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

by J. Kenner

  “I was just asking directions,” he explained.

  A pile of towels rested nearby. He made a point not to take one.

  “Right,” she said. She stood up straighter and kept her eyes on his face. “I always knew you were different.”

  He sucked in air, feeling a wash of shame. “I already apologized for not telling you I was a Protector.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “That’s old news,” she said. Flipping her sweatshirt over her shoulder, she headed back to the stairs. “I just meant that most men won’t ask for directions.” She flashed him an innocent little smile, then disappeared, returning to the galley below.

  He grinned, more amused than he cared to admit. Damn, but he adored that woman.

  He wanted to follow, but he supposed that he should wear clothes. Boring was down there. And there were adjustments to the boat’s controls to be made, too. Once he was back in his shorts and the dials and knobs of the autopilot were set, Jason left the boat to its own devices and headed belowdeck. Officer Boring was asleep on one of the small bunks, apparently storing up energy for the adventure ahead.

  Jason frowned, realizing he still didn’t know what special Protector skills Boring held. To the best of Jason’s knowledge, being a super sycophant wasn’t a recognized Protector trait.

  Lane looked over from where she was standing, and her smile whisked from Jason’s head all thoughts except of her.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked. For a small boat with an owner who couldn’t cook, the Whirling Dervish had a surprisingly well-equipped galley. Lane was hovering behind its counter, the heat turned up under a saucepan.

  Something smelled better than ambrosia, and Jason pointed in the general direction of the stove. “Whatever you’re making would be great.”

  Color immediately rushed to her cheeks. Jason had no idea what he’d said to induce such a reaction but, considering she looked positively adorable, he didn’t regret saying it.

  “I’m, uh, making omelets,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

  Understanding dawned as a memory returned, and a low chuckle rose in his throat. “One of your omelets sounds wonderful,” he said, careful to keep his voice level. “Especially if it’s mushroom and cheese.”

  She shot him a suspicious glance, but he kept his face blank.

  “And a little burnt around the edges,” he added.

  Her suspicion changed to a glare, but there was a hint of amusement underneath. “I can cook,” she said. “You just weren’t helping.”

  “There was no incentive.” He slipped onto one of the stools in front of the counter. “It was more fun distracting you.”

  “Distracting,” she said. “Is that what you were doing? And all this time I thought you were just being a pain in the butt.”

  “Is that what you thought?” He slipped off the stool, then circled the counter to stand behind her. He leaned in close to peer over her shoulder. Sure enough, she’d added mushrooms and cheese.

  The curve of her rear brushed him, firing his senses. The last time she’d cooked for him they’d started out pretty much this same way, but . . .

  “Jason,” she said, her voice low and breathy. Her tone held both unasked questions and untapped possibility. He wanted to answer each, slowly, methodically, until she didn’t have to ask any more because her every desire had been fulfilled.

  “What?” he whispered.

  He saw the faint movement of her throat as she swallowed, then felt more than heard her answer—“Don’t.”

  The word had no meaning to him. “Don’t what?” He leaned in closer, breathing her scent: vanilla, mixed with the subtle smell of the sea. It was intoxicating. Hera help him, his body was reacting like this from nothing but the scent of her?

  She twisted, wriggling away from him. “Don’t that,” she said.

  He blinked, getting his mind around the situation. Not only had his body been pressed against hers; he’d curled one arm around her waist.

  He took a step back. “Sorry,” he said, even though the only thing he was sorry for was stopping. “These little trips down memory lane aren’t exactly conducive to remaining platonic.”

  She licked her lips. “I can’t censor everything I say or cook,” she said. “We were together for a long time. Just about anything either of us does will strike some memory, and I can’t have you—”

  “I said I was sorry.” The words came out colder than he intended.

  Lane’s face lost some of its intensity as she exhaled. “It’s just that I thought we were on the same wavelength. We can be friends—I want to be friends, especially if you want to be in Davy’s life. But I can’t . . .” She trailed off, her eyes wide and unblinking. “There can’t be anything more than that.”

  Then she blinked and, before she turned her head, Jason thought he saw the glint of a tear. That tear kept him from saying the words that begged to be released—What about me? Imprisoned for years with nothing but the memory of the woman I loved? The child I didn’t know? He couldn’t get the words out. Why? Because he knew the answer; hell, that single tear practically screamed it. He’d gone off to fight his own battles, and she was terrified he’d do it again. She was sure he would leave at the drop of a hat, go off to fight the bad guys—to battle Hieronymous. And the truth was, he probably would.

  She slid the omelet onto a plate and put it between them. He looked, a little disappointed to see the egg not even slightly burnt. Not only had she grown up in the last seven years, she’d also learned how to cook.

  Who the hell was he kidding? Of course she’d changed. She’d been out living her life; raising a son, trying to make a better way for herself.

  He took a bite, thinking about the life he knew she now lived. “Why law school?” he asked.

  A genuine smile lit her face as she took some toast out of a toaster. “Your sort,” she said. She cut a piece of the omelet with her fork and popped it into her mouth, her eyes dancing with mystery.

  “My sort?” he echoed, smiling back.

  “Protectors. Superheroes.” She shrugged. “The good guys.”

  “I see you’re a fan,” he said, “but I’m still not sure how law school fits in.”

  “Zoe’s become one of my closest friends. So has her brother Hale, for that matter.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow. Hale’s reputation for being less than friendly toward mortals was widespread.

  “Oh, he’s not going to start manufacturing I-Love-Mortal buttons or anything,” Lane explained. “But there’s a few of us he genuinely cares about. Some he even loves.”

  Jason hadn’t ever met Hale, so he didn’t argue. “But I still don’t see the connection.”

  “Those two are always fighting bad guys,” she said, stabbing the omelet aggressively with her fork. “I started to feel extraneous. My friends were doing all this amazing stuff, but if I tried to flip a mugger over my shoulder, I’d end up in traction. The mugger would be proud owner of all my belongings.” She shrugged. “I took a kickboxing course. I lost three pounds, but I’m still a klutz.”

  “A cute klutz,” he proposed.

  When she frowned, he held up his hands in self-defense. “It’s an empirical fact. You’re cute. Can’t a guy tell his friend she’s cute?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay. We’ll say that one was on the line.”

  “And on the line counts in tennis. Fifteen-love.”

  She tried to glare but didn’t much succeed. “Just watch it, okay?”

  His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Happy to.”

  She didn’t scold him again, just cleared her throat. Her cheeks turned pink. “At any rate,” she continued, her tone no-nonsense, “I wanted to do something useful. Something that would make an impact. I guess I wanted to be a good guy, too.”

  “So, I’m betting you don’t plan on representing the accounting departments of major corporations?” One of the benefits of being stuck on Olympus for almost a year—he’d had plenty of time to watch the news.<
br />
  She shot him a wry glance. “A district attorney. You guys catch them, and I’ll prosecute them. Just like Batman and the police commissioner.”

  “Yeah. Except the commissioner never knew who Batman was. You know all our secrets.”

  Instead of answering, she carefully placed a bite-sized hunk of omelet on the corner of a piece of toast, then bit down, chewing thoughtfully. Jason frowned, wondering what she was thinking.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she finally asked.

  So much for that mystery. Despite what she’d said on deck, the fact that he hadn’t disclosed his secrets so many years ago was going to be a point of contention. He cleared his throat. “If I’d known you were going to become a prosecutor,” he said, “I would have told you the day we met.”

  Her raised eyebrow suggested that she wasn’t amused by his response, so he tried to change the subject.

  “How did you get hooked up with Zoe and Hale, anyway?” This time her eyebrow rose in surprise, not annoyance. “I assumed you knew,” Lane said. “The story was all over the Protector newspaper and Web site at the time.”

  He shook his head. “It’s amazing what news you miss living your life in a fishbowl.” He immediately regretted the words. He didn’t want to talk about that now; the topic was too dark, and it rekindled his anger. All he wanted right then was to share a few nice moments with Lane—sweet moments, before they reached the island and the hellish reality of their situation crashed down around them again.

  For a second he thought she was going to ask what he meant, but then she simply answered his question, describing how she’d purchased the stone from Aphrodite’s girdle, and how Zoe had rescued her from Mordichai, who’d been out to retrieve it for his father. “Zoe saved Davy that day, too,” Lane added, and Jason’s heart twisted with her utterance of the boy’s name.

  Her head cocked to one side. “Wait a second,” she said. “You’re Davy’s father . . .” She trailed off.

  He frowned, not understanding where her thoughts were headed. “What?”

  “I just don’t get it. I mean, Davy was all over the Council’s news—we both were. But no one bothered to tell me he was a halfling.”

  “Ah,” Jason said, knowing that he was included in the no one. “That would be my fault.”

  A wry smile touched her lips. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “A halfling has to be registered. Since I wasn’t available—”

  “You never filed the paperwork.”

  “Exactly.”

  She shook her head. “I swear, the Council has more paperwork than the I.R.S.”

  “Eventually they do get around to discovering all the halflings—and quarterlings and whatnot—out there. Apparently at the time Zoe was being tested, they hadn’t found Davy yet.”

  “So you probably still have to file that paperwork, huh?” He swallowed. This wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned to raise the Council’s edict about boarding school. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  She squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Right before we, uh, met again, I got a letter from Olympus. From the Council.”

  She crossed her arms. “A letter?”

  He nodded. “Notifying me that I hadn’t filed the proper papers when Davy was born, and also, uh, putting me on notice about Davy’s schooling.”

  Lane’s arms stayed crossed and her eyebrow went up. “His schooling?”

  “Yeah.” Jason got up, taking the dishes to the sink. “The Council wants Davy to attend boarding school.” He spoke quickly and kept his back to her.

  “What?” she shrieked.

  He whirled to face her. “Careful,” he whispered, his finger to his lips. He gestured to Boreas, still asleep on the bunk.

  “I don’t care who I wake up,” she snapped, but this time she was quieter. “My son is not going away to boarding school.”

  “Actually, I have an idea about—”

  “Who the hell do they think they are?” Lane got up and started pacing the small area. “He’s my son.”

  “They just want to be sure he’s properly trained. His skills honed. That kind of thing.” Jason had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the best time to mention who Davy’s grandfather was—or that Davy was starting with a black mark against him in the High Elder’s minds, one that would require more of him than other halflings.

  “Zoe didn’t have to go to boarding school,” she protested. “She told me her mom raised her. Tessa didn’t have any idea Zoe was a halfling.”

  “Yeah,” Jason agreed. “That’s kind of my idea. You see, if—”

  “I mean, how dare they.” Lane paced past him one more time, and he caught her arm on the return journey, tugging her close. She tilted her head back, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Would you just listen to me?” he asked. “I’ve been thinking about this for days. I think I’ve come up with a solution.”

  From the look on her face, she trusted him about as far as she could throw him. And though her son might be a Protector, Lane wasn’t. He didn’t expect she could throw him very far.

  Even so, she nodded, silently inviting him to continue.

  “Me,” he said.

  She made a whooshing motion over her head.

  He tugged her toward the stools and urged her to sit. She hesitated but complied.

  “The Council’s concerned that Davy’s skills won’t develop right,” Jason began. “That he’ll be . . . uh, vulnerable to nefarious influences if someone from the Council isn’t around to watch over him.”

  “But Zoe—”

  “—had her father and Hale when she was growing up. From the Council’s perspective, Davy doesn’t have anybody.”

  “Glad to know my contribution counts for so much,” Lane muttered.

  “You know what I mean,” Jason said. “And your contribution does count. I know it, and you know it.” He sucked in a breath for courage. “And my contribution can count, too. I think it can count a lot, actually.”

  Her head tilted to one side. “Your contribution?”

  “If I worked with Davy every day, helped him to hone his skills. Basically I’d give him the kind of Protector guidance he’d get in boarding school.”

  He’d been constructing the plan ever since he’d received Prigg’s letter. Considering his own iffy status with the Council, it wasn’t definite. But by proving his loyalty wasn’t with Hieronymous, surely he’d also prove he was competent to educate his son. Which was one more reason to see his father destroyed.

  Lane still hadn’t answered; instead, she was perched on her stool, leaning forward, her elbows on the counter. Jason moved to the far side so that he could see her face, and when he did so she looked up, a question in her eyes. “Have you been sending Davy gifts?”

  He blinked. This wasn’t the question he’d expected. But he nodded.

  “Why?”

  “After I escaped, I spent months in debriefing under surveillance.” He shrugged. “I guess I just wanted Davy to know I was out there.” He shoved a hand into his pocket. “Did he, uh, like them?”

  Lane’s quick smile lifted his heart. “Oh, yeah. All of them were a big hit.” Her head cocked slightly, and he saw different questions behind her eyes. “How did you know?” she asked. “About law school. And where we lived. About everything?”

  He swallowed. He’d been wondering when they’d get to that. “The Council monitors,” he admitted. “I used to watch you while I was on Olympus. It gave me . . . something to hope for.”

  She licked her lips, her eyes narrowing. “You said the letter was from Olympus,” she said. “About Davy’s boarding school.”

  “Yeah,” he answered, with some hesitation. “That’s right.”

  “But if you just left Olympus, why’d they have to send you a letter?”

  Busted.

  “Jason?” she prompted.

  He took a deep breath. “I’ve been finished with debriefing for about a month. I move
d into the houseboat, brought this boat back from Greece. I also took care of some other stuff.”

  “And didn’t come to see us.” Her chin lifted along with her eyebrow.

  “No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I—”

  “Why not?” The words weren’t harsh. Instead they were genuinely curious—and a little bit hurt. “You say you wanted us back. And yet . . .”

  “I know,” he agreed. He closed his eyes, searching for the right words. “I wanted to figure out what I was doing first.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I’m not following.”

  “I’ve never had a kid.” He paused, grimacing. “I mean, of course I have a kid, but—”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “I didn’t know what to do with him. I didn’t know how to be a daddy.” He sighed. “Hell, I still don’t. But I know every Bob the Builder cartoon backward and forward, and, if you want, I can sing the entire Lion King soundtrack.”

  Her mouth twitched and Lane’s eyes softened. She reached for his hands. When she gave his fingers a quick tug, he resisted the urge to hold tight and pull her close. “You’ll do fine,” she said. “Trust me.”

  His heart twisted, her vote of confidence meaning more to him than he could ever have imagined. “And the training?” he asked.

  Slowly, she nodded. “That’s fine, too. It’s a good plan, if they allow it.” She breathed in, and he heard the hitch in her throat. A teardrop appeared in her eye and clung to her lower lashes. “But—”

  “Don’t even think that,” he interrupted, realizing the direction her thoughts had taken. “He’s fine. He’s fine,” he repeated, to convince himself as much as her. “And you’ll be hugging him and embarrassing him with kisses very soon.”

  She gnawed on her lower lip, and when she looked up at him, the fat tear in Lane’s eye plopped to the counter. “How do you know?”

  “I just do,” he said. And her rules be damned; he moved back around the counter and urged her from the stool and into his arms. For just a moment he held her like that, sharing his strength and drawing courage from her warmth. He was scared, too. But for Lane—and for Davy—he had to be strong. “You said you trusted me about this,” he whispered. “Did you stop?”