Page 1 of A Goddess Unraveled (Olympus Rising)

He watched her gaze at the screen of her phone, a carry-on bag tucked protectively under her arm, her posture straight but not severe. She smiled to herself as she waited for her chauffeur to load a set of matching luggage into the limousine, absently tucking a twist of hair behind her ear while the rest flowed in radiant waves down her back. It was auburn, her hair. He was partial to auburn.

It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see.

The quote came to him as he admired her from a distance. Did she appreciate the works of Thoreau? Was the gentle tilt of her lips caused by a literary piece she was reading as she stood beneath the airport awning? He wanted to believe she took pleasure in poetry and prose. Words seduced when conveyed with the proper finesse.

In a nearby spruce tree a pair of songbirds chatted—a cheerful confirmation that they’d heard each other and cared enough to reply. Could she hear their message too? He knew she’d been raised with means and privilege, which had a way of distracting people from their greater purpose.

He’d also heard she lived a sheltered life, much like a bird kept in a gilded cage, providing others with a connection to the world but not experiencing it themselves. It troubled him how well he could relate.

The chauffeur finished his duties and opened the limo door, waving her inside. She’d just received a call and made the man wait as she pressed the phone to her ear. But it seemed the caller had not been the one to delay her. She was turning to investigate the tree, craning her neck as she peered into the upper branches. This caused her hair to cascade farther down her back.

As she spied on the birds, they paused their song, and she lingered there, raised on her toes, the phone in her hand hanging at her side. She had heard them, and he considered this as she finally stepped toward the limousine, smiling at the chauffeur before climbing inside.

The hem of her skirt rode up her legs, although he hadn’t been staring. They reflected a life of sport and play, tapering gracefully to slender ankles. Perfect for kissing . . . or binding.

The limo door closed, severing those thoughts. But he couldn’t help wondering, as the taillights ticked off and the car rolled away, if she was bolder than her protected upbringing suggested. He’d come with no expectations, but perhaps he would need to tread more carefully.