Aphrodite's Kiss (18 page)

“Careful of the gloss.”

She stood up, then ran her fingers through her hair. She started to nibble on her lower lip, then stopped, remembering the makeup. This dressing-for-success thing was complicated. “What if I really can’t handle it? His touch? What if it drives me crazy?”

“We’ve been over this, Zo. It’s
supposed
to drive you crazy.”

Maybe. But there was crazy and then there was
crazy
. And she wasn’t sure she could manage either.

And that wasn’t even her biggest fear. Knowing she was acting like one of the sixth graders with a crush, but unable to help it, she flopped back down onto the sofa. “What if he doesn’t want me?”

“Zoë, please. Why wouldn’t he?”

About a million reasons, not the least of which was that she had absolutely no idea how to act with a guy she actually liked. “I’m almost twenty-five and I’ve never even had a real date.”

“You don’t need to have had them. All you need is desire. And kiddo, you’ve got that in spades.”

Maybe.
But desiring and doing were two completely different things. And Zoë didn’t intend to do anything about the
doing
part.

She heard Elmer stir far down the hallway, then heard him making his way toward the living room.

His little head appeared around the corner, and Deena waved. “Hey there, Elmer, you cute little ferret-face.”

Zoë eyed the rodent, nibbling on her lower lip. There was no doubt in her mind that Hale had left Elmer to play chaperon—to cramp what little style she had while she went out on a date with a mortal.

A fresh wave of nervousness washed over her, and she fought to shake it before remembering that she had absolutely no reason to worry. After all, she wasn’t going to do anything with the luscious Mr. Taylor.

Which meant there was nothing to be nervous about. Absolutely nothing at all.

A little voice in the back of her mind whispered,
Too bad
. Zoë sighed, wondering which was the bigger mistake—lusting after Taylor in the first place, or promising herself she wasn’t going to do a darn thing about it.

Elmer was in no mood to be called cute or ferret-face, no matter how true either description was. He considered going back to the bedroom and watching another episode of
Hollywood Safari,
but Hale wanted him to keep an eye on Zoë. And from what he could tell, she needed some serious watching. The blond mortal was simply not a good influence.

With a grunt, Elmer climbed up the sofa and pulled himself onto the armrest. He perched there, watching the woman named Deena as she stared back at him.

“So he can understand me, right?”

Even if you speak Swahili
, Elmer chittered snootily.

“As far as I know,” said Zoë. “He always seems to understand what I’m saying. Don’t you, Elmer?”

Oh, no.
He wasn’t about to do stupid ferret tricks for a mortal. He gave Zoë a stern look, then hopped onto the sofa cushion. If the girl was really going out on a date with a mortal, he’d stay and be Hale’s spy, but that was all. He’d stay because that was his mission.

And also, of course, because he was stuck here. Since ferrets couldn’t operate motor vehicles, he wasn’t exactly going anywhere else. Not unless he wanted to go out on the street to scratch out a
Hollywood or Bust
sign and try to hitch a ride.

He didn’t have to like this situation, but he was going to make the best of it. With a little hiss that he hoped conveyed how utterly bored he was by the whole thing, he turned in a circle three times, curled his tail under his chin, and tried to doze.

“I don’t think he’s feeling conversational,” Deena said. She leaned down to peer at him until they were almost nose-to-nose. “I don’t think he likes me.”

Clever lady.

“Hale’s not too crazy about me hanging out with mortals. His snobbery probably rubbed off on Elmer.”

Elmer was thankful that got the blonde’s attention, and she leaned up, removing her face from the proximity of his nose. “I thought you were half-mortal.”

Zoë nodded. “Hale prefers the other half.”

“I’m still unclear on what ‘the other half is. Hint, hint.”

“I promised you an explanation, didn’t I?”

“I’m all ears.”

“Right,” Zoë said, then sighed, and Elmer echoed her. Really, the girl shouldn’t go around describing the history of the council to mortals. Rules were rules, after all.

Not that Zoë seemed to care.

He squeaked loudly, and Zoë scowled. “I know what you’re saying,” she said. “But Deena already saw me fly off the tower. She deserves an explanation.”

Elmer wasn’t too sure
deserves
was the word that leaped to mind. More likely she
deserved
to have her memory erased with one of those mysterious devices Zephron suspected Hieronymous was working on.

But Elmer was in no position to argue. And frankly he didn’t care whether this Deena person knew the council’s history or not. He just didn’t want to see Zoë suffer. Hadn’t Hale told him over and over again about how mortals didn’t understand? Deena might have bought into the flying thing, but that was a far different matter from understanding the import of the council.

Zoë pushed herself off the couch, and he hopped up, trying to talk her out of it.

Don’t do it, Zo, he chittered. She’s not gonna believe you. You‘re just going to end up looking crazy.

Zoë shot him a look, but then ignored him. She paced to the bookshelf before turning back to Deena. Elmer grimaced, then hid his eyes behind his paws.

“How much do you know about mythology?” Zoë asked.

Elmer peeked and saw Deena’s look of confusion.

“Some.” Deena shrugged. “I’ve read a bit. School. That sort of thing.”

“All those books on the mythological gods and goddesses ...”

“Yeah?”

Zoë tossed Deena a copy of Edith Hamilton’s
Mythology
. “My personal family history.”

Oh, that’s the way to tell her. Very subtle. Wouldn’t want to freak her out or anything. Yeesh.

Deena dropped the book. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It’s true. I’m part of a race called the Protectors. My branch of the family sort of started the Greek and Roman myths, but there’re other branches as well. If there’s a set of myths out there, chances are there’s a branch of my species that began it.”

Deena looked at Zoë, then back to the book, then back to Zoë again. Then she shrugged. “Goddesses should
not
dress the way you do. Next week, first thing, we are getting you some new clothes. And your hair—every day with the braid.
Boring
. I think you need something a little more—”

“Deena...”

The girl looked up.

“I’m not a goddess.”

“Oh.” Deena frowned. “But you said ...” She glanced at Elmer. “She said ...”

“Protectors are just... different.” Zoë shrugged. “And back then ... well, I guess the whole god and goddess thing sounded like a really great cover story.”

“Well, sure. Because if you’re living back thousands of years ago and can see through walls or fly off mountains or talk to animals, you’d need a good cover story.”

“Exactly,” said Zoë. Elmer groaned. Apparently she hadn’t noticed the tinge of sarcasm in Deena’s voice.

“I guess it does make sense,” Deena agreed. Elmer rolled over to get a better look at her. He peered at her face and, sure enough, the gal seemed to be buying it. Maybe that hadn’t been sarcasm after all. Hale was never going to believe this.

Zoë twisted on the couch, then slid her hand under her rump.

“What?” Deena asked.

“It’s like I’m sitting on a big lump.” She reached between the cushions and pulled out a necklace. “There it is. I thought I’d lost it.”

For just a minute it dangled from her fingers, the deep green of the gemstone reflecting onto the far wall of the room.

Elmer let out a little squeal, then scrambled across the sofa, trying to get a better look.

Could it be?
Surely not
.

But it certainly looked to be....

The stone! The gemstone from Aphrodite’s girdle. He didn’t know how it had ended up in Zoë’s apartment, but there it was. And hey, who was he to question a legend?

Telling Deena the whole story pushed all of Zoë’s problems front and center. Now she sighed, hoping she wasn’t making a huge mistake by going out with Taylor. She should have picked someone who didn’t make her insides all whooshy, someone not quite so rugged or intense. Someone whose eyes didn’t look like they could see through her as easily as she could see through his clothing.

She wanted to walk on the wild side with Taylor, but she was too scared, too nervous, whatever, to invite him to come along for the ride.

Pathetic.

“It’s actually not all that bad-looking,” Deena said.

Zoë looked up. “Taylor?”

“You
do
have it bad. I was talking about the rock.” Deena pointed to the necklace that still dangled from Zoë’s fingers. “Are you gonna wear it tonight?”

She closed her fingers around it, surprised how warm the stone felt. “A green stone with a red dress? No, thanks. I’d end up feeling like a Christmas ornament.”

“Mind if I borrow it?” Deena leaned forward, ready to take the necklace, when Elmer came running across the cushions, took a flying leap, and soared through the air—right smack into it.

Ferret, chain, and ugly gemstone tumbled to the carpet.

Deena and Zoë looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Guess we know what kind of toys ferrets like,” Deena said. She reached down to pick the chain back up but stopped as Elmer did a frantic little ferret dance, his fur all spiky as he bounced around on the floor. After a few seconds of that, he finally sprawled out, his eyes shifting from Zoë to Deena as though he were watching a tennis match.

“I have no idea what’s getting him so excited.”

Deena shrugged, then picked up the necklace. Elmer hopped back up, running in circles around the coffee-table leg. “I think you need to cut back on his caffeine.”

“No kidding,” said Zoë, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. Maybe it was the chain. Squirrels liked shiny things. Maybe ferrets did, too. She’d have to ask Hale. “Anyway, why do you want to wear it? I thought you hated the thing.”

“I don’t hate it. I said it’s ugly. And it is. But in a cool sort of way. Hoop’s taking me out tonight, and it’ll go great with this green sweater I got the other day.”

Zoë frowned. “Out? I thought you were coming to the Andersons‘, too. I have to do this alone?”

“No, no. We’re doing both. The Andersons’ first, and then Hoop’s taking me to the Hollywood Bowl.”

What was wrong with
that
picture? Zoë crossed her arms over her chest. “Your Hoop? Mr. I-think-
Vixens-In
-
Space
-is-great-cinema? He’s going to the Bowl?”

Deena nodded, looking smug. “
Bugs Bunny on Broadway
. They show the cartoons and the orchestra plays the music live. That, Hoop can handle.”

“Then by all means, you must have an ugly necklace for the evening,” she said. Elmer’s fur spiked up again.

Deena grinned. “Thanks.”

Ding-dong.

Yikes
. She caught Deena’s eye. “I don’t think that’s the Avon lady.”

“You’ll do fine. Remember, deep breaths.”

Zoë nodded and stood up. Right. Deep breaths. She could do that.
No problem
.

In front of her, Elmer was hopping back and forth, tail spiky, once again doing the funky ferret. It was probably all the rage in dance halls on Olympus.

She ignored him. If he’d figured out that she was going on a date with a man she really liked, she didn’t want to know. If he just wanted to play, he could wait for Hale. Right now she had an agenda.

Right now she had to go let Mr. Midnight into her apartment—and her life.

Taylor paced in front of the closed door, swinging the bundle of roses he’d bought from the old man hawking flowers at an intersection. He licked the fingers on his free hand, then tried to control his cowlick, which always seemed to go the wrong direction.

He doubted he’d improved the hair situation, but with any luck, he still looked like a fine, upstanding citizen— the kind of guy any ail-American girl would be nuts about. And from what he could tell, Zoë Smith was about as all-American as they came.

He cleared his throat and started to tighten the Windsor knot at his throat, then stopped himself. He’d done both—the throat clearing and the knot tightening— about a dozen times during the drive to her apartment. If he pulled the damn noose any tighter, he’d pass out and Zoë would spend most of their not-a-real-date reviving him with mouth-to-mouth.

Not a bad idea . . .

With a grunt of frustration, he shoved his free hand deep into his pocket. As appealing as mouth-to-mouth might be—and it was
very
appealing—passing out was not a good way to start a date. And even though a prone position would be great sometime before the end of the evening, he sincerely doubted that emergency first aid was going to get Zoë into his bed.

Absently he leaned against the door, trying to pull himself together. Suave, cool and collected—that was the ticket. After all, she’d made it absolutely clear that she didn’t want the same things from the evening that he did. And since he was determined to work in some very datelike activities, that meant he needed to downshift to suave, pronto.

Shaking his head, he scowled at the door frame and finger-combed his hair. What was he doing here? A job? A seduction? Both?

He was still scowling and leaning against the door when it opened. Losing his balance, he tumbled over the threshold and landed in a heap on her hard tile floor, his dozen roses flying free to scatter all over the hall.

So much for a suave, sophisticated entrance.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses and her body shaking with silent laughter. “Please,” she finally said, amusement lacing her voice as she looked down at him. “Make yourself at home.”

He scrambled for a clever retort—or even a ridiculous one—but his wit abandoned him. Instead he just sat up, leaning against the wall so he could take in every inch of the woman in the doorway. Had he thought she was beautiful before? He’d been a fool. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was spectacular—the kind of woman that inspired poetry and love songs.