stop all the angsting already.
Refastening one reddish-brown braid back over the top of her head, she slicked the moisture off her forehead with the back of one hand, swearing again, louder this time. Stupid, stupid Wylie for being too chicken to be part of a real couple. Stupid, stupid Zoë for ever thinking he was worth it in the first place. She’d ignored her cards on that one, when they kept throwing her the Prince of Hearts every time she asked about Wylie. Everyone knew the Prince of Hearts meant an Inconstant Suitor. Which described Wylie exactly.
“How can you respect a man who doesn’t know his own mind?” she groused. “I should’ve believed the cards.”
Zoë picked herself up off the ground and started rooting around on her bookshelves for her pack of Enchanted Tarot Cards. They had beautiful pictures and she really did find them soothing as long as they kept that nasty Inconstant Suitor card to themselves. The deck was on the bottom shelf, and she was bent over, reaching for the last card, which had slipped to the very back of the shelf, when she heard the clomp of footsteps coming up the stairs to her apartment. She paused. Maybe a new student, she thought. Which would be a very good thing, because she needed the extra money now that she’d spent every last dime she had on the nonrefundable Explorer’s Journey.
She raised her head, planning to call out to whoever it was to just come on in, but she lifted up too quickly, cracking her head squarely on the next shelf.
“Yeow!” she cried, stumbling back, scattering a waterfall of tarot cards like something out of Alice in Wonderland. There was only one card left in her hand.
She rubbed the back of her head, almost slipping as she stepped on one of the slick cards on the floor. She groaned. It had to be bad karma to drop all your tarot cards. “I guess I’d better pick ’em up.” She slid the one card she still had into the back pocket of her shorts and bent down to get the deck back together before the potential student walked in and saw the mess. But when she bent over, she started to feel really dizzy. “I must’ve bumped it harder than I thought,” she whispered, stretching her fingers to her toes, letting her head hang down to the floor while she recovered her equilibrium. It was at that point she heard the door open behind her.
“Come—” she began, but she only got the one syllable out.
“Stop, police!” a very male voice announced. “Don’t move!”
“What? Stay where I am?” Bent over with her backside in the air? Frozen to the spot, she stared at him through her legs. Good God, he had a gun! Kinda cute, but scary, with both his arms outstretched and that creepy gun pointed mostly at the floor. But he wasn’t wearing a uniform. Man. Gun. “Are you really a cop? Show me your badge!” she screamed.
He immediately pulled out a shield and flashed it at her. Okay, good. So he really was a cop.
“Were you shouting at someone?” he asked in a calmer voice, relaxing his stance a little as he surveyed the empty room.
“No. Myself, maybe,” she offered. “I hit my head and then I dropped my cards and…do I have to stay like this? All the blood is running to my head. I was already dizzy and now I feel like I’m going to faint.”
He backed off, putting the gun away, thank goodness, shutting her front door quietly. “No, no, get up. Please. Whatever. Sorry.”
“Whew.” Slowly, carefully, Zoë straightened, lifting a hand to her head. Yes, she was still a little light-headed, but not too bad. Meanwhile, his gaze was positively glued to her bottom. It was probably not his fault, she allowed, considering how brief her shorts were, especially when she’d been bent over like that. What was the poor thing supposed to look at?
But how humiliating. The only cute guy who’d been in her apartment for weeks, and he barged in while she was woozy, sweaty, upside down and had half her butt exposed. She ventured a glance his way. He didn’t look too upset by the short-shorts problem. In fact, he looked positively…intrigued. Zoë swallowed. Yep, he was still looking at her.
After tugging the edge of her shorts down, she pushed a few tendrils of hair back into her braids, blew on her face and hoped she wasn’t too flushed. Oh, forget it. She looked hideous. There was no point in trying to spruce herself up at this point. The light she’d seen in his eyes must be her imagination. No man in the world sent out vibes of interest to a woman who looked like this.
Careful to avoid all the spilled cards, she edged around so that at least her front side was facing him. And then she gave him a real once-over. Okay, twice. He knew she was looking. She knew he knew. And she didn’t care. Because the view was that good.
Light brown hair, cut short. Good, clean jawline. Blue eyes. Very blue. There was a sort of speculative, suspicious look in those eyes she found oddly attractive. That and his mouth. He had these quirky lips, kind of narrow and clever, fuller on the bottom. She liked the look of those lips. A lot.
He was tall, maybe six foot one or two, with broad shoulders, and a real presence. Nothing she could put her finger on but… Alive. Vital. Rooted. Right here. Right now. He looked like the kind of guy you would run to when a tornado just blew your house away and you didn’t have a thing left in the world and you didn’t care because you had him.
Zoë’s eyes met his. Good Lord, he was cute. In a very traditional, button-down, authority-figure way, of course, which was not her type at all. So incredibly and completely not her type. He’d pulled a gun on her, for goodness’ sake!
Now if he would only stop sending her those sizzling glances. They made her want to run to him and tackle him. Which was probably a very bad thing. She vowed to do a better job of being immune to whatever he was sending out.
She lifted her chin. “Why in the world did you come barreling in like that? Pointing that thing at me!”
“I heard thumps and a scream. The door was open, there was a definite haze in here, and it smelled like marijuana.” He looked kind of grouchy as he scanned the room again. “How many candles are you burning? And why?”
“I don’t think how many candles I’m burning is any of your business. And it’s sandalwood, not marijuana. Jeez Louise, what kind of cop are you?”
“I thought there might be a burglary in progress, or maybe some kind of drug party gone bad,” he explained curtly. “That does not smell like sandalwood. You’re not burning the candles to cover the pot smell, are you? Is anyone else here? Is there a back door?”
“No, no, and no. I’m alone. The candles are supposed to be good for meditation. I don’t have a back door.” She took a sniff. Good grief. He was right. It didn’t smell like sandalwood. No wonder she wasn’t getting any calmer. “I’m going to have to have a talk with the lady at the New Age store downstairs. She swore these were sandalwood.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, it’s true.” She tried to plant her hands on her hips and look menacing, but her hand hit the smooth, hard edge of the tarot card poking out of her back pocket. Hmm…one card in her pocket. If one fell out or otherwise distanced itself from the pack, that was supposed to be significant. She pulled it out of her pocket and glanced down.
“That’s odd,” she murmured. It was a swirling pink card with two pretty swans outlined by a heart, with two tiny kissing cupids at the top. The two of hearts.
The True Love card.
Her heart did a little flip, but she ignored
