Aphrodite's Kiss

by Julie Kenner

  “No,” she said, her voice breathy.

  He took that as an invitation and leaned close, trailing his fingertip over her shoulder and down her bare arm. She shivered and moaned, then pressed her back against the car as he moved closer.

  “Zoë,” he murmured, not even sure if he was saying her name out loud. He let his lips brush over hers in the slightest of touches, then pulled gently away.

  “Oh, my. Oh, me, oh, my,” she whispered. She rubbed the back of her hand over her mouth, then tilted her head to look him in the eyes. “I think my lips are numb.”

  “I never knew I had that effect on women.”

  The corner of her lips twitched, as though she had a secret she wasn’t sharing. “Yeah? Well, you have that effect on me.”

  He traced his finger along her jaw, then over her lips. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, her body rigid, as if she were fighting for control.

  Damn, but she turned him on.

  “Taylor?”

  “Mmm?”

  Her eyes opened, the passion there as clear as day, but something else was there, too. Fear? Hesitation? Well, why not? After all, they’d just fought off the possible leader of a not-so-imaginary gang of thugs. She probably had the right to be a little nervous.

  He just hoped that he wasn’t the cause of her nerves. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “The tire. I think I lost it.”

  He glanced down to her hand, where she’d been balancing the tire. Sure enough, it was gone.

  “I think it may be all the way down to the valley by now,” she added.

  Unfortunately, considering the hill they were parked on, she might just be right. Any minute now, a single tire was going to go careening down Coldwater Canyon, turn onto Ventura, then stop to order a chili-cheese dog. His stomach growled. Clearly lust and hunger were making him delirious. Time to do something about one of those. And, being a guy, his first choice tended toward lust.

  “Zoë?” he began, hoping to keep the “I’m desperate for you now” tone out of his voice. “I—”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Well, hell. That really wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for. He stood up, shoving a hand in his front pocket. “About what?”

  She frowned, her brow crinkling in that adorable way she had. “Your tire.”

  “Oh. Oh, well.” He doubted he’d ever been so thrilled about something so annoying in his life. “The spare’s still in the trunk.”

  She stood up and dusted off her rear, the innocent action more than a little disconcerting. “We should probably get going. We’re already late.”

  “About this party . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “How would you feel about a more private get-together?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, and Taylor felt like he’d just won the lottery. She took a deep breath. “Except—”

  There went the sixty-million-dollar grand prize.

  “—I tried to tell you earlier. My problem is that I really, really need you to meet my mother.”

  Thirteen

  The Andersons’ party was fabulous, of course. As Tessa looked around the perfectly manicured yard trimmed with tiny white lights, and the too-cute-for-words shrubs sculpted into a leafy wild kingdom, a fresh wave of envy washed over her. When Tessa had first met Linda June Anderson, she’d had to spend an entire afternoon practicing deep-breathing exercises just to fight off her not-too-ladylike reaction.

  Even now she hated to admit it, but there it was—Tessa coveted Linda June’s life.

  Not her yard, really, though a yard bigger than a postage stamp would be nice. And not her banker husband who’d provided that yard, and not even the fabulous house with enough room to house five families. No, Tessa envied Linda’s happiness.

  Linda and Richard Anderson were desperately, hopelessly in love. At twenty-five, Linda had tossed caution to the wind and married a penniless salesman who’d adored her more than life. Unlike Tessa, Linda had gambled on love—and she’d hit the jackpot. That penniless salesman was now worth several hundred million, and he still thought his wife hung the moon.

  Not for the first time, Tessa wondered what would have happened if she’d laid her happiness out there on red and let the roulette wheel spin. With a sigh, she shook her head. It was too late. She’d made her choice—for herself and for Zoë she’d walked away, and she’d insisted Donis disappear. And there wasn’t any magic in the world that could tell her if she’d done the right thing.

  Tessa just wanted the best for her daughter, and that included a perfectly normal life. Zoë needed to meet a nice young man—a doctor, maybe. A good man, a straight arrow. An average, run-of-the-mill man’s man. They’d fall in love, live happily ever after in a house like the Andersons’, and have a whole assortment of average, ordinary friends.

  They’d be happy. They’d be normal.

  That was what Zoë needed.

  Tessa might have taken a wrong turn twenty-five years ago, but she was damn well going to make sure that Zoë found a husband and happiness. A man who’d love her as much as Donis had loved Tessa, but who wasn’t carrying quite so much . . . well, baggage.

  A single tear escaped, and she brushed it away, angry with herself for blaming Donis even after all these years. It wasn’t his baggage—it was hers.

  She’d been so scared. Scared she wasn’t good enough, scared he’d get hurt or even killed. Scared of taking a backseat to obligations that included the entire rest of the world.

  And so she’d clutched her fears around her like a blanket as she’d made him vow to stay away, thinking herself so clever for keeping her heart—and her daughter—safe.

  But she’d never banked on being lonely. Not as long as her daughter—

  A tuxedoed waiter passed by, and Tessa snagged a flute of champagne, then tossed it back, letting the bubbles go to her head. Maybe they’d scrub away her melancholy thoughts like those scrubbing bubbles attacked bathroom grime.

  Trying to look nonchalant, she settled on a stone bench, watching the clusters of people who filled the huge lawn. The party was well under way, and the voices from over fifty guests drifted around her like a comforting lullaby.

  After a while she closed her eyes, losing herself in snippets of conversation mixed with the jazzy strains from the band on the gazebo. A hand landed on her shoulder, and Tessa jumped, her eyes flying open.

  “Sorry,” Deena said. “Did I wake you?”

  Tessa shook her head. “It’s the eccentric old ladies who sleep at cocktail parties. Middle-aged eccentrics—that would be me—merely close their eyes and fade into the music.”

  “Right. Fade.” Deena nodded. “Got it.”

  Tessa smiled. Knowing Deena, she probably really was filing that bit of information away for later use.

  “Aw, hell, Tess,” Hoop said. “Don’t encourage her. Deena’s already as eccentric as they come,” Hoop said. “And she can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.”

  “But I’m not old or middle-aged,” Deena countered. “I’m twenty-six, thank you very much, and I intend to stay right there until someone can prove otherwise.”

  “Don’t worry,” Tessa said. “I wouldn’t even begin to try.” She smiled at the girl, taking in her flower-print, gauzy dress that looked like a Woodstock reject, but seemed perfectly appropriate on Deena.

  When Zoë had introduced her blonde friend, Tessa had been uneasy. Zoë had grown from a solitary child who hated to be hugged into a solitary adult who rarely dated. And even though Tessa had always hoped Zoë would have friends, the friends she’d imagined had been of a more . . . average crowd. Deena was a far cry from average. Still, it had taken Tessa only about two minutes with her to know she was the perfect friend for Zoë.

  She smiled at her. “I didn’t realize you were coming tonight. Have you seen Zoë?”

  “Nope. And we’re not staying long,” Deena admitted, plopping down onto the bench and forcing Tessa to scoot over or be sat upon. “We’ve got
tickets to the Bowl.”

  Tessa looked from Deena to Hoop. “Classical music? I’m impressed.”

  “Animated,” Hoop said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “She tells me there’ll be cartoons. I figured, what the hell. How cultural can that be?” He shifted, looked around, then shrugged and sat on the grass, his rumpled slacks getting even more rumpled.

  Tessa bit back a caution about grass stains. The man was in his thirties, after all. If he wanted an astronomical dry-cleaning bill, that was his business.

  Deena pointed an accusing finger at Hoop. “He was actually going to blow this off and head straight for Hollywood just to get a decent parking space. Can you believe it?” The incredulity in Deena’s voice made clear that she, at least, couldn’t. “I mean, I’m dying to see Zoë and Taylor together. From what I saw this afternoon, there’re some serious sparks brewing between those two.”

  “Taylor,” said Tessa, deciding she liked the name. “I haven’t met him.”

  “Oh, Taylor’s great. A total looker.”

  “Deena,” Hoop warned, but the grin told Tessa he wasn’t quite as exasperated as his voice suggested.

  “Well, it’s true. He’s a total hunk. And he’s polite, and heck, he’s even sort of a local hero.”

  “A hero?” The man her daughter was seeing was a hero? What on earth was the girl talking about?

  “Deena!” Hoop repeated, but this time the censure was real.

  Her eyes went wide. “Oh.” She sucked on her lower lip, then shrugged. “Hell, Hoop, Tessa probably remembers it all. I mean, she’s lived here forever.”

  Hoop rolled his eyes.

  “Remembers what?”

  “He’s the one who busted that guy who killed his entire family. You know, the one who said it was a gang thing. Taylor solved it. That and a couple of other cases, too. They were all over the news.”

  “He’s a police officer,” Tessa said softly, vaguely remembering the news story. How ironic. Like mother, like daughter. Both fell for men who had dedicated their lives to fighting bad guys. Still, at least Zoë had picked the kind who carried a badge and actually worked for the government. That was a hell of a lot less complicated than falling for some guy who could have been part of the cast of a Saturday-morning cartoon.

  “He quit the force. Now he’s a private investigator.”

  “How serious are they?” Tessa asked abruptly, and Deena’s eyes went wide.

  “Who? Taylor and Zoë?”

  Hoop snorted, then suddenly appeared to be fascinated with a grasshopper trying to climb over his shoe.

  Tessa frowned. “Yes, you know—what we’ve been talking about. I’m guessing they must be getting serious. Zoë seemed pretty rattled when she told me she was bringing a date to this party.”

  “Well, that’s unusual,” Hoop said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Zoë sounding rattled, I mean.”

  Tessa nodded. “She takes after me that way, I’m afraid.” She grasped Deena’s hand. “So tell me everything you know.”

  Deena frowned. “About you being rattled?”

  “She means about Taylor and Zoë, babe. You having trouble keepin’ track of the way the conversation’s flowing?”

  She stuck her tongue out, and he winked.

  “Tell me everything,” Tessa said, ignoring their antics.

  “Everything, huh?” Deena parroted.

  “You stepped in it this time,” Hoop said, and it only made Tessa more curious.

  “If Zoë is that serious about a fellow, I think I have the right to hear the relevant gossip,” Tessa said. “How did they meet? How long have they been going out? Why didn’t she mention this grand romance to her mother?”

  “Right,” Deena said, waving down the waiter with the champagne. “All good questions.” She grabbed a flute off the tray. “Just give me a sec and I’ll give you some good answers.”

  Hieronymous watched the yellow dot blinking on the third monitor from the left. Malibu. The stone was there, somewhere near the ocean.

  And with Zoë out of commission, it would soon be his.

  He sighed, imagining the breakers crashing on the beach. Perhaps a vacation was in order. Next week, when he was—finally—the supreme ruler, his first order of business would be to call a holiday. Hell, he might even go a little soft on those pesky mortals—might let them continue their ordinary lives—at least long enough for him to enjoy a week of R-and-R at a lush Club Med location.

  He did so enjoy the islands.

  A soft rap on the door interrupted his fantasies of drawn butter, lobster, and well-oiled mortal women to be used for his pleasure. “Enter.”

  “Mordichai failed, sire,” said Clyde.

  Ice formed along his spine as he turned to face the chief of his guards. “What did you say?”

  “He failed, sire. They got away.”

  “They?”

  “She was in a car with a human male. We assume it was a . . . date,” he said, his face twisting with disgust. “The girl should have more pride. Just because she’s a halfling, she needn’t lower herself to dating a human.”

  “I am not concerned with whom she does or doesn’t date. I am concerned that my son was not able to eradicate our little problem.” He turned away from Clyde and stepped closer to the monitor, tapping the blinking circle with his index finger. “Clearly I underestimated my little niece by sending my son. I shan’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “I understand, sire,” said Clyde, looking a little green around the gills.

  “Do you?” He clasped one hand in the other and cracked his knuckles. “Let me be absolutely clear. I think it is time to open the catacombs.”

  Clyde gasped and his eyes widened.

  “Tell the guards to release my little pets.”

  The party was everything Zoë imagined a chic gathering in Malibu would be: a huge lawn that ended at a cliff’s edge a few hundred feet above the ocean; strolling violinists plying the guests with music; and strolling waiters stuffing them with food and drink.

  Zoë had no idea what the occasion was—her mom had simply announced that she’d be going and that Deena was invited, too—but the party certainly seemed exuberant. It was also exactly the kind of event that always made her feel out of place. Even more so today, considering she was no longer exactly looking her best.

  She glanced down at her dusty red dress and the bit of axle grease still smeared across her ankle. At least she was hiding the sexy little outfit, and its state of disrepair, under Taylor’s massive sportcoat. When she’d shivered from his touch, he’d offered the jacket. And, rather than explain that she wasn’t actually cold, she’d willingly accepted, more than happy to be enveloped by his warm, musky clothing.

  With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair. So much for all of Deena’s hard work. At least Taylor had seen the products of their labor, even if she’d managed to stay tidy for only a few minutes.

  Frowning, she let her gaze roam over and through the crowd, trying to find the man of the hour. How long could it take to find drinks, anyway?

  All the guests were perfectly coiffed, congregating in little groups that almost seemed color-coordinated. A gaggle of green here, a bevy of blue there, a pride of pink across the lawn. Finally Zoë caught sight of Taylor making his way past a flock of females dressed in fuchsia. He waved, his smile making her feel warm and safe.

  He pointed toward the bar and she nodded, leaning against a stone likeness of one of her ancestors while she waited for him to return with something cold and sparkly. Despite the fact that champagne would probably make her mouth explode, she felt the need for something festive. Something that would hopefully lift the cloud that had been following her since Mordi had pulled them over.

  She hugged herself, fighting a shiver. She’d seen the cop’s eyes and suspected, but when the fluctuation had caught him, she’d been sure. He’d adjusted quickly, but the truth was clear: Mordichai was after her.

  Why?

 
And why had he mugged that woman?

  Only one explanation made any sense—the tests were beginning.

  For years she and Mordi had gone head-to-head as the council assessed their skill levels as halflings. It only made sense that her application field test would be against Mordi. But still, that didn’t answer the real question—what were they supposed to do? How was she supposed to beat him? Surely she wasn’t supposed to have jumped out of the car and gone at it with him on the road? For one thing, Taylor would have seen. For another, she didn’t have any reason to fight Mordi—at least, none that she knew of.

  If they did fight, would the winner be automatically admitted to the council? Would the loser become an Outcast?

  She swallowed, not liking that particular possibility. Her father had told her that Outcasts walked among mortals, but were neither mortal nor members of the council. It was like being in superhero purgatory, and Zoë didn’t think it sounded like a good time at all.

  Whatever the answer, she knew one thing for certain—Taylor was in the cross fire.

  She needed to get rid of him. Needed to make him go home, go away. Somehow get him clear. Keep him out of danger.

  She scanned the party, wishing her father or Hale would swoop down. She could really use some advice right about now. For every other test, they’d been right there with her, ready to offer their comments—whether she wanted them or not.

  But tonight, when she really did want their help, they were nowhere to be found. Apparently, for her final exam, she had to go it alone.

  An elderly woman stepped aside, and Zoë saw Taylor heading back to her with two flutes of champagne.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Taylor said, pressing a glass into her hand. “Miss me?”

  “Of course,” she said, meaning it, then immediately tried to figure out a way to end their date quickly. The thought of him getting hurt was enough to make her nauseous, and she sincerely doubted that Taylor was any match for the kind of creatures she might end up facing.

  They stood next to each other, looking out at the glassy surface of the distant ocean. The sun had just started its descent, and sunbeams played across the water.