Planetary Passions 6: Double Trouble (Gemini) Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Double Trouble

  ISBN # 1-4199-0528-7

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Double Trouble Copyright© 2006 Allyson James

  Edited by Heather Osborn.

  Cover art by Syneca & Lissa Waitley

  Electronic book Publication: June 2006

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  he characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  DOUBLE TROUBLE

  Allyson James

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Indiana Jones: Lucasfilm, Ltd.

  National Geographic: National Geographic Society

  Chapter One

  The last shard of the vessel lay in Fiona’s hand.

  Fiona’s sex jar, the other archeologists snickered.

  The painting on the terracotta two-handled jar depicted two beautiful men with long, very erect cocks, one on either side of a voluptuous woman.

  Their penises half penetrated the woman in profile, one in front, one behind, in an impossible position. The woman hovered between the two, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her long black hair touching the cock of the man behind her.

  Their naked male physiques were in excellent shape, their faces near perfect, and each of them had unruly black, curling hair that ended just below the napes of their necks. The painting followed the sinuous curve of the jar and the men’s muscular arms nearly touched in the back.

  Fiona could study the painting for hours, enjoying the art of that long dead Athenian who had caught the threesome in their erotic act.

  The ancient Athenians had not been afraid of sex. Neither was Fiona, but spending her days in a muffled office or digging things out of the dirt under the broiling sun didn’t give her much chance to have any. Her last boyfriend had departed three years ago, and now the only time she got on her hands and knees with a man was to help him brush dust from unearthed pottery.

  So she looked at the vessel that dated to 500 B.C.E. and wished she were the woman in the middle. She wondered if the painting depicted a myth or just the artist’s own fantasy. Maybe someday her research would discover its secret.

  Fiona had needed one piece, brilliant red tipped with black, to complete the jar she’d been working on in the Athenian Agora for the past two summers.

  Today, almost as if by accident, the last piece had nearly leapt at her from the spread of potsherds in the collection room. Now she held it in her hand, the ancient clay smooth and cool.

  At last.

  A gray tabby that enjoyed lounging about the site chose that moment to rub Fiona’s legs. Used to her by now, Fiona barely jumped at the brush of fur on her bare skin.

  She dabbed the shard with the paste they used to glue pots together, and with a satisfied smile, carefully set the last piece into place.

  A sudden vibration hummed through her body. She heard a loud click, and the lights went out.

  Someone outside the pottery room groaned. “Generator’s gone again. To hell with it, I’m going to bed.”

  Fiona took out her pocket flashlight and made her way to the door. The offices were in complete darkness, but no one panicked—everyone was used to the temperamental generator. Mostly they muttered swear words and left the building.

  Fiona left too, the cat staying behind in the comfortable dark. Fiona headed back to the dorm and the tiny private bedroom awarded her because she was a postdoc, a small step up from the graduate students who bunked four together in one-room apartments spread throughout the city.

  She sighed as she crossed the compound under the mild Athens night. Such an anticlimactic end to a day she’d looked forward to for two years. She’d finished her jar, but no one very much cared except herself.

  The true life of an archeologist, she thought with an inward laugh. No Indiana Jones adventures for me.

  * * * * *

  In the pottery room, unseen by anyone but the gray cat who watched the jar with intense yellow eyes, the black and red vessel began to rock. A wisp of smoke rose from the top, the crazed cracks of the pieced-together shards vanished and the painted figures began to glow…

  * * * * *

  Fiona woke to whispers.

  “Think she’ll be as beautiful when she opens her eyes?” It was a masculine voice, deep and rich and slightly accented. Greek.

  “Have you ever seen hair this color? It is like the depths of fire.” The second voice was just as deep, just as rich, just as sinfully sexy.

  “Is it real, do you think?”

  “It’s like the finest gossamer woven by Ariadne.” Fiona felt faint touch in her hair then it was gone.

  “What language are we speaking?” the first man asked.

  “English.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “It must be her language,” the second man said. “Of course we’d understand it. She’s obviously a great sorceress.” Again the faint touch in her hair. “And a beautiful one.”

  “I saw her first.”

  “The fuck you did. We arrived at the same time.”

  Fiona lay still, wondering what kind of dream had taken over her tired brain. She felt a warm weight on either side of her, as though the men had stretched out on the narrow bed with her. Musky and masculine scents wove through her half-asleep mind, soothing and comforting.

  Their voices were similar, but she sensed a difference. The first man sounded amused, as though he found the world perpetually funny. The second had a poetic turn, rich syllables sliding from his tongue in beautiful phrases.

  “I wonder where we are,” the first one said. “Last thing I remember is that bitch in the temple, and then—nothing.”

  “It is too dark. Is she a goddess, do you think?”

  “Her fingers are dirty.”

  Fiona felt her hand being raised and a brush of something warm—lips—across her fingertips. She stirred, the space between her legs heating.

  “A goddess can get her fingers dirty if she wants to,” the second man said, his voice deep and warm.

  What a magnificent dream.

  Fiona’s eyelids began to open, and she fought waking up. Stay asleep, enjoy it. Waking up would bring dull reality rushing back.

  Sure, spending her summers in Athens working in the ancient ruins was exotic, but only until the lights didn’t work and the plumbing backed up, and a peanut butter sandwich seemed like food of the gods.

  Fiona’s eyelids wouldn’t cooperate. They slid open and her eyes took in the darkness of the room.

  Except the dream didn’t go away. Two large, hard-bodied men lay full-length on either side of her, each propped up on one elbow, each with black hair rumpled to the napes of their necks. Two faces of hard, identical handsomeness hung over hers, two pairs of glittering dark eyes fixed on her.

  Twins, she thought distractedly.

  Both men were stark naked. They lay languorously on her bedcovers, legs stretched to entwine with hers, sculpted pectorals dusted with black hair, arms raw with muscle. The one on her left had her hand in his and was brushing his lips over her fingers.

  The one on her right looked at her with such intense concentration that his gaze seemed to bore straight through her head.

  She opened her mouth to scream but only a strangled dry sound came out.

  “Shh,” said the one holding her hand, his breath tickling her ski
n.

  For some reason, she wanted to obey him instead of fighting her way free and shouting for help.

  “Are you a sorceress?” the one on her right asked softly. “Or a goddess?”

  Fiona gulped. “Neither. I’m…an archaeologist.”

  The two men exchanged a glance. “Ar-chaeo-lo-gist,” the man on her right said, lips carefully pronouncing the syllables. “A Greek word. Studier of the past?”

  “Yes. I guess so.” At the moment, Fiona was not sure exactly what she did. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my room?”

  The two men looked at each other, surprised. “You freed us,” said the one on her right, his intense look deepening.

  “We were drawn to you,” the first man said, his lips lingering on her fingertips. “After the spell broke and you freed us. Of course we want to thank you.”

  The second man’s smile changed his serious demeanor. “We will thank you in whatever way you like.” He laid his hand across her abdomen and even through the blankets, his large palm soaked heat into her.

  “Wait.” Fiona struggled to sit up. “I freed you? From what? I’ve never seen you before. I haven’t been anywhere but the dig in weeks. You’re mistaking me for someone else.”

  “No,” the first one said.

  They started speaking at the same time, each finishing the other’s sentences. “We were trapped—”

  “In oblivion—”

  “For eternity.”

  “It seemed like eternity.”

  “Do you know how boring oblivion is?”

  “Especially with him.”

  They glared at each other. “At least I know more than two jokes,” the one on her right said.

  “At least I don’t sing. Zeus above, but your voice would make a Hydra cringe.”

  Fiona waved her hands to break in. “Oblivion?”

  Their banter ceased, smiles vanishing. “It was dark—”

  “And so damn cold.”

  “Lonely.”

  “The dark could eat your soul.”

  They stopped.

  Fiona hugged her knees to her chest, aware she wore only a thin nightshirt over her rather ample curves. The sadness in their voices pulled at her, but she had to remember that two naked strangers had broken into her room and gotten into bed with her, and what she really should do is get away from them and run for security.

  But they were so compelling. Their features were nearly identical and yet not. The man to her left had a twinkle in his eyes that the one on her right did not, and his lips creased into ready smiles while his brother was more serious.

  But the man on her right had such a compelling gaze that she found herself swaying toward him when he spoke.

  “At least tell me who you are,” she said faintly.

  “Pollux,” said the man on her left side.

  “Castor,” said the man on her right.

  “Castor and Pollux?” Fiona repeated. “Like the Greek demigods? Like the Gemini constellation?”

  Pollux nodded, his easy smile wide. “That’s us.”

  She shot a glance at Castor, who also nodded.

  “Good lord,” she spluttered. “Your mother named you after a constellation?”

  They looked puzzled. “The constellation was named for us,” Castor said. “Our mother was Leda.”

  “She had a partiality to swans,” Pollux grinned. “Don’t tell her husband.”

  “Swans.” Fiona dragged in a breath. “You mean Leda and the swan. Leda and Zeus.”

  “Yes,” Castor said.

  So—they’re tall, dark, handsome and insane. “Leda was the mother of Helen of Troy,” she said faintly.

  They both nodded.

  “Our sister,” Pollux said. “People can get up to the stupidest things. An entire civilization destroyed because of a cuckolded husband’s pique.”

  Fiona held up both hands. “All right, just stop. I won’t report you or call the police if you simply leave my room and get out of the compound. Really. You go, I don’t say a word, and you never come back.”

  The two men looked at each other.

  “She’s afraid of us,” Castor said, in a tone of surprise.

  “But you freed us,” his brother said. “You must have known when you broke the spell that we’d devote ourselves to you. No one fears Castor and Pollux. We’re the demigods of good times.”

  “And duality,” Castor said softly. “Identical, yet completely different. Those born under our influence have a great capacity for art.”

  “And discourse,” Pol added.

  “For Greek demigods, you speak English very well,” Fiona pointed out.

  “Because it is your language,” Castor said. “The magic that brought us back allows us to understand it.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Pollux unfolded himself from the bed. The room was still dark, the moonlight leaking through the thin curtains not enough to illuminate them completely, but she could see that Pollux was tall, well over six feet. Every muscle on his torso rippled in perfect harmony.

  “What do you want us to do to prove we’re who we say we are?” he asked.

  “You can’t,” she said at once.

  Castor took advantage of his brother’s absence to move closer to her. Something large and firm pressed her thigh, a satin prod against her bare skin. His cock. She could see only Pollux’s upper torso in the dark, but knew that he was just as naked and his cock must be just as large.

  Her heart beat swiftly, the part of her that was all woman waking up and taking notice.

  Castor smoothed a lock of hair with his broad fingers. “Why do you not believe us?”

  Should you argue with crazy people or just go along with what they say?

  Fiona dragged in a breath. “Castor and Pollux—the Gemini twins—it’s all a myth, made up thousands of years ago. By people with no concept of genetics, by the way, because if I remember right, Castor and Pollux had different fathers, and you can’t have identical twins with different fathers. People thought that about women with twins—that they’d cheated on their husbands—because, like I said, they didn’t know anything about genetics.”

  Her words ran out as her mouth dried and breath deserted her. She realized that both men were staring at her like she was the one who was crazy.

  “Thousands of years,” Pollux repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Castor looked troubled. “How many thousands?”

  “I don’t know. Troy was what, five or six thousand years ago? You must have been born about twenty or so years before that, right?”

  Silence fell. The night was quiet, the only sounds a distant hum of a car and the scuttle of claws from the mice they could never get rid of.

  When Castor spoke, his voice was subdued. “We did not know that much time had passed.”

  “It was so cold,” Pollux repeated. He folded his arms across his broad chest, flexing muscles that any other time Fiona would be thrilled to watch. And touch and lick…

  Fiona felt their distress and for some reason wanted to comfort her crazy naked men. “You’re all right now,” she began.

  Castor gave her a warm look. “Yes, because of you. Our strong sorceress to break the spell.”

  “It was strong magic,” Pollux added. “I sensed that even as Selena made the vessel and started to pull us in. We have strong magic but we could not resist. It bound us fast.”

  “She laughed at us,” his brother finished. “Said the great Castor and Pollux would be nothing but faces on a jar.”

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “Jar?”

  She finally fought free of the covers and scrambled to her feet.

  “I know what this is all about. They sent you, didn’t they? Bob and Joan Whittington. They’ve made fun of my sex jar from day one, but they’re pretty annoyed I got that huge write-up in Archaeology Today and especially National Geographic. They scorn popular publications, but at the same time, they were pissed as hell. They sent you, didn’t they? As
a big joke. They must have found out I finished the vessel.”

  Both men looked blank. Castor and Pollux—if that were their names, which she doubted—exchanged a puzzled glance.

  She put her hands to her head, tugging at her tousled hair. “Oh God, if they’ve done anything to the jar…”

  She snatched a pair of jeans from a chair and jammed her feet in the dusty sneakers she kept by the door. Without looking back at the two men, she grabbed her flashlight, slammed out of her room and hastened to the pottery room. Thankfully, no one saw her and she was able to dash into the room alone, shut the door and turn on the light.

  The generator must have been reset because the electric lamp above the worktable glowed readily when she turned the switch. The gray cat, which had curled itself into a ball underneath the table, raised its head and blinked at her.

  The vessel sat where she’d left it. Except it had completely changed.

  Gone were the cracks that showed where the pieces had been fitted together. The painting likewise had altered. The two identical men—Castor and Pollux?—had changed position.

  They were now standing back to back, arms folded over well-muscled chests, cocks still rampant. The woman had disappeared completely, leaving a blank space of red terracotta between them.

  Chapter Two

  Cas eased himself from the bed and told his inflated cock to go down.

  The sorceress, their rescuer, was beautiful, her body all curves and valleys, a voluptuous playground for his hands. He’d fallen instantly in love with her round, sweet face and her fire-colored hair like warm silk.

  He’d hoped that easing her awake would result in a long bout of love-play. He’d wanted to slide her thin garment from her and explore her body with gentle fingers. He’d scented her desire as she moved between them, a woman aroused even under her fear and indignation.

  Her anger made no sense. If she had released them from the vessel and Selena’s spell, why did she seem unhappy to see them?

  But she hadn’t been completely unhappy. Her nipples had pearled behind her garment and her juices had run warmly between her legs, he had sensed it.