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

by J. Kenner

  And it had worked.

  That was the truly amazing thing. Never in a million years had she thought that thinking really hard could rank up there on the list of top-ten ways to ward off ugly idiots. Who knew? She’d aimed her superstare in his direction, Wit had frozen, Taylor’d gotten in a solid punch, and the little creep had taken off, a groggy Nit following right behind.

  Easy-squeezy.

  Just a few days ago she could barely levitate a book. Now she was going all gonzo with telekinetic power. How cool was that? Except she shuddered to think what would have happened if the now fully functional Zoe Smith superstare hadn’t worked. Either Taylor would have been monster fodder, or Zoe would have had to put some of her martial arts on display.

  She shivered, and Taylor pulled her closer, smiling down at her. Automatically she smiled back, feeling absurdly safe just being in his arms. Absurd because Taylor didn’t really up her safety quotient. Heck, she could lay the man out in two seconds flat, but still. . .

  She sighed. There was something special about just being held by him.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  She tilted her head back, basking in the warmth of his luscious brown eyes. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” But even more than before, she was sure Taylor was far from fine. If he got caught in the cross fire of her testing, if Nit and Wit decided to make an encore appearance . . .

  She needed to send him on his way—safely back into Hollywood, where at least he was familiar with the bad guys. Where the bad guys were guys, not monsters in men suits. He’d never be safe with her.

  They stopped in front of Francis Capra, the only car in the drive now that the guests had all left. She leaned against the back while Taylor opened the door for her.

  “We ought to get you home. Some hot chocolate, some rest.” He trailed a fingertip down her cheek, and it was all she could do not to gasp. “You’ve had a traumatic evening.” He kissed his fingertip and pressed it against the end of her nose. “Maybe set you up on the couch, tuck a fluffy blanket around you, watch a funny movie . . .”

  Oh, no. With sudden certainty, she knew that she wasn’t about to settle for a PG-rated night with Taylor.

  Heck, she wasn’t even going to settle for R.

  No, as scary as it was—as much as she was sure that she would practically explode from his touch, not to mention his kisses—Zoe knew one thing for sure.

  Tonight, she wanted X-rated. Wanted it bad.

  With what she hoped was a sultry smile, she reached up and stroked his cheek, banishing thoughts of Nit and Wit, pushing away worries about any of the council’s tests. Right now she wanted only to think about Taylor. Gently, she turned his face toward hers. “No hot chocolate, no blankies. Just you.”

  “Zoe, we were attacked. This isn’t—”

  “You,” she said with more force.

  She hooked her arms around his neck and pulled herself up on her tip toes. She brushed her lips over his, calling on every ounce of concentration to stay focused when her lips tingled from the butterfly-soft kiss. “You can try to stop me, of course,” she whispered. “I’ve never seduced a hero before, but I intend to go down fighting.”

  Taylor moaned, his hands caressing her back, pulling her closer against him until her body burned with the heat of a thousand suns. “Sweetheart,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t dream of disappointing a lady.

  Hieronymous drummed his fingers on his desk, his manicured nails click-clacking on the polished wood.

  “They failed,” Clyde said.

  “I am aware of that.” What should have been such a simple task—obtaining the stone, getting rid of Zoe, and taking over the world—was becoming much too complicated.

  “They were out of practice, they were,” Clyde went on. “It’s from being locked up so long.”

  “That is no excuse.”

  Clyde pulled himself up and to attention. “No, sir. Shall I dispose of them?”

  Hieronymous tilted his head, considering. On one hand, the creatures had failed with a relatively simple task. On the other . . .

  “No. They may still prove useful.” He glanced at the center monitor, now displaying the Los Angeles skyline. “Depending on how Mordichai fares, they may still prove useful, indeed.”

  17

  Box seats at the Hollywood Bowl went for over one hundred dollars; seats on the grass near the back could sometimes be had for free. Mordichai sat in neither, but he still had the best seat in the house—perched on top of the graceful white arc that rose like an upended teacup out of the Hollywood landscape.

  Of course, he couldn’t see the orchestra. For that matter, he couldn’t see the cartoons being projected onto a screen inside the famous amphitheater. It was a pity, really. That wascally wabbit always cracked him up.

  Bleep, bleep. The little green blip flashed, underscoring his purpose. He wasn’t there to watch Bugs outwit Elmer Fudd. No, he was on a mission. And from his vantage point, he had a perfect view of his target.

  The silly woman had no idea that tonight, when the music stopped, she was going to have an unfortunate encounter with one of those pesky Los Angeles muggers.

  Deena clapped and bounced up, applauding like crazy, wishing she could fly out into the night with the music. “Wasn’t that great? Aren’t you glad we came?”

  Hoop laughed and squeezed her hand, watching the last of the cartoons race across the screen. “I told you I’d like it. What I don’t get is why the powers that be don’t set all classical music to cartoons.”

  “I think it’s the other way around. They scored the cartoons with the classical music.”

  Hoop shrugged. “Whatever. Point is, I like it.” He nodded toward the exit as the encore finished. “Ready to battle the crowd?”

  “Sure.” She grabbed the hem of her oversize pullover sweater and yanked it up over her head, managing to get herself tangled.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  She couldn’t see him with her head in the darn thing. “I’m hot. And I’m stuck. Pull, would you?”

  She could practically hear him rolling his eyes and shaking his head, but he grabbed hold and tugged, and the sweater slipped easily over her head and shoulders.

  Something cold slid down into her cleavage and she shivered. Hoop shoved the sweater into the top of her tote bag. “Let’s go.” He stepped onto the pathway toward the exit, squeezing in behind a couple with four perky little kids. Deena followed, ignoring the stares as she groped at her chest and then her neck.

  They had just about reached the exit when she stopped, realizing. “Oh, hell.”

  Hoop looked over his shoulder. “What?”

  “It’s gone.”

  He shrugged, looking lost.

  “The necklace. The chain must have gotten caught in my sweater. It’s probably back in our box.”

  “Or smashed under someone’s feet on the path, or someone picked it up, or—”

  “I know,” she said, running a hand through her hair.

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. It was an ugly necklace anyway.”

  She recalled the oddly twisted metal holding the green stone. “Well, I liked it. And so did Zoe. And it was hers, too.”

  “Right. I forgot.” He shrugged. “We can wait if you want,” he said, not sounding particularly keen about the idea.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. A swarm of people still meandered down the path, making it impossible to go back and search. “It’s probably lost for good. And you’re right. It was ugly.” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve got the stone.”

  “You do?”

  “It fell into my bra,” she mumbled.

  “What?” he asked, though his grin suggested he’d heard her perfectly well.

  “My bra,” she repeated with a smirk. “I guess it came loose from its setting and dropped there.”

  He chuckled, then took her hand and gave her a little tug toward the exit. “In that case, what say we head home? I’m thinking I should go on a sea
rch for buried treasure.”

  The trouble with X-rated was that Zoe didn’t know a damn thing about it. Taylor was right there—right in front of her. Unfortunately he was in professional mode, scoping out the inside of her apartment for bogeymen hiding in the dark. Except for his not-so-subtle hints back at the car, he’d shown absolutely no interest in throwing her on the floor, ripping her clothes off, and ravishing her.

  She considered tearing off her own clothes and throwing herself on the floor—just to jump-start the whole thing—but ruled it out as being a tad forward. Bummer.

  So how on earth did she get him to move from point A to point bedroom?

  For the first time, she wished she’d paid more attention in school. Not the geography, math, and social studies part, but the this-is-how-the-cool-girls-get-guys part. Not only had she pretty much flunked out in that department, she hadn’t even gone to class. Which left her at a decided disadvantage when a gorgeous, sexy man was wandering through her darkened apartment doing the macho protection thing instead of the macho seduction thing.

  He came back to the door, flipped on the light, and ushered her inside, the slight pressure of his hand against her waist sending her frantic atoms into meltdown.

  “You’re all set,” he said. “The place looks fine.”

  His purely professional expression would’ve had her worried, except that she saw his eyes. Those eyes told a different story. Taylor’s head might want to protect her from being ravaged by bad guys, but the rest of him wanted to be the one doing the ravaging.

  She moved awkwardly into the apartment, making a point of brushing lightly against him as she passed. The slight contact set her body tingling, and she turned to face him, trying to pull herself back together. There was no sense in looking desperate and needy.

  “Um . . . well. . . uh . . .” She grappled for an intelligent topic to discuss, and finally landed on coffee. “Want some?” Oh, Zeus, what did I say? “Coffee,” she added, stumbling over herself to clarify. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Coffee would be great,” he said, but his eyes said, And how about getting naked with me in the bedroom?

  “Oh, yes.” She blinked, realizing he hadn’t said anything of the sort, then blushed even hotter.

  “What?”

  “Coffee it is,” she said, while he squinted at her as though she’d lost her mind.

  At least coffee was a reason to escape the living room. She hightailed it for her tiny kitchen and pulled a stack of filters out of the cabinet. Now the big decision—decaf or regular. She decided to go with the latter. Sure it would keep her up all night, but right now, being awake—and active—the whole night through sounded pretty darned appealing.

  “Leaded? That’ll keep us up all night.”

  His voice came from right behind her, and she almost jumped a mile. She whipped around, hoping he hadn’t noticed that she’d jumped so high her hair really had grazed the ceiling.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She had no idea how he’d managed to get so close without her realizing—a testament to how distracted he’d made her—but there he was. Just three little inches of air separated them. Just air between her and those teasing lips and strong, firm hands.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  He moved even closer. The sound of his breath, the beating of his heart, the rustle of his clothes as he moved closer all made up a symphony of erotic sounds designed to drive her crazy. “Of course,” he said, his voice low, “I don’t have any problems with staying up all night.”

  He didn’t move, and neither did she. He just looked down at her, his eyes warm and inviting. She waited for him to grab her around the waist, to pull her toward him, to kiss her senseless.

  Nothing.

  She waited a little longer, their gazes locked, her breath quickening.

  Still nothing.

  No, not exactly nothing. But certainly nothing good, because now he’d broken eye contact and was staring toward the floor.

  Well, heck.

  With a sigh, she held her hands out to her sides. In for a penny and all that. “So,” she said, “how about we get started on that seduction?” The second the words left her lips, she cringed. From the tone of her voice, she might as well have asked, So, how about those Dodgers?

  Very smooth move.

  Then again, maybe there had been a little method in her madness. When he lifted his head, the passion in his eyes was unmistakable. He moved closer, and she felt a surge of power that had nothing to do with her heritage and everything to do with being female.

  He really wanted her. And right now, her feminine power put to shame every one of her piddly little superhero skills. Who really cared about flying when a man like this could take her to the stars with one dark and dangerous look?

  “Is this a good idea?”

  “What do you mean?” Her words came out as a squeak, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t about to let him back out on her now. “It’s a fabulous idea.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were concerned. “I don’t want to drag you into this. If those guys really are after me, I should leave.”

  “Why?” She shouldn’t argue, not really. After all, he’d be a lot safer away from her. But, Hera help her, she didn’t want him to go. It was selfish, but true.

  His hands gripped her shoulders. “I want you, Zoe. Oh, Lord, I want you. But I don’t want to see you in danger.”

  His eyes burned into her, and she swallowed, feeling like a heel. He did want her, but he was willing to walk away to keep her safe. She wanted him, and she was ready to damn the consequences and go at it with Taylor like bunnies.

  Oh, dear. Maybe Hale was right. Maybe she was in over her head. Maybe she really couldn’t handle all these wild, wanton, spinning, singing, zinging, and zipping feelings storming around inside her. She should just let this man walk away. Concentrate on passing her tests and working up the courage to tell her mother. Forget she was ever even remotely attracted to a mortal.

  She tossed the idea around in her head, trying to decide if she was keen on the walk-away plan.

  Um . . . nope.

  So much for reason over emotion.

  The sound of toenails clickety-clacking on tile echoed from across the room, and she saw Elmer’s furry little face poke out from her bathroom. No question about it—that was a scolding expression on his tiny rat face.

  She ignored him. Best not to let one’s life be ruled by ferrets, after all. Especially not meddling, chaperoning ferrets dumped in her apartment by her overbearing, well-meaning big brother.

  Switching her gaze back to Taylor—who apparently hadn’t heard the telltale toenail tapping—she sucked in a deep breath and tried to summon some chutzpah. “Look,” she said in her best negotiating-with-eight-year-olds voice, “nobody’s here. And chances are nobody followed us, right?”

  His nod was grudging, but affirmative.

  “Which means that you’re safe here for now. And so am I.” He smiled, intense and provocative. “So we have a wild night, I leave in the morning, and don’t come calling, lest I lead the bad guys to your doorstep?”

  “Well, yeah.” She frowned, realizing that it sounded like all she wanted was a wild night of passion to get the man out of her system. Which was absolutely true—really it was—but that didn’t change the fact that it sounded awful to put it so bluntly. She tried to soften her tone. “What do you want?”

  His examination started at her toes, and by the time it reached her eyes, she was on fire. Hera’s hatpins. This man did things to her. Marvelous, erotic, wonderful, terrifying things.

  “What do I want?” he repeated. “Let me tell you exactly what I want.” He leaned forward until his mouth was just a breath away from her ear. “I want to throw you to the floor and make love to you until you beg for more.” The words were low, dangerous, and a shudder ripped through her soul.

  “Oh.”

  With a look
that told her he knew exactly the effect he was having on her, he moved in front of her. The heat from his body warmed her, pooling somewhere in her middle. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer and closer until she could tell just how much he’d meant his words.

  “Oh,” she repeated stupidly.

  “What do you want?” He whispered the words, his breath hot against her ear, wicked and tempting.

  She tried to answer, but her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed and tried again. “I. . . uh . . . want you to throw me to the floor and make love to me until I beg for more.”

  “Well, there you go. Looks like we’re on the same wavele—Aieeee!” He ended with a howl, jerking away from her and hopping around on one foot while he held on to his other ankle. Below him, Elmer dodged, trying to escape being squashed by Taylor, the human pogo stick.

  For such a tiny little ferret, he’d managed to put a pretty big damper on the moment. What had been shaping up like a really sweet Taster’s Choice commercial was rapidly degenerating into a bad Fox Network special—When Good Ferrets Go Bad.

  She glared at Elmer as he backed away, his head tilted up, abject innocence plastered all over his furry little face. “Oh, no, you don’t. Hale’s gonna hear about this.”

  “The little devil bit me.”

  “It was a love bite,” she lied. “He’s fond of you. Just a little overzealous.”

  “I’ll say.” Taylor rubbed his ankle.

  Elmer hopped back and forth, his fur spiky, very clearly trying to communicate that fond and Taylor did not belong together.

  “You just behave,” Zoe said, scooping him up. “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she added in a low whisper, “but when Hale gets here, I’m gonna make sure he gives you a good talking-to.”

  She flashed her best hostess smile at Taylor, then shoved Elmer into the spare bedroom and closed the door. She went back into the kitchen wondering if she could salvage the moment.

  “Look, Zoe. I’m incredibly attracted to you. I’m not about to deny it. But—”