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

by J. Kenner

  “Nope. Ain’t Jerry.”

  “Oh.” She waited for him to say something else, but he just looked at her and blinked. She blinked back, not sure what to do. This detective thing wasn’t really her forte. But when she’d called Taylor’s apartment, she’d only gotten his machine. And if they wanted to find that necklace, they needed to get started.

  He held up a key ring. “You wanna step aside, lady?”

  “Right. Sure.” She stepped back. “This is your store?”

  “Look, lady. I got a business to run. You wanna buy a script, I’m your man. You wanna chat on the sidewalk, you go find someone else.”

  Okaaay. She stepped back farther, giving him some space. Hell, who was she kidding? Space, schmace. She wanted a free path if she needed to turn tail and run.

  Not-Jerry managed to open the door, and she followed him in. The second her nose hit the interior, she started to sneeze. The place was decorated in early American plywood bookshelf, and each shelve was crammed full with stack after stack of photocopied scripts. A glass case ran down the center of the room displaying more scripts, only these looked like the real deal, with autographs and lobby cards. In the layer of dust that coated the case, someone had written clean me.

  “What can I do you for,” Not-Jerry asked, suddenly all charm.

  She sneezed again. And again. And one last time. Then she wiped her nose with the back of her hand and explained about looking for the two women working on the movie.

  “What movie?” The voice was high and nasal and came from behind her.

  Lane whipped around and found herself nose-to-nose with a surfer type wearing an X-Files baseball cap and a What I Really Want to Do Is Direct T-shirt.

  “What movie?” he repeated.

  “That’s Boomer,” Not-Jerry said, as if that meant something to her.

  “Oh. Well, last Friday, there were some folks filming a movie here.”

  “Nobody was filming a movie here last week,” Boomer said.

  “Yes, they were. I was here.”

  Not-Jerry spread a newspaper open on the glass case, sending more dust flying. “If Boomer says they wasn’t shooting, then they wasn’t shooting. Boomer’s my eyes and ears.”

  “I don’t care if Boomer’s your heart and soul. I was here. It was called Boopsey Saves the Planet or something. And I’m looking for the woman who flew off the tower.” Even to her own ears, the story sounded crazy. So much for that ten grand. No way were they going to find that mysterious flying woman.

  The kid snorted. “Flying woman, my fat ass.” Considering the kid was skin and bones, it wasn’t much of a curse. “I want some of whatever you’ve been dropping.”

  Lane bristled. “I am not on drugs. A woman jumped off that tower. She had a cloak. She flew to the ground. She kicked a mugger. She saved my son. I was there.”

  The kid held up his hands in a back-off gesture. “Whoa, there, baby cakes. Slow down. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

  “My panties are fine, thank you.” She looked to Not-Jerry for help, but he just flipped a page of his newspaper and looked bored.

  “Where’d you say this flying nun came from?”

  Lane rolled her eyes and sighed. “The tower. She and her friend.”

  Boomer looked to Not-Jerry. “Coulda been one of them two chicks.”

  “Coulda been,” Not-Jerry agreed.

  Lane restrained herself from strangling them. “What chicks?”

  “We see these chicks,” Boomer said. “Every Friday. Blondie usually grabs a six-pack at the corner store. They hang out on the roof over there.” He nodded vaguely in the direction of the Tripoli Tower.

  So far, so good. “Do you know their names?”

  Boomer looked at Not-Jerry, who shrugged. “Nope,” he voiced for both of them.

  “Ask at the tower,” Not-Jerry said. “Maybe the guard’ll know who your flying lady is.”

  “Right,” she said, stifling the urge to kiss both of them. It wasn’t a very strong urge, so it didn’t take too much effort to squelch it. Instead she smiled. “Thank you both so much.”

  She left Jerry’s Scripts and Scraps with a spring in her step, and an old copy of an I Love Lucy script in her bag. After squeezing the info out of the store’s owner, it had only seemed fair.

  Whistling, she headed for the tower. Maybe she had a knack for this detective thing after all.

  The morning light streamed in through the sheer curtains, tickling Zoe’s nose and easing her out of the sweetest sleep. She woke to find herself trapped—but it was a nice trapped, safe and warm in the protective circle of Taylor’s arms. Somehow they’d made it to the bedroom, and now he was sprawled out upon her king-size bed, managing to cover all but the tiniest sliver of mattress. Laid out on his back, softly snoring, Taylor was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

  Idly, she wondered if the newness would wear off after a while and the snoring and bed hogging would just be annoying. She didn’t think so. Something told her she’d put up with a lot from this man.

  Over and over last night she’d lost complete control, abandoning herself to this miraculous experience as her soul burst with the power of a million supernovas. And each time, she’d come back to herself to face the wonder in Taylor’s eyes, the desire and passion reflected there nearly enough to bring her to tears.

  Gently she extricated herself from his arms, propping herself up to look at him, and only then realized that she had a goofy smile plastered on her face. Well, after the night she’d just experienced, why shouldn’t she smile? Maybe this had started out as the Zoe Smith way of testing the sexual waters—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t feel something real now. Right?

  Because she did. Hera help her, she really, really did.

  Everything was moving so fast and furious. The wonderful man next to her. Her birthday. Her tests.

  And the biggest mystery of all: what on earth were those drooling, fanged, smelly creatures Taylor had thought were men?

  She could think of only one way to find the answer. With a little bit of trepidation, she sat up, careful not to wake him, and she glanced toward her dresser. There, under the silver box that held the rubber bands for her braid, were the recently delivered council publications. She’d started The Venerate Council: A Brief History, but had gotten bored at about page 320 during chapter four, “The Early Years.” So far she hadn’t even cracked the spine on So You’re a Halfling!

  Like she needed a book to remind her. But maybe . . .

  Maybe the answers were in those pages.

  As she slipped off the bed, Taylor groaned and rolled over, and her heart did a little somersault as he snuggled down against “her” side of the bed, his arm automatically closing around her pillow, seeking out her warmth even in sleep.

  She drew in a ragged breath. Already she knew she couldn’t bear to lose him.

  She hauled the books off the dresser and settled down in her chair by the window, ready to find answers. With one final look at Taylor sleeping peacefully, she sighed, the warmth of her skin having nothing to do with the summer heat and everything to do with the man in her bed. She’d gone wading in a pool of emotion and gotten sucked in by a riptide of passion.

  No, it was more than passion.

  Hera help her, she loved the man.

  Taylor awakened to the most beautiful sight in the world. “Hey, you,” he whispered.

  Zoe’d been reading some massive tome, and when she looked up, the pleasure dancing in her eyes gave him chills. Had anyone ever looked at him that way before? He doubted it. Not even his mother, before she’d dumped him. And certainly not any of his continuous cycle of foster parents. With a few exceptions, most of them had seen only an extra check every month, never a little boy.

  But Zoe . . . she looked at him as if he were the whole world, and Taylor knew he had come home at last.

  He wanted to say the kinds of pretty words women liked to hear, but he couldn’t think. Not of words, not of sweet nothings, not
of anything except touching Zoe again. Of sweeping his tongue inside her mouth and tasting her, of pressing her to the bed and burying himself inside her while she moaned his name, over and over and over.

  She put down the book and moved to the bed, sitting beside him and stroking his hair.

  He caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “So why was I wrong?”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  “I was wrong. You aren’t taken. But I can’t imagine why not.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertip. “And why am I the first man who’s ever shared your bed?”

  She blushed bright red. “You’re the first man I’ve ever wanted.”

  It wasn’t until she said the words that he realized how much he’d wanted to hear them.

  “I’ve never really dated.”

  “So your mom said.”

  Zoe cast her eyes skyward. “Uh-oh. I knew you spent too much time together.”

  Hooking his arm around her waist, he pulled her to him, unable to bear the distance between them any longer. “Just getting to know my woman and her family. Why didn’t you date?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t really want to.” She gave a tiny shrug. “But it was more than that. I guess I’m a private person.” She twisted around to face him. “And the fact that my brother threatened to smash in the face of any boy that got near me . . .”

  “Kinda put a damper on things, huh?”

  “You could say that.”

  “I didn’t even realize you had a brother.”

  She pulled away a little at that, ducking her head. “Mom doesn’t know him.” Her fingers toyed with the quilt. “I met my dad when I was just a toddler. And he had another kid. My half brother, Hale. They’ve been visiting me secretly all my life.” The image of a sleek black Ferrari drifted through his mind. “This brother doesn’t look like a movie star and drive a fast car, does he?”

  For a second she looked confused; then she smiled. “You were across the street.”

  “I thought he was your Mr. Wonderful.”

  “Nope.” She snuggled close again, her heat burning into him. “That would be you.”

  He brushed his lips over the sexy curve of her ear, delighted when she shivered. “I thought I was Mr. Midnight.”

  “Mmmm.” She melted in his arms, pressed up against him, warm and willing. “That you are.”

  “So is this brother still around?” He moved down to taste her neck.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He kissed her collarbone, thrilled when her breath came less steadily. “So how come you took the risk with me?”

  “I already told you,” she murmured.

  “Tell me again.”

  She turned in his arms, then cupped his face with her hands, her eyes warm and sincere. “Because I wanted you.”

  His blood burned, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her. “Do you want me now?”

  “Oh, yes.” A little smile danced on her lips, paying tribute to the desire in her voice. “Now would be very good.”

  Like a man starved, he took her mouth with his, tasting the ambrosia of her lips as she moved beneath him.

  She was his. For now and—if he had his way—for always.

  Elmer parked himself outside the bedroom door and tapped his little foot impatiently. Thank heaven Zoe had let him out last night, but she and Taylor had quickly shut themselves away.

  They were still in Zoe’s bedroom, and from the sound of things, they weren’t going to be coming out anytime soon.

  Well, wasn’t that a pickle?

  Hellooooo! Starving ferret out here! You wanna give me a hand with the can opener? Maybe throw a Hungry-Man meal in the oven? I mean, come on, people. It’s well past noon here. . .

  No use. Zoe couldn’t understand him, and even if she could, he had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t her first priority.

  When Hale got back, Elmer intended to give him a stern talking-to. What in Hades had he been thinking, leaving Elmer with people who would let him starve? Playing chaperone was one thing—not that he was any good at it, if the noises coming from behind that door were any indication—but that didn’t mean he should go without breakfast. Or lunch.

  The ferret scowled, suddenly sure that somewhere Hale was probably doing pretty near the same thing his sister was.

  And Elmer was sure of one other thing, too. If Hale was holed up at the Beverly Wilshire with a king-size bed, room service, and satellite television while Elmer suffered here with Zoe Golightly and Mr. Studmuffin . . . well, there was going to be some serious hell to pay.

  Tap-tap, tap-tap.

  Mordi clenched his jaw, watching his father’s fingers do their annoying dance on the polished wood.

  “Let me see it.”

  He stepped closer, holding out the gold chain for his father to inspect.

  Hieronymous held the chain up to the light, as if close inspection would reveal the current whereabouts of its stone.

  “It’s not in the park,” Mordi said. “I looked everywhere.”

  “Had you retrieved the stone earlier—at the party, perhaps—this little incident could have been avoided.”

  With supreme effort, he clamped down on his temper. “The opportunity didn’t exist. As I’ve mentioned, your tracking device was inadequate. I had to tweak it in order to pinpoint the location of the stone. Then, when I realized the stone had left with the mortal, it made more sense to follow it than to confront Zoe.”

  Hieronymous dismissed the comment with a wave. “No matter. After your pathetic performance as a police officer, I decided to take matters regarding your cousin into my own hands.”

  “You what?” He frowned, suddenly unsure of what he was doing, and why. Was Hieronymous so certain he’d fail?

  Mordi sighed, wondering why he had let the red Mustang get away. True, Zoe’s smack to the head with the mug had unsettled him, but surely he could have caught up again. If he’d raced forward, changing into something fast like a cougar, he could have paced the car. He could have easily caught them. Easily won.

  So why hadn’t he? Surely that would have been better than standing here now, taking it on the chin from his father.

  “I told you I wanted the girl out of the equation. You failed. I released two Henchmen.” His father paused, and when he spoke again his voice was even colder. “Sadly, they were not successful.”

  Mordi shivered. “If the council finds out you have access—”

  “They won’t.” He waved a hand to encompass his wood-paneled office. “And if they do, so what? Am I on Olympus? Am I on the council? No. I’ve been an Outcast for years, stuck in this hell they call Manhattan with only my millions for comfort.” He flashed an ironic smile. “There is nothing they can do to me now.”

  “Nothing?” According to all the rumors, the punishment for out-of-control Outcasts was rather inventive.

  Hieronymous’s mouth curved up in a thin smile. “I have certain . . . resources. I will be safe. But thank you for your concern.”

  Mordi tilted his head. Resources? He knew nothing of such resources. For that matter, what did he really know of his father? A lust for power. A lust for revenge. And somehow his only son had become embroiled between the two. He was pretty much trapped between a rock and a Hiero place. Oh, joy.

  When Hieronymous succeeded—when he usurped the council and enslaved the mortals—would he be satisfied? Did he truly want Mordi with him, helping him, being his right-hand usurper-of-the-council guy? Or would there be a new lust, a new desire? And would there still be the never-ending string of criticisms-on-parade?

  Hieronymous rubbed his jaw, tap-tapping on the desktop with his free hand. “It appears that we are in a quandary, you and I. The stone is once again missing and the tracking device has nothing to track. Thus, we are left only with the legend to guide us.” He looked up, his coal black eyes boring into Mordi’s. “You will watch your cousin like a hawk. We are running out of time, and the stone will find its way to one of you.”
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  Mordi nodded slowly, turning over possibilities in his mind. Either the stone was lost in the wilds of Los Angeles, or it was with the last person who had it—the blonde mortal. That Deena person.

  “I’ll find the stone.” He looked his father square in the eye without flinching. “And I don’t need to spy on Zoe to do it.”

  For a moment, Hieronymous looked about to laugh; then he cocked his head, considering. “How?”

  Mordichai held out his hand, an idea forming, as he recalled the subtle scent of the stone—a scent that surely lingered on the necklace. He could track it. He had to. It was his last chance. His only chance. “Let me have the necklace,” he said. “I have an idea.”

  “Unbelievable!” Hale paced in front of Zoe’s sofa. She was crouched there, her coppery hair wild and loose around her shoulders, her knees tucked up under her chin. She looked completely guilty and totally happy.

  Her apartment looked like a tornado had whipped through it. An ugly red dress on the floor. Throw pillows strewn about. A gold belt dangling from a lamp shade. One sandal on the kitchen counter and its mate hanging from a ceiling fan blade. He shook his head, wordless.

  “You can meet him if you want,” she said, apparently oblivious to just how irritated he was. “He called a few minutes ago. He forgot his jacket, so he’s going to swing by later today on his way to a meeting.”

  “Zoe . . .”

  She dragged her teeth along her lower lip, frowning. “Then again, maybe you’d better leave before he gets here.”

  Hale nodded. Maybe he’d better. Especially considering that right now he wanted to really pound on the guy. And he didn’t feel inclined to hold back.

  This was absurd. Ridiculous. Unbelievably horrible. “You actually had sex with a mortal!”

  A snorting sound emerged from one of the pillows next to Zoe, and Elmer crawled out, his eyes bleary with sleep. Sex? Ha! They were going at it like bunnies, those two. I know! I heard! Just like you were probably doing across town. And did anybody think to feed the ferret? He shook with rage, his entire body quivering. Noooooo . . . And you know what else? I saw it with my own eyes. Zoe had the sto—