Finders Keepers (Fairy Tales After Dark Book 2)

by Jessica Collins

  “Morning, Princess.”

  “Morning, jackass,” she quipped.

  He groaned, the sound not unpleasant by any means. “You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

  Apparently, he wasn’t fazed. Rolling her eyes, ignoring the flirtation, she tried to sidestep him, but he mirrored her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Crossing her arms, she moved to the opposite side, trying to put space between them. “I’m here to put together the last few booths.”

  He moved with her, again.

  “You? Assembling tables? Damn, Princess. Singing, boxing … construction. Is there anything you can’t do?”

  She was sure he meant it at a compliment. Which bothered her. She didn’t want him to be nice. Hot and an asshole? Easy to deal with. Hot and nice? No, thanks.

  “Fuck off,” she quipped. Maybe if she were the ass, he’d back away.

  “Only if you’ll help me,” he answered with a smirk.

  Unable to help herself, Jayla plastered on her best fake-sweet smile. “Poor thing, haven’t figured out how it works yet?” She gently patted his shoulder, widening her eyes to feign innocence.

  Most men couldn’t handle insults to their … manhood. All she had to do was be uncaring, be insulting, and wait. He’d leave her alone, and she wouldn’t have to feel so … so … well, perplexed.

  “Ooooh, Princess. Below the belt,” he chided, his voice indicating he was playing.

  Try as she might to hate it, she found herself liking the affectionate nickname he’d given her.

  “Wouldn’t have guessed there was enough below the belt to hit,” she replied, raising her brow, challenging him.

  Rather than back down, he upped the ante. Licking his lips, eyes narrowing slightly, his body swayed toward her. “First my mouth, now my…” His grin slanted as his voice trailed off suggestively. “I thought we talked about this desperation bit, Princess.”

  Butterflies flitted through her stomach. His closeness, surprisingly, wasn’t unwelcome. Her eyes slowly trailed to his crotch, pausing for a moment as if searching for something, then drifted back up. “I don’t like being disappointed.” What am I doing? Am I encouraging this?

  Yes. Yes, I am.

  His eyes darkened. “I never disappoint.”

  Swallowing, she needed to stop this … teasing. She was supposed to be driving him off. It wasn’t working.

  Shaking her head, she moved, pushing past him. “Keep dreaming,” she said, not looking back toward him.

  His reply came softly, as if not meant for her to hear. “Not going to pretend I don’t.”

  Working most of the morning in silence, Alistair couldn’t keep his gaze from finding Jayla. It was by pure luck he’d been here today. Max, one of his technicians, had been assigned to connect the camera lines this morning, but when he called out sick — or, more appropriately, hungover — Alistair was forced to give up his day off to get the job done. Now, he was silently debating giving Max a raise.

  He was dying to ask her about what happened in the alley, why she ran, but decided against it. He silently observed her working on the booths. She knew her way around a toolbox. As well as a right hook.

  She shifted from the floor as he watched, transfixed, while she pulled a boxcutter from her back pocket, expertly flicking her wrist to open it, and then cut the cardboard covering.

  Opening the first box, pulling out the contents, she delicately unwrapped each piece, examining and then deliberately placing them in certain areas of the floor around her. He could almost watch her mind working, taking in all the parts — wood, screws, bolts — before what looked to be taking inventory of what she needed.

  Having helped — strike that — having tried to help Aleks set up a booth the night before, he was well aware the set up was near impossible. Jayla, however, looked determined and had already made more progress than they had in the two and a half hours they’d stared at all the parts before calling it a night.

  Normally, he would have offered his help, but something about her got to him. He wanted her to come to him for help.

  Pretending to focus on a camera above his head, his gaze followed her as she walked under the scaffolding, opening one of the other large toolboxes. Opening drawers, removing a variety of wrenches, screwdrivers, and ratchets, she closed the lid, walking back to the table pieces, all the while, humming.

  After taking twice as long to install one camera, he moved to the other side of the room, continuing to steal more glances than he cared to admit.

  Jayla was an exercise in restraint. Everything about her turned him on. Not just her looks, but her sass, hell, even her smell. Every time he got close to her, he swore he could smell vanilla. He reveled in every minute with her, wanting more. Wanting to hear more of her jabs and attempts to discourage him.

  Wanting to punish her for that smart mouth.

  His mouth went dry as she moved, straddling a table leg, stabilizing it as she turned the bolt. He’d never been jealous of a piece of wood before. Her long hair hung loose, the tips just brushing the floor. He wanted to run his fingers through it — pulling it back just hard enough to make her gasp.

  An hour later, Alistair finished his installations — despite the running images in his head of the woman in front of him in various compromising positions. He’d been hard as stone and thankful for the distance between them so she couldn’t see.

  Jumping down from the scaffolding, walking past her, he exited the rear door to the alley in back where his car was parked. He quickly downed a bottle of water, then grabbed two bottles of Gatorade before heading back inside.

  “Here,” he offered.

  Looking up from her work, her shoulders immediately tensed, eyes narrowing just a second before reaching for the yellow drink.

  The flash of misgiving was so brief, he almost thought he imagined the reaction.

  Is it the drink or me that you’re unsure of, Princess?

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “I’ll admit, you’re doing one hell of a job on these on your own,” he complimented. “Aleks and I tried last night. We gave up.”

  Again, her initial reaction was mistrust. Shoulders tensing, face remaining stoic a moment longer than necessary. Just as quickly, she hid it. The color creeping across her cheeks the only indication she’d reacted at all.

  “Did you read the directions?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered truthfully. “Didn’t see any.”

  Her lips curled, just barely. “Or didn’t look for any, is more like it. What is it with men and directions?” Rolling her eyes, she uncapped the bottle.

  Alistair watched the motions of her throat working the liquid down. A sheen of perspiration had formed just around her hairline. He imagined bending down, pulling off her shirt, licking up her back, tasting her salty skin, before biting into her shoulder.

  “I’m great with directions — left, right. Harder, faster … right there,” he let his voice drop just a hint as he answered.

  An obvious blush swept across her neck, her face, but she looked him in the face — his cock jerked, reinvigorated.

  “First you need help with yourself, now you need directions? I’m hardly impressed.”

  Her tone said she was aiming for disinterested, but her eyes told a different story. The heat, coupled with anger, and a hint of lust — she was addicting. He needed to tease her again. Craved her reaction.

  He opened his mouth to respond when a high-pitched wail, followed by a loud slam, jerked their attention to the back door. A flash of brown and orange shot across the floor and disappeared behind the bar.

  “What the—” The sound of shattering glass, followed by another screech, interrupted him. The blur darted onto the bar top, like a lightning bolt, before jumping up the scaffolding and onto the balcony above.

  “I think it’s a cat, but whatever it is, we need to catch it before it destroys the place,” he muttered, looking down, finding Jayla smiling.


  “He sure knows how to make an entrance.” She laughed, her face lighting up in a way he hadn’t seen before.

  Momentarily stunned by how her genuine smile enhanced her beauty, he laughed with her. “How do you know it’s a he?”

  He offered his hand, helping her up. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her into him, just harder than necessary, but not enough to be obvious.

  Her body bumped into his, her eyes widening a fraction at the contact.

  Clearing her throat, her voice wavered ever so slightly. “Knocking stuff over, doesn’t ask for directions. I think he might be your spirit animal, Al.”

  He held her hand firm, refusing to release her gaze. “I wouldn’t need directions right now,” he spoke, using the tone he knew hit women hard.

  Her sharp inhale indicated it worked. Her lips parted…

  A final crash sounded above, followed by an echoing noise — a tray, knocked off an upstairs table, circling the floor.

  “Let’s get him,” she answered, voice firm, as she moved toward the stairs, ending the moment.

  Although, surprisingly, she never dropped his hand.

  Chapter Six

  Climbing the stairs to the balcony as quietly as possible, Jayla said a quiet thank you to the cat. Things between her and Alistair had started to get a little too heated. When he lifted her, feeling him against her, she nearly moaned. So embarrassing!

  What’s worse, her body betrayed her mind, wanting to be near him as much as possible.

  Not wanting to admit how much she liked the contact, she pulled her hand from his as she moved into the unfinished space. The room was mostly open, with a sprinkling of high cocktail tables spread around the room and a large corner booth, only half assembled.

  One of the small cocktail tables lay on its side, the single linen that had covered it, heaped on the floor, a heavy silver tray beside it. Bending down, she lifted the serving tray, while Alistair righted the table. Placing the tray back on the table top, she looked around, trying to decide where their furry intruder might have gone. The only place that could offer the little beast any amount of protection was behind the booth.

  Climbing onto the plush red cushion, she peered over the back and sure enough, the small cat curled against the corner. It looked up at her, a pair of large yellow eyes wide with fear. It hunched back as far as possible into the corner, barely taking up space.

  Poor kitten.

  Its fur was short, a color between grey and brown, with black stripes through its fur. The face was lighter — whites and oranges blending into the darker tones of its neck and chest. He was dirty, but she could tell, once cleaned, he would be nothing short of beautiful.

  Lowering her voice, she cooed, “Hi, kitty-baby.”

  Moving slowly, and never removing her gaze she slid down the length of the booth, to the opening on the other side, flattening her body to the floor. Whispering, she attempted to coax it out of hiding. Watching her, the tabby made no moves.

  “He looks terrified,” she whispered to Alistair, sitting on the booth, also looking at the cat.

  “Yeah. And hungry. I’ll be right back.”

  His footsteps retreated down the stairs, leaving Jayla with the fur ball. Continuing to whisper, reaching her arm out, she allowed it to catch a whiff of her scent. After a few moments, the cat relaxed, moving its front paws forward, watching her. Progress, if he isn’t darting away.

  Alistair returned a few minutes later, a can of tuna in one hand, a blanket in the other.

  “Where’d you get those?”

  “My car.” He responded, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. “Out of the way, Princess.” His voice deepened with his command, the tone causing her pussy to clench. What the hell was that?

  Not wanting to think too much into why her body responded the way it did to Alistair, she scooted backwards, allowing him to take her space on the floor. She watched in amusement. Calling to the kitten quietly, he encouraged it come out of its hiding place as he popped the lid on the can. Its nose moved, sniffing the air, catching the scent of the fish, but it didn’t move forward.

  She couldn’t help but smile at the sight — Alistair on his stomach, arm outstretched, whispering for the kitten to come closer. This demeanor — the sweet, gentle, coaxing — a whole different side to him than she’d expected.

  Get a grip, Jayla. Keep your distance.

  Tentatively, the cat took a small step forward.

  Her heart skipped a beat, watching, as the cat continued to inch toward Alistair. She held her breath as the cat sniffed the can of tuna, opened its mouth, and began taking small bites. A faint noise rose through the air, growing louder as it ate — kitty-baby was purring.

  Slowly, Alistair moved his hand, gingerly touching the cat’s head, scratching between his ears, and then down it’s back.

  The cat looked up. Jayla held her breath, waiting for an attack.

  Instead, it smelled Alistair’s wrist, paused, and then stepped over the can of food, to rub its face against Alistair’s cheek.

  “I can’t believe he came to you,” she squealed, careful to keep her tone soft.

  He switched his gaze to her, the corners of his lip raising in the way she found herself growing attracted to. “I’m good at making a pussy come.”

  Not surprised he brought it there. Rolling her eyes, she refused to allow his words to affect her. “Whatever you say, hot shot. I think you’d better chalk this one up to luck.”

  His stare darkened. “I’d know what to do with yours, too.”

  She swallowed at the heat in his gaze, remembering his hard chest against her. How would he feel, skin to skin? She couldn’t help herself. “You couldn’t handle me. Even if I came with directions.”

  Apparently, kitty-baby was on her side, as it rubbed directly over his mouth, preventing him from giving a retort. One she was certain would have had a pussy-clenching effect.

  Alistair sat up. The cat moved, stepping into his lap, curling its body on top of his thighs. The kitten’s large yellow eyes turned to Jayla as it shifted to its side in his lap. A small paw extended in her direction.

  Taking it as a sign, she moved, slowly, to the floor next to Alistair. Moving her hand to its face, the kitten sniffed her fingers, before rubbing against her, purring.

  She relaxed back, half into the wall, partly onto Alistair’s side. She’d die before she admitted it to him, but it felt good to have his body against her. Again. More than that, she realized she felt … comfortable against him.

  Sneaking a glance toward him, she caught his gaze. Turning her head to him, their faces were only inches apart — close enough to share breaths.

  An urge to lean into him, to melt against his side and bury her head into his shoulder, rushed through her. Worse, she wanted … to kiss him. Just to test if his lips were, in fact, as soft as they looked.

  She chanced a bet if she did, the kitten wouldn’t be the only one purring.

  Tensing, she bit her lip, annoyed, again, she was letting her guard down for a man she hardly knew. Just because he apologized and tried to protect me doesn’t mean I can trust him.

  Needing to distract herself, but not wanting to disrupt the cat, she whispered, “Were you a boy scout?”

  He softly chuckled. “Hardly. Why?”

  “You’re just … well prepared. Food, drinks, a blanket.”

  He shifted, leaning closer into her. “The Gatorade’s for the gym, and the tuna for me. I spend the majority of the day with guys from my company — meat loving freaks. I’m a pescatarian, so I keep tuna just in case I get hungry and can’t find more than a salad when we go to lunch.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. Jeffrey hated animals — except to eat or hurt them. Once, there had been a mouse trapped in their basement. She spent the afternoon setting a cheese trap, a box held up by a stick and string, like in the cartoons. She almost had it too, when Jeffrey stomped down the stairs demanding to know what she was doing. She’d never forget th
e look on his face when he trapped the mouse between a crate and the wall, slamming his boot down atop the poor, defenseless rodent. She immediately threw up. He’d just laughed and forced her to clean the mess.

  Biting her lip at the memory, she pushed the sadness aside. He’s not here anymore. “Me too. Vegetarian, I mean. I’m not much of a fish eater, but I love crab.”

  “I know a couple of really great restaurants, if you’re interested.” His eyes shone, the smile on his face widening.

  Catching herself from agreeing, she changed the topic. “What about the blanket? I know it’s cold, but it’s not that bad.”

  He smirked “I’d love to show you why I have it.”

  She rolled her eyes, but the smile crept across her lips.

  “Got you thinking about it, don’t I?” he teased.

  Raising a brow, she quipped, “You’re used to getting whatever you want, aren’t you?”

  His smirk disappeared, his dark eyes boring into hers. “I want you.”

  The kitten let out a loud mew.

  Saved by the cat, again.

  Looking down, it was then she noticed the growing blood stain on Alistair’s thigh.

  “Oh, no, Ali. He’s hurt!”

  Alistair lifted the kitten gingerly and turned him so they could examine his side.

  Jayla’s gaze glued to the large gash down its side, blood matted into its fur.

  “Give me the blanket,” Alistair commanded softly. He delicately wrapped up the fur ball, then stood and offered her a hand. “Come on, let’s get our little friend here some help.”

  Once in the car, Jayla softly sang to the kitten, trying to keep him calm. It was all Alistair could do to pay attention to the road. Her voice a siren call, filling his mind with nothing but her.

  He used their close proximity to take in her features. Her perfect olive skin suggested a Middle-Eastern descent of some sort. Perhaps Jordan, or Egypt. He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want her to stop singing. Her thick, dark hair teased the back of his arm as he shifted gears, daring him to give into the need to feel it wrapped around his wrist. He nearly blew through a stop sign when she leaned forward to plant a gentle kiss on the kitten’s head. Full and pouty, with a dip in the center, he wanted nothing more than to taste her lips, suck on them, feel them wrapped around his cock as he fed his length inside her waiting mouth.