“It’s past six,” Tessa said, glancing at her watch. She took a long sip of champagne, then looked up at Deena. “Was she running late?”

“Nope. Early.” Actually, Taylor had arrived early, but that didn’t mean they’d left Zoe’s apartment early—or even on time. She’d known Zoe for a while now, and never once had Deena seen her so worked up about a member of the opposite sex. And Taylor certainly hadn’t been lacking desire, either.

In fact, considering the electricity zinging between the two of them—and considering everything she’d learned about Zoe recently—Deena was amazed she herself had managed to get out of the apartment without being hit by some fireball of passion. She wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the lovebirds had lingered.

Damn, but she wished she were an animathingamajig. Then maybe she could talk to ferret-face and get the scoop.

Tessa took another peek at her watch.

“Don’t worry,” Deena said. “They’ll be here.” She craned her neck, trying to spot Zoe in the crowd. Nothing. Damn.

“Maybe they decided to go off on their own,” Tessa said. “Young lovers, distracted, desperate to be alone?” She swung an arm wide, apparently trying to illustrate the joys of youth, and almost fell off the bench.

Deena caught Tessa’s arm. “I’m sure they’re on the way.” After all the trouble they’d had finding Zoe a date for this specific party—to appease this specific mother—there was no way Zoe would have skipped out.

“Maybe they stopped for a bite,” Tessa suggested, downing the last of her bubbly.

“I hope not. There’s plenty to go around here.” Deena’s gaze swept the lawn, taking in all the little tables set up with food and drink. Her mouth watered, and she sighed, fantasizing about dainty cream puffs with gooey fillings. Before she and Hoop headed for the Bowl, she intended to do some serious appetizer sampling.

Tessa turned back to Deena, her face set. “You still haven’t told me about Zoe’s affair.”

“Of course I have,” Deena hedged.

Tessa released an exaggerated sigh. “Details, sweetie.” She took Deena’s hand. “We need to get down to the details.”

“The details,” Deena repeated dumbly. Oh, God.

“For example,” Tessa said, cupping her hand behind her ear. “Do I hear wedding bells?”

Deena squinted, fighting the effects of the champagne she’d drank. Just answer her questions. Answer the questions and don’t volunteer information. If you keep your mouth mostly shut, you’ll get through this just fine.

She took a deep breath, trying to answer without telling a bold-faced lie. Instead, she’d just stretch the truth beyond recognition—like a comic strip on Silly Putty. “I doubt they’ve talked about marriage yet.” That, at least, was 100 percent true.

“Is he successful? What kind of husband would he make? Does he have a retirement plan?” Tessa turned, shifting on the bench until she was facing Deena head-on. “Most important, does he love my daughter? And does she love him?”

“You’re putting me in a heck of a spot here, Tessa. I mean, Zoe’s one of my best friends.” And although Deena hadn’t checked the manual recently, she was pretty sure that revealing a friend’s secret lusts to her mother was a definite no-no.

“I just worry about her.” Zoe’s mom tilted her champagne glass back, then scowled when she realized it was empty. She set it aside, then leaned closer to Deena, as if to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets. “I worry about her and . . . it.”

Deena frowned, clueless. “It? What it?”

“You know. S . . . E . . . X.”

“Oh! It.” Well, this was new. Deena’d done a lot of things in her life, but she’d never, ever discussed a friend’s sex life with that friend’s mother. She prided herself on being pretty open-minded, but this pushed even her envelope. New millennium or not, if these were the new rules, she’d like to go back a few centuries, thank you very much. This was embarrassing.

“I hope Taylor’s patient,” Tessa continued, apparently unperturbed. “Is he?”

Oh, dear. She downed the last of her champagne in one gulp. Despite the coolness of the liquid, her cheeks warmed, a rather disconcerting experience considering she rarely blushed. “Um . . . I guess so.” She wrinkled her nose. “Why?”

“I told you, honey. Sex.”

Hopefully Tessa wasn’t praising the virtues of a lover with a slow hand. Deena wasn’t sure she could handle having that particular discussion with the woman. “I’m still not following you.”

Tessa’s brow furrowed, as if she were searching for words. “Zoe’s never been big on physical inflection,” Tessa finally said, and Deena wondered how many glasses of champagne she’d polished off.

“What?”

Tessa rolled her eyes, then looped an arm around Deena’s shoulder to pull her close; they came nose-to-nose. “You know. Psychical affection.”

This was going to be a longer party than she’d expected. “Still lost,” she said.

Tessa sighed as only a long-suffering mother could, then poked Deena in the arm. “Touching. She doesn’t even like to be hugged.”

Finally! Something that made sense. “Physical affection! Well, I’m not surprised,” Deena mumbled, her mouth shoved up against Tessa’s shoulder. “What with her sense of to—”

Uh-oh. She clamped her mouth shut, then pulled back out of Tessa’s grasp.

Tessa leaned back, peering at Deena with determined eyes. “What?”

“What?” Deena repeated, stalling.

“You said something. . .” Tessa trailed off, scowling, her hand twirling. “About her sense of. . .” She shrugged. “Something.”

“Oh!” said Deena. “I said she’s sensitive. She’s a very sensitive girl, your Zoe. That’s why she’s so great with kids.”

Tessa practically beamed. “Yes, she is very . . .”

Deena breathed a sigh of relief as she mentally congratulated herself. One close call averted.

“But. . .”

So much for dodging crises.

“But what’s that have to do with hugging?” Tessa asked.

“What?” Deena asked, falling back on what was fast becoming her standard response. Besides, stalling just might be a better plan than running away.

“What’s . . . that. . . gotta . . . do . . . with . . . hugging?”

“Um . . . well. . . Zoe!” Thank goodness! Deena jumped up, practically tripping over her skirt, and waved frantically to her friend, who was speeding toward them with Taylor at her heels. Yards behind them, Hoop ambled along, lazily picking at a pile of goodies he had balanced on a paper plate.

Zoe stopped in front of them, not breaking a sweat and certainly not breathing hard. Taylor stumbled up next to her, clutching his side and gasping.

“I’ve got to get to the gym,” Taylor wheezed. “I thought a year of physical therapy had done some good, but I don’t think it did a damn thing.”

“You must be Tiller,” Tessa said, getting up off the bench.

“It’s Taylor, Mom,” said Zoe, eyeing the empty champagne glass.

“That’s what I said.” She flashed a grin toward Zoe as she held out her hand for Taylor to shake. “So tell me, Taylor, just what are your intentions toward my daughter?”

“Mom!” Zoe turned pink.

Taylor took Tessa’s hand in both of his. “The best intentions, Mrs. Smith,” he said, and Deena was sure he meant it. “The absolute best intentions.”

The Henchmen crouched under the bushes, peering out from behind a thick mass of leaves at the neatly trimmed lawn spread out before them.

Watching.

Waiting.

The fat one nudged the skinny one, pointing one of his sausagelike digits toward a stone bench. The halfling was there, the one they were looking for, cavorting with a group of mortals.

Silly little fool.

They’d strike with the advantage of surprise.

They’d strike for Hieronymous, and strike hard. They’d strike . . . and young Zoe would never know what hit her.

They looked at each other—snaggletoothed grins, drippy pug noses, little piggy eyes—and cackled as a flock of mockingbirds rose from the bushes, the thrum of flapping wings drowning out their laughter.

“Call me Tessa,” she said, tugging him toward the bench. Taylor came willingly, already deciding he liked this woman. She sat down and straightened her skirt, then looked him straight in the eye. “So tell me about these good intentions.”

“Mom . . .” Zoe looked at Taylor. “Sorry,” she whispered with a shrug. “She doesn’t usually do this.”

He chuckled and shot Tessa an amused glance. She returned it with a wink. “You mean she doesn’t usually interrogate your dates?”

Zoe’s face reddened. “I’ve never. . . I don’t really—”

“Date,” put in Tessa as Zoe’s color deepened. Tessa leaned back, tilting her head to look at him, her face intense. “You be good to my girl, you hear?”

“That’s my plan,” he said.

“Hello? I’m right here,” Zoe said, waving frantically at them. “If you guys are planning my life can I be included?”

Tessa caught Taylor’s eye and they both laughed.

“No, thanks, sweetheart,” Tessa said.

“Really,” he joked. “I think we’ve got your life well under control.”

Zoe shook her head, managing to look both exasperated and amused.

Taylor knew he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never expected to become a coconspirator with Zoe’s mother, but he couldn’t say he minded. Hell, it was clear after only two seconds that she adored her daughter—and that she’d have his hide if he hurt Zoe. All of which was perfectly okay by Taylor. Zoe had said she was trying to escape a rash of blind dates by making Tessa think Taylor and Zoe were a hot-and-heavy couple, but Taylor intended to make that bit of fiction a reality.

Tessa smiled up at Zoe. “I’m glad you finally made it. We’ve been talking about you,” she said, glancing toward Deena.

“Great,” Zoe said. “I love being the topic of conversation.” She caught Deena’s eye. “I hope you didn’t get too personal. I’d hate to think my ears were burning.”

“Oh, no,” Deena said. “Tessa just wants to know everything about you and Taylor.” She smiled brightly. “Everything.”

Taylor caught Zoe’s gaze. “Looks like your mother and I have something in common.”

Hoop shoved a chocolate-covered something into his mouth, presumably to muffle his laugh.

“Is she keeping secrets from you, too?” Tessa asked. “I thought you were the big secret. Your romance, I mean.”

He aimed a smile at Tessa, then turned back to Zoe, delighted to find that her cheeks were pink again. “Well, our romance has been rather whirlwind. I’m sure she would have eventually gotten around to sharing her secrets with both of us. Especially now that our little affair is heating up.”

Zoe’s eyes went wide. She put a hand on her hip and stared him down. Even if he’d been telepathic, the message couldn’t have been clearer. Behave yourself!

He curled the corner of his mouth up, hoping he’d managed to relay his unspoken question. What do I get for being good?

She must have caught at least an inkling of his message, because she aimed her eyes toward the sky and shook her head, the very picture of an exasperated schoolmarm. A very hot, very sexy schoolmarm.

He bit back a chuckle. Man, he couldn’t wait to have a moment with her alone. Couldn’t wait to run his fingers through that mass of hair, couldn’t wait to kiss away that look of exasperation.

Couldn’t wait to explore the everything that made up Zoe Smith.

Mordichai perched on the roof of the massive house, his coal black propulsion cloak draped around him, and scowled at the crowd milling about below. The green dot on his portable tracking monitor bleeped again—right over Malibu, right over this very neighborhood.

As he’d circled in for a landing, he’d counted the houses within a three-mile radius. Only ten. He could go to each one and search for the stone. But what was the point? Zoe was here; his hired detective was here. It didn’t take a genius to know that meant the stone was here, too.

But which one of them had it?

More important, how could he get it?

He pressed his forefinger to his chin and considered his options. If Zoe had the stone, he needed to get it back before she returned it to the council.

On the other hand, the stone might be with the detective. Wouldn’t that be poetic? Of course, paying the man was out of the question—Hieronymous would never agree to deplete his funds when other methods were available—but Mordi had no doubts about his ability to quickly and efficiently dispatch the mortal. Then the stone would be his, the world would be less one mortal, and Mordi could haul himself back to Manhattan and maybe, finally, see some smidgen of approval from dear old Dad.

Except . . .

He didn’t know which one had the damn thing.

Attack the wrong one, and his plans could be foiled forever.

It was better to bide his time.

To watch, to wait.

To see if he could get the tracking device to work more precisely.

Sooner or later, the two would split up. And all he’d have to do then would be follow the little green blip.