Aphrodite's Kiss (20 page)

She swallowed.

“For example,” he continued, his grin revealing an adorable dimple. “I can imagine meeting a woman who intrigues me so much that I want nothing more than to make her come apart, to investigate her mysteries, to get to know every delicious inch of her.”

She swallowed again, afraid to even hope that she might be worthy of such luscious scrutiny.

His smile broadened, reaching his eyes. “But even then, who’s to say I’d learn all her secrets?”

Well, if that wasn’t the understatement of the year...

“Like I said, women are enigmas,” he finished in a wry voice.

“But would you want to learn all a girl’s secrets?” she asked, knowing the answer. Not all secrets were created equal, and if he knew hers, he’d run. Just like Tessa had run from Donis. She’d never heard of even one mortal-Protector union that had lasted. Not one.

But that was okay, because all she wanted was a fling. Really.

He frowned, as if seriously considering her question. “There are some girls whose secrets are unknowable; they are complete and total enigmas,” he said. “But there are a few with whom I’d be happy to spend years trying to work out the puzzle.”

He grinned, and she was sure her face was on fire. Then he shifted in his seat and started the engine. It was about time, too. Who could have known that dating was going to be so much like a council meeting—eight different layers of meaning, nothing straightforward, and sweaty palms all the way?

But at least she knew one thing for certain. She snuggled back against the soft leather upholstery, trying not to let too satisfied a grin spread across her face. If nothing else, she was sure that—as much as she might be infatuated with George Bailey Taylor—he was just as interested in her.

Yes, indeed
. She might like this dating thing after all.

Taylor was doing a piss-poor job of driving. The trouble was, he was a hell of a lot more interested in the woman next to him than he was in watching for red lights or paying attention to the other cars on the road.

And he’d bet Francis Capra that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He’d seen it in her eyes, and it had thrilled him all the way down to his toes, which, considering he was a good three inches over six feet, was a heck of a long way down.

Hoop had called him charmed. Hell, maybe he was. This spectacular woman who’d been the center of his fantasies for days—no, for his whole life—actually wanted him. Even now—dead broke, off the force, his white-knight days long gone—still, she wanted him.

If that wasn’t charmed, he didn’t know what was.

“Uh, Taylor?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you gonna pull over for the cop?”

Damn
! Maybe not so charmed after all.

He tapped the brakes and turned off Sunset Boulevard onto one of the perfectly manicured side streets. Behind them, the siren
whoo-whooped
, the patrol car’s kaleidoscope of lights dancing around like some bad disco memory.

“What did I do?” He swiveled around, trying to figure out what heinous traffic infraction he’d committed.

She’d switched out her regular glasses for sunglasses, but he could still see the corners of Zoë’s eye crinkle as she laughed.

“I think the better question is, what didn’t you do? You didn’t stop at that light, you didn’t yield at that intersection, and you certainly didn’t pull over when the cop first tried to stop you.”

“At least I’m thorough.”

“Oh. Is that what they call it?”

A baby-faced cop with vivid green eyes walked up to the convertible.

“License, please.”

“Problem, Officer?” Taylor asked, trying to sound innocent as he squirmed in his seat to fish his license out of his back pocket. Beside him, Zoë looked as though she had front row tickets to the best show in town. All she needed was a tub of popcorn and she’d be set.

Scowling, he handed the cop his license, keeping one hand closed over the steering wheel. Maybe it was unreasonable, but he was seriously resenting having his quality time with Zoë shortened by one of Los Angeles’s finest.

“I’m going to have to ask the two of you to step out of the car.”

Taylor scowled. That was weird. And certainly not protocol. What the hell was going on?

Another glance at the cop and the lightbulb pinged. A rookie.

“Look, Officer,” he said. “We’re running late. I used to be on the force. Give Captain Dodsen a call. He’ll vouch for me.”

The green eyes flashed. “I asked you to step out of the car.”

“If you could just tell me what I did...” Taylor trailed off, his attention captured by the cop. Was he
shimmering
?

He squinted. Sure enough, the uniform had become almost transparent, replaced by a fine Italian suit. Everything about the man changed. Everything except those emerald green eyes.

And then, just as quick, he was a cop again, front and center and looking royally pissed.

Impossible
. Clearly Taylor was long overdue for a good night’s sleep.

He rubbed his eyes. For a moment there—not even half a second, really—the officer had looked exactly like his new client, Mr. Mordon. Weird. But explainable. Probably workaholic guilt. He should be working, after all.

“
Now
,” said the cop, his hand closing over the door frame. “The girl, too.”

Beside him Zoë stirred, and Taylor caught her staring at the policeman. She was tense, wound up like a spring and ready to bolt. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. This guy was even giving him the creeps.

“Chief Prescott’s going to hear about this,” he spat. “I promise you that.”

“You can take it up with Prescott later,” the officer said, his eyes darkening. “But first you’re going to come with me.”

The hell we are
. He turned to Zoë, and she whispered just one word. “
Go
.”

He wasn’t about to argue. With a quick flip of his wrist, he turned the key and started the engine. The pseudocop made a grab and managed to lock his fingers onto Taylor’s shirtsleeve, but Taylor floored the gas pedal and the car sped away, leaving him with a ripped shirt, but otherwise intact.

“What a strange—” He looked in the mirror and his jaw dropped. The cop was racing behind the car—on
foot
, for crying out loud—and he was gaining. “Who the hell is this guy?” Taylor muttered, wondering if they’d somehow gotten sucked into a
Terminator
movie.

Next to him, Zoë was rummaging around on his floorboard.

“And what the hell are you doing?”

Her head popped up, followed by the rest of her, and he saw that she was holding an empty commuter mug.

“Now’s not really the time to stop at Starbucks,” he joked.

She ignored the attempt at levity. “Fond of this cup?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good.” She heaved back and let it sail. Taylor checked the rearview mirror just in time to see it clunk the policeman square on the nose. The strange supercop began to lose ground.

“Nice shot.”

“Let’s just say I was on the varsity girl’s softball team.”

“You were?”

“No. But let’s say so anyway.” He opened his mouth to ask, but she turned back toward him. “Not to be a side-seat driver, but I’d get us lost if I were you.”

A damn good suggestion
. He floored the accelerator, then turned north toward the foothills and tried to find a side street that would lead up to Mulholland Drive. With all the little streets up in the hills, they should be able to lose their new buddy.

Their
buddy?
No, no
. That was exactly the problem. Just who was the police officer after? Him, or the too-normal-to-be-real ail-American girl in the seat next to him?

“Any idea who that guy is?” he asked.

“Nope,” Zoë said quickly. “No idea at all.” She shifted in her seat to face him better. “Thanks for going when I said ‘go,’ though. I... uh ... had a bad feeling about him.”

“You’re welcome. But for the record, it wasn’t just blind trust.”

Her eyebrow went up. “No? Then why’d you haul off down the street? You can get into a lot of trouble for leaving after a cop stops you.”

“If he’d been a cop, I wouldn’t have left.”

She smiled, broad and genuine. “How’d you know?”

“There is no Chief Prescott.”

“Clever,” she said, tapping the end of her nose.

“How did
you
know?” he countered. “You said you don’t know who the guy is.”

“I don’t.” She frowned and settled back into her seat. “But I told you in the library, I’m a good judge of character. That guy was weird.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, not believing her, but having no clue how to argue. He took a turn without slowing, then gave Francis Capra a nice pat on the dash before turning back to Zoë. “So, kidding aside ... are there really thugs after you?” Or were they after him, and if so, why?

She sighed. “I haven’t got a clue. I can’t imagine why there would be.”

“Zoë, I’m serious. I’m an investigator, remember? A bodyguard. That’s the whole reason you hired me. Except that I thought we were joking.”

“So did I.”

He laughed. “You’ve never had a problem with your lies coming true, have you? Your dreams turning into reality?” He hummed a few bars of
The Twilight Zone
theme song.

She scowled. “Oh, mother of Zeus, not yet. That would be incredibly inconvenient.”

He turned to look at her better. “I’m joking, you know.”

At first she looked confused; then her face cleared. “Right. Of course.” She smiled. “So am I.”

Uh-huh
. Something just wasn’t ringing true, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Below them, the lights of Los Angeles twinkled on their right, a random pattern heading out toward the Pacific. To their left, the patterned grid of the lights of the San Fernando Valley winked at them.

Both order and chaos. Just like his life.

He turned off Mulholland and onto Coldwater Canyon, heading down toward the San Fernando Valley—as good a place to get lost as any.

He took his eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her. “Let’s run through the scenario, okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, looking a little wary, but not arguing.

“First you tell me you need an escort. Then you tell me you’re being chased by thugs.”

“Actually, you brought up the thugs.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She nodded, twisting in her seat and tucking her leg up under her, revealing a luscious bit of thigh. He ripped his gaze away and focused on the twisting road.

“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “Hoop said I need protection, and you said from thugs, then I—”

“Okay, fine.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And your point is ... ?”

He swallowed, not really sure, other than that he suddenly hoped that she hadn’t really needed him. Just that she’d
wanted
him. Even if only a little.

“Taylor?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, maybe I’m wrong, but I got the distinct impression that you were a little attracted to me, and maybe
that’s
why you’d started this charade in the first place.” He twisted just enough to look at her out of the corner of his eye, his foot automatically easing up off the gas.

“I am.” She flashed him a shy smile that almost melted his bones.

Fortunately his bones were in pretty good condition, and he managed to keep some semblance of control.

Otherwise Zoë and he might have just gone tumbling off into the canyon. “Oh.” The warm feeling was back, despite the cool night air. “Good.”

“But it wasn’t.”

He frowned. “Wasn’t what?”

“The reason I hired you. I’m ... attracted, yes. But I didn’t know it was you when I came to ask your help.”

That was true. She’d been as floored to see him as he’d been to see her. “So it was thugs.”

“No. No thugs. Hoop made that up. Really.” Her eyes were wide, her glasses making her look even more innocent. She took his hand and squeezed it, her touch making sensuous promises even though her lips remained silent. “Honest. Hoop just made up a story. Deena said he thought we made a cute couple.”

“Well, I’m with him on that.”

A light blush stained her cheeks. “I promise that fake cop has nothing to do with why I hired you.”

It was an odd way of phrasing it, but he got her drift. “If you really didn’t hire me to protect you from thugs, then why did you?”

“I told you. I need a date.”

“You
need
a date.”

“Right.”

“After all this,” he said, beating a near-dead horse, “I’m supposed to believe you hired me just because you needed a date for tonight?”

“Well... yeah.”

What the hell
. Stranger things had happened. Maybe that was the real story. “Okay. I’ll bite. Why’s this party so important?”

“It’s because of my mot—”

Bang!

“Duck!” He reached out, pushing her head down with one hand as she struggled to sit up.

“Taylor! Let me up. It’s the tire.”

So it was. The back tire had blown out. “Sorry,” he said, maneuvering the car to the shoulder. “I thought our friend had caught up and decided to try a little target practice.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ve lost him.”

“Convenient, since we’re not going anywhere until we change that tire.”

Fortunately he could change a tire in his sleep, and he had the car jacked up and the lug nuts off in no time.

“Taylor?” Zoë squatted next to him, the lug nuts collected in her open palm.

“Hmmm?” He pulled the tire off and balanced it with one hand.

“This is a great date so far.”

He frowned. “Sarcasm isn’t pretty.”

She closed her hand, then moved closer, taking control of the tire from him. “No, I’m serious.” Her eyes met his. “So far we’ve had a little flirting”—at that, her eyes darted away—“and a little intrigue, and now we’ve got some adventure.” She smiled. “I can’t wait to see what’ll happen next.”

“Can’t wait, huh?”

“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.