-foot-six. He's got the complete package with everything from the washboard-abs, thick forearms, to the tight ass. I could go on all day, write ballads to his physique, but him holding my sleeping baby—be still my beating heart.

"Why don't you come to bed," I purr. We haven't been intimate since I returned. Maybe it's more than him being half naked and holding a baby. I glance at his silk pants. Those would feel really good rubbing against my inner thigh. I shiver at the thought.

He takes a step in retreat. "I'm not sure how deeply she's sleeping." He pulls Quin closer. "If I set her down, she might wake."

I may have been gone from my baby's' life for a few weeks, I am her mother, that didn't change with my absence. Quin's asleep, very much so. Heat flushes my cheeks. If this is how Roman's going to act, then fine. I glance to the fiery ridge.

The blaze appears large. If that's true, the other New Olympians, the ones who know they can run fast, fly, they all can fly except me, or do other god-type-stuff, they would be helping out in a natural disaster like this. A cold knot forms in my gut. Me, I'm standing here ready to fight with my husband about if our baby's asleep all so I can get off. My gaze goes to the top of the dresser where earlier I moved the letter. It's waiting in the top drawer still unopened.

"I want to go meet with the other New Olympians," I say.

Roman tenses. His dark eyebrows descend over equally bleak eyes. Outside, a large lightning bolt flashes illuminating his features. The flash is followed quickly by the clash of thunder that rumbles through our house. The god thing, it's the biggest of our many cold war subjects.

"You don't know anything about those people or what they are capable of," he says in harsh tones.

Except for all the books I've read, he's right, I don't know anything about them. And that's what's chaffing me. I also don't know about me and who I've become.

"Oh, and you do know about them?" I retort. Because I need answers, and I need my husband. If I can't get one, I'll go for the other.

His nostrils flair and that large vein in his neck bulges with tension.

He's shooting straight to pissed off. I'm already there, so I push him forward. "Lance is right, you're keeping me hostage here."

There, I did it.

The corner of his eyes pinch, a small muscle in his cheek quivers, he's angry, again. I can almost see flames dance behind his black eyes. I know I could really throw him over the cliff, I could follow that statement up with saying that I'm going to call my mom. If I really want Antarctica to consume my bedroom, if I was dead set on making sure that zero passion would happen in this place for the next month, that's what I would say. I decide to let up on him.

The damage is done. I can see it in the taut way he's holding himself. Roman glances at our daughter in his arms. "If you go, you'll be picking them over your family."

Ouch. I feel the impact of his words in my gut. Clearly, he's not above throwing verbal counter-punches. That sucked. He should know I'm already drowning in a tsunami of mommy-guilt. I turn to the window and the red flames. I know what it feels like to be those home, trees, and hills. To be consumed. Roman has again made a point I don't want to face, I might be picking between my family and saving the world from twelve foot herbivores and fires.