Troll-y Yours (3 page)

Under a heavyweight black vest, he wore a crisp white shirt and a gold neck chain that winked reflections off the glow stones when he moved. The luster of his hindquarters shone a warm dark brown, his tail swished tangle-free. For a Centaur, he looked very stylish—and dangerous. Even in this trendy café, he seemed observant, calculating, and in control. The male with the warm hand appeared a little hard and unforgiving.

The woman next to him leaned her head back and laughed at something Al said. Deep auburn and luxurious, her hair picked up the lighting and glistened with a thousand facetted sparks.

Ella’s own hair was carrot red, almost an orange, and unbelievably ugly.

Like her dress….and her shoes.

A further scan of the drinkers at the bar, and her stomach dropped to her toes. Eli, her younger brother, sat on a backless stool, wearing his strawberry-blond hair in a perfect part and a pressed linen shirt.

Next to him sprawled a Minotaur, who hadn’t bothered to cleanup before coming out for the evening.

Crap. Why is Eli here?
On purpose, she sent him the stink eye.

And on purpose, her brother winked back.

The Satyr cocktail waitresses also eyed her brother, batting their glued-on eyelashes at him.

Figures, he would inherit all the looks and charm while she was left with whatever he didn’t need. Ella turned away and stared at the names on her clipboard. Insecurity wormed its way in and she clenched her jaw tight. It didn’t matter what she looked like, she wasn’t here as a participant. She owned Troll-y Yours, the speed-dating service, and used the café to make money.

Nothing more.

Anger forged steel into her backbone and she marched over to where she’d left her water glass. Taking a sip, her straying gaze shifted to the barstool couple again.

The lady’s straight back and squared shoulders exhibited confidence.

Ella self-consciously straightened her slouched shoulders, too.

“There’s a line forming outside. Want to start letting them in?”

Ella sighed and nodded to Sacha. “Fine with me. I’ll greet and seat at the door.”

After glancing once more at the bar to top-off her tankful of nerves, she worked to keep her spine straight and not shuffle toward the door.

This is going to be a long night.

Three

A
fter seating the final client for participation in the second session, Ella had one male spot left open. A quick run-through of the clipboard verified someone named Bastian hadn’t shown. She glanced at Al who, to her surprise, winked and smiled in her direction. Twisting to look behind her and not seeing to whom his devilish grin was for, she frowned.

It didn’t matter who he flirted with, or why he hadn’t left with his
friend.
Ella needed a warm male body to fill that empty seat.

Farther down the bar, her brother and his friends gathered for another rousing toast. A female Satyr, with two cute dimples in her smiling cheeks, joined them and looped her arms around Eli’s waist.

Whatever. May he get laid and catch Stalk Atrophy.
Ella immediately dismissed asking Eli’s Satyr and Minotaur males—they hadn’t even bothered to clean up before hitting the nightlife.

A crooked path between the tables brought Ella directly in front of the Centaur’s powerful front hooves, his tall figure the color of a bay horse. Muscles rippled beneath his white shirt, quickening her pulse.

Al stared at her intently. “Hello, sweet Ella.” His slow grin curled her Troll toes. “What can I do for you?”

How about tuck me into bed for the next hundred years?
“Well.” She swallowed. “You could help me out. I’m one male short to finish the last session.”

Dark brows arched over his sultry brown eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

The man was arrogant, plain and simple. Unfortunately, his question warranted an answer. She thought fast. “Your speed date will be weeks early, and it’s on the house.”

Nervous, she moistened her dry lips.

Sitting very still, his eyes tracked the movement of her tongue.

If he didn’t agree, she’d have to ask her damn brother or refund the female. A quick glance behind her showed which table stood with the vacant seat.

Ella smiled—on the inside.

Al’s gaze observed the table’s single occupant, then cut sharply back to her. Raucous laughter and snatches of conversation filled the café.

“You’ll owe me one, and you’ll pay according to my terms.” Before she could barter, he added, “If you disagree, I’ll walk out of here. So…sweet Ella. What’ll it be? Me and my deal, or the smelly males over there?”

What choice do I have?
“No sex.” Not that he’d even hinted at such a thing. Her face warmed and the tips of her pointy ears burned.
Crap
. That meant her freckles popped out, each speck a miniature Halley’s Comet.

Wisps of dark hair touched the collar of his neck. Strong, thick fingers stroked his goatee as he measured her for a moment. His eyes gleamed like glassy volcanic rock.

“I’ll agree to that . . . for now.”

While her heart skipped a beat, she watched as Al gathered his hind legs under him and heaved off the floor to stand.

He winked once, flicked his tail twice, then made his way to Carryyn’s table.

Ella shook her head. What was she thinking? She didn’t have a Water Nymph’s chance in hell with this guy—too good looking, too sophisticated, and she was an idiot Troll. Better to not give a crap than get hurt later down the road.

With a drink poised at his lips, her brother frowned in her direction. “Be careful with that one, Ella. He’s out of your league.” Eli’s eyes were large glittering ovals of condemnation.

In order to remain the professional and not the highly irritated sibling, she pressed her lips together and concentrated on controlling her uneven breathing. If anyone could push her buttons, it was Eli. He always knew the exact location of each hurtful stab. Slowly, so there could be no mistaking the words, she mouthed
kiss my ass
, and turned away.

With the stopwatch held in the air, she pressed the lap button. “You’ve got five minutes. Go!”

Low murmurs spread across the room, flowing as if it were a live entity. Giggles, coughs, and throats clearing, spilled over the intimate café.

Carryyn bounced in her chair, babbling away like an excited two-year-old. Silver rings twirled on her horns and matched the four that pierced down each ear. The hoops created quite a sight as they spun a crazy dance. At other tables, heads huddled close, voices whispered.

Ella strolled from her spot near the bar to the rear of the room, passing Al’s speed-date table along the way. She purposely checked the stopwatch to keep her eyes from straying to his features.

So perfect…so symmetrical. Hell, if he were any more flawless, Al would be too beautiful for a male.

She tried to appear as if she ignored him.

Al apparently, had other ideas. It only took a second, there and gone, for his large hand to reach out and pat her ass in mid-stride.

“Hey!” She jumped and glared at the smug Centaur seated behind her.

Bright with merriment, he kept his eyes focused directly across the table, never lifting his sight toward her.

A fast glance around showed no one, especially Eli, had seen the play of patty cake. Ella forced herself to keep a sedate pace. “All right, mythics. One more minute, then the males change tables.”

As much as she hated the thought of being near Eli, the best seat in the house to watch for clients who tried leap-frogging tables, would be the barstool where Al’s female companion had sat earlier. After making a loop through the participants, Ella seated herself with the clipboard in one hand and the stopwatch in the other.

“Nice turnout, Ella. Does Mom know about this?”

Ella ignored her brother and gazed across the tables.

Al seemed tough, lean, and sinewy. His profile spoke of power and ageless strength. Depending upon his partnered female, his face either split into a romantic grin or was shot with an unpleasant twist.

Each time Ella called the announcement to change tables, Al’s gaze landed on her. Every time his eyes met hers, her heart danced in response.

Nitwit ridiculous Troll emotions, that’s all it was. Not having a date in over a decade probably had something to do with the mushy condition of her brain—stimulus overload by handsome Centaurs and Spanish guitar mood music.

“Don’t look now, butter-face. But some hot chick is ready to lick your Centaur’s wicket.” Her brother laughed at his coarse humor.

Ella turned to glare at Eli, and noted his friends chuckled along with him. She took a deep, exasperated breath and whirled to face the room, hating the nickname Eli had given her:
She would’ve been gorgeous…but-her-face.

Seated with Al at the two-spot table, a honey-blonde Wood Nymph with violet eyes cooed and fluttered her lashes.

A sudden need to slam the clipboard repeatedly against the bar—or Eli’s head—burned at Ella’s willpower with repressed violence. Of course the males would be interested in the Nymphs. They all had what she didn’t—sex appeal.

Along with a tall willowy figure to die for.

Another deep breath helped to bring the frustration under control. “None of this crap matters, and these people don’t mean anything to me,” Ella muttered under her breath.

“Wanna have a speed-date of our own?” A deep voice blew warm onion-scented air across her cheek.

She nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?”

Two seats away, Eli let out a snicker that grated on her nerves. “Not to worry, Sis. They say love conquers all, you know.”

Standing near her right elbow, Eli’s Minotaur friend Phranq, pulled his muzzled lips back to form a fleshy bovine smile. The whiskers on his flat upper lip hadn’t seen the sharp edge of a scissor in years. “You…Me…Date.”

For a Minotaur, he wasn’t bad looking. Ella had certainly seen worse. But that was neither here nor there. She didn’t get the hots for that race of mythics. Not by a long shot.

No sense in being rude, however, especially if he were a potential client. “I’m sorry,” Ella replied. “I’m not available. But you can see there are plenty of females who are.” She waved her arm toward the last session of speed daters. “How about I sign you up for our next session?”

“Give it a rest, Phranq. You don’t want to mess with her.”

“What is it with you?” Ella slid off the barstool and faced Eli. “Isn’t there somewhere else for you to go?”

Her brother caught the bartender’s watchful eye. “Let me have another antidote.” Then, he grinned and turned in his seat to face her. “Nope. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

“Is this guy bugging you?” Phranq bunched the muscles in his neck and shoulders, then shook his short horns at Eli.

Ella said yes the same moment Eli said no.

Phranq shrugged and lumbered back to his stool, mumbling something about airheaded Trolls.

Positive that each of her freckles was a tiny sunburst on a pale backdrop, Ella gritted her teeth and lifted her hand to see the stopwatch.
Crap.

“Time, people.” She clicked the stopwatch button and grabbed the clipboard from the bar counter. Listening to her brother’s inane drivel ran her two minutes over. “Be sure to see me if you want to sign up for another session.”

Al’s tall figure loitered head and shoulders above the crowd, making him easy to spot within the milling attendees. As if he felt her eyes on him, he smiled and gave Ella a jaunty salute, winking in the process.

His damn wink scrubbed at her raw patience.
No doubt he’s thinking of collecting his debt, the arrogant ass.
Somehow, the thought of how he would recoup made her body grow warm and she flexed her inner thigh muscles.

No sex—that’s what she’d told him.

But why not?
her libido countered.

Females buzzed around Al as if they were mosquitoes and he the only blood source. They fawned over one another to catch his attention. An aggressive Satyr stood on a chair to gain advantage above the others, flashing blood-red painted hooves at any female unlucky enough to come close. Even with the added height, the nanny barely reached Al’s chest.

Ella glanced at the departing crowd and took note of a viable fact—the only race in scarce attendance tonight?

Trolls
.

A cold reminder of how the mythic kingdom viewed her people.

*~*~*

“Oooh, Kempor Aleksander. Your arms are so big.”

“Yes, thank you—”

“I’ll be your date tonight!”

“Choose me, and you’ll never look at another female again,” a little Satyr who’d jumped up on a vacated chair, shouted.

Surprised at her outlandish boast, Alek gaped at her. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

She beamed in return, clearly not following his two-fold message.

The sea of coy fluttering lashes, fake smiles, and overly bright eyes repelled him faster than a strip teasing Minotaur. Male or female, the bovines made excellent soldiers. Dancers . . . they were not.

All that aside, Alek wasn’t interested in the same old take-out menu.

Ignoring the plumped-up breasts displayed in come-and-get-me form, he searched the thinning crowd for a familiar red head—and found her taking names on that infernal clipboard, near the front door. Anger curled low in his belly when he noted her small hand pushing away the same dirty Minotaur male who’d bothered her at the bar.

Ella stepped away, only to have the Minotaur shadow her movement.

“Excuse me, ladies. I have your names, so I’ll bid each of you safe journey tonight.” Alek dodged the groping hands that patted his firm hindquarters.

The Satyr girl tried to cup him below as her doe eyes gleamed mischief in brown seduction, bleated a heated proposal in low tones.

I’ve lost my fucking mind if I walk away from the offer of three females in a bed, to rescue a Troll who waves her dislike for me like a red flag.

His four legs moved of their own accord. The throng of milling speed daters, parted to give him a direct path.

Insane—or perhaps wholly in his right mind—the element of Aleksander’s soldier nature, led him to protect the scowling Ella.