Page 1 of The Perfect Matchmaking (Cupids & Goddesses #2)

“ C upids really have it all,” mused Abby Angellini-Goddard out loud, wiping her mouth on the ten-thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets and climbing up her wife’s blissed-out body.

Long, lean, and gorgeous body. Arriving at her destination, she looked down at the beautiful face waiting for her there—so relaxed and carefree—and marveled yet again at the fact that this was her wife of three years. She could not contain her grin.

“Love is grand.” Abby nestled her head in the crook of the slim shoulder and closed her eyes, luxuriating in the smooth skin under her cheek.

Smooth and silky, warm and seductive. She’d give her maybe fifteen more minutes to recover, because she could already feel herself wanting to go for round three. Or was it four?

“This is the life.” Hooking one arm across her wife’s midriff, Abby snuggled closer.

“I think after what just happened three times, those are supposed to be my lines.” Ah, round four it would be then.

And how could it not be, when there Sabine was in all her cupid glory, with—did she mention this already?

It probably should be mentioned again, because…

damn—a magnificent body, obtained through hours of painstaking workouts, a face sculpted surely by whoever sculpted cupids’ faces these days, flawless ageless skin that Abby never wanted to stop touching.

And then there was the voice. Low, sexy, currently lazy, and just a bit hoarse from recently attained rather loud satisfaction…

“All of those may be your lines, but how on earth did I get so lucky?”

Sabine Angellini-Goddard raised an eyebrow and Abby almost swooned. A freaking raised eyebrow! How lucky was she indeed?!

“I think in between all the proclamations about the extraordinary quality of your life, you missed saying a couple of sentences out loud, and so I am lost in the why of it all, darling.”

And the coup de grace. Abby was such a goner. Darling . It was almost unfair what one word in that cultured, gravel-over-whiskey voice did to her. That was it. Round four it was.

“I’ve missed nothing. In fact, I know I’ve not missed an inch…

” She trailed suggestive fingers down the amazing torso she’d worshiped just minutes ago, already excited that she got to do it all over again.

Within the quiet of the room that was permeated with moans and gasps, a muted but insistent phone vibration yanked both of them out of their revelry.

“What were you saying about this being the life?” Sabine stretched, delighting Abby with quite a show of those chiseled muscles in action, before padding barefoot and bare everything else to where their clothes lay in a heap. “If this is work, I will fire my assistant.”

“Very Devil Wears Prada . Meryl Streep looks good on you, babe.”

“You looked better on me just a minute ago, darling.” Abby rolled her eyes and smiled. Sabine and puns…

Meanwhile, Sabine’s face changed, switching from the carefree, blissful expression to one that spoke volumes of extreme frustration.

Abby’s own heart fell. Whatever was happening, their activities between the previously described luxurious sheets and the glorious round four plans were probably over.

Shame, as she’d been about to open the goodies drawer.

“Who will you be firing, Sabine?”

Her wife didn’t immediately answer but reached for the dark navy robe, and yes, Abby was definitely not going to be trying out the new strap she’d purchased just last week and had held back for a special occasion. Like an anniversary, or a birthday, or a Saturday.

With Sabine’s silk-clad form standing quietly by the window overlooking the calm, Upper East Side street, Abby thought back to four years ago.

Two cupids, a newbie and The Queen of The Perfect Match, they had certainly made little sense on paper.

Maybe that was why Sabine Goddard had resisted one brand-spanking-new cupid straight from the Academy.

She was, after all, the only cupid to go a full decade holding the aforementioned title and ensuring that couples of mortals experienced once in a lifetime romances and were perfectly matched together.

Abby had been young and idealistic, and maybe a bit na?ve. But she knew what she wanted. And she knew that she and Sabine could have it all if only the older cupid would overcome her fears, let go of her broken heart and take a chance on Abby.

When Sabine finally did let go—with some help from Aphrodite, who, in Abby’s mind, was like a fairy godmother—they’d come together, got married, and four years after their first Cupid Convention, they were still going strong.

Abby tiptoed out of bed, completely unashamed and comfortable in her own skin despite the chill of the early morning air coming from the slightly ajar balcony door. As she encircled her wife’s shoulders from behind and planted a gentle kiss on the nape of her neck, Abby sighed.

“Still happy?” Sabine’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Always with you. What has you upset?”

“Aphrodite.” The name was the only sound that fell off Sabine’s lips.

“Ah,” Abby sighed again. “And here I was thinking splendid, grateful thoughts about the goddess. What’s the word?”

Sabine relaxed slightly in her arms as they stood looking down from their penthouse over the rooftops and streets stretching in front of them, silhouettes of people and cars slowly appearing here and there. New York was waking up.

“No, not a word. More like an order. She’s not even asking. It’s a damn decree, the way I’m reading it.”

Abby squeezed the once again tensing shoulders and gave Sabine another peck on the neck.

“Whatever can she want from a cupid who retired two years ago?”

And that was another thing that still made Abby shiver excitedly.

A year into their marriage, Sabine had suddenly retired.

From her cupid duties, from her partnership in New York’s biggest and most profitable investment firm.

She’d started a foundation, working with the vulnerable and disadvantaged, ensuring they had access to healthcare and representation.

And making certain that she and Abby spent as much time together as possible, with Abby’s career taking off.

Abby’s heart, already overflowing with love, couldn’t keep from adoringly fluttering because Sabine would give it all up, just to be there every opening night and every single other night too, by her side or in the audience, watching Abby become one of the most sought-after theater costume designers.

Her wife’s voice interrupted her train of thought.

“This is very much an order to un-retire.”

At Abby’s blank stare, Sabine turned in her arms and simply handed her the phone. There in black on white—would Sabine ever step into the 21st century and use dark mode—was a text message.

“Be in Vegas during the usual week in February. You have two months to dust off your quiver and WIN The Queen Of Perfect Match title again. Zeus and the whole damn family will be there. DO NOT embarrass me, Sabine. Bring Abby. I’ll need jokes and a drinking partner.”

“Well, at least I am good for something.” Abby handed back the phone and grinned.

Her attempt at levity did not succeed, as Sabine closed her eyes and laid her forehead against Abby’s.

“You know she doesn’t mean it like that. But damn her for thinking she can just yank my chain and drag me back into that whole business. The complete and utter lack of respect for my choices and my life is… Damn. What do I care if Zeus and the rest of those numpties will be there?”

Calling the Olympians “numpties” didn’t bode very well for anyone involved and so there would be lots of drinking and jokes once they got to Vegas, Abby thought.

She lingered in the warm embrace for a moment longer, enjoying how their bodies fit like two pieces of a puzzle.

But Sabine was clearly upset and, more than her closeness, Abby knew she needed coffee and a plan of action.

The ever-rational and organized soul that was her wife always functioned better with sustenance and a contingency strategy.

She took Sabine’s hand and drew her through their wide open living room to the breakfast nook, where Orange and Brownie, their slothful and very chonky cats, lounged.

As she seated Sabine on the satin-covered bench, their black lab, Sir Emerson Blackmore III, as always sensing his mistress’s distress, carefully laid his enormous head with those silky ears into Sabine’s lap.

Abby pressed the sequence of buttons on the coffeemaker.

If the cats noticed the tension in the air at all, they attached exactly zero importance to it as they continued to lounge on their cushions.

“Zeus and the family?” As a cupid who’d graduated from the Academy five years ago, Abby was somewhat familiar with the workings of the Olympus machinery, but only distantly.

Apollo had been her professor once upon a time and she was good friends with some of the muses, especially Melpomene, what with their joint theater ventures.

But other than that, Abby mostly just did her cupid duty and stayed out of the fray.

The internal politics and bitchery that surrounded the gods were a little confusing and generally too murky for her.

Never one to go looking for trouble, unless it was to follow her wife, Abby would rather not get involved.

Looked like her days of staying out of the Olympic mess were over though.

“I don’t think you’ve met Zeus, have you?” Sabine absently scratched under Orange’s ear. “These days, he’s an oil magnate obsessed with boats. I guess he’s never shown up in Vegas before because he can’t steer his latest mega-yacht there.”

“What’s he like?” At the sound of the coffeemaker, Abby poured two mugs, splashing cream into hers and made a face at Sabine’s bitter black.

“Eccentric, funny, total asshole. Sometimes loveable, more often—not at all. Pretty much what you read about him in the myths and legends of Ancient Greece. He has not changed, and I don’t think he ever will. Chases every skirt, has progeny everywhere. Is confused about what morality is.”

“Sounds like an upstanding dude.”

“Not by a long shot, no. Still, with him, what you see is what you get, even if his motives and scheming are constant. But you know he’s always up to something.

There’s no pretense, no fake innocence or pretentious manner.

Zeus knows he’s a jerk. He isn’t hiding it.

And he mostly just lives his life—well, his eternal life.

He’s making tons of money and sailing his latest boat monstrosity from one corner of whichever ocean to another. ”

“Why would he come to Vegas? I mean, why would he be there for the Cupids Convention? Isn’t that not his domain?” Abby sipped her coffee and felt slightly more alert, a myriad of questions on her mind now.

“He usually doesn’t. Once in a very rare while, some god or other type of celestial fool reminds him that he is the head of the family.

A big, dysfunctional family. And he puffs up his chest to prove to everyone that he still rules the roost.” The cat, awoken by Sabine’s caresses, purred like a freight train.

“Does he? Rule the roost?”

“Maybe in his dreams? Since his divorce from Hera, he has really stepped back from meddling in the business of the various gods and goddesses. They have pretty much done as they pleased for centuries, with an occasional bout of chest-puffing and grandstanding from the old coot.”

“So why is Aphrodite so demanding now? Why does it matter that he and the family, whomever that entails, will be in Vegas?”

“That is indeed the question. Perhaps he is checking up on her? Perhaps he is doing his once-in-a-century round of ‘gotta keep tabs on them kids’? Even if she isn’t his child.

Or perhaps something else crawled up her excellent butt?

Who knows at this point? But it’s mighty presumptuous of her to think that she can just trot me out there like a prize pony to show off to her nitwit relatives. ”

Abby laughed, and Sabine just shook her head. “They really are a nitwit bunch, darling. You’ll see.”

“So we are going then? In two months? And you’ll resume your cupid duties in the meantime?

” She felt a small tension wrinkle appear on her forehead and Sabine confirmed it by reaching out her fingers, the same ones that had just been making the cat purr in ecstasy, to smooth it out.

Orange all but growled in frustration at said fingers being taken away and gave Abby the stink eye before curling his tail in the air and swaggering off.

“Retired or not, I am still a cupid, and she is still the Goddess of Love. So I have to obey. But wouldn’t you agree the message is rather vague?

The order, per se, imprecise?” The fingers moved from Abby’s forehead to cup her cheek, the thumb slowly tracing her lower lip, setting off sparks in its wake.

And the low, suggestive, decidedly devious tone of voice was doing wonders for other places on Abby’s body.

“You mean…” She sucked in a breath, then sucked in Sabine’s thumb, whose other hand snuck under Abby’s robe and found her ready and very, very willing.

“I mean…” Sabine’s voice now sounded near her ear, as that wicked mouth was working its magic on her jaw. “That Aphrodite plays her games. But I am still The Queen Of The Perfect Match and I can play mine…”

“So, what are you going to do? Do you have a plan?” Abby could hear the plea in her own question since the fingers on her skin were too tender and now avoiding any place that would give her true respite.

“What I will do is take you right here on the table, and then perhaps on the living room floor. We are yet to test the softness of the new carpet there, and then we will have brunch at Boulud. As for Aphrodite? Hmmm…” Abby could feel Sabine’s smile blossom against the sensitive skin of her collarbone as she nosed to move away the flimsy collar of the robe.

“Aphrodite will have to wait because right now, I only have plans for you.”