Eros by Helen Harper Page B

and soft furnishings. Her mutilated body would probably be found months from now, dumped in a Greek wasteland. She thought of her parents and how they’d react, and misery seeped through.
    Coop watched the different emotions flit across her face. ‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ he said softly.
    ‘You’re invisible!’ Skye scoffed.
    He pulled himself off her body and stood up. ‘Yes. I’m invisible. But it’s only temporary and, believe me, Skye, I’m not a monster.’
    As soon as his weight left hers, Skye sprang up and backed away. It was a long way to the front door and, even if she made it that far, he’d catch her before she took two steps outside. Wishing she’d thought this through more, she tried to inject some calm into her voice.
    ‘So who are you really?’
    Coop looked into her dark-brown eyes, realising that there were, along with the very obvious and palpable terror being displayed, little flecks of alluring green. He liked them, he decided.
    ‘I told you,’ he said, ‘I’m Coop.’
    ‘That doesn’t tell me anything,’ Skye hissed.
    He walked towards her until he was right in front of her. She seemed to sense he was there because she immediately tried to sidle away. He grabbed one of her hands and squeezed it gently.
    ‘Let’s get a drink and I’ll tell you.’
    He pulled on her hand carefully, directing her towards one of the kitchen stools then, when she was seated, went to the fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of wine. Skye watched from her perch as it was uncorked, then two long-stemmed glasses floated through the air and landed on the table in front of her.
    ‘I don’t want a drink,’ she protested.
    ‘It’ll be a much more civilised way of explaining my story,’ Coop murmured. ‘Just two friends chatting over a glass of wine about the vagaries of life.’
    ‘I’m not your friend. And it’s not even ten o’clock in the morning!’
    Coop poured the lightly fizzing liquid into first one glass, then another. ‘So?’
    Skye reached out and picked a glass up, lifted it to her lips and drained it. ‘I don’t want a damned drink.’
    ‘Except you just had one,’ he pointed out.
    She stared at her empty glass. She’d not even registered her own action. What was wrong with her? Coop re-filled it then took a sip of his own.
    ‘As I was saying,’ he said, ‘my name is Coop. But I’m also known as Cupid.’
    Skye’s brain felt fuzzy. ‘Cupid?’
    Coop nodded then remembered she couldn’t see him. ‘Yes,’ he replied patiently.
    ‘Like the cherub? The naked baby with wings and a bow and arrow?’ The body she’d felt when they’d both been on the floor certainly hadn’t been that of a child’s.
    Coop winced. ‘Well, that’s one interpretation. Personally I blame Michelangelo. I can assure you, I’m not a baby.’
    Skye almost snorted. She could have told him that. She thought about what she’d read on the internet about the origins of the name Kamadeva. ‘But you’re still the God of Love?’ she asked doubtfully.
    He let out a bark of laughter. ‘You’re prepared to accept I’m invisible but not that I’m a god?’
    ‘I’m not sure what I’m prepared to accept right now.’
    ‘Fair enough. I can assure you, however, it’s very true.’
    Skye raised her glass to take another sip, realised what she was doing and placed it back down again. ‘You said you’re invisible because you’re being punished?’
    ‘My mother,’ Coop answered caustically. ‘She seems to think being isolated will encourage me to think more highly of love.’
    ‘You’re the God of Love and you don’t like love?’
    ‘“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove.”’
    ‘“Oh no! It is an ever-fixed mark,”’ Skye finished.
    ‘Exactly.’
    She frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’
    ‘Neither did Shakespeare,’ he commented drily. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll show you later.’
    This was getting stranger and stranger. ‘So