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

by J. Kenner

  Lane laughed. “What about a baby sister?”

  Her son made a face. “Yuck. Girls.”

  Lane just laughed and squeezed Jason’s hand. “I don’t know,” she said. “Spit-up, poopy diapers . . .”

  “I missed out on those the first time around,” Jason said. “I think you owe me.”

  She laughed at his teasing. “I owe you? Hmmm.” She stopped walking long enough to give him an appraising stare. “Maybe,” she finally agreed. “But only because I love you.” And she did. Loved him with all her heart and soul.

  He kissed her, the kiss telling her what she already knew: that he loved her, too. And Davy. And all of Davy’s unborn siblings. Hopefully, there would be a brother and a sister. “I love you, too,” he said.

  “I know.” She smiled and squeezed his hand. “So, tell me,” she said, then paused to nibble on her lower lip. “Are there any more surprises? Or do I know all your secrets now? You’re a Protector. Your father’s not a very nice guy. Does that about cover it?”

  He laughed, then swung Davy up onto his shoulder. “That’s it,” he said. “Except . . .”

  Her eyes widened. “Except?”

  “Have I told you about the full moon . . . ?”

  Epilogue

  “Where is he, Mommy?” Davy asked. “I don’t see Daddy anywhere.”

  “Right there, sweetie.” Lane pointed to the far side of the holding pool. “See? He’s behind Shamu.”

  As if he could hear her, Jason burst forth from the water, a shining, gleaming dolphin. He leaped over Shamu, his body glimmering in the fading moonlight.

  It had taken Lane a few months to get used to her husband’s monthly after-hours excursion to Sea World, but now she cherished the wee morning hours alone with Davy as they waited for Jason to come back to them.

  Lane rubbed her rounded belly, wondering if their little daughter was going to inherit her father’s aquatic powers. Lane almost hoped she would. Certainly they couldn’t be more of a handful than Davy reprogramming, rewiring, and re-everythinging each and every electronic device on their houseboat.

  Still, she had to laugh. After Davy’s rescue, the Inner Circle had promoted Jason to Protector First Class. With that vote of confidence, suddenly boarding school was no longer a necessity. Instead, Jason was charged with training his son.

  He did fine with the instruction on the basics like levitation, but Davy’s technological skills were a little out of Jason’s league. And it amused Lane to no end to watch her husband and son sit on the floor together, with Davy patiently explaining why the electrical current needed to flow in a certain direction. For his part, Jason was doing well to find the on/off switch on his coffeemaker.

  He tried, though, to help his son. And Lane loved him all the more for it.

  The first rays of sunlight streaked across the sky, and Lane held her breath, her eyes searching the calm surface of the water, looking for her human husband.

  Shamu cruised by, one fin raised in greeting, and Davy waved back. Lane did, too, but her salutation was halfhearted, because she’d seen a more important sign: the telltale ripple in the water.

  She watched as Jason emerged, stepping out of the water like one of the gods from whom he’d descended. His body glistened and gleamed, and when he saw her, he smiled, the gesture full of promise and desire.

  Water cascaded from his chest. Lane sighed, enjoying the magnificent view as he moved forward to grab a towel off the concrete, then wrap it around his waist.

  “Daddy!” Davy raced over and threw his arms around Jason’s legs, managing to get fully soaked in the process.

  “Hey, sport,” his father said. “How’s my guy?”

  “I’m good, Daddy,” Davy announced. “I made an electronic life-form that has retracting ninja blades, but Mommy won’t let me play with it in the house.”

  Jason laughed. “Don’t look at me, kid.” He pulled Lane close when she approached, and she snuggled up, not caring at all that she was going to end up just as wet as he.

  “And how are my girls?” he asked, putting his hand on her belly.

  “Missing you,” she said.

  He kissed her nose. “Do you have it?”

  Lane nodded, then reached into her pocket, pulling out his wedding ring. She held it out for him. “Still love me?” she asked, in what had become their monthly ritual.

  He slipped his finger through the ring. “I do,” he said, his eyes showing he told the truth.

  Lane’s heart beat faster, those words filling her soul with joy as they always did. “I know you do,” she said, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “And I do, too.”

  Keep reading for Never Trust a Rogue on a Magical Mission!

  Never Trust a Rogue on a Magical Mission

  1

  Venerate Council of Protectors

  1-800-555-HERO

  www.WeProtectMortals.com

  Protecting Mortals Is Our Business!

  Official Business

  Hieronymous Black

  Outcast

  Internet Delivery; Location Unknown

  Greetings and Salutations:

  The Venerate Council of Protectors is in receipt of your Form 849-7A (filed in triplicate) seeking re-assimilation into the Council and eradication of your status as an Outcast pursuant to the Outcast Re-Assimilation and Immunity Act (codified at Part III, Title 9 of the Protector Code of Conduct).

  As you are most likely aware, all Outcasts seeking re-assimilation shall be assigned a Re-Assimilation Counselor; you will receive notice of the date, time and location of your initial Meeting and Assessment (along with your counselor’s name) within ten business days. Please complete the following forms and bring them with you to the initial meeting with your counselor.

  • Form 26Q(3)(a)—Affidavit of Intent re Non-Recidivism;

  • Form 297-T (please complete the top portion only; the bottom portion may be retained for your records)—Statement of Purpose and Rationale Behind Decision to Seek Re-Assimilation;

  • Form 26Q(3)(b)—Chronology of Events and Activities Undertaken As An Outcast. Remember, only truthful Outcasts will be re-assimilated! And

  • Form T-26—Request for Pardon.

  It is highly recommended that you read Circular 147B, So You Want To Be Re-Assimilated! Further information may be found on the Council Web site, www.WeProtectMortals.com, on the Re-Assimilation Procedure page. Prior to sending questions or comments to the Council, we suggest you check the FAQ section to see if your situation has been covered.

  Again, thank you for your interest in returning to a productive and helpful life as a Protector.

  Sincerely,

  Phelonium Prigg

  Assistant to Zephron, High Elder

  jbk: PP enclosure

  “Nothing but bills today,” Burt Foster said, smiling as he handed Isole Frost a stack of mail. The mailman’s skin was baked to a golden brown, a testament to the recent beautiful weather that had soundly defeated whatever rain, sleet, snow, or hail might otherwise have tried to keep him from his appointed rounds.

  Izzy took a good look at him as she fingered the bundle. Burt was about forty, with a round face and a receding hairline. His wife had passed away three years ago after a lingering illness, and when Izzy had met the man at the beginning of the summer, he’d seemed haunted and alone, giving off the scent of mild depression with just a hint of restlessness.

  Now, though, she was picking up happiness combined with—what? She lifted her chin, sniffing slightly. Ah, yes. Self-satisfaction. The conquering hero. Virility mixed with tenderness.

  No doubt about it. Mr. Foster had got himself a girl.

  Izzy put on her work face, determined to hide her smile. “Thanks for bringing this up to the house,” she said, sounding casual. She’d ease him into a discussion of his love life. No sense being pushy. “Of course, you could have thrown in the TV Guide, too. It’s my last day of vacation, you know. I plan to veg out and do some serious channel surfing.” That was a fa
r cry from the ice-cold professional veneer she clung to at the office, but at home with her father she could be herself without any repercussions. And today, “herself” wanted to lounge about in sweats.

  A frown cut across Burt’s features. “Aw, now, that’s a shame. We’ll be sorry to see you go. So will your dad.”

  Izzy nodded. Leaving her dad was the hard part. She’d taken the entire summer for vacation, spending lazy days on his Colorado property, just reading and watching him tinker. But while she’d enjoyed vacation and spending time with her father, she was thrilled about going back. A new job, new responsibilities. She couldn’t wait.

  She leaned forward, happy to share her news, even if Burt couldn’t know all of the details. “I’m actually excited about going back,” she said. “I got a promotion!”

  The mailman beamed. “Congratulations! You’re some sort of counselor, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “They should give you a promotion. A woman as perceptive as you. Hell, they should give you your own TV show.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” It meant a lot, actually, that Burt believed in her. Other than her father and her uncle, it was hard to find someone in the hallowed halls of the Venerate Council who believed Izzy knew what she was doing . . . much less that she was good at it. So, even though Burt couldn’t know all the details—or, really, any of the details of her life or job—Izzy was glad for his support, and a little saddened that she couldn’t tell him the truth. But, unfortunately, a girl simply didn’t confess to the mailman that she was, technically, a superhero.

  And tomorrow, she was stepping into her new job as a Level V Re-Assimilation Counselor—a much-coveted position, and a significant promotion for her. She’d jumped straight from an entry-level position to the highest rank, skipping entirely that annoying middle ground—much to the consternation of her peers.

  She’d worked her tail off for this promotion, though. But no matter how hard she worked or what accolades she won, she knew the whispers about her would never stop. Her peers would always look at her with wonder, jealousy, and a hint of contempt.

  Well, too bad for them, Izzy thought, mentally lifting her chin in defiance. She deserved this promotion, she was damn good at what she did, and she didn’t need anyone’s approval or help. For that matter, she didn’t need anyone.

  Except, maybe, her dad.

  She blinked back tears. She really did hate to leave him. “We’ll miss you around here,” Burt said again, and Izzy picked up on the unspoken thought—I’ll miss you.

  She hid a smile, grateful that she’d been able to help him. “Did you talk to Janey?” She leaned forward conspiratorially, even though she already knew the answer.

  A deep red flooded his neck, coloring his face even under the leathered bronze of his skin. “Well, yeah. I did.” He shifted the mailbag on his shoulder, and focused on his shoes. With his head down like that, Izzy could see that the blush had spread to his scalp, visible under his thinning hair.

  She smiled. A flush that intense could mean only one thing. “You took her the daisies.”

  He shrugged, looking up to meet her eyes. “Janey loved them. She was all smiles, and she looked at me like I was some kinda hero. She told me daisies were her favorite flower, and that I must’ve read her mind.”

  Izzy flushed. “She said that? How funny.”

  Burt cleared his throat. “We’re, um, going out again on Friday night. That’ll make two dates.”

  “Oh, Burt, that’s wonderful!” She knew she shouldn’t—it was technically against regulations—but this was a good cause, and so she reached out and grabbed his hand, disguising the gesture as a friendly squeeze.

  She’d touched him once before, three months prior, when she’d seen the desolation that was in his heart. Now, though, the storm of emotions, thoughts, and images that zipped through her senses held only happiness and the wonder of a budding relationship, confirming the impression—the smell—that had already tickled her mind and nose. She gave his hand a little squeeze, tinged with just a hint of self-satisfaction, and let go. “I’m so happy for you,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve got you to thank.” The red had faded, but still colored his cheeks a bit. “Especially since you’re the one who told me I should talk to her in the first place.” Izzy rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Woman’s intuition.”

  “More than that,” he said. “How did you know she’d like daisies? How’d you know she’d like me?”

  “Oh, Burt—what’s not to like?”

  “I’m serious,” he said, standing up straighter, an invisible shield of male pride clinging to him, just waiting to be pierced. “You didn’t go into town and, well, talk to her, did you? I mean, you told me her favorite flower. Her favorite restaurant.”

  The possibility clearly mortified him. “Dugan’s is my favorite restaurant, too. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of choices around here.” Hardly a booming metropolis, Izzy’s hometown of River Run, Colorado, lacked the big-city amenities she’d gotten used to in New York. Like restaurants, coffee bars, and twenty-four-hour grocery stores.

  “But the daisies,” he said. “Are they your favorite, too? Or did you talk to her?”

  “Actually, tulips are my favorite.” She looked him in the eye, then drew a cross between her breasts. “And no, I didn’t talk to Janey. I swear.”

  The perfect answer. Because she absolutely hadn’t talked to Janey. Izzy hadn’t said one single word to the cashier at the Larkspur Grill. Was it her fault their hands had brushed as Janey handed Izzy her change?

  That one unexpected touch was all it had taken. For just an instant, she’d been Janey, watching Burt from afar, wondering if he’d ever say anything, do anything. And fantasizing that one day he’d walk into the restaurant bearing daisies.

  Izzy couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Not with such a grand romance in the making.

  And it was only a little bitty violation of the rules. And for a very good cause . . .

  “—is that?”

  Izzy realized she’d tuned Burt out. “Hmm? I’m sorry. What?”

  “That noise. What is it?”

  For the first time, she heard the pound, pound, zip, thrrrr! “Daddy,” she said simply. The noises filtered up through the floor from the basement workshop below, but Izzy barely noticed. She’d grown up with her dad’s banging and rumbling and tweaking and tightening. The man was forever working on some new and exotic invention, and after twenty-seven years of hearing his hammering, a few metallic bangs and well-placed curses were hardly enough to distract her.

  Bang! Ka-chung! Ching! Pow!

  “I should have known,” Burt said. An ardent inventor, Izzy’s dad had never quite risen to the level of his idol, Thomas Edison. Or anywhere close, to be exact. But he kept on trying, and the folks in town didn’t mind his idiosyncrasies. Especially when Harold Frost was single-handedly responsible for keeping Main Street Hardware in business.

  “Well, anyway,” Burt continued, “thanks for suggesting the daisies.” He gestured over his shoulder. “I’d better get going.”

  They said good-bye, and Izzy headed back inside, flopping down onto the couch and switching her laptop on. She clicked straight to the Council Web site, www.WeProtectMortals.com, entered her password, and started scrolling through the news, wanting to see if the announcement of her new position had made the Daily Update. And if so, if anyone was posting nasty gossip about it on the Council’s message boards.

  The promotion had come from the High Elder himself, and it was just a coincidence of birth that Zephron happened to also be her uncle. So while some Protectors might look down their noses at her skills and whisper that she received special treatment, Izzy was determined not to be cowed; she deserved this promotion, and she intended to prove it.

  For the last two years, she’d worked with low-level Outcasts—interviewing them, analyzing their psych profiles, and using her innate abilities to judge if they were worthy of returning to the fold. S
tarting tomorrow, though, she’d be dealing with the rogue Protectors who’d undertaken a lot more serious offenses. The promotion was exciting, yes, but also a little bit scary. Not that she’d ever admit that to anyone.

  She scrolled down, staring idly at the colorful screen, but not really seeing. Her job was tough, no doubt about that. A lot of Protectors simply didn’t want Outcasts reentering the fold, and Izzy could understand their reasoning. After all, as superheroes in the mortal world, the Protectors’ sworn duty was to watch over mortals. Outcasts, though . . .

  Most Outcasts had managed to break that sacred trust, and they’d paid the price by being shunned, stripped of their right to use their powers. Not that the censure stopped the truly nefarious Outcasts; they just continued in secret their evil plotting against the mortal race.

  And it was precisely because of those plotting, scheming, conniving Outcasts that so many Protectors were against re-assimilation. And while Izzy knew where they were coming from, she also knew that some Protectors had been outcast for only minor infractions. Or for breaking some tenet of Protector law in order to serve the greater good. Or—

  She cut her thoughts off with a sharp shake of her head. The fact that she could completely empathize with how a Protector could be outcast for a low-level offense was precisely the reason she had this job in the first place. Her primary Protector trait was empathy, and that was the skill she most relied on for her job. She picked up emotions in scent: a handy trait if she ever needed to know if someone was trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

  She was also adept at mind reading; just one touch, and unless she’d had time to put up some heavy-duty mental blocks, she’d find herself awash in another person’s specific thoughts, not just vague feelings. The skill was handy, but also draining. Even more, since Regulation 976B(2)(d) required a mind warrant or full disclosure (which re-assimilation candidates were required to give) before reading another Protector, Izzy tended to use her touch power only during the last phase of re-assimiliation.