Aphrodite's Passion (6 page)

We‘re two stories above. And you’re invisible.

“Then they’ll see
you
. Would you be quiet?”

They’ll just think I’m a squirrel.

“Elmer...” He was in no mood to argue with the ferret. “Just be quiet, okay? I’m trying to watch the subject.”

Subject, smubject. You‘re watching the female scenery.

True enough. The women hovering around the now-fuming Leon Palmer were nice enough eye-candy. But it was Tracy Tannin who caught his attention. Any woman who could stand firm after throwing animal excrement on a famous actor like Palmer—smarmy cretin though he was—deserved Hale’s utmost respect.

Not that Tracy looked to be proud of herself. More like she wanted to crawl under a rock. In fact, she seemed so miserable that it was all Hale could do to keep from materializing, hopping down from his perch on the roof, and giving her a hearty congratulatory handshake and slap on the back.

Not that he really would, of course. Materializing in front of mortals always caused such a stir—they just didn’t understand.

Besides, at the moment he was only here to observe. Soon enough his sister might discover that this woman had indeed inherited Aphrodite’s girdle. Then he would have to get close enough to sweet-talk the belt away.

Still, while he might want to get
close
—in the way he typically did with mortal females—buddying up didn’t sit nearly as well. What had Zephron been thinking? Hale was the last Protector on Earth who should be trying to befriend a mortal. And the fact that Tracy Tannin intrigued him didn’t change that assessment one bit.

At the moment, the object of his surveillance had a horrified look on her face. Even so, he thought he saw something hidden beneath the surface. A glimmer of amusement, maybe? A swell of satisfaction? He couldn’t tell, but he hoped he was right. She’d taken Palmer down a notch or two, and she deserved to be pleased.

“Just
look
what you’ve done!” the actor yelled, his words becoming more coherent as he quit sputtering.

Tracy cringed. “I’m sorry. Really. I’m so, so sorry.” But the corner of her mouth suggested that she was having a hard time holding in laughter. She took a step toward him, a rag she’d pulled from her back pocket held out like a peace offering. “Can I help?”

“Yes, you can help,” he growled. “You can stay the hell away from me.”

This guy was a definite jerk, in Hale’s estimation. All around Palmer, his little throng of hangers-on was dissipating, probably to escape the smell or to find washcloths of their own. Suddenly alone, the actor looked even more pitiful, and Hale silently urged Tracy to lay into him for being rude. To tell him he’d only got what he deserved.

She didn’t, of course. Clearly, the girl had more class than Hale.

Taking a cautious step backward, she held on tight to her bucket. “Well, I really am sorry, Leon. And if I can’t help, I guess I’ll just...” She trailed off, ending by gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb. “Right. I’m ... uh ... going now.”

With that, she turned and ran, her now-empty pooper-scooper bucket swinging as she sprinted through the back lot.

Left behind, Leon muttered curses and used a handkerchief to wipe off his jeans and shirt. Hale didn’t intend to let it be that easy for him, though.

One of the best superpowers he had was telekinesis— he could levitate even the nastiest things without touching them. So, every time superjerk tried to wipe himself clean, Hale just lifted some of the mess back up and splattered it on him.

“What the ... ?” Leon shrieked.

You’re very bad.

“He deserves it.”

Power exploitation . .
.
Elmer chided in a singsong little voice, reminding Hale about the cardinal rule for Protectors.

“He deserves it,” Hale repeated. “He’ll think it’s the wind. And rules are made to be broken.” Even so, he stopped. He’d made his point.

He had better things to do than watch this creep try to clean himself. After all, he’d come all the way to Los Angeles on a really good tail-wind so that he could spend the evening keeping Tracy Tannin under surveillance. Considering how intrigued he was by the girl, Hale was more than happy to trade punishing Leon for watching her.

Utter and complete mortification. No other words described how Tracy felt. If she could have dissolved into the asphalt, she would have, but unfortunately, her dissolving skills were sadly lacking. The best she could do was lie prostrate on the pavement, and somehow that just wasn’t the same.

She checked the inside of the Paws In Production trailer, then remembered that Mel was still at her meeting. Missy was all alone, eating kibble in her kennel.

“Hey, little girl,” Tracy said, unlocking the cage then patting her leg. Missy trotted to the edge of the second-tier cage, sniffed the air, then presented Tracy with a hopeful glance.

“No way, kiddo. It’s barely two feet. You can jump down.”

The little con artist whined, then flopped onto her belly, her paws in front of her and her eyes soulful.

“Oh, you’re a ham.” Tracy tapped her foot and waited for Missy to come to her senses. Naturally, the dog didn’t. “Fine.” She scooped the fluffball up, closed and locked the cage, then headed out of the trailer to her car.

“You’re a lot of trouble, you know that?”

Missy whined, and Tracy felt absolutely certain it was a sound of apology.

“It’s been a horrific day,” Tracy said as she opened the passenger door and set Missy inside. “I think we deserve a treat. What do you think?”

At the word
treat
, Missy opened her mouth and let loose a high-pitched
arf
of agreement.

“Good. Because I’m thinking ice cream’s on the agenda.” Lots of ice cream. Bucketsful. No,
gallons-
fu
ll
. Which, of course, raised the age-old question. How many spoonfuls of ice cream does it take to cure a really bad day?

Tracy had absolutely no idea, but she intended to find out.

She slid into the driver’s seat of her ancient Nova and waited for Missy to quit gnawing at the fur of her thigh. As soon as the dog was settled, Tracy cranked the engine, ready to head for Ventura Boulevard and some chocolate chocolate-chip.

Nothing.

She cranked again.

Still nothing.

Either her battery was dead, or cosmic forces were conspiring to keep her away from frozen confections. Considering she had no intention of giving in to the cosmos, she assumed the problem was merely a dead battery.

What an annoyance. Still, when you got right down to it, wasn’t that pretty much what she expected today?

She popped the hood and got out of the car, leaving the door open in case Missy wanted to hop out and sniff around. Tracy had never been able to make heads or tails out of the mechanical mess under the hood of a car, and today wasn’t any exception. Considering her troubles in the past, the battery was probably dead, which meant she’d have to find someone to jump-start it. But since the lot was empty, “someone” probably translated to the Auto Club.

Rummaging in her purse, she located her cell phone under a bag of doggie treats. Unfortunately, she didn’t have nearly as much luck finding her Auto Club card.

Fine. No problem. She’d just call information, get the number, then wait on hold for a million years while they looked her up in the system. What else could go wrong?

Just as she started to dial, Missy started barking like crazy. Tracy turned around, intending to glare at the dog, and found herself glaring instead into the most gorgeous pair of Paul Newman eyes she’d ever seen.

“Oh!” Through sheer luck, she managed not to drop her cell phone. Her jaw wasn’t nearly as cooperative, and she fought to reassemble her face into some sort of expression that didn’t scream
lust! Woman who never gets any right here
!

“Problem?” The man’s deep, smooth voice was just as easy on her ears as the rest of him was on her eyes.

“No. No problem at all.” Except that she couldn’t stop staring. He seemed so familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place him.

Her brain kicked into gear. Or her mouth did, at last. “Yes!” She coughed. “I mean, yes, actually, I do have a problem.” With a quick nod, she indicated the offending vehicle. “It’s being uncooperative.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His smile revealed a dimple, and once again Tracy was struck by how familiar he looked. As if she’d looked at him every day of her life. “I can’t imagine anything not going out of its way to please you.”

She squinted at him, not sure why another gorgeous man was flirting with her, but considering the day’s events, she wasn’t inclined to fall into that trap again. “As remarkable as it might seem, there aren’t many things in this world that fall over themselves to do my bidding. If there were, maybe I wouldn’t be getting ready to scour the backlot for jumper cables.”

The man’s mouth twitched.

“Glad to provide you with some entertainment,” she snapped.

The man laughed outright. “I get the feeling you’re not having the best day.”

“I’m having a
lousy
day, thank you very much.” Then, running her hands through her hair, she sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, and I’m taking it out on you. I promise, I’m not usually such a bitch.”

Again, that incredible smile. “I believe you.”

Missy wandered over, sniffed the man’s shoes, then plunked herself down on the asphalt and waited for him to scratch her head. He complied almost immediately, earning him at least two brownie points in Tracy’s book, and probably lifelong infatuation from Missy.

“Right. Well.” Something about this guy made her incredibly nervous. Not that the
something
was any great mystery. He was some sort of Greek god, and she’d never exactly been at ease with men of the super gorgeous variety.

Still, one of the nice things about growing up as Tahlula Tannin’s granddaughter was that Tracy had met more than her share of incredibly good-looking people. And through each encounter, though she’d felt uncomfortable, she’d had to be on her best behavior. So, with her grandmother’s etiquette lessons spurring her on, she held out her hand in greeting. “I’m Tracy, by the way. And you are ...”

“Incredibly pleased to meet you.”

His hand closed over hers, sending a flood of rather disconcerting tingly sensations racing through her body. Within seconds, the fact that he’d failed to answer her question ceased to bother her.

He nodded toward the car. “Can I help?”

“I think the battery’s dead.”

“No problem.” He headed over to the area behind the Paws trailer, and for the first time she noticed the sleek, black Ferrari parked there. As Mel would say, another two points in the mystery guy’s favor.

“I didn’t think a car like that would need jumper cables,” she said.

He aimed a devilish grin her direction. “Well, I don’t keep them for me. But it’s a heck of an efficient way to meet women.”

Okay, this guy was a hoot. He was doing
way
too good a job at lifting her foul mood. “Does it work?”

“Ask me in a few minutes.”

Well, that did it. A bubble of laughter escaped her.

He waved the jumper cables in her direction. “Met you, didn’t I?”

“Oh, I get it,” she said with good-natured sarcasm. “You hang around in parking lots waiting for women with dead batteries.” Even as she said the words, she couldn’t believe how flirtsy she was being with this stranger. It was so un-Tracy-like. Tahlula would be proud. Mel would be ecstatic.

“Do you have a problem with that?”

The husky tone of his voice zinged straight to her knees, and Tracy grabbed the roof of her car for support. “No. It’s just that...” She trailed off, suddenly fresh out of flirty comments. After a second, she just shrugged. “I’m
so
not good at this.”

“I don’t buy that.” He lifted the hood of her car and propped it up, then turned back to face her, his eyes smoldering. “I bet you’re very, very good at everything.”

Okay. He won. No way could she compete with this guy in a flirting contest. As she concentrated on standing up straight, her cheeks burned from what had to be a blush worthy of the record books. She’d better get this conversation back on business. “Um ... so, it is the battery, right?”

As she nodded toward the engine, she thought she detected a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes, but it faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I’ll know in just a sec.”

In about twelve efficient movements, he’d made it back to his Ferrari, climbed in, and pulled up in front of her car. A few more mechanical-guy-type actions and he had the jumper cables hooked up between the batteries. To Tracy’s delight, the macho-guy routine required him to bend over the hood, and she got quite a nice view.

“All done,” he said, standing back up.

“You’re speedy.”

“Believe me, sweetheart, I can also go slow.” His dimple made a quick appearance, then he got serious again. “Now hop in and see if you can start her up.”

She did, and the Nova hummed to life. Sticking her head out the open door, she flashed him her winningest smile. “You’re wonderful.”

“Glad you think so. Drive it around for a bit so it can build a charge back up.”

“I will.” A moment of awkward silence. “Thanks.”

Their eyes met for a brief, heart-stopping, delightful second. Tracy said a silent prayer that he would ask her out for coffee, and then immediately took it back. Sometimes it was nicer to live with a fantasy. In a fantasy, they’d spend the evening together, then head down in his Ferrari to the beach, where they’d walk together in the surf as the sun set against the horizon. Perfect. In reality, she’d probably spill coffee all over herself and not have a single interesting thing to say.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Tracy,” the man said, unhooking the cables and taking a step back toward his car.

“Mmmm-hmmm...” As her fantasy dissolved, she caught herself nodding like an idiot, then jumped out of her car and rushed toward him. “Wait!”

Curiosity and amusement reflected in his eyes as he turned back to her.

“You don’t work for the show. What are you doing around here?”