Aphrodite's Kiss

by Julie Kenner

  Twenty

  They were on the couch, and he was holding her hand, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her skin, sending shivers right down to her toes.

  “I’m sorry about blurting it out like that,” he said. “I was planning on candlelight and wine. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “Oh, no. Nothing like that.” Sweet Hera. How on earth did you tell a man he didn’t really love you? She had no idea. And it wasn’t even a conversation she wanted to be having.

  “You’re on spring break, right?”

  She nodded, and when he kissed her fingertips, she blinked back tears.

  “What would you say to a trip? Maybe a drive down to San Diego? Or up to the wine country?” His gaze locked with hers. “I feel like I’ve known you forever. I want reality to catch up with the way I feel.”

  “Taylor, I . . .”

  Turning away, she pulled her hand free and settled it in her lap. Why did it have to be so hard?

  “Zoë?” The unspoken question hung between them: What’s wrong?

  “If you don’t feel the same . . .” he began. “I mean, I hope you do. But I don’t want to pressure you. It’s just . . . I thought . . .”

  Not even trying to hide her tears, she spun back around to face him. “No, no! Taylor, I love you. I do. Heaven knows, I shouldn’t, but I really do.”

  “Then what?”

  She took a deep breath. “You don’t love me.”

  He laughed, then kissed her on the forehead. “Sweetheart, you’re priceless.”

  Whatever reaction she’d been expecting, it wasn’t that.

  “Taylor, aren’t you listening?”

  “I assure you, I do love you.” His grin split his face. “I knew this would have worked better with roses and candlelight.”

  Argh! She pounded a fist uselessly into the sofa cushion. “No, no. Listen to me. You don’t love me. You just think you do.”

  “Think I do, and know I do.”

  “It’s not really love. It’s an illusion.”

  “Then maybe we should take that vacation in Las Vegas. Maybe we could even get booked as an act.”

  She fell back against the cushions, exasperated. “You’re not even trying to help.”

  “Well, no. Not if the goal is to convince me that I don’t love you. I don’t think I’m going to willingly help in that project.”

  “You’re impossible,” she said.

  “Sorry ’bout that.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself. “You know that belt I was wearing last night?”

  “Right. The ugly gold thing.”

  “You thought it was ugly?” She waved the question away before he could answer. “Doesn’t matter. It’s experimental. Like the cloak.”

  “You can fly when you’re wearing it?”

  “It made you fall in love with me.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  She bounced off the couch and started pacing. “Yes. Yes, it did. It works . . .” How? How did it work? She ran her fingers through her hair, then started twisting a strand around her thumb. “Oh! Pheromones. It’s loaded with pheromones.”

  “Fruit-fly hormones?”

  “No.” Mother of Zeus. The man was being intentionally dense. “Sex hormones. Desire. They’ve been all over the news. The birds and the bees. Attractors. You just got sucked in.”

  “Oh.”

  “You see?” Maybe he finally understood.

  “No.”

  Hopping Hades! “Taylor, please.” She ran both hands through her hair. “This is killing me. Please, please don’t tease me. Try to pay attention.”

  He stood up, took her hands in his, then kissed the tip of her nose. In her Keds, her toes started to tingle.

  “I’m not teasing you. I just don’t buy it.”

  “But it’s the truth.”

  He shrugged. “Oh, I believe the belt’s weird. I mean, no self-respecting designer would put that ugly a belt out into the fashion world, so something must be up with it.” He stroked her cheek. “I just don’t buy that it has anything at all to do with the way I feel about you.”

  “But—”

  “I mean, you have lousy taste in clothes, and I still love you.”

  “Taylor, the glow’s going to wear off in a few days.”

  The corner of his mouth curled up. “I think it’s supposed to after a while. At least a little.”

  She sighed. “That’s not what I mean.”

  He took her hand, tugging her down to sit on his lap. “Lane’s great, isn’t she?”

  Zoë frowned, not at all sure where he was going with this. “Well, yeah.”

  “We don’t share a drop of blood, yet I love her as if she were my own sister.”

  “You were in foster homes together.”

  “A lot of homes. She was the only family I ever had.”

  She nodded, not sure what she could say, not sure he wanted her to say anything.

  “Do you know what our favorite thing to do was?”

  “What?”

  “Go to the grocery store.”

  She frowned, her brow pulling together.

  “We liked to sit and watch the families. They’d come in, a husband, a wife, usually a couple of kids. And they’d just do their shopping. Sometimes we’d pick a family and follow them. You could see it in their eyes, you know? How much they cared, I mean. They’d laugh and joke and plan meals, and spoil the kids, and it always made my stomach hurt because I wanted so much to be one of those kids.”

  She blinked back tears, silent, as he pulled her closer.

  “Now I want to be one of those parents.” He kissed her ear. “I’m not knocking passion, mind you. I wouldn’t even begin to guess what went on when those parents got behind their bedroom doors, but that’s what I want. The kind of love those families in the grocery store had.” He brushed a strand of hair off her face. “And I want it with you, Zoë.”

  She ignored her tears. “There has to be real love there in the beginning. Otherwise there’s nothing warm and wonderful to fade into.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, there is real love. A millionfold. I promise you that.”

  “Taylor, you can’t possibly love me. It’s just the belt talking. You don’t even know me.”

  “Don’t know you? I think I do. You’re a woman who’s fiercely loyal to her friends, and who won’t even rat on her acquaintances. A woman who loves her family and who’s brave and smart, and has a wonderful sense of humor, and can forgive a man his stupid blunders.”

  She shivered. “You see all that in me?”

  “A man can see a lot when he’s in love.”

  Love. Oh, how she longed to believe.

  “Zoë.” He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up until she had no choice but to look at him, blurry though he was through her tear-filled eyes. “I don’t love you because of your keen fashion sense, and I’m not under any spell. I loved you the first moment I saw you in your library. You weren’t wearing the belt then, were you?”

  She shook her head.

  “And you weren’t wearing it when I was parked outside your apartment, right?”

  She nodded. He was throwing all her arguments back, only this time they added up to truth.

  “Take a chance on me, Zoë. Take a chance on us.”

  She nibbled her lip. Could it be true? Oh, please Hera, let it be true.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  “Oh, Taylor.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, then wiped her tears away on his shoulder. He tilted her head back and kissed her, hard and deep, and the one thing she knew for certain was that she felt more at home in his arms than she’d ever felt anywhere else on the planet.

  “Taylor,” she whispered, “I love you, too.”

  He was curled up asleep beside her as she tenderly leaned over to kiss his cheek, not wanting to wake him, but just to touch him. To breathe the musky scent of his skin, to feel the rough caress of his sha
dow of a beard across her lips. She moved closer, her lips brushing his skin, the sensation both tender and erotic.

  Stroking his hair, she pressed her cheek to his. Her Taylor, her—

  Ka-pow! Zip, blam, blooey!

  Light and sound and terror exploded in her head. She sat upright, jerked away by the force of the image. Immediately she looked for Taylor, expecting him to have jumped up, alert and ready. But still he slept. How could he sleep? That force? That fear? His fear. She’d seen it, burning an angry red behind her eyes. She’d smelled the fear, as pungent as the sickly sweet smell of charred flesh.

  She’d tasted terror, and now it hung bitter on her tongue like rust on iron. Was it a sign? A coincidence? A portent?

  What was going on?

  Never before had she seen an image of the future, but she was certain that was exactly what she’d just experienced—Taylor, afraid and in danger.

  Things were happening. And Taylor was right in the middle of it.

  Dammit. Not if she could help it.

  Steeling her jaw, she eased away from him. She didn’t want to leave the circle of his arms—not now, not ever—but she needed to investigate.

  Nothing was going to happen to this man. She intended to make damn sure of that.

  Silently she padded to the computer and fired it up, then typed in the password she wasn’t supposed to know.

  The council headlines scrolled across the screen as she searched the site map for any information at all on visions. There had to be something, some information, anythi—

  Aphrodite’s girdle.

  The image floated on the screen, and Zoë gasped. She leaned closer, her nose nearly pressing against the monitor. That belt didn’t look a thing like the one she’d been wearing.

  A chill chased up her spine.

  Hale had lied to her. He’d lied. He knew what the belt looked like, and he’d intentionally tried to mess up her chances with Taylor.

  A whirlwind of anger whipped through her, only to war with relief. She gnawed on her lower lip, wanting to be furious, but, somehow her anger kept getting overwhelmed by a wash of sadness. In the end, she couldn’t keep the man anyway.

  She cast a tender glance toward Taylor, her heart swelling as she watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. No matter how misguided, Hale loved her. He didn’t want to see her hurt. She remembered the stories she’d heard about how Hale’s mother had died, about Tessa leaving, everything he’d warned her about mortal/Protector relationships.

  Her brother just didn’t believe in a happy ending with a mortal.

  But she knew—with all her heart and soul—that Taylor was right for her. Just as Donis had been right for Tessa. Only this time it would work out. Taylor wouldn’t run away. He was brave and noble and good. Surely together they could weather the storm.

  Remembering her task, she scrolled down, past the image of the belt and its emerald green centerstone, taking in all the lore surrounding the belt and its gem.

  One article caught her eye—about how the stone could harness unspeakable power at a certain location during a certain lunar eclipse. Tonight, and here in Los Angeles at the Griffith Observatory.

  She swallowed, her eye moving down the screen. There was a legend, too. The stone would come to a halfling, but beyond that, the signs were hazy. Take one path, and the world continued as it was. Take the other, and the mortal population was enslaved, destined to serve the pleasure of the ruling Protector and his minions.

  Zoë swallowed. She’d let it slip through her fingers. The fate of the world, and she’d haphazardly lent it out as jewelry.

  She froze, the pieces coming together. Mordi had attacked first when Lane had the stone. Later he’d gone after Deena, who’d had the thing in her pocket all along. The poodle had sniffed around her and Deena and Taylor . . . which just left Lane.

  She didn’t have the stone, but Mordichai surely thought she did. After all, it wasn’t a huge stretch to assume Deena had borrowed it, then returned it to Lane.

  What in Hades had she done?

  Taylor’s hand on her shoulder startled her.

  “Hey, birthday girl.”

  She whipped around, unable to think, just needing to get to Taylor’s sister right then. “Lane,” she said. “Danger.”

  Twenty-one

  Taylor banged his hand on Zoë’s steering wheel and cursed his stupidity. Dammit! Where were his instincts? He should never have let Lane leave by herself. And now, if what Zoë said was true, some badass thieves thought she had that jewel.

  Idiot, idiot, idiot!

  Ignoring the tow-away zone, he swung Zoë’s tiny Toyota into a free space and bolted out of the car, the stone he’d wrested from the damn ferret weighing heavily in his pocket.

  Zoë got out from the other side and ran after him.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I mean it, Zo. I don’t want to have to watch out for both of you.”

  “But—”

  “Zoë, please.” He kissed her on the cheek, ignoring her look of exasperation, then dashed up the stairs to Lane’s apartment.

  The door was ajar. He burst in, then immediately stopped cold.

  His employer, Mr. Mordon, presided over the room. “I think you have something I want.”

  “Just the opposite. Where’s my sister?”

  Mordon smiled. “She’s fine. For now.” He gestured across the room, and Taylor turned, looking into the shadows.

  On the far side of the living room, Lane crouched on the floor, backed into a corner by two snarling dogs—a golden collie and ridiculously snarling toy poodle—that were approaching her from both sides. Her eyes were wide, pleading up at him.

  “Stay still. Don’t move.” The toy poodle’s jaws seemed enormous—as if they had grown somehow beyond normal proportions—and Taylor was certain the dog had a mean streak a mile wide. Maybe it was rabid, too.

  Damn! If he attacked Mordon, the dogs would surely lunge. And even if he went for the dogs, there was no way to get them both in time. One would go for Lane’s throat; he was sure of it. He wished he had his gun, but it was locked in Francis Capra, and Lane had the keys.

  “A dilemma, isn’t it,” Mordon said, moving casually toward the sliding glass door. The man was wearing a perfectly tailored suit topped with a cape, as if he were trying to pass himself off as some English gentleman out of a Merchant Ivory film. “Perhaps I could see it, and we can arrange a trade.”

  “Just let her go.” As he spoke, Taylor moved slowly, pulling the stone out of his pocket. “Call off the dogs and I’ll toss you the rock.”

  Mordon’s eyes narrowed. “No, Mr. Taylor,” he said. The stone moved in Taylor’s hand. “I don’t think so.”

  Before Taylor could grab the rock more tightly, it shot across the room to Mordon. He held it up, the green facets perfectly mimicking the color of his eyes. “You’re far too obliging, Mr. Taylor.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “So sorry about that finder’s fee, but I’m sure you understand.”

  “You hurt Lane, and I’ll kill you. So help me . . .”

  “Ooooh. I’m shaking in my fine Italian boots,” he said with a sneer. Then the sneer faded as something over Taylor’s shoulder caught Mordon’s attention.

  Taylor whipped around, primed to do battle with some hideous ne’er-do-well. Instead he saw Zoë.

  “Dammit, Zo—”

  “Hello, Mordi,” she said, ignoring him. “Happy birthday.”

  Confused, Taylor spun back around to face Mordon, who tipped an imaginary hat in her direction.

  “Hello, cousin. You, too. It’s ever so nice to see you again.” He held up the gemstone. “I’d love to stay and chat, but my business is done, and I think you’re my cue to leave.” He smiled at Taylor. “You don’t mind if I leave the puppies, do you?” He winked, this time at Zoë. “They’re my father’s little pets, and I borrowed them for this very occasion. Just in case you showed up.” He nodded toward the dogs. “The poor things haven’t had lunch yet.”

 
; As Mordon stepped backward onto the porch, Taylor lunged, but the man was gone. Poof! He’d leaped back, his cape fluttering. He’d hovered for a moment, then shot away, becoming nothing but a dot in the distant sky.

  What the hell?

  He spun back around to face Zoë. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

  She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak, her eyes darting toward Lane. She looked on the verge of leaping forward, tense, ready to spring. A panther on the ready.

  “Taylor,” Lane said, her voice tense. “Please.”

  The collie took a step toward her, it teeth bared.

  “Stay still, Lane. We’ll figure something out.”

  “Figure faster, okay?”

  The poodle’s muscles tensed, and Taylor saw Zoë crouch. What the hell did she think she was doing? This was no place for a librarian.

  If he was going to keep both his girls from getting pulverized, he had to do something now.

  Banking on one dog coming to the aid of the other, he jumped forward and grabbed the poodle, screaming in pain as its teeth closed on the soft flesh between his thumb and fore-finger. He kicked the beast in the gut as Lane scrambled to safety and Zoë did a little backflip maneuver, ending up right next to him, a knife in her hand. She pressed the knife into his palm, then kissed him on the cheek.

  “Just in case,” she said.

  What the hell?

  The dog lunged at him again.

  Blammo! Her leg shot out, hitting the beast square in the breastbone. With a single yelp, it flew across the room, landing with a ker-thunk against the kitchen cabinets. It slid to the floor, a twisted pile of mottled fur.

  Zoë whipped around, her eyes meeting his with silent apology as her other leg shot out behind her. Ka-pow! The collie was down for the count.

  As Taylor gaped, the collie shimmered and fizzled, as it turned from Lassie into the skinny drugged-out attacker from the night of the party. Then he became an oozing, drooling, slimy creature.

  “Zowie, Zoë,” he whispered. “What the hell?”

  “They’re not really dogs.”

  “No kidding. What’s going on?”

  She held up a finger. “Just a sec.”

  As he parked his rump uselessly on the floor—his head spinning—Zoë scrambled to where the collie had fallen. She picked it effortlessly up by a leg; then she grabbed the other one out of the kitchen. On the balcony, she did a double windup, the creatures twirling at the ends of her windmilling arms. Then she released each one, sending them flying into the western sky. Taylor stood up just in time to see the distant splash in the ocean.