Aphrodite's Passion Opening VENERATE COUNCIL OF PROTECTORS 1-800-555-HERO www.superherocentral.com Protecting Mortals Is Our Business! URGENT COMMUNIQUE FOR COUNCIL USE ONLY Eyes Only Hale Protector First Class California Acknowledgment requested Hale: Council intelligence has detected an increase in Outcast activity, suggesting imminent adverse action by Hieronymous. In light thereof, Zephron, High Elder of the Venerate Council, requests your presence within the next twenty-four hours at the American Operations Center, Washington, D.C., for immediate briefing and assignment. Form 89-C(2)(a), on file with the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office (MLO), indicates that you have already been issued the following council-controlled items (to the extent such list is incorrect, please immediately submit Form 29-B(2)(a) in triplicate with all necessary corrections): propulsion cloak, model E-10 (expert model); and standard issue cellular phone (speed dial included) with full web access, direct communication to Council headquarters, and projectile launch capability. Upon your arrival at the Operations Center, you will be issued a Mission Essentials Kit, including all standard mission equipment. To the extent such equipment is utilized during the course of your mission, please file in triplicate (by no later than the fifteenth day of the first month after completion of your mission) Form 827A(4)(b) with the Mortal-Protector Liaison Office. Return all unused equipment to council headquarters. We look forward to your prompt arrival at the Operations Center. Excuses for late arrivals will not be tolerated. Enjoy the rest of your vacation! Sincerely, Phelonium Prigg Phelonium Prigg Assistant to Zephron, High Elder PP:jbk Chapter One Cale propped himself up in the hotel bed and grimaced as the note from Prigg dissolved in a flurry of sparks and sputters. Really. Prigg's overdeveloped sense of drama could be so tiresome. A simple phone call would have worked just as well. Either way, though, the result was the same: Hale's long awaited vacation was history. Especially frustrating considering he'd reserved the room for two full weeks. On the far side of the room, Elmer uncurled himself and stretched on the sofa cushion, his spiky fur standing on end as he yawned. What's with the fireworks? he chittered. We got a new assignment? Hale shot a scowl in the ferret's direction. "We don't have an assignment. I have an assignment. Which means I have to go to work while you lounge about at home watching daytime television." Elmer's fur puffed out even more and he emitted a high-pitched squeak, which for a ferret could be either a laugh or an indignant groan. Hale assumed that he was going for indignant. I do not 'lounge about', thank you very much. Elmer raised his furry little chin. I study the market. Hale stifled a chortle. Ever since they'd arrived at the Los Angeles airport, Elmer had been chattering on about becoming the funny but loveable family pet in some Hollywood sitcom. "If you say so." He turned away, ostensibly to check the clock, but mostly to hide his grin. You just have no appreciation of artistic genius. All you appreciate are female br— "Ah-ah-ah." Hale rolled over and held up a finger to silence his friend, who managed a tiny ferret shrug before snuggling back down to finish his nap. He and Elmer had been together for years, and he loved the mouthy little guy, but there were some things that just didn't need to be spoken aloud. Not that Elmer was actually speaking. If the maid walked in, she would hear only Elmer's distinctive ferret squeak. But Hale was an animalinguist, which meant he could understand animal speak — everything from the vague desires of most animals, to the more articulate thoughts of the more developed of their species. And, of course, he could understand with perfect clarity those animals, like Elmer, whose bloodline had been bred for generations to serve as companions to Protectors. Some days he really regretted that particular talent. With a groan, he slid out of bed, then headed to the balcony that overlooked the secluded Southern California beach. He'd hoped to make it to Greece for some R & R. No such luck. Instead, he was stuck in a four star hotel just north of Malibu. Not the vacation he'd dreamed of, but it did have a few advantages over his Manhattan apartment. Like the dozen or so mortal women who frolicked and bounced on the sand below. Exactly the kind of amenities he looked for in a vacation location — plenty of extracurricular activities and a room with a view. For more than a year, he'd been trying to get away from the daily grind. Being a superhero — especially a superhero with as busy an undercover assignment as a romance cover model — took a lot out of a guy. He needed some serious downtime, and now that he'd finally gotten some, Prigg was calling him back. Life just wasn't fair. Especially considering he was staring out from a hotel balcony at a smorgasbord of the delicious women he'd come to taste and sample. Not for the long-term, mind you. He was a Protector, after all. Certainly, he'd never get permanently involved with a mortal. Then again, he didn't intend to get permanently involved with another Protector, either. Why would he? He was young, he was virile. And, if he believed his own press releases, he was one hot property. So why tie himself down? Why indeed? Especially when he could find such delightful, fleeting diversions so easily. And he'd come to the islands with the hope of being well and truly diverted. Unfortunately, he'd been there for forty-eight hours already, and not one single blond, brunette or red-headed diversion had graced his bed. Pathetic. Not that they'd turned him down, of course. That was one of the nice things about being him — women just didn't say no. No, the problem was much more basic — he simply hadn't yet gone outside and tried to recruit any of the luscious ladies to his room. Sighing, he drummed his fingers on the windowsill. Instead of playing beach volleyball with bronzed co-eds on Spring Break, he'd actually elected to stay in his hotel room for the last two days. Frowning, he felt his forehead with the back of his hand. No fever. Damn. You're losing your touch, Elmer said. Great. The ferret was awake again. "Not hardly. Just pacing myself." The ferret didn't look convinced. "I don't need a woman on my arm every minute. If I'd rather stay in the room and read —" He broke off, looking around the room to find the tattered paperback he'd found in the chest of drawers. "— Valley of the Dolls, then that's my prerogative." Not his usual reading fare, that's for sure. But it didn't much matter since he hadn't actually read a word. He'd been too frustrated about being frustrated to concentrate on the page. Uh-huh. Elmer shot him a look, then proceeded to scratch behind his ears. "Just drop it." Drop it? Drop what? I'm not saying anything. Not one word. No sirree. "Elmer ..." I mean, I'm sure as Cerberus not mentioning the fact that you haven't done the wild thing with one single female since Zoë and Taylor got hooked up. Nope. I'm not saying that at all. "For someone who's not talking, your mouth is sure moving a lot." Har-umph! Elmer turned three circles on the cushion, then tucked his little head under his paws to sulk. Subtle, Elmer wasn't. Hale scowled in his direction, then turned and scowled out the window. All in all, he was in a scowling kind of mood. Not that Elmer was right. Hale wasn't avoiding anything. Least of all women. And certainly not sex. The thought was preposterous. Ridiculous. Absolutely not true. So what if he'd been a little off-kilter since his half-sister Zoë'd hooked up with that mortal guy? It wasn't as if Hale wanted to tie the knot. He shuddered. Certainly not. More likely he was just distracted, that's all. Worried. About Zoë. Right. That had to be it. He was worried about his baby sister marrying a mortal of all things. Not that he was terribly worried. Even Hale had to admit that Taylor was an all right guy — for a mortal, anyway — and he loved Zoë, so Hale figured they'd be okay. After all, Zoë was a halfling. Maybe being part mortal made it easier to be in a mixed marriage. But Hale was full-blooded, and he knew better than most that mortal-Protector relationships just didn't last. Mortals couldn't handle the stress, and of the few Protectors who did hook up with them, most went soft and abandoned their duties. That wasn't for him. Not Hale. Fleeting entanglements, however, were a whole different story. That was the beauty of mortals, after all. Get in, get out, have a good time. And then be on his way. No strings. No commitments. No guilt. Not at all like Protectors who knew where to find you. No possibility of a fling, not with the MLO right there to connect last Friday's date through on the Council-sponsored cell phone. No, Hale had learned the hard way that dating a Protector suggested the possibility of a commitment, and that wasn't a possibility Hale wanted on the table. He peered down toward the beach again, and spotted a particularly lovely blonde mortal sunbathing on a dark green towel. Her. That was the one. He'd just march down there, turn on the charm, and escort her right back up to his room. Then he'd lock Elmer in the bathroom and have a hot afternoon with a very hot woman. He'd shake off this funk and be his old self again before he had to rush back to D.C. and do the superhero thing. Yes indeed, that's exactly what he'd do. Flush with purpose, he threw on some swimming trunks and headed out. In the breezy lobby, the cool tiles felt nice against his bare feet, and for a second he considered stopping in the bar, having an icy drink and chatting with the owner about nothing in particular. No. No stalling. Plan. Girl. Go. His resolve restored, he marched out of the hotel and headed over the warm sand toward the blonde beauty. She looked up when he approached. A beautiful face highlighted by vivid green eyes. Long, sleek legs. Breasts that begged to be touched. In other words, exactly the type of mortal woman he was used to sharing a few sensual hours with here and there. She was perfect, and her smile suggested she was more than willing. So why did he suddenly have an urge to rush back to his hotel room and spend time with Jacqueline Susanne instead of with Bikini Babe? "Hi there." He pitched his voice low, using the tone that never failed to attract women. B-babe rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow. Her smile revealed a universe of white teeth, not to mention infinite possibilities of the more decadent sort. "Well, hi yourself. I haven't seen you around here before." "Maybe you haven't been looking." "I guess not. Because believe me, I would have noticed you." "Then it's a good thing I noticed you." Mentally, Hale patted himself on the back. That was smooth. He hadn't lost his touch. No worries. No worries at all. "Lucky me." She sat up, curling her legs under her, her posture designed for maximum male-appeal. Clearly, the girl was no stranger to flirtation. "Are you here for business ... or pleasure?" "Pleasure," Hale said. "Pure pleasure." "How nice. I'm Bitsy, by the way." "Hale." Above her sunglasses, her brow furrowed as her lips pursed. "Hale?" The smile was back, this time accompanied by wide, interested eyes. She pointed a perfectly manicured nail toward him. "I know you, right? You're on the cover of all those romance novels." "Guilty." He tested his grin on her, pleased to see it seemed to be in working order. "Are you here on a shoot?" She craned her neck looking around, presumably for a camera crew. Considering how many celebrities frequented the hotel, Hale was surprised there wasn't one set up nearby. "I'm on vacation. Relaxing. Meeting new people." Trying to get himself out of a funk. "Well, the pleasure really is all mine, Hale." She tossed her hair back, then peeked under the strap of her bikini top, presumably checking her tan, but also revealing the enticing curve of her breast. Hale swallowed, not nearly as enticed by the view as he would have expected. In fact, he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to go back to his room and watch a little Nick at Nite. For some inconceivable reason, this perfect specimen of a mortal woman just wasn't pushing his buttons. Frustrating. Damned frustrating, and he didn't intend to tolerate it much longer. "Come on," he said, more gruffly than he intended. "I'll buy you a drink." If she thought his invitation was abrupt, she didn't say anything. Instead she gathered up her towel, wrapped a tiny sarong around her hips, then passed him her tote bag. "Carry for me?" He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Sure. Let's go." Twenty yards back to the hotel lobby. Twenty long, frustrating yards listening to B-Babe ask him if he had a limo parked nearby and just how large was his expense account anyway? By the time they reached the lobby bar, the sad, inconceivable, inescapable truth had caught up with Hale and tackled him — there was no way on earth he was taking that woman up to his room. Maybe Elmer was right; maybe he was losing his touch. But it wasn't that he couldn't succeed with the ladies; it was that he didn't want to. At the moment, all he wanted was to get out of there. But Bitsy's hand seemed permanently glued to his forearm, and shaking her was going to prove difficult. Damn. "Drink?" He steered her toward the bar. "Sure." Bitsy was all smiles as she let go of his arm and perched on the bar stool. He signaled to the owner, intending to order two of the bartender's special concoctions. "Why don't you order us a bottle of Dom?" She leaned close, her shoulder brushing against his forearm. "We can start our little celebration here, and then move it to your room." "Great," he said, sure his voice lacked even an ounce of enthusiasm. He nodded to the bartender, acknowledging the drink order, even though he had no intention of having any himself. A drink like Dom could only be shared with a special lady, and Bitsy just didn't fit the bill. Hell, maybe no one did. The problem now was how to extricate himself from this unwanted and impromptu date. "You know," Bitsy said, taking a sip from the flute Tony put in front of her, "I've always wanted to be a model or an actress." She aimed a little pout in his direction. "Maybe you can help me? Do you know any directors?" "I really don't —" "My portfolio's in my car." She nodded toward the door. "Maybe you could buy me dinner and I could show you?" "I'm not really —" "I could show you more than that, too," she said, stroking his arm. He had to get out of there. "Look at that!" Hale pointed across the empty room. "What?" "Over there. Isn't that cool?" She squinted, swiveling on her stool to look in the general direction he was pointing. "I don't see anything," she said, turning back in his direction. And Hale knew just how true that was. She really didn't see a thing, least of all him. He'd completely dematerialized. Invisibility was a rather handy superpower when you got right down to it. "Hale? Where'd you go?" She twisted around, searching the room for him, until her gaze focused on the mirror that backed the bottles of bourbon and rum. "Oh! There you are!" Hale grimaced, realizing she must have seen his latent reflection. In a second, she'd whipped back around so that she was looking in his direction — but again she couldn't see anything. Confusion flashed in her perfectly made-up eyes. "Where are you?" She turned in her chair to look toward the mirror again, and Hale dropped down below the bar. That was the one annoying thing about his particular superpower. He could turn invisible, yes, but reflective surfaces still picked up his image. Usually that was little more than an annoyance. Right now, though, it might foil his entire plan to get away from B-Babe. Very quietly, he crouched down, making sure his head was below bar level as he crept toward the guest room. Disgust with himself —a superhero!— for taking the chicken's way out welled inside him, but not enough to suffer through an evening with a woman he just wasn't interested in. No matter how ripe and lovely. Still invisible, he headed for the stairs, avoiding the polished elevator doors and all other reflective surfaces, and cursing himself the whole way as the blonde's confused voice echoed after him. He must be coming down with a cold. No other explanation made sense. He was Hale, Protector First Class, a direct descendant of Zeus, and he had a heck of a reputation with the ladies. The Hale he knew simply did not turn tail and run from bikini-clad women. Hopping Hades, what was wrong with him? Flu? Leprosy? Consumption? What? Whatever it was, the fact remained that he simply wasn't in the mood, despite how soft and willing the girl might be. As he climbed the stairs, her voice drifted up from the lobby, calling his name as she searched for him. She couldn't see him, but even so he raced ahead, zipping up the stairwell at lightning speed until he reached his room on the fifteenth floor. Only after he'd slammed the door behind him did he materialize. Elmer looked up, his beady little eyes curious. He opened his mouth but Hale held out a hand, in no mood to be razzed by his furry friend. "Don't say a word. Not one word." The ferret managed a shrug. I wasn't going to say I told you so. Really I wasn't. "Just get ready," Hale growled. "We're leaving." . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Buy the Book Amazon Barnes & Noble Booksense