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

by J. Kenner

  Mordi made a decision. “Yes and no. The man’s got a roving eye, I’ll give you that. But unless I’m imagining things, his gaze stopped roving when he met you.”

  A surprised smile danced on her mouth before fading. “You’re just saying that to be nice. How could you possibly know?”

  That was a very good question. He’d been disguised in the coffee shop, and he’d been a dog at the mall. When was he supposed to have witnessed this great love affair in bloom?

  “Actually, Hale told me.” It was an out-and-out lie, but he couldn’t think of anything better.

  “Really?” Tracy’s delight spread across her face, and he decided on the spot that he didn’t regret his falsehood.

  “Cross my heart.”

  “So, why did he act like such a jerk this morning?”

  “Because my cousin’s an idiot.” There. That wasn’t a lie. And it should make up for some of the doozies he’d been telling.

  Instead of answering, Tracy just cocked her head. “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

  “Not at all. The man’s nuts about you, and look at how he behaves.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And you’re crazy about him.”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again. “That obvious, huh?”

  “Pretty apparent.”

  She scowled.

  “Don’t fight it. Just go with it.” He stifled a cringe. That really did sound like Oprah. Who knew method acting would come so easily to him? Scary!

  “But Hale was such a jerk.”

  “Yeah, but you know why he was.”

  “I do?”

  “Of course you do. Don’t all women?” So far so good. But what was he doing, sabotaging his own plan to salvage his cousin’s love life?

  She licked her lips, one hand clutching the door handle as Mordi took a curve at sixty miles an hour. “Fear of commitment, you mean? That’s what all the women’s magazines are always blaming.”

  Mordi had no personal knowledge—he’d never fallen under the spell of any woman, Protector or mortal—but it sounded good. “Exactly.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Just be patient.”

  “Patient?” she repeated, her eyes wide. “Don’t do anything? Not exactly the proactive type, are you?”

  Actually, he wasn’t. But he was becoming more so. And any day now he was going to proactive himself right out of the whole situation with his father. “Just trust me,” he said. “You need to be patient, and you need to tell him how you feel. And you need to be willing to fight for it.” He paused. “Remember the first bit. With Hale, you’ll need all the patience you can get.”

  She turned in her seat, twisting around to face him, her expression soft. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then she glanced down at her clasped hands. “Thank you.”

  Mordi nodded and focused on the road. He might have done his good deed for the year, but he’d also counseled his way out of any chance of getting a date with Tracy. Clearly, his seduction skills needed work. Although his matchmaking skills seemed to be functioning at full capacity. Not exactly the types of job skills that were going to make Dad proud.

  Well, maybe he’d still wind up with the belt. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Right now, though, he wasn’t going to do anything more than deliver Tracy Tannin back to her house—and to Hale.

  His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Damn, he hated being such a softie.

  Doing nothing felt worse than doing something stupid, and as Hale paced around the entrance hall of Tracy’s house, he knew that any minute now he was going to go do something stupid. He couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t. He knew Mordi had Tracy. He knew Mordi was Hieronymous’s flunkie. Ergo, Hieronymous had Tracy. Which meant that Hale ought to just fly to Manhattan, bust into Uncle H’s high-tech haven, and rescue her.

  “Give it up, man. There’s no way to rescue someone when you don’t know where they are.” Taylor’s words filtered through the red-hot haze of his thoughts.

  Slowly, Hale turned to face his brother-in-law. “Is it that obvious what I want to do? Or have you been talking with your wife?”

  “A little of both.”

  Since the entrance hall was the only room near the front of the house that had been cleaned, Hale had carried a sofa in and the girls had covered it with a sheet to hide the rips in the upholstery. Aphrodite’s girdle was draped over the back of the sofa—Hale didn’t want it out of his sight—and it glittered and gleamed in the afternoon light streaming in through the window.

  Hoop had already made himself at home on the couch, and now Taylor dropped down onto it, managing to wake Elmer, who shot him a dirty look, turned three times, and settled back in. Hale ignored all three of them and kept on pacing.

  “Besides,” Taylor added. “It’s obvious you’re hot for this girl. Of course you’re nervous—”

  “I’m not hot for her.”

  “Bull—” Behind them, Hoop coughed into his palm—an age-old trick—but his sentiments were clear enough.

  Oh yeah, Hale, Elmer chittered. You’re hot for Tracy. It’s pretty funny, actually. The supercool superhero bowled over by a twenty-something chick who talks with the animals. He managed a little ferret snicker. It’s perfect.

  Taylor aimed his thumb in Elmer’s direction. “What’s with the rat?”

  Humans. Harrumph.

  “The usual. Ignore him.”

  “So,” Hoop said congenially. “If you were hot for this girl, what would you do?”

  Hale ran his fingers through his hair, still not quite believing he could be even half seriously thinking about this. Or admitting his feelings to these clowns. But he was. “What would you do?”

  “Me?” Hoop made a face. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m not the poor slob to be asking. I’m no superhero, and I’ve never been desperate for a woman in my life. Deena pursued me; I just finally gave in.”

  Taylor and Hale exchanged a glance. Anyone with eyes could see that Hoop was crazy about his girl.

  “Uh-huh,” Taylor said.

  Hoop just shrugged, grinned, and settled a pillow more firmly behind his neck. At the moment, Hale envied him. He was one man who knew exactly what he wanted—his business and his girl. And they were both safe.

  Hale wasn’t even ready to admit he wanted Tracy. At least, not out loud. Not long-term. But he did want her safe.

  “The first thing you should do,” Taylor said, “is admit you love this girl. Zoe’ll hound you until you admit it.”

  “It’s not my sister I’m worried about.” Hale said, trying to shift the conversation away from his feelings and back to reality. “It’s Tracy. Where she is and who she’s with.” He leaned over and started rummaging through his Council pack.

  What are you doing? Elmer asked.

  “Getting my Propulsion Cloak.” He looked at the ferret, Taylor, and Hoop in turn. “I’m going to New York.”

  In an instant, Hoop was off the couch and on his feet. “Don’t do it, buddy. Zoe’s got Zephron and the MLO satellite on this thing. Do you really think any of us would be so calm if we thought there was anything we could be doing?”

  “Hoop’s right,” Taylor added. “They’ve got Hieronymous’s place staked out, and they’re using every spy satellite in the atmosphere to try and find your gal. There’s nothing you can do. They’ll let you know when there is.”

  “Except if I fly to New York, I’d feel like I’m actually doing something.” Hale slammed his fist against the wall, accidentally punching a hole in the Sheetrock.

  “Good thing this place already needs some repairs,” Hoop said in a deadpan.

  “Sorry,” Hale said, to no one in particular.

  “You destroying the place?” Zoe, Deena, and Lane traipsed in, all three of them covered in dust and a fine layer of sweat. “Lot of thanks that is for us putting your girlfriend’s place back together.”

  Hale scowled at his sister.

  “Henchmen,” Zoe said, her voi
ce derisive. “They’ll destroy anything, even when it’s not necessary. At least they only locked Tracy’s dog in the closet.” Hale noticed that Mistress Betina had scampered in, looking distrustful.

  “This wasn’t Mordi?” Taylor asked.

  “No. For one, he was probably watching Tracy all night. For another, I may have a bad thing to say about Mordi every once in a while, but he’s not this stupid—and he doesn’t stink.”

  Hale sniffed the air, noticing as he did so that Taylor, Hoop, Deena, and Lane were all doing it, too. “Stink?”

  “Trust me,” Zoe said, tapping her super-sensitive nose. “There were Henchmen in this house.” Her nose wrinkled. “It positively reeks in here.”

  Hale resumed his pacing—at least he was moving—before finally stopping in front of the door. Henchmen. More of them. Destroying Tracy’s house. Tracy with Mordi. “Forget it. I’ve had enough. I’m going to find her.”

  “Hale . . .” Lane stepped up and closed her hand over his.

  “No, I’m going.” He couldn’t stand the sympathy in her eyes. He had to do something. If Tracy wasn’t with Hieronymous, Hale could be back in L.A. within the hour. But sitting around here, waiting for other Protectors to find Tracy . . .

  He couldn’t do it anymore.

  “You may not have to,” Zoe cried. She’d rushed to the window, and they all turned to look at her. She spun back, her face triumphant, but a little confused. “She’s here.”

  His sister’s words cut straight to Hale’s heart. “Here?”

  “Yup. Coming up the drive now.”

  Hale peered out the window and, sure enough, he saw a Porsche cruising up toward the house. “And Tracy’s in there?”

  “With Mordi,” she agreed. “Yup.”

  Bless his sister and her eyesight.

  And damn Mordi for taking Tracy in the first place.

  He went to the door, his hand poised over the doorknob as he waited for just the right moment.

  Footsteps.

  Closer, then closer.

  When he could tell they were right outside the door, he yanked it open, ignoring Tracy’s startled expression as he launched himself at Mordichai. He crashed into his cousin and over and over they rolled, until Mordi finally managed to slip out of Hale’s grasp and back away. Mordi gasped as he tried to catch his breath.

  “What in Hades are you doing?” Mordi yelled, standing up to brush the leaves and twigs from his linen suit.

  “What am I doing?” Hale spat. “What are you doing with Tracy?”

  “Bringing her back to you. What does it look like I’m doing?”

  It was a perfectly reasonable response, but Hale wasn’t having any of it. His fist was still itching to make contact with Mordi’s face, and he lunged forward, intent on that goal.

  “Hale, no! Mordi was just driving me home!”

  Too late, Tracy’s words penetrated his mind. Two other things stopped him from rushing Mordi, though—Zoe’s grasp on the back of his jeans, and the fireball Mordi conjured in self-defense.

  “Hale!” Tracy’s scream broke though the maelstrom in his head, not to mention the flame that engulfed him. Thankfully, Mordi’d had the presence of mind to make it a warning. The flame had been illusory: hot, but harmless.

  “I’m okay,” he grunted, not thinking. “It’s not real fire.”

  The second the words were out of his mouth, he twisted around, turning to look into Tracy’s eyes. They were confused. And no wonder; conjured illusory fireballs weren’t exactly normal occurrences in the mortal world. And certainly not in Beverly Hills.

  Tracy’s hands went to her hips, and one eyebrow raised. “Okay,” she finally said. “I give up. What in the name of Heaven is going on?”

  23

  “Something really weird,” Tracy continued, glaring at the seven people, one ferret, and a dog camped out in her entrance hall, “is going on. And I want to know what.”

  “Sweetheart,” Hale said. “Nothing’s going on. I think you should just—”

  “Don’t you sweetheart me!” She turned to face him head-on, digging deep for the courage she’d never found with Walter. But Hale meant something to her, and if she had any shot at all in repairing this relationship, she couldn’t be a doormat. “Right now, what you think doesn’t matter. You gave up that right when you turned cold on me this morning, then sealed your fate when you exchanged kissy-faces with Miss Supermodel.”

  Zoe aimed a raised eyebrow in her brother’s direction. Hale just shrugged and, Tracy was happy to see, looked utterly miserable.

  She took a deep breath, pleased with herself for sounding calm, and tried not to look around for support. “Now, I want to know what’s going on. What’s really going on.”

  Zoe and Hale looked at each other, while Deena and another man Tracy presumed to be Hoop, did the same. Lane stared at Davy, sleeping in her arms, and Mordi glared at Hale’s ferret. Missy just snored on the floor.

  “Somebody?” She tapped her foot on the marble flooring. “Hale?”

  He didn’t quite meet her eyes. “There’s nothing going on, sweetheart.”

  Elmer perked up, chattering away from his perch on the armrest.

  “Will you knock it off?” Hale said, turning to the ferret.

  “Nothing, huh?” She glanced from him to Elmer.

  Hale shrugged, but glared at the ferret.

  “You’re all in my house, know each other, someone tried to mug me”—she held up two fingers—“twice. And men have started paying attention to me.” She pointed at Hale. “And you talk to ferrets. And this one,” she added turning to glare at Mordi, “throws fire. Fire! So what is going on? Are you all circus performers?”

  Again, Zoe and Hale just shrugged. The rest of the crowd remained stone-faced.

  “Fine. Don’t tell me. I’ll guess.” It wasn’t so difficult to figure out, she supposed. Weird stuff had started happening to her since she’d found her grandmother’s belt. She aimed a glance at each of her guests in turn. “This has something to do with Tahlula’s belt, doesn’t it?”

  She had no idea how it possibly could, but that seemed the only reasonable explanation. No. Strike that. There was no reasonable explanation. But the belt had to be the link between all this weirdness. Either that, or she was losing it.

  “How on earth could your belt have anything to do with men paying attention to you?” Lane asked.

  “Or you getting mugged, for that matter,” Deena added. “I mean, it’s a truly funky-looking belt. You think muggers would want it?”

  “Both times they grabbed for it.” Tracy responded. “Not my purse. Not me. My waist. For the belt. Somebody wants this thing, and I think I know why.”

  Neither Hale nor Zoe looked at each other, and Tracy knew she had to be on the right track. She started pacing the room, feeling a bit like Perry Mason at the end of a case. “So, will one of you tell me, or do I have to guess?”

  “I vote for guessing,” Hale said.

  “Me, too,” Zoe added, holding hands with a man Tracy presumed was her husband, Taylor.

  “Works for me,” Deena’s man added.

  Taylor and Lane both nodded. Mordi just rolled his eyes, crossed his arms over his chest, and sank further into the sofa cushions. Davy twisted in his mother’s arms. Elmer rolled over, and Missy didn’t wake up.

  Tracy closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Fine. I’ll guess.” All she knew about the belt was that it boosted her confidence, it had a mysterious message from her grandmother . . . and about the time her grandmother had started wearing the belt in publicity photos her popularity had increased exponentially.

  Her train of thought was interrupted when she saw the belt in question draped over the sofa. She should have been surprised to see it there—she’d forgotten she’d left it in the hotel room, she’d been so mad—but she wasn’t.

  Ignoring the seven alert pairs of eyes that followed her as she moved around the room, Tracy headed for the sofa, then twisted the belt between her fin
gers. She’d thought her confidence when she wore the thing had been a placebo effect. The belt was a crutch that pushed her into her own little confidence zone. That’s why everybody she ran into seemed to stumble all over themselves to make her happy.

  But that was some pretty darned potent self-confidence she’d had. So potent that now she had to wonder if there wasn’t more to it.

  Like maybe magic?

  Mentally, she rolled her eyes. She felt silly for thinking it, and even sillier saying it out loud, but she really didn’t have any other explanation. “Magic,” she explained, trying to keep her voice firm and confident, even though she knew these people would brush off her silly comment. After all, a belt couldn’t be magic. Could it?

  The reactions from her guests weren’t exactly as she’d expected. Well, except for Missy and Davy, who slept through the entire thing. Everyone else acted agitated. Elmer ran up the back of the sofa to perch above Hale. Taylor closed his hand over Zoe’s, while she and Hale shared another one of their surreptitious glances. Deena grabbed Hoop’s knee, Lane let her head flop back against the sofa, and Mordi massaged the bridge of his nose.

  “No way,” Tracy said. These people were acting like she’d just got it right. But she couldn’t be right.

  Could she?

  “Tell her,” Zoe said.

  “Zo . . .” Hale didn’t look too keen about the “tell her” plan.

  “Zoe’s right,” Taylor said. “At this point, you might as well tell her everything.”

  “Everything?” Tracy asked. She frowned. “Do I need to sit down?”

  Lane nodded. “I would if I were you.”

  “For crying out loud, Hale,” Deena yelped. “Do you think you could be a little less abrupt?”

  “What?” Tracy squinted at Deena, trying to figure out what she was talking about. Then it occurred to her to turn and follow the line of the blond woman’s sight.

  Oh, my. All of a sudden her knees went weak. So it was probably fortunate that a chair was floating through the air, making its way toward her. The second it settled behind her, she collapsed onto it, the sound of Missy’s frantic barking ringing in her ears.