Free Aphrodite's Kiss by Julie Kenner Page B

Ferrari convertible make the turn, then careen down the street, sliding at the last minute into the loading zone in front of Zoë’s apartment. Zoë took the last few stairs at a run, looking happier than a kid at Christmas.
    Fighting pangs of green jealousy, Taylor squinted, trying to get a better look at the driver, who was now half standing and hugging Zoë over the closed car door. He was tall and dark, with perfect pecs and a perfect tan. Hell, the guy looked like he should be on
Baywatch
or something. He was the quintessential Los Angeles guy— with a hot car, no less. And he was hugging Zoë.
Well, shoot.
    Still...
    It could be nothing. He could be a friend from work.
    Her personal trainer. A traveling encyclopedia salesman.
    As he watched, the guy sneezed—and then he was gone.
    Taylor blinked. The car was there, but no guy. He blinked again, then squinted, trying to get a better look. Was the guy on the floorboards? Probably, because Zoë was still chatting away, looking perfectly happy to be carrying on a conversation with air.
    Okay, this is very
—
    The guy was back.
    Taylor pulled off his sunglasses and rubbed his eyes. He really needed to get more sleep.
    Zoë jumped back from the curb as the
Baywatch
guy pulled away with a wave, then took off down the street, his car humming like a dream. She just stood there looking after him, then turned so that she was looking in Taylor’s direction.
    He cursed.
    Without thinking, he ducked down. Not exactly the world’s most comfortable position, but at least he was hidden behind Francis Capra’s door frame. And being hidden was key. Because the last thing he needed was for her to see him and blow all his good intentions to smithereens.

    Zoë wiped her face with the little gym towel draped around her neck, but couldn’t wipe the grin off her face.
    Hale was in town. What a wonderful surprise!
    When he’d zipped up in the Ferrari, she’d assumed he was just dropping by on his way to the Mediterranean. But instead of Greece, he’d told her he was camped out in a suite at the Beverly Wilshire, and would see her tomorrow after he’d had his share of room service and a few other accoutrements of high living.
    She lifted her braid and ran the towel along the back of her neck, stifling a grin. Her brother liked to live well. For that matter, he liked the whole Protector lifestyle. She didn’t need to wonder what he’d think of her silly pseudocrush on a mortal—he’d be mortified.
    He’d also be mortified that tomorrow she’d promised to tell her deep, dark secrets to a mortal who wasn’t her mother. It was a conversation Zoë wasn’t exactly looking forward to. Fortunately, Deena’d had plans with Hoop, and that had bought Zoë some time before the these-are-my-issues conversation. In the end, though, Zoë had promised she’d give Deena the skinny. So now she had one evening before she had to reveal all. No wonder her stomach was twitching so much.
    And Deena was the least of her problems. The big problem was Mordi. She should have reported him to the council right away. She knew that, but she hadn’t done it. Ratting on Mordi would mean confessing to interfering, to using her propulsion cloak, to revealing herself to a mortal, and to getting her picture in the newspapers.
    All those confessions would mean big, ugly black marks on her application. Her application was already on shaky ground; she wasn’t too keen on messing up her chances even more.
    Still, she really should tell. For one thing, the council probably already knew. And even if her stunt had gone unnoticed ... well, the council needed to know if Protectors—even halflings—were running around mugging innocent women.
    It was all so very odd. And she hadn’t a clue what her cousin was up to. Mordi’d never been mean. A little moody, maybe, but never cruel. Also, council members swore an oath to protect mortals, not attack them.
    Of course, Mordi wasn’t a member yet. But, like Zoë, he was