Extraordinarily Yours: Collection 1 (An Extraordinarily Yours Romance Book 8)

by J. Kenner

  “Uh-huh.” He eased Davy to the floor. “Why am I not buying this?”

  Lane shrugged. “What’s not to buy? I saw it with my own eyes.”

  “And then you gave her the necklace—”

  “Right.”

  “—but didn’t get her name.”

  His foster sister sighed, screwing up her mouth in annoyance. “Bummer, huh?”

  He laughed. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  “Ten grand . . . I can’t believe it.”

  “Ten grand and then some,” he added.

  She ran her finger down an ancient refrigerator they’d just picked up at a garage sale. “Woulda been nice.”

  “Woulda been? It’s not exactly over.”

  “Hello?” Lane said. “We don’t have the necklace, remember?”

  He shrugged. “Somebody does.”

  “And that somebody’s not you or me. So how are we supposed to find it?”

  He pointed at himself and tried to affect an insulted expression. “Remember me? Your multitalented brother? I’m a hell of an investigator. That’s why this Mordon guy hired me in the first place.”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “But nothing. We’ll find her, and this rich loony bird can buy the necklace off her. Then we’ll split the finder’s fee.”

  Lane nodded, but didn’t look too convinced.

  “Come on. Trust me.” He pulled a chair out from under her kitchen table, flipped it around, and straddled it. “Lane . . .”

  She grinned. “I guess if anyone can find it, you’re the man.” She snorted. “Talk about turnabout. Eight months ago I was the one trying to convince you that you still had the stuff.”

  He cringed. Eight months ago he’d been released from rehab only to find out that the department was sticking him behind a desk and saddling him with an administrative job. Detective George Bailey Taylor, local hero, suddenly turned paper pusher.

  After two months of sulking, he’d basically told them to shove the job and the damned disability checks. He’d struck out on his own—and was doing just fine, thank you very much. Incapacitated, my ass.

  He rubbed his thigh, frowning. Of course, so far he hadn’t needed to chase any thugs down dark alleys. But if it came to that. . . well, he’d show them. He’d do what needed to be done. Annoying limp and all. Nothing important had changed. Nothing at all.

  And it wasn’t as if he’d be chasing any criminals tonight, anyway. At least, not any real ones. The only thugs after Zoe Smith were the ones living in her imagination. Though from what he could tell, her imagination was about as vivid as her hair.

  “Taylor?” Lane was frowning. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” he said, his voice harsh to his ears. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. “So we start with what we know. What did she look like?”

  Lane shrugged. “She had on a hood.”

  “Strike one, but that’s okay. They were filming a movie, right?”

  “Yeah, Boopsey Saves the World, remember?” She grimaced, clearly not impressed with the title.

  “Hmmm. I managed to catch someone at the Hollywood Reporter, and no one there knows anything about a movie like that in production right now.”

  Lane picked up Davy, who was tugging on her skirt. “Maybe it’s a really small movie and the trades just don’t know about it.”

  “Could be. But with this gizmo you saw, it sounds like they’ve got a decent budget.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Monday I’ll call the city and see if they had a permit to film. Then I’ll start calling all the production companies around town. Start big, work small.”

  Lane grinned. “I guess you do know your stuff.”

  “Aw, shucks, ma’am,” he joked, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ll also interview folks who work in nearby shops. Maybe they saw something.”

  “That sounds tedious.”

  “Sounds like detective work. Legwork. Same thing.” Too bad his leg didn’t work so well anymore.

  “Cool beans.” She looked at her watch. “Let me drop Davy at a friend’s and we can start right now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got it under control.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “You’ve got it under control? It was my necklace. I’m not going to let you do all the work and then split the money.”

  He opened his mouth to tell her he’d find her necklace and didn’t need her help, but nothing came out. She only wanted to do some of the legwork, after all. And the damn thing had belonged to her originally. “Fine. We’ll check out the shops.”

  To her credit, her smile wasn’t overly smug. “Just let me grab my keys.”

  “We can’t go now. I’ve got plans.”

  “Plans?” Her voice was incredulous, and he suddenly realized just how rarely he did anything even remotely social.

  “Yeah, plans. You know? Where a person thinks ahead of time about doing something and then, when that time comes around, they actually do it.”

  “And who do you have these mysterious plans with?”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t getting into the date-no-date thing with Lane. That can of worms was going to remain firmly sealed shut. “No one you know. It’s no big deal. Scour Hollywood by yourself if you want.”

  “No one I know, male? Or no one I know, female?”

  He sighed. “Female.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh, really? How very . . . interesting.”

  “In-tra-sing,” echoed Davy.

  Taylor rolled his eyes. “It’s just a job, Lane.”

  “Is she pretty?”

  “Hello? Didn’t I just tell you it’s a job?”

  “Oh. Is she normal?”

  Clearly there was no avoiding this conversation. “Very.”

  “This is sounding more and more promising by the minute.” “She hired me, Lane. Job, yes. Date, no.”

  “Too bad,” said Lane, and Taylor had to agree.

  Taylor drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. How had a woman he barely knew managed to crawl so far under his skin?

  Lane was right: he never socialized, never did the club scene, rarely even went out with a buddy for a drink.

  But today he was going to a cocktail party, of all things. Correction, a lawn party. And damned if he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Just what the heck was a lawn party anyway?

  He ran his fingers through his hair, imagining himself and Zoe sipping wine, tasting various cocktails and appetizers on a big blanket spread out in a lush field. Next to them a giant umbrella was propped up against a lawn mower. The softer side of Sears. Yes, indeed. He was all for lawn-care products if they got him closer to Zoe Smith.

  The woman touched something inside of him without even trying, without even lifting a finger. She was sweet and gentle, and had an air of innocence and a backbone of steel. Zoe Smith stood up for what she believed in—he’d seen that in the school library on the day he’d met her—and he wanted her to believe in him. To trust him. She made him feel alive, and he hadn’t felt that way in a long, long time. And right now she needed him.

  He could only hope like hell that she wanted him, too.

  In his mind, Zoe was easing him down, lower and lower, until his back was pressed against a blanket. She was on top of him, warm and willing. She—

  A horn blared behind him causing a surge of frustration to well in his gut, and he pounded the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. Primal and primitive his reaction to her might be, but damn if he could think of anything else.

  Taken. The word taunted him. Why the hell did she have to be seeing another man?

  Again the horn blared.

  He closed his eyes, imagining her skin under his fingertips, the scent of flowers as he leaned in to press his lips against hers. Would she back away? Or would she lean forward to meet him, take his mouth with her own?

  He opened his eyes, sighing. He could try. Hell, he had to try. Tonight might be his only
shot. One gig playing the knight in shining armor and then they’d go their separate ways.

  Not if he had any say in the matter.

  Maybe a little seduction was in order. After all, what was the worst that could happen? He frowned. She could say no. Or she could slap the shit out of him. Or her boyfriend could.

  But the best that could happen . . .

  Well, the possibility of a long night with Zoe Smith was well-worth risking a palm-shaped bruise on the side of his face.

  And as for Baywatch boy . . . well, any man who would leave a woman like Zoe to fend for herself, who would leave her so desperate for an escort that she’d hire one, wasn’t rowing with all his oars. Hell, Hoop hadn’t even known Zoe had a steady guy, so he couldn’t be too entrenched in her life.

  In Taylor’s book, that made the man an idiot. And if he was lucky, soon the idiot would be an ex, and Taylor could slide into the newly vacated slot in Zoe’s life.

  The little Toyota behind him honked again, and he glanced into the rearview mirror. A scruffy teenager with a mop of yellow hair was leaning on the horn, flipping him the bird.

  He waved at the kid and moved into traffic. Time to get going anyway.

  Time to go pick up his date for the evening.

  11

  “If you don’t sit still, you’re going to end up looking like a clown instead of a beauty queen.”

  Zoe cringed as Deena leaned over her, brandishing a wand of mascara. “I don’t want to be a beauty queen. I just want to be me.”

  “Same diff,” Deena said.

  Zoe pretended she hadn’t heard, and hopped off the table. Deena had made her unbraid her hair first thing, and now Zoe twisted a strand around her finger as she walked from the sofa to the kitchen and back again.

  “What is with you?”

  Zoe nibbled on her lip. “I’m nervous. I’m really, really nervous.” She glanced around the room. “We’re sure Elmer’s not here, right?”

  “The ferret?” Deena asked. “Are you going to clue me in on what’s with the ferret?”

  “I’m just not real keen on him reporting back to my brother with a full dissertation on the state of my nerves.”

  “Ah,” said Deena. “Because, of course, the ferret talks to him.”

  “Right,” Zoe said. “Hale’s always dumping Elmer on me when he needs a spy. It’s his passive-aggressive way of keeping me in line, and he thinks I don’t realize.”

  “You’ve got a weird family, kid. But I’m not one to talk.” She leaned back. “So. Does the ferret talk to you, too?”

  “He talks. I don’t understand. I’m not an animalinguist.”

  For about half a second, Deena looked a little disconcerted. Then she shrugged. “Fair enough. At least this explains that bizarro doublespeak in the other room.”

  Zoe grinned. Deena was nothing if not easygoing.

  “At any rate, I don’t see him anywhere,” Zoe said.

  “I wouldn’t worry,” said Deena. “He’s probably in your bedroom having ferret phone sex or watching Animal Planet.”

  “Good point,” Zoe said, managing to keep a straight face. “Can we get back to the makeover? Taylor will be here any minute.”

  “I still don’t see why—”

  “If you’re going to seduce a man, you might as well start out in top form.”

  “I am not going to sed—”

  “Not that you don’t look great even without makeup.” Deena waved an eyelash curler like a small weapon. “But you’ll want to look extra hot for Mr. Midnight.”

  “Mr. Midnight?”

  A twinkle appeared in Deena’s eyes. “Since Taylor’s the guy you’ve been lusting after, I’m assuming you think about him, you know . . . when it’s dark.”

  “No comment,” Zoe mumbled. Her friend looked smug. Of course, she had pretty much nailed the truth on the head with the nickname. For the past few days, Zoe’s nights had been filled with Taylor—the imaginary version, anyway. Disconcerting, but oh so true.

  “Deena, I don’t really want him to know I’m attracted to him. I mean, I spent the entire time I was at his office convincing him I didn’t want a date-date. If I wear all of that”—she waved her hand over the cosmetics-covered table—“then surely he’s gonna think I’m interested.”

  “Like I’ve been saying, just go for it. Damn the torpedoes, full orgasm ahead.”

  “Deena.”

  “Hmmm?” she asked, twisting up tubes of lipstick and inspecting the colors.

  Zoe raised an eyebrow and tapped her foot.

  Deena gave her an annoyed look. “Fine. Be a nun. But don’t say I didn’t try to help you.” She sniffed a tube and tossed it aside. “At any rate, you should be prepared for the slim, minuscule off chance that something does develop. And a little sheer blush and extra-volume mascara never hurt anyone.”

  “You sound like a Revlon commercial.”

  “Hey, whatever works.” She patted a cushion on the sofa. “Come on.”

  The fact was, Zoe did care about how she looked. This was Taylor, after all. Even if she wasn’t going to do anything like that with him . . . well, she still wanted him to notice her. Wanted it a lot, actually.

  Feeling rather pathetic, she sat on the coffee table in front of Deena. “Okay. Make me a new woman.” Preferably one who wasn’t terrified of the prospect of getting close to the one man she desperately wanted to get close to.

  “Don’t talk. I’m going to do your lips. Do this,” Deena said, then puckered.

  “Should I—”

  But she couldn’t get the rest out, because Deena grabbed her mouth and made her pucker until she felt like a fish.

  “You told me you can control your senses when you try, right?” Deena asked as she brushed on a thin layer of gloss.

  Zoe nodded, since she was still pretty much lip-zipped.

  “And you’re doing it right now, right? I mean, I’ve got a hold of your cheeks.”

  True. And all Zoe felt was a rather uncomfortable squooshing sensation. She nodded.

  “Well, see? There’s no reason to spend your life hiding behind some invisible line. I mean, oatmeal and rice cakes . . . yuck.”

  “They’re pretty tasty, actually,” she managed, but Deena looked annoyed and squeezed her lips tight again.

  “The point is, you just need to decide what you want and then go for it. Do you want to still be a virgin when you turn twenty-five, or do you want to get out there and go for it?”

  “You make it sound so tawdry.”

  “Do I? I was hoping to make it sound fun.”

  Fun. Most women would probably agree. After all, she was going on a real date with a real man. A man she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for days.

  Maybe she should let loose.

  Deena let go of her mouth, and Zoe massaged her cheeks.

  “Careful of the gloss.”

  She stood up, then ran her fingers through her hair. She started to nibble on her lower lip, then stopped, remembering the makeup. This dressing-for-success thing was complicated. “What if I really can’t handle it? His touch? What if it drives me crazy?”

  “We’ve been over this, Zo. It’s supposed to drive you crazy.”

  Maybe. But there was crazy and then there was crazy. And she wasn’t sure she could manage either.

  And that wasn’t even her biggest fear. Knowing she was acting like one of the sixth graders with a crush, but unable to help it, she flopped back down onto the sofa. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

  “Zoe, please. Why wouldn’t he?”

  About a million reasons, not the least of which was that she had absolutely no idea how to act with a guy she actually liked. “I’m almost twenty-five and I’ve never even had a real date.”

  “You don’t need to have had them. All you need is desire. And kiddo, you’ve got that in spades.”

  Maybe. But desiring and doing were two completely different things. And Zoe didn’t intend to do anything about the doing part.

/>   She heard Elmer stir far down the hallway, then heard him making his way toward the living room.

  His little head appeared around the corner, and Deena waved. “Hey there, Elmer, you cute little ferret-face.”

  Zoe eyed the rodent, nibbling on her lower lip. There was no doubt in her mind that Hale had left Elmer to play chaperone—to cramp what little style she had while she went out on a date with a mortal.

  A fresh wave of nervousness washed over her, and she fought to shake it before remembering that she had absolutely no reason to worry. After all, she wasn’t going to do anything with the luscious Mr. Taylor.

  Which meant there was nothing to be nervous about. Absolutely nothing at all.

  A little voice in the back of her mind whispered, Too bad. Zoe sighed, wondering which was the bigger mistake—lusting after Taylor in the first place, or promising herself she wasn’t going to do a darn thing about it.

  Elmer was in no mood to be called cute or ferret-face, no matter how true either description was. He considered going back to the bedroom and watching another episode of Hollywood Safari, but Hale wanted him to keep an eye on Zoe. And from what he could tell, she needed some serious watching. The blonde mortal was simply not a good influence.

  With a grunt, Elmer climbed up the sofa and pulled himself onto the armrest. He perched there, watching the woman named Deena as she stared back at him.

  “So he can understand me, right?”

  Even if you speak Swahili, Elmer chittered snootily.

  “As far as I know,” said Zoe. “He always seems to understand what I’m saying. Don’t you, Elmer?”

  Oh, no. He wasn’t about to do stupid ferret tricks for a mortal. He gave Zoe a stern look, then hopped onto the sofa cushion. If the girl was really going out on a date with a mortal, he’d stay and be Hale’s spy, but that was all. He’d stay because that was his mission.

  And also, of course, because he was stuck here. Since ferrets couldn’t operate motor vehicles, he wasn’t exactly going anywhere else. Not unless he wanted to go out on the street to scratch out a Hollywood or bust sign and try to hitch a ride.

  He didn’t have to like this situation, but he was going to make the best of it. With a little hiss that he hoped conveyed how utterly bored he was by the whole thing, he turned in a circle three times, curled his tail under his chin, and tried to doze.