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Authors: Lacey Savage

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Pixie’s Prisoner

BOOK: Pixie’s Prisoner
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Rookery Cove: Pixie’s Prisoner
Lacey Savage

All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008 Lacey Savage

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

ISBN: 978-1-59596-858-6
Formats Available:
HTML, Adobe PDF,
MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader

Publisher:
Changeling Press LLC
PO Box 1046
Martinsburg, WV 25402-1046
www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Maryam Salim
Cover Artist: Reneé George

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Rookery Cove: Pixie’s
Prisoner Lacey Savage

Who says pixies are nothing more than mischievous tricksters? Not Laela Léa. She’s a scientist. A scientist with a mission — to prove that the Cum-a-Chameleon formula she’s been working on for the past eighteen months actually works. But to do that, she has to find a real chameleon on which to test the formula’s decadent effects.

Plagued by memories of endless experiments in dark rooms, ex-Marine Nathaniel Alexis wants nothing more than to be left alone. In solitude, he can dream about the woman who saved him — the one who wrapped her long legs around his waist and took him to the edge of paradise the night before his life changed forever.

Now he can do more than dream. Because she’s back — and sexier than ever.

Problem is, Laela needs him as a test subject. And while Nathan would gladly let her do anything she wants to his body, he’s vowed to never again be experimented upon. Not even in delicious, erotic ways. Not unless
he’s
the one in control…

Prologue

“Another, please. Make it a double.”

The bartender, an ebony-skinned man with a shiny bald head and thick, ropy arms, nodded his agreement.

As he shifted to grab the bottle of rum from the shelf, Laela caught his arm. “Never mind that. Champagne. The best you have.”

He grinned, showing even white teeth in the neon light swirling across the dance floor in front of the bar. “You celebrating?”

She smiled back, a tremor of excitement sweeping down her spine. “New job. I start tomorrow.”

He lifted the bottle in a silent toast, then tipped it so the bubbly liquid flowed into a flute glass. “Good luck.”

She took a sip, wincing a little as the carbonation hit her tongue. “Won’t need it. I’m gonna knock ’em dead.”

An hour later, Laela Léa was still nursing the same glass of flat champagne. She twirled round and round on her bar stool, letting her legs hang over the edge. On each full turn, she peered out into the darkened dance floor. Bright laser beams bathed the Friday-night crowd, highlighting pink streaks in black hair, colored contact lenses that glowed florescent colors and more metal hooks, rings and studs than she’d seen in the entire tattoo and piercing parlor across the street.

The frenzied beat of the techno music that flowed through the hottest night spot in San Diego soothed Laela’s restless nerves in a way the alcohol couldn’t. She stopped spinning, her heart fluttering madly in her chest at the thought of what tomorrow might bring. Her head spun, partly from the alcohol and partly from going around in circles for the last five minutes. She caught her breath, swung her hand back toward the bar to grope for her glass and used the back of her other sleeve to wipe away a stray bead of sweat that dripped down her temple.

It was in the middle of that awkward move that she spotted
him
. From fifteen feet away, she could make out the hard line of the man’s jaw, the broad shoulders, the wavy black hair that barely brushed his shoulders. But as much as his appearance struck her, it was the way he seemed to stand apart from the rest of the crowd that had her stomach doing a quick flip-flop. Even surrounded by a hundred people who bounced, hopped and grooved all around him, he stood alone.

He looked as out of place among Club Surge’s typical crowd as a nun at a burlesque show. Aside from his hair, which was a little too long to fit the rest of his clean-cut image, he looked…
normal
. While the other men took obvious pride in their leather jackets, rough tattoos and spiky hairstyles, the newcomer wore beige pants, black shoes, and a polo shirt.

A
polo shirt
, of all things!

And yet, somehow, he seemed to blend in. It made no sense, but there he stood, in the middle of the gyrating crowd, looking for all the world as though he’d just stepped out of the pages of
Town & Country
magazine, and no one gave him a second glance.

No one but her.

His posture, stiff but somehow resigned, spoke of weariness, perhaps even disinterest. His eyes, however, betrayed him. She couldn’t make out their color from this distance, but she could see the intensity in that determined gaze as it swept across the room and zeroed in on the bar.

Without warning, that ardent gaze caught hers. And held.

Laela lost her balance. The three-legged stool tipped and wobbled precariously. As she groped for the edge of the bar and hooked her foot around one of the stool’s spindly legs, he began winding his way across the club. Heading straight toward her.

Heat pooled between Laela’s legs. It curled across her clit, sending a jolt of sensation deep into her pussy. She pressed her legs together and clenched her hands around the edge of her stool. Her breath halted in her throat as he came closer. The crowd seemed to part for him, though no one brushed against him or uttered the slightest disrespectful word. In fact, no one paid any attention to him at all.

She couldn’t begin to fathom why. For her part, if she hadn’t been hanging on to the stool, she’d have fallen off long ago. And all because she couldn’t take her eyes off this one man. A
man
, for Pete’s sake.

Laela didn’t go for
men
. She liked vampires, werewolves, even elves. Men were so… plain.

Only there was nothing even remotely ordinary about this man. He oozed sensuality from every pore. It dripped off him in waves, wrapped around her and scrambled her thoughts until she was entirely focused on nothing but him.

The woman who’d been sitting beside Laela stood, vacating the stool. The newcomer slipped into it as though he’d known all along it would be there, waiting for him.

“Bourbon, on the rocks,” he said in answer to the bartender’s unspoken question.

Even his voice made Laela’s pussy clench in anticipation. Low and husky, it sent a shiver down the length of her body.

The space between stools was much too narrow for his wide shoulders and broad chest. His knee came within touching distance of her thigh. His arm brushed her elbow.

Laela had stopped breathing the moment he’d sat down, but the unexpected contact kick-started her lungs. She gulped in a big breath of spicy male odor. Not sweat, but not cologne, either. Something else… something entirely unique. And altogether much too irresistible.

She shifted slightly, rotating the stool so she was facing him. After that brief moment when their gazes had locked, he’d ignored her outright.

Laela cleared her throat, gathering up the courage to say something. What, she didn’t know. Something that would get his attention. Something that would make him want to pick her up in those powerful arms, deposit her on the sleek surface of the bar, hike up her skirt, and bury his head between her legs.

Yeah, that would do nicely.

“Come here often?”

She grimaced at the lame pickup line that slipped from her lips before she could stop it. She knew very well this wasn’t one of his regular hang-outs, because it was hers. And she most certainly would have noticed him before now.

The man looked up from his drink. Instead of answering, his jet-black eyebrows arched up as he assessed her with a slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze. He started at the top of her head and worked his way down, pausing with what Laela hoped was appreciation as his gaze came to rest on her full breasts straining against her pink cotton tank top. After a moment’s hesitation, he continued his silent appraisal. She watched him glance at the strip of skin proudly displaying her navel just beneath the hem of her tank top, and then at her upper thighs, which a denim mini-skirt barely covered.

She expected him to stop there but he kept going, glancing all the way down her bare legs to her feet. Feeling slightly awkward, she wiggled her toes, absurdly grateful she’d worn open-toed sandals that showed off her polished pink toenails.

When he completed his assessment, he tilted his head to the side, an amused smile tugging at one side of his full lips. “Isn’t that my line?”

Laela lifted a shoulder in a playful shrug. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “I thought I’d hurry things along a little.”

He took a long swig of his drink. The dark liquid disappeared in a flash, but he didn’t as much as flinch when it flowed down his throat. Unlike her, who grimaced at the taste of champagne.

“You’re in a rush?”

“It’s my last night in town.” She didn’t know why she’d told him. He didn’t need to know that. He didn’t need to know anything about her.

She’d walked in here tonight feeling restless, anticipation flooding her veins with adrenaline. She needed a release.

From the moment she’d climbed on her barstool, she’d been looking for something. She hadn’t even known what until she spotted him. Now there wasn’t a shred of doubt in her overheated body that what she’d been craving all along was exactly what he could provide.

Hot, sweaty, fabulous sex. With a man who set her body on fire with a smoldering glance. A man she’d never see again.

For humans, such an encounter would be risky. For someone like her, the opposite was true. As a member of the
Papidae Laéane
family — what humans termed Pixies — she was invulnerable to diseases of the flesh. Nor could she become pregnant by a human male. And if she happened to find herself in a rough encounter, she had a few tricks up her ethereal sleeve that would come as a big surprise to anyone who thought her easy prey because of her lithe build and casual demeanor.

The man watched her intently, frown lines appearing over the bridge of his nose. “Mine, too.”

She didn’t attempt to hide her surprise. “You’re kidding. New job?”

“You could say that.”

Without warning, he unbuttoned the few buttons on his shirt and tugged on the neckline, revealing dark curls across a tan, muscular chest.

Laela’s mouth went dry. In the brief flashes of neon light, she could make out a tattooed circle etched in black ink across his skin. Within the circle sat the perfectly drawn emblem of the Marine Corps.

Laela reached out and traced the shape of the eagle’s head. “You’re being deployed.”

He nodded, once.

She could barely contain her enthusiasm. Her grin widened, stretching her cheeks until they hurt. “Perfect.”

His answering smile held no humor. “You just met me, and you’re already trying to get rid of me?”

Heat rose into her cheeks. She ducked her head, realizing much too late that what she’d taken for intensity in his gaze was much more. Apprehension, perhaps. Indecision, maybe. Not fear, though. There was too much courage and determination in the depthless orbs to ever mistake his hesitation for true fear.

There was a story there. She could feel it. But asking the myriad of questions that might get him to open up would cross the line, taking him from nameless wonder to a man with the potential to be so much
more
.

Laela splayed her hand across his chest, marveling at the way warmth streamed through his body and seemed to pour into hers. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me. Let me make it up to you.”

She didn’t remember much about the trek through the pulsing, writhing mass of people who stood in their way to the door. Yet she could clearly recall his hand in hers, the way his broad, masculine fingers dwarfed her smaller ones. The way she clung to his palm, her heart hammering against her ribcage until the door to the back alley opened and stale summer air forced its way into her lungs.

He had her pressed up against the wall in the span of a heartbeat.

“You like to take risks, don’t you?” he whispered as be buried his face in her neck.

She moaned and let her head fall back against the wall. Tingles of anticipation thrummed through her bloodstream as he kissed his way up the column of her throat to nip at her earlobe.

“I don’t take risks.” Her breath sounded hoarse. Ravished. “I make calculated decisions.”

The resounding male chuckle shook the rest of her self-control. Her knees weakened and her sex clenched as moisture slicked her nether lips.

Her anonymous lover seemed to know just what she wanted. His hand quested between her legs, hiking up the short skirt so that it bunched up around her hips. The broad span of his palm pressed against the crotch of her panties, sending a wave of sensation to stream slowly into her cunt.

BOOK: Pixie’s Prisoner
11.61Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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