Aphrodite's Kiss (25 page)

“It was entertaining, anyway,” Tessa said, with an indulgent smile. “That’s okay. I can wait. Just tell me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The last part was true, right?”

“Which part?”

“About love at first sight.”

“Definitely,” said Taylor. It was what Tessa wanted to hear. And besides, he had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t wholly untrue. Somehow, between the time he’d started his search for Emily Parker and this cocktail party, he’d fallen head over heels in love with Zoë‘ Smith. Was that possible? he asked himself.

“I was young and in love once,” Tessa said dreamily, interrupting his thoughts.

“I’ll bet he was a cop,” Hoop guessed.

Tessa nodded. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“An undercover cop,” Taylor said.

“Right again. I lit up whenever Donis was around. And he would have moved mountains for me.” She laughed. “Even more than I knew.” Her eyes misted as she remembered, a tiny smile touching her lips. “He was Zoë’s father. I left him before she was born.”

Hoop leaned forward. “Yeah? Why?”

She lifted one shoulder in the tiniest of movements. “I was young. I was stupid.” She sighed. “But mostly I was scared.”

Taylor nodded. Living with a cop wasn’t easy. Thank God he hadn’t been in a relationship when his leg had been shot. Lord knew he’d given Lane enough grief with his bitching and moaning. It would have taken a hell of a woman or a hell of a love to get through those months with him.

His mind conjured an image of Zoë. He barely knew her, yet the thought of losing her was enough to make his knees go weak.

He steeled himself, catching Tessa’s gaze and looking deep into her eyes. “Don’t worry, Tess. I’m not undercover, I’m not scared, and I’m not going to hurt your daughter.”

She smiled, but the melancholy look remained. Then she reached up and patted his cheek. “Darling boy... it’s not you I’m worried about.”

“Now?” asked the skinny one. He crouched, ready to spring.

The fat one threw out a meaty paw, walloping the skinny one upside the head. “Wassa matter with you?”

“What?” The skinny one rubbed his head. “What did I do?”

“We gotta wait. Too many folks around now. Would see us, they would. We follow now. We get the halfling later.”

The skinny one scowled, settling back under the bushes. “I knew that. I did. I knew that all along.”

The halfling and the human passed by, and they watched, eyes squinting.

“We go now. We change. We follow.”

The skinny one sighed. “Now?”

The fat one shook his head, sending his rolls of fat jiggling. He reached up, pushed a fold of scaly skin out of his eyes, and scowled at his companion. “We gotta change. You change now.”

The skinny one’s flesh shimmered and shifted and stretched and pulled. Folds of skin faded away, globs of fat settled, tattered rags transformed into soft fur and a wagging tail. Suddenly, a golden-haired collie crouched under the shrubs decorating the manicured lawn.

“No, no, no,” the fat one howled. “Not dogs. Human. We need to look
human
.” He walloped the skinny dog in the ears. “Change now. I change, too.” And he did, twisting and morphing into the rotund form of a cultured-seeming human male in a tweed jacket. Next to him, the collie had disappeared, and now the skinny one adjusted the sleeves on his tailored silk jacket.

“Good. We go now,” the fat one whispered, shoving his way out from under the bushes.

The skinny one nodded and followed, and nobody noticed as they fell into step, keeping to the shadows as they followed the halfling and the human across the neatly trimmed lawn.

Zoë leaned against Taylor, watching as her mom slid into the taxi.

“You two be good,” Tessa said with a wave.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Do we have to?”

“Taylor!” Zoë looked up at him, but he just smiled, his eyes dancing, as Tessa laughed. Instead of being entirely mortified, Zoë found herself grinning back.

The taxi disappeared down the Andersons’ drive, and Zoë blew out a breath. How had she fallen so fast? In the blink of an eye, Taylor had gone from being an idle fantasy to being a reality. How on earth was she going to get herself centered? And did she even want to?

She was still wearing his sportcoat, but even so, a shiver racked her body, terrifying and enticing. Part of her wanted to run away. A bigger part of her wanted the valet to deliver the car, wanted to press Taylor up against it. Wanted to free-fall into the backseat, and do all those things she never did in high school.

Slowly, without even trying, Taylor was chipping away her defenses, melting the icy fear that usually accompanied even the thought of being touched like that.

She shivered again.

“Cold?” he asked.

“No, no.” She swallowed, trying to gather her wits. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I think you are, anyway,” he said. “Fine, that is.”

“Oh, that’s original.” Hoop sauntered toward them from the valet station, his arm around Deena.

“Maybe not original,” Taylor said, looking only at Zoë. “But sincere.”

“Good answer,” Deena said, laughing, and Zoë felt her entire body blush redder than her hair.

She shook her head, clearing her thoughts, hoping to steer the conversation back to more manageable ground. “Sorry we had to leave you alone with Mom in marriage mode.” She tried to shift her tone back to businesslike. “We’re not engaged now or anything I should know about, right?”

A slow grin spread across his face, and a feeling like warm molasses ooched down her insides.

“Well, I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said. “What kind of
anything
did you have in mind?”

Oh, dear
. The blush was back, its heat making her cheeks burn.

“Behave yourself,” Hoop said.

“Unless you don’t want him to,” Deena whispered, her voice far too low for Hoop or Taylor. Zoë caught her eye, but Deena just grinned. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

Taylor and Hoop looked at each other.

“Did we miss something?” Taylor asked.

“You’re men. You’re supposed to be clueless,” Deena said.

“That makes me the most manly man on the planet,” Hoop said.

Deena kissed him on the cheek. “It certainly does.”

Hoop opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“Good plan, Hoop,” Taylor said. “Stay quiet. Otherwise you’ll only dig yourself in deeper.”

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be getting a dose of culture right about now?” Zoë asked.

“Righto,” Hoop said. “Where’s the valet with the car? We need to get going.” He grinned and sucked in a breath, then belted out, “Kill the wabbit! Kill the wabbit!” at the top of his lungs.

The few folks waiting at the valet stand turned, a half dozen pairs of eyes wide and curious.

Deena raised her eyes to the sky. “That’s our cue.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Zoë said.

Hoop shrugged, the grin taking over his face. “What’s the matter? You don’t appreciate culture?”

“I guess I’m just a philistine,” Zoë said.

Hoop nodded his head toward Taylor. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Well, that leaves my options pretty wide open,” Taylor said, his intense look once again reducing Zoë to shakes and shivers.
“Is
there anything you wouldn’t do?”

“A few things. Maybe. But if I say them out loud, I might get arrested.‘”

Deena walloped him with her purse, and he held up his hands to defend himself. They were still play-wrestling—the party guests watching them with amused expressions—when the valet pulled up in Hoop’s battered Jeep. Hoop whisked Deena into his arms, planted a kiss on her mouth, then helped her up into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel.

Taylor swung his arm around Zoë’s shoulder as Hoop pulled away, Deena riding backward in the open Jeep so she could wave and throw kisses. “They’re quite a pair.”

“Perfect for each other,” Zoë agreed. She tried not to look at Taylor as she smothered a wave of forest green envy.

She wanted what Deena and Hoop had—that closeness, that playfulness, that sense of being almost one person. And the possibility that she’d never find it scared her.

She glanced up at Taylor, silently admitting that the possibility she’d already found it—but couldn’t keep it— scared her even more.

It was amazing what one could accomplish at Radio Shack. While Zoë and her little human friend were downing cocktails on the lawn, Mordi had dashed to the nearest mall—not a long trek in southern California— and acquired a few key electronic components.

A few wires here, a transistor there, a capacitor hooked up in the middle, and voila! One tracking device returned to prime working order. He hoped his dad was watching. At least somebody in the family knew how to work with electronics.

He watched the little green blip blinking right above the house where he again perched like an owl, his cloak draped over his shoulders. Zoë and Mr. Taylor were down there, along with their mortal friends. Eventually Zoë and the detective would split up—and Mordi would have his chance. He’d simply follow the bouncing green ball all the way back into his father’s good graces.

Blip, blip, bleep.

He perked up. The blip was on the move.

Unfortunately, unlike his cousin, supersight wasn’t one of his talents. Which meant he had to whip out his handy binoculars to get a visual on exactly who was moving—Zoë or the detective.

He pressed the glasses against his face and focused, the crowd changing from fuzzy relief to perfect clarity. He trained the lenses over the front porch, scanning the faces, until finally ... he saw ...

Both of them?

“What in the name of Pluto is going on?” he said with a snarl. With a jerk, he ripped the binocs away, lost his balance, and went scuttling down the roof, his heels and rear sending tile shingles flying. Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the rain gutter and hung there, suspended by just his fingertips, totally exposed to whomever might be looking.

He shouldn’t have worried. Being a rather unobservant lot, the nearby mortals on the ground didn’t even look up. And not one person noticed him literally hanging from his fingertips. Really, it was a wonder mortals had ever managed to drag themselves out of the primordial swamp.

Suspended four stories high, he swayed a bit, pondering his predicament. What to do? What to do?

Reconnaissance first. With his free hand, he pulled his cloak closed and fastened it. Then he grabbed up the binocs. Surely he must have seen wrong. Either Zoë or Taylor must have left. After all, the blip was moving.

He peered down, finally focusing in on Zoë. She stood there, a little smile on her face, laughing a bit as she talked to—he shifted his perspective a bit to the left— the detective.

Damn!

The realization jolted him, and he clenched his fist to pound it against the roof. Unfortunately it was the hand that was holding on to the gutter, which meant that he
stopped
holding on to the gutter. Which meant that he fell. Four stories. All the way to the ground.

Bloody hell.

From behind the hydrangea bushes, he frowned in the general direction of the driveway. If Zoë was there and the detective was there and the blip was moving, that could only mean one thing: someone else had the stone.

But who?

With a little grunt, he stood up, straightening his suit, wiping bits of leaf and grass off the finely tailored London original. He paused, his hand hovering over the seat of his pants, wondering if he’d damned the situation too soon.

After all, the little blip had been centered right above Zoë. Zoë was still there, but the blip had gone bye-bye.

The mortal girl. The stone must be with Zoë’s friend.

He smiled.

That had to be the explanation. And it made things even easier. All he had to do was follow her with the tracking device and then, when the moment was ripe, make his move.

* * *

The flame from the gaslight at the end of the Andersons’ driveway flickered and danced, splashing orange light across Zoë’s hair. Taylor sucked in a breath, savoring the moment.

She looked ethereal, unreal. A goddess.
His
goddess.

When she smiled at him, his heart fluttered. Lord, how this woman made his soul sing.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“Am I?”

She nodded, then leaned up against the lamppost, mischief shining in her eyes. “What are you looking at, sailor?”

“The most beautiful woman in port.”

Her cheeks flushed, and Taylor’s body tightened in response. She was innocent, sweet, yet sexy as hell.

There was never a bed around when he needed one.

He mentally kicked himself. He wanted her in his bed—or her bed, he wasn’t picky—but that wasn’t all he wanted. Oh, yes, he wanted to seduce her, wanted her to want him just as desperately. But he also wanted to understand everything there was to know about her, and to explore those intimate secrets even she didn’t know yet.

Oh, yeah, all that was what he wanted, all right. Where the hell was the damn car?

“You’re still staring,” she said, her delighted grin making it absolutely clear that she didn’t mind at all.

“You’re still beautiful.”

If possible, her flush deepened, and she dropped her gaze. “Thank you.”

He took a step closer. “Alone at last,” he said, moving closer still, not touching her, but near enough that, if he concentrated, he was sure he could feel the desire thrumming through her.

She looked relaxed, but he knew she wasn’t. He knew because he was wound up tight, just waiting for release in her arms, her lips.
Her
.

When she looked up, there was no mistaking the passion in her eyes. “There are still people waiting for their cars. I don’t think we’re alone.”

Right then and there he decided he’d waited long enough for the damn car. He took her hand and she moaned slightly, her breath fluttery. “Come with me.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere where there aren’t people waiting for their cars.” He leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Somewhere we can be alone.”