Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  “Ah,” the old man said. “It’s even worse than that. I sent you to fall in love with a mortal.”

  Hale blinked. He certainly hadn’t been expecting Zephron to say that. “Excuse me?”

  Zephron looked at Tracy. “Do you understand?”

  To Hale’s surprise, she nodded. “I think so. I figured it out in the castle.”

  Hale gaped as he waited for her to continue.

  “Not anyone could persuade me to give up the belt. Even torturing me wouldn’t do it, although I guess Hieronymous didn’t know that.” She licked her lips. “Aphrodite was the goddess of love. I was only going to give the belt up to someone I loved.”

  Hale frowned, then looked to Zephron for confirmation. The Elder nodded.

  “It all makes sense,” Tracy continued. “Although I didn’t realize it until that Henchman couldn’t get it off me but I could take it off to give to you. I’d wanted to give it to you earlier, in the hotel bar. Something held me back. I wasn’t in love with you yet.” She smiled. “I was close. But I wasn’t there yet.”

  Hale looked at Zephron, his eyes wide. “Then, you knew I’d fall in love with Tracy? Or that she’d fall in love with me?” The Elder shook his head. “No. I did not even know if that was how the belt truly worked. I told you, we did not have the full information. But I suspected. It was a risk, of course, sending you. Your ‘issues’ as you call them made you a questionable choice. But at the same time, I believed that you were ready to overcome them. You just needed the right woman. And I believed Ms. Tannin here not only had the belt, but was that woman.” He caught Hale’s eyes. “So I assigned you. And I hoped.”

  “Hoped?” Tracy echoed.

  “Yes, I admit to taking a risk.” He smiled at her, his eyes warm and caring. “Considering the outcome, it is a risk I’m glad I took.” His eyes moved between Hale and Tracy. “I wish you many happy years. Perhaps there will be a new halfling on the horizon soon...”

  Children? Hale swallowed and tugged at his collar, the idea more appealing than he would have thought. And also more terrifying.

  Tracy laughed and squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you get used to the idea of being in love with a mortal before we start planning kids.”

  “Sweetheart, I didn’t fall in love with a mortal. I fell in love with Tracy Tannin.” He stroked her cheek, imagining himself holding her child... their child. He had to admit he liked the image.

  Her smile zinged straight to his heart as she said: “And I didn’t fall in love with a superhero or a cover model. I fell in love with you.” Then she asked with a soft laugh, “So, do you think Elmer’s ready to be an uncle?”

  Hale chuckled, hugging her close. “So long as he gets his vacation and occasional infusions of HBO, I think he’ll do just fine.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  TRACY LAUGHED AS Hale tugged at the bowtie around his neck. It was the first time she’d seen him in a tux, and when he’d walked into Tara-too’s private screening room, her first reaction was to melt at his feet. Her second was to rip it off him, forget the party, and stay in bed all night.

  “Don’t laugh,” he growled. “I saw you yanking at your pantyhose earlier.”

  “I hate the damn things. They must have been invented by men.” She aimed a pretend scowl his way. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

  He moved closer, sweeping her into an embrace. “It’s Elmer’s big night. His acting debut. And you had the bright idea of throwing a party to celebrate his episode of Mrs. Dolittle.”

  “I know that,” she said. “But why am I wearing pantyhose?”

  Hale laughed. “The ferret has attitude. Since he’s wearing a tux, he insisted we dress up too.” He pulled back, his eyes roaming over her body. “I plan to thank him for it. You look stunning.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He bent her over his arm, planting a long, slow kiss on her lips.

  “Without the belt, I’m just another girl.” Even in her awkward position, she managed a shrug. “And not even an average girl. Just plain old Tracy. Heck, Leon hasn’t even given me a second look.” Not that she wanted Leon’s eyes on her, but she had to admit that the belt had been nice for her ego.

  “Believe me, sweetheart, there’s nothing plain about you. You’re beautiful—inside and out. I knew it from the first moment I saw you. Even though I fought like hell.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Besides, you don’t need any other men looking at you. Your fiancé’s the jealous type. And a jealous superhero can be a dangerous thing.”

  That’s one of the things she loved about Hale: he always knew the right thing to say. And he made her believe she was beautiful. “Have I told you today how much I love you?” she asked.

  “Even if you did,” he said, “it bears repeating.”

  “Break it up, you two.” Mel’s voice filtered into the room, followed by the click of her heels as she hurried in, a ferret on each shoulder. “The show starts in fifteen minutes.” Elmer—decked out in his own little tux and tiny sunglasses—started chittering as Hale pulled Tracy back to a standing position.

  “What’s he saying?” she asked.

  “That if we forget to tape the show, he’s going to disown both of us.”

  Penelope chimed in.

  “The same?”

  “She just doesn’t want us to miss the beginning. This is Elmer’s big night, after all.”

  Tracy looked at her watch. “We’ve still got a few minutes. Where’s Zoe and everyone?”

  “The kitchen.” Mel glanced around the room at the catered buffet Tracy had ordered that afternoon. “All this, and Hoop wanted popcorn.”

  Elmer jumped down to one of the seats and started tapping his paw. Penelope hopped down as well and snuggled up close. The show had taped two weeks before, and even in that short time, her delicate condition had become more apparent. Elmer, who’d developed some surprisingly gentlemanly qualities, scooted over to give her more room on the seat.

  “Hey, hey. Let’s get this show on the road.” Hoop stormed in with Deena on his heels. Taylor and Zoe followed, with Lane and Davy bringing up the rear. Hoop aimed a smile toward Tracy and Hale. “Great party, you two. And Hale, congrats on your miraculous recovery.”

  Tracy chuckled as Hale scowled, clearly clueless. “Recovery?”

  “Your acute mortal-itis,” Taylor explained. “Looks like you’re cured.”

  At that, Hale laughed, then pulled Tracy closer. “With this mortal, maybe. The rest of you losers I only put up with because my sister makes me.”

  Zoe laughed. “I take the Fifth.”

  “And we don’t believe you,” Lane added. “You’ve blown it now, Hale. We know the truth.”

  Deena winked. “But don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with us.” Hale aimed a mock-stern glance toward them all, even as Elmer started hopping up and down, chittering away.

  “What now?” Tracy asked.

  “He says to shut up. We may have kept the world safe from Hieronymous, but he’s guest-starred in a television show.” Hale grinned. “Can’t argue with that.” A frown creased his forehead. “Of course, now he’s begging Marty to line him up a job in commercials. What do you think? Could Elmer endorse a line of clothing?”

  Tracy tugged at his hand, ignoring the neurotic ferret. “Come here, mister.” She led him out of the room and into the hallway. “We still have five minutes before showtime, and there’s something I want to do.”

  “I’m not sure we can do that in five minutes.”

  She tried to ignore him, but couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. “Not that. This.” She hit ‘play’ on the jam-box she’d left by the door, and the low strains of Frank Sinatra singing “It Had To Be You” echoed through the hall. “Dance with me.”

  Caressing her cheek, he smiled. “Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything at all.”

  He swept her into his arms and they twirled on the floor in time with the music. Just the two of them, al
one with the magic.

  With a sigh, she rested her head against his shoulder. She'd finally made it. This was the dance she’d always fantasized about. With the man she'd fantasized about.

  Only this time, it was a fantasy come true.

  -The End-

  For news about upcoming books and exclusive sneak previews, subscribe to Julie Kenner’s free newsletter.

  If you enjoyed Aphrodite’s Passion, be sure to check out Julie Kenner’s other fun and flirty superhero romances at http://www.WeProtectMortals.com:

  Aphrodite’s Kiss

  Aphrodite’s Secret

  Aphrodite’s Flame

  Aphrodite’s Embrace (a novella)

  The Cat’s Fancy (a prequel novel)

  A Burning Touch

  * * *

  By Patricia Ryan

  To my mother, Sue Smith Burford

  * * *

  Three Years Ago

  * * *

  “WHAT DO YOU think you’re doing?”

  India eyed her husband warily as she unbuckled her sandals by the back door. “Just going for a walk.”

  Perry closed his eyes. That vein on his forehead started pulsing.

  He had never understood why she liked to go off all by herself for these long walks along the shore. And on this particular late August afternoon, not only were storm clouds gathering over Cape Cod Bay, but there was company to entertain. His mother and sisters had just arrived for one last visit before he closed up the summerhouse for the season.

  “All I want,” he said between clenched teeth, “is for you to play the role of the gracious hostess for three, maybe four, hours. You’re my wife. Do you think you can manage to stick around and act the part for just one damn afternoon?” He raked his manicured fingers through his prematurely gray hair, then smoothed it back in place.

  When she’d married Perry—had it really been just ten months ago?—that steel-colored hair had been one of the things she’d found most attractive about him. He’d reminded her of Richard Gere in Pretty Woman. She’d never in her life known any man as sophisticated and worldly, and she couldn’t believe her good fortune when, after a dazzling six-week courtship, he’d asked her to be his wife.

  But recently, between the hair and that tight-lipped, censorious scowl of his, he was reminding her more and more of her father. When he launched into one of his increasingly frequent lectures on her image and behavior, the resemblance became downright eerie. Last night, as she lay in bed, she’d found herself imagining what it would feel like to pack her things, get in her little blue Mazda, and drive away. All by herself. It had been a remarkably satisfying fantasy.

  “I’ll be back in half an hour,” she said carefully as she kicked off the sandals and squatted down to roll up the legs of her jeans. “Please, Perry. I’ll play whatever role and act whatever part you want when I get back. But right now I need thirty minutes for myself, and then I can—”

  “No!” He yanked her roughly to her feet and shook her. “Right now you need to serve some drinks to Mother and Kitty and Gracie. They’ll never change their opinion of you if you don’t stop running off whenever they—”

  “They’ll never change their opinion of me, period.” She twisted out of his grip and rubbed her arms. His rough handling of her was a recent unnerving development, causing her to wonder whether that ultracivilized facade of his was just that—a facade. “They act like I’m something they want to swat away.”

  “If you’d only try—”

  “I’m not one of them.” She lifted her chin, but her quavering voice betrayed her frustration, her growing sense of futility. “You didn’t marry a debutante from Newport, Perry. You married a middle-class lawyer’s daughter from humble Mansfield, New Jersey. I’m not a socialite, I’m a veterinarian, a working woman. I have a career and goals and interests that have nothing to do with the polo circuit or cotillions. Your mother and Kitty and Gracie are just going to have to learn to accept that.”

  Turning toward the beach, she took a deep breath and added, “And so are you.”

  * * *

  MAYBE I SHOULD head back, India thought, inspecting the sky. It was menacingly gray over the water, but still blue overhead. She turned and looked back toward the house. Even at this distance, she could make out Perry, all in white, and the three willowy blondes, in pastel linen sheaths, leaning on the railing of the upstairs deck. The late afternoon sun polished their bronzed limbs and glinted off their silvery martinis. A ripple of female laughter wafted toward her on the salty breeze.

  She sighed. Just ten more minutes, then I’ll go back. She checked her watch and continued walking, reveling in the precious solitude, a solitude she had coveted since childhood. Only when she was alone was there no role to play, no image to project. She gave herself over to the caress of warm sand beneath her bare feet, the reassuring cadence of waves slapping the shore.

  Ten minutes later, she decided, I’ll go back when it starts to rain. A soft rumble rolled through the air, but the sun still shone. She had time before the storm hit.

  When she reached the public beach, it was deserted. The parking lot, off to her right past the dunes, was empty. A sudden discharge of thunder crashed all around her, and she jumped.

  All right, all right, I give up. With a grudging acceptance of the inevitable, she turned and took a step toward home.

  * * *

  INDIA OPENED HER EYES.

  She lay on her back, rain pelting her. Beneath her she felt; not sand, but hard concrete pavement. Panic raced through her when she tried to move her arms, then her legs, and couldn’t. She could barely breathe, and her heart hammered crazily in her chest. The rain skewered her with pain.

  A thunderclap detonated overhead, followed by dazzling rivulets that crackled across the darkened sky.

  I’ve been hit by lightning, she thought with amazement. Inch by inch, she lifted her head. Looking around, she saw that she’d been thrown a good twenty yards, from the beach into the parking lot. When she lowered her head, pain clamored inside her skull.

  Some time passed before her extremities regained enough feeling for her to be able to heave herself into a sitting position. Looking down, she saw blood, lots of it, on herself and the pavement. Everything hurt. She knew she’d cracked one or two ribs, and maybe her collarbone. When she could lift her right hand, she gently touched her face, and winced. The left side felt swollen and sticky.

  The closest house was a cedar-shingled rental cottage a couple of hundred feet away. A red station wagon sat in front, and there were lights on in the windows. She tried to stand, but the soles of her feet were charred, and the pain was excruciating. So she crawled with agonizing slowness in the rain, over concrete and then sand, until finally—after what seemed an eternity—she reached the front door of the cottage. She collapsed against it and tried to knock, but neither hand would form a fist. Her attempt to cry out was useless, too; she had no control over her throat.

  Again and again she shoved her shoulder against the door, until finally it opened, and she tumbled onto a braided rug.

  “Oh, my God!” a woman’s voice cried as India slipped into unconsciousness. “Frank! Call 911!”

  * * *

  SHE CAME TO, and realized she was moving. Luminous fluorescent tubes streaked by overhead and she watched them with a kind of hypnotic detachment. A muffled rumbling surrounded her, and the air smelled coldly antiseptic. She surmised that she lay on a gurney being wheeled through the corridor of a hospital, and felt a sense of overwhelming relief.

  They’ll take care of me here. I’ll be okay.

  She lapsed in and out of consciousness several times over the next few hours, dimly aware of them giving her an EKG and a lot of X-rays. They injected her with painkillers and antibiotics, cleaned her wounds, treated what they called exit burns on the soles of her feet, and set her collarbone. She had left home without any ID, so they kept asking her for her name, but her mouth wouldn’t form the words properly, and they couldn’t make sense
of the sounds that came out of her. They gave her a pencil with which to write, but her fingers wouldn’t close around it.

  Even in her near insensible haze, she became increasingly aware of something odd happening whenever someone touched her. A flickering image, like a TV picture with bad reception, would hover in her mind’s eye and then dissolve before she could make sense of it. A bewildering array of feelings accompanied the images. What troubled her most was that something about this phenomenon was strikingly familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place why. Weary and confused, she decided the electrical signals in her brain had gone haywire when the lightning zapped her. She hoped the effect was temporary.

  Finally they wheeled her into a room and left her alone. She fell asleep, only to be awakened during the night by one of the nurses, a middle-aged woman with hair like a shiny yellow helmet.

  “Are you India Cook Milbank?”

  India nodded. “Y-yes.” She grinned, delighted as much by her ability to voice a word as by the fact that they knew who she was.

  The nurse nodded to someone in the hall, who entered the room—Perry. For the first time in a long time, she was actually glad to see him, but when he got a good look at her, his eyes grew wide and his mouth fell open. Well, what could she expect? She knew what she must look like. Despite their recent difficulties, his was a comfortingly familiar face. She found herself reaching out to him, and he hesitantly took her hand.

  The TV in her mind instantly clicked on. She saw her own face, in jittery patterns of light and dark, gazing into the “camera”—into Perry’s eyes. She saw the discolored swelling, the lacerations on her cheeks and forehead, the singed black hair in tangled disarray, and knew without a doubt that this was exactly what Perry viewed.