Aphrodite's Kiss (3 page)

“No, but in this case, I’d be happy to believe.” He held his arms out to his sides in a gesture of surrender. “Wanna take off your glasses?”

Oh, my
. Her cheeks warmed. Trying to be nonchalant, she leaned against her desk, her heart pounding in her chest, her palms starting to sweat. She could run the Boston Marathon without getting this worked up. What on earth was this man doing to her?

She fought to keep control, and was pretty sure she was losing the battle. He was just so very ... male. Every luscious, testosterone-laden inch of him. So very sensual, so very yummy, so very, very—

Pop!

Zoë jumped as the bulb in her desk lamp blew out, the noise dragging her back to reality. With renewed determination, she firmly quashed thoughts of lust and testosterone and raging hormones. By Zeus, she was going to be cool and distant even if it killed her.

“What do you want, Mr. Taylor?”

He upped the wattage on his smile, and
cool
and
distant
suddenly seemed extremely foolish.
Red-hot
and
close-up
held much more appeal.

Which, all things considered, was rather inconvenient.

Because, this casual flirting aside, she was pretty sure he hadn’t come into her library wanting sex.

The brow over one pale gray eye lifted, and Taylor realized that the other eye was blue. The contrast was somehow alluring. Hell, everything about this woman was alluring, from her prim-and-proper braid to the boring little jumper she wore over a plain white T-shirt.

Zoë Smith, elementary school librarian and average, everyday girl next door, was just about the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

Lately, all the women he’d met had seemed rather surreal. Actress wannabes whose biggest thrill was discovering a new all-day mascara. Women with so many obvious piercings it scared him to think about the hidden ones. Women who thought discussing the NASDAQ was a really keen way to break the ice. Every one of them was somehow unreal, phony. This enticing librarian was a welcome change.

With a start, he shook his head. For reasons he had no intention of examining, he was strongly drawn to her. And he wasn’t at all sure he liked the sensation. He was here on a job, plain and simple. He was having enough trouble paying the rent; getting involved with a person of the female persuasion was the last thing he needed.
Right? Right
.

Nodding, he mentally dug in his heels.

“Yoo-hoo? Mr. Taylor?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “What are you doing?”

With a start, he realized he was still nodding. He stopped, smiled, and felt like a total idiot. “Just thinking.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll try again. What do you want? Are you looking for one of the students?” She frowned. “You really should have a visitor’s badge if you’re going to roam the hallways.”

“I’m not roaming. I’m looking for Emily Parker.” He tapped the flower box he’d brought. “I’ve got a delivery.”

She frowned. “Fake roses?”

“They’re not—” He cocked his head. “How’d you know they’re fake?”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Sensitive nose.”

“I guess so.” He cleared his throat as he tried to come up with a plausible lie. “Anyway, these are what some folks order if they think the person may be allergic.”

She looked a little dubious, but didn’t argue. “Emily’s not here until after lunch.”

“How about I leave them on her desk?” He looked around at the sturdy desks behind the checkout counter. “Which one is it?”

“She’s got her own office,” Zoë said, and Taylor let loose with a mental cheer. A private office meant privacy—for snooping.

“Great. I’ll leave them there. So where is it?”

Zoë pointed to the area behind the counter, and Taylor noticed a closed door to a private office completely blocked by a bright yellow Spring Read-A-Thon banner.

“Kind of hard for Ms. Parker to get to work, huh?”

“We didn’t have enough wall space, so you can’t get there from here. There’s another entrance off the hallway, though.” He followed her to the main doorway, then into the hall. She pointed to another door. “That’s it.”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling, and feeling absurdly pleased when she smiled back. “Uh, well, I guess I’ll go now.”

Her cheeks colored again, and she stared at the floor. “Right. Guess so.”

“Right.” He took a step backward, wondering if he should just bite the bullet and ask her out for coffee.

“ ‘Bye, then,” she said, then slipped back into the library.
Another lost opportunity. Damn
.

Not that it mattered. He was here on a job. And it was time to get down to it.

The office was unlocked, and he was inside within seconds.

Emily Parker was a neat woman. She was also a chaste woman, if everything he’d learned so far was true. Still, Parker wanted dirt. If the woman had anything sleazy going on in her life, maybe Taylor could find a hint of it in her office.

Careful to not make any noise, he started methodically going through each of her desk drawers, feeling like a jerk for doing it.
Rent, remember
. With a sigh and a silent apology to Emily, he kept on looking.

Nothing incriminating. Nothing at all. Not even any papers that indicated that she thought her husband was a slimy worm, which suggested that Mrs. Parker wasn’t the brightest bulb in the lamp, but certainly wasn’t going to satisfy Harold’s desire for divorce court ammunition.

“Well, hell,” he whispered. He sat back in the woman’s chair and glanced around the office, wondering if Emily Parker kept secrets hidden in picture frames behind photos of her wedding.

The sound of paper ripping broke the silence, and the door to the library whipped open.

“What in Hades are you doing?” Zoë stood there, furious, hands on her hips, glaring down at him. The ripped ends of the Read-A-Thon banner hung limply in the doorway behind her.

He shut the bottom drawer with his foot, hoping she couldn’t tell from where she was standing that it had been open. “How’d you know I was still in here?”

He asked the question to cover the noise, but he was also curious. The blinds were closed and he’d been as quiet as a mouse.

She rolled her eyes. “As much noise as you were making, rifling through drawers and cursing under your breath? It’s a wonder the whole school doesn’t know you’re here. So? What
are
you doing here?”

“Just dropping the flowers off,” he said, wondering when he’d made enough noise for her to hear.

“Try again. And it had better be good or I’m calling security.”

He sighed. Better to take the high road. “Information,” he said, shifting into professional-investigator mode. “I’m looking for information on Mrs. Parker.”

She frowned. “I’ve heard of going directly to the source, but breaking and entering seems a bit over the top.”

“Considering the way people gossip, it seemed more tactful than asking questions of her coworkers.”

The frown deepened. “Is she in trouble?”

“Not at all,” he said, trying out his smooth salesman voice. He passed her one of his fake business cards. “That’s why I didn’t want to start the rumor mill flying. I’m just doing a little background check.”

Her eyes flicked down to the name printed on the card, then back up to meet his. Her mouth twitched. “
Buster
Taylor?”

“That’s me,” he said, suppressing a cringe. His foster sister had been with him when he’d ordered the cards. She’d thought Buster sounded more like a tough-guy name than George Bailey.

Since he’d wanted a fake name to go with the fake business card, he hadn’t had the heart to argue.

Amusement danced in her dual-colored eyes as she looked him up and down. “You really sell insurance?”

“You sound surprised.”

“I just expected something more ...” She trailed off, her hand circling as she searched for words. “Macho. Like a cop.”

His gut twisted. “Yeah, well, close but no cigar.” He couldn’t fault the woman for her intuition, but his serve-and-protect days were over.

“Close? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He plucked the card out of her hand and tucked it into his pocket. “I investigate. Claims, potential insureds.” That was not exactly a lie. He did all of those things.

Just not for some insurance company. Instead, for jerks like Harold Parker.

“So what are you investigating Emily for?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Insurance,” he said, resisting the urge to reassure her he wasn’t the scum of the universe.

She scowled. “Duh. I think we’ve already covered that.”

“Right,” he said. That they had. Unfortunately, just being around this woman had turned him into a tongue-tied idiot. “I’m talking about... beneficiaries.” He flipped open his notebook. “My information indicates that her husband’s name is Harold, and she has two children.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well, the policy she applied for identifies another male, not a relative, as a beneficiary,” he said. “We’re trying to confirm the relationship.”

“I hardly think Emily’s sleeping around.” Her voice rose, irritation and incredulity obvious in her tone.

“I didn’t say that.” He didn’t believe it either. But Harold Parker had paid him to find dirt, and that meant turning over stones. “So do you know who else she might have named as a beneficiary?”

She put her hands on the desk and leaned toward him, her eyes flashing, the floral scent of her hair making him a little nuts. “Mr. Taylor, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Aw, hell
. “I’m not trying to insinuate anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m just looking for the facts.”

“Yeah? Well, the fact is, the door’s that way.” She held her arm out, her finger aimed at the door to the hallway, and he had the queerest sensation that the door actually jiggled.

“Leave?” he asked, all innocence. “You want me gone?”

“ ‘Fraid so.”

“Say it ain’t so,” he said in his most charming voice.

“It’s so,” she said, but she was fighting a smile, and he held his breath. Then her face hardened, the amusement disappearing. “Don’t make me call security.”

Just leave, Taylor. There are other ways to find dirt on Emily Parker.
True, but suddenly he didn’t give a flip about Mrs. Parker or her nutso husband. All he cared about was making sure Zoë Smith didn’t think he was the world’s biggest creep.

“Look, Zoë—”

She glared at him.

“Ms. Smith, I mean,” he said, backpedaling. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Why? You can’t tell me you like prying into people’s personal lives.”

“Maybe I do,” he lied.

“Funny. I used to be better at first impressions.”

“It’s my job,” he said tightly. “The only job I have at the moment, and I like to eat.”

“Peanut butter’s cheap,” she said. “As for the job, do it somewhere else.”

“You can’t blame me for trying to be thorough.” He was practically pleading, wishing he could start over again. Only this time he wouldn’t even mention Emily Parker.

“I’m not blaming you. I’m telling you to leave. Again.”

He had the feeling she was disappointed in him, and damned if he didn’t feel ashamed. “Well, thanks anyway,” he said. “I can show myself out.”

He left without looking back, and stepped into the polished hallway. As Emily Parker’s door latched behind him, Taylor sighed. He’d spent maybe five minutes with librarian Zoë Smith, and already she couldn’t stand him.

Which was a damn shame, really.

Because, given the opportunity, Taylor could handle spending a little bit more time around the feisty librarian.

“Damn,” he muttered, pushing open the doorway to the outside world. “I really hate this job.”

An entire continent away—in a penthouse apartment sixty floors above Manhattan—Mordichai watched his father pace in front of twelve huge monitors. As usual, one was tuned to the local news, one was playing a tape of
Superman II
, and nine were showing various financial programs.

Also as usual, Hieronymous was pointedly ignoring his son.

What wasn’t usual was the fact that on this particular day, Mordi doubted his father would even notice if the market crashed. Today, Hieronymous’s attention was focused on the twelfth screen—the one illegally displaying his cousin Zoë and her library.

Hieronymous pulled the red silk robe he wore tighter around himself, then turned to face his son. “I trust this does not concern you?”

“Of course it concerns me,” he said, hating the thought that Hieronymous was probably monitoring his house, too. “If Zephron finds out you’ve tapped into the council’s circuitry, he’ll have a fit. You know that only council elders are allowed to monitor halfling home and work activity. The privacy laws—”

“I meant the girl. But I appreciate your concern.” He pressed a button on his desk and the twelfth monitor went dead. “Your cousin’s skills are increasing. Despite her pathetic lack of practice, the girl is finally developing some control.”

“Zoë’s an amateur,” Mordi said with conviction. “I’m not.”

Since Hieronymous was an Outcast, Mordi had been permitted only limited visits with his father over the years. Now, though, he was council age, and that meant he had options: join the council, or join his father. And the amazing, surprising fact was that Hieronymous
wanted
him. Needed him, even, and the feeling thrilled him. No matter what, he intended to prove to Hieronymous that he was worthy.

“I’ve been training all my life,” he continued. “Zoë’s mother doesn’t even know Zoë’s a halfling.” He paused at that. His own mother had known all along. And at the first sign of his powers, she’d passed him off to Hieronymous. He’d gone back to see her only once, right after his twelfth birthday.

She’d called him a freak.

“Your mother was a mortal and a fool,” Hieronymous said, and Mordi concentrated on the floor, ashamed he was so transparent. “Like so many mortals, she does not have the proper respect for what we are.”

Mordi nodded, gathering his resolve. He wanted—no,
needed
—to make his father proud. “Zoë’s not a threat,” he continued. “Uncle Donis and Hale work with her occasionally, but there’s no way she’ll be strong enough to beat me if it comes to that.” He stood up straighten “No way at all.”