by Elle James
To Kiss A Frog
by Elle James
TO KISS A FROG
Elle James
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2004 Golden Heart Winner for Best Paranormal Romance
Single woman, very nearsighted, who doesn't care about height (3") or skin flaws (green and bumpy) who can see past minor details.
Craig Thibodeaux was cursed. Frog by day and man by night , he had until the next full moon to break the spell by finding someone to love him. Elaine Smith seemed perfect. She was beautiful and smart, and even passionate about frogs. And truth be told, he'd been a bit more frog than Prince Charming even before he'd tangled with the Voodoo Queen. Elaine deserved more. She deserved to be the queen of someone's lily pad: a wife. While fighting more than one fly in the ointment, the magic of a single kiss brings Craig to realize fairytale endings really can come true.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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To my editor, Kate Seaver, who found me! Thank you, thank you, thank you! To my writing friends of Mt. Helicon Muses who made me laugh and kept me sane through the long writing process. To my sister, Delilah Devlin, who convinced me to write and whose talents never cease to amaze me. And most of all to my dear family whose love, patience, and understanding allowed me the time and creative energy to make this book come alive. I salute you!
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CHAPTER ONE
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Bound to a cypress tree, Craig Thibodeaux struggled to free his hands, the coarse rope rubbing his wrists raw with the effort. A fat bayou mosquito buzzed past his ear to feast on his unprotected skin. The bulging insect had plenty of blood in its belly, much more and the flying menace would be grounded.
What I wouldn't give for a can of bug repellent.
Craig shook his head violently in hopes of discouraging the little scavenger from landing.
The dark-skinned Cajuns who'd kidnapped him stood guard on either side of him, their legs planted wide and arms crossed over bare muscular chests. They looked like rejected cast from a low-budget barbarian movie, and they didn't appear affected by the bloodsucking mosquitoes in the least.
“Hey, Mo, don't you think you guys are taking this a little too far?” Craig aimed a sharp blast of breath at a bug crawling along his shoulder. “I swear I won that card game fair and square.”
The man on his right didn't turn his way or flick an eyelid.
Craig looked to his left. “Come on Larry, we've been friends since you and I got caught snitching apples from Old Lady Reneau's orchard. Let me go.”
Larry didn't twitch a muscle. He stared straight ahead, as if Craig hadn't uttered a word.
“H it will make you feel any better, I'll give you back your money,” Craig offered, although he'd really won that game.
He'd known Maurice Sauinier and Lawrence Ezell since he was a snot-nosed kid spending his summer vacations with his Uncle Joe in Bayou Miste of southern Louisiana. He had considered them friends. Until now.
Granted, Craig had been back for less than a week after an eight-year sojourn into the legal jungles of the New Orleans court system. But his absence shouldn't be a reason for them to act the way they were. An odd sensation tickled his senses, as if foreshadowing something unpleasant waiting to happen. Sweat dripped off his brow, the heat and humidity of the swamp oppressive.
“Look guys, whatever you're planning, you won't get away with.” Craig strained against the bonds holding him tight to the rough bark of the cypress free.
“Ah, cheri, but we will.” A low musical voice reached out of the darkness, preceding the appearance of a woman. She wore a flowing bright red caftan with a sash fled around her ample girth and a matching handkerchief covering her hair. Although large, she floated into the firelight, her bone necklace raffling in time to a steady drumbeat building in the shadows. Her skin was a light brown, almost mocha, weathered by the elements and age. But her dark brown eyes shined brightly, the flames of the nearby fire dancing in their depths.
Despite the weighty warmth of the swamp, a chill crept down Craig's spine. “Who's playing the drums? And who's the lady in the muumuu?”
The silent wonder next to him deigned to speak in a reverent whisper, “It's all part of Madame LeBieu's magic.”
Craig frowned and mentally scratched his head.
Madame LeBieu... Madame LeBieu... oh, yes. The infamous Bayou Miste Voodoo Priestess. He studied her with more interest and a touch of unease. Was he to be a sacrifice in some wacky voodoo ceremony?
“Are you in charge of these two thugs?” Craig feigned a cockiness he didn't feel.
“It be I who called upon dem.” She dipped her head in a regal nod.
“Then call them off and untie me.” Craig shot an angry look at the men on either side of him. “You've obviously got the wrong guy.”
“Were you not de man what be goin' out with de sweet Lisa LeBieu earlier cbs very evening?”
“Yes,” Craig said, caution stretching his answer, as dread pooled in his stomach. He didn't go into the fact that Lisa wasn't so sweet. “Why?”
“I am Madame LeBieu and Lisa be my granddaughter. She say you dally with her heart and cast it aside.” The woman's rich, melodious voice held a thread of steel.
Craig frowned in confusion. “You mean this isn't about the card game? This is about Lisa?”
“No, dis be 'bout you mistreatment of de women.”
“I don't get it. I didn't touch her. She came on to me, and I took her home.”
“Abuse not always takes de physical form. You shunned her love and damage her chakras. For dis, you pay.”
Craig cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You mean I was conked on the head and dragged from my bed all because I refused to sleep with your granddaughter?” He snorted. “This is a new one on me.”
“Craig Thibodeaux, I know your kind.” Madame LeBieu shook a thick brown finger in his face. “You break hearts wherever you go, dating one woman after another and no love to show for it. You've wielded your loveless way for de last time.” Madame LeBieu flicked her fingers, and the flames behind her leaped higher. Then, reaching inside the voluminous sleeves of the caftan, she whipped out an atomizer and sprayed a light floral scent all around him. The aroma mixed and mingled with the dark musty smells of the swamp's stagnant pools and decaying leaves.
“So you're going to douse me in perfume to unman me?” Craig's bark of laughter clashed with the rising beat of the drums. The humor of the situation was short-lived when the mosquitoes decided they liked him even more with the added scent. Craig shook all over to discourage the beggars from landing.
“Ezili Freda Daome, goddess of love and all that is beautiful, listen to our prayers, accept our offerings, and enter into our arms, legs and hearts.” Madame LeBieu's head dropped back, and she spread her arms wide. The drumbeat increased in intensity, reverberating off the canopy of frees shrouded in low-hanging Spanish moss.
The pounding emphasized the throbbing ache in the back of Craig's head from where Madame LeBieu's henchmen had beaned him in his room at the bait shop prior to dragging him here. The combined smells of perfume and swamp, along with the jungle beat and chanting nutcase, made his stomach chum. The darkness of the night surrounded him, pushing fear into his soul.
Craig had a sudden premonition that whatever was about to happen, he was not going to like and had
the potential to change his life entirely. Half of him wished the woman would just get on with it, whatever it was; the other half quaked in apprehension.
The voodoo priestess's arms and head dropped, and the drums crashed to a halt. Silence descended. Not a single cricket, frog, or bird interrupted the eerie stillness.
Craig broke the trance, fighting his growing fear with false bravado. “And I'm supposed to believe all this mumbo jumbo?” He snorted. “Give me a break. Next thing, you'll be waving a fairy wand and saying bibbity-bobbity-boo.”
Madame LeBieu leveled a cold, hard stare at him.
Another shiver snaked down Craig's spine. With the sweat dripping off his brow and chills racing down his back, he thought he might be ill. Maybe even hallucinating.
A small girl appeared at Madame LeBieu's side, handing her an ornate cup. She waited silently for the woman to drink. Craig noticed that his two former friends bowed their heads as the voodoo lady sipped from the cup then handed it back to the girl. The child clutched the cup as if it were her dearest possession and bowed at the waist, backing into the shadows.
With a flourishing sweep of her wrist, Madame LeBieu pulled a pastel pink, blue and white scarf from the sleeve of her caftan, and waved it in Craig's face.
"Mistress of Love, hear my plea.
Help dis shameless man to see."
“You know I have family in high places, don't you?” Craig said. Not that they were there to help him now.
Madame LeBieu continued as though he hadn't spoken.
“Though he's strong, his actions bold, his heart is loveless, empty cold. By day a frog, by night a man, 'til de next full moon, dis curse will span.”
Craig stopped shaking his head, mosquitoes be damned. What was the old lady saying? “Hey, what's this about frogs?”
“A woman will answer Ezili's call, one who'll love him, warts and all.”
“Who, the frog or me?” He chuckled nervously at the woman's words, downplaying his rising uneasiness. His next sarcastic statement was cut off when Mo's heavily muscled forearm crashed into his stomach. “Oomph!”
“Silence!” Mo's command warned of further retribution should Craig dare to interrupt again.
Which worked out great, since Craig was busy sucking wind to restore air to his lungs. All he could do was glare at his former friend. If only looks could kill, he'd have Mo six feet under in a New Orleans minute.
Madame LeBieu continued:
“He'll watch by day and woo by night, to gain her love, he'll have to fight, to break de curse, be whole again, transformed into a caring man.”
“You didn't have to knock the wind out of my sails.” Craig wheezed and jerked his head in Madame LeBieu's direction. “She's the one making all the noise, talking nonsense about frogs and warts.”
Mo's face could have been etched in stone.
The old witch held her finger in Craig's face, forcing him to stare at it. Then she drew the finger to her nose and his gaze followed until he noticed her eyes. A strange glow, having nothing to do with fire, burned in their brown-black centers. Madame LeBieu's voice dropped to a low, threatening rumble.
"Should he deny dis gift from you,
a frog he'll remain in de blackest bayou."
With a flourishing spray of perfume and one last wave of the frothy scarf, Madame LeBieu backed away from Craig. disappearing into the darkness from whence she'd come.
Craig's stomach churned and a tingling sensation spread throughout his body. He attributed his discomfort to the nauseating smells and the ropes cutting off his circulation. “Hey, you're not going to leave me here trussed up like a pig on a spit, are you?” Craig called out to the departing priestess.
A faint response carried to him from deep in the shadows. “Don't tempt me, boy.”
As soon as Madame LeBieu was gone, the men who'd stood motionless at his side throughout the voodoo ceremony moved. They untied his bonds, grabbed him beneath the aims and hauled him back to the small canoelike pirogue they'd brought him in.
Forced to step into the craft, Craig fell to the hard wooden seat in the middle. When the other two men climbed in, the boat rocked violently, slinging him from side to side. One man sat in front, the other at the rear. Both lifted paddles and struck out across the bayou, away from the rickety pier.
“So what's it to be now?” Craig rubbed his midsection. “Are you two going to take me out into the middle of the swamp and feed me to the alligators?” He knew these swamps as well as anyone, and the threat was real, although he didn't think Mo and Larry would do it Would they?
“No harm will come to you what hasn't already been levied by Madame LeBieu,” Mo said. Dropping his macho facade, he gave Craig a pitying look. “Man, I feel sorry for you.”
“Why? Because a crazy lady chanted a little mumbo jumbo and sprayed perfume in my face?” He could handle chanting crazy people. He'd represented a few of the harmless ones in the courtroom. “Don't worry about me. If I were you, I'd worry more about the monster lawsuit I could file against the two of you for false imprisonment.”
“Going to jail would be easy compared to what you be in for.” Larry's normally cheerful face wore a woeful expression.
The pale light of the half-moon shimmered between the boughs of overhanging frees. Craig could see they were headed back to his uncle's marina. Perhaps they weren't going to kill him after all. Madame LeBieu was probably just trying to scare him into leaving her granddaughter alone. No problem there. With relatives like that, he didn't need the hassle.
Besides, he'd been bored with Lisa within the first five minutes of their date. Most of the women who agreed to go out with him were only interested in what his money could buy them. Lisa had been no different.
The big Cajuns pulled up to the dock at the Thibodeaux Marina. As soon as Craig got out, they turned the boat back into the swamp, disappearing into the darkness like a fading dream.
Tired and achy, Craig trudged to his little room behind the shop, wondering if the night had been just that. A dream. He grimaced. Dream, hell! What had happened was the stuff nightmares were made of. The abrasions on his wrists confirmed it wasn't a dream, but it was over now. He would heed the warning and stay away from Madame LeBieu's granddaughter from now on.
He let himself in through the back door and stared around the place while flexing his sore muscles. The room was a mess from the earlier scuffle, short-lived though it was. Craig righted the nightstand and fished the alarm clock out from underneath the bed.
Without straightening the covers he flopped onto the mattress in the tiny bedroom. It was a far cry from his suite back home, but he'd spent so many summers here as a boy, the cramped quarters didn't bother him. He was bone tired from a full day's work, a late-night date gone sour, and his encounter with Madame LeBieu. What did it matter whether the sheets were of the finest linen or the cheapest cotton? Abed was a bed.
“Just another day at the office.” Craig yawned and stared at the ceiling. It would be dawn soon and his uncle expected him up bright and early to help prepare bait and fill gas tanks in the boats they rented to visiting fishermen.
Craig closed his eyes and drifted into a troubled sleep where drums beat, witches wove spells, and frogs littered the ground. A chant echoed throughout the dream, “By day a frog, by night a man, 'til the next full moon, dis curse will span.”
What a crock!
******
Professor and research scientist Elaine Smith moaned for the tenth time. How the staff must be laughing. Brainiac Elaine Smith, member of Mensa, valedictorian of her high school, undergraduate and masters programs, with an IQ completely off the scale, and she hadn't had a clue. Until she'd opened the door to the stairwell in the science building to find her fiancé Brian with his hands up the shirt of a bosomy blond department secretary while sucking out her tonsils.
The woman saw her first, broke contact and tapped
Brian's shoulder. “Uh, this is a little awkward.” She twittered her fingers at Elaine.
“Hi, Dr. Smith.”
“Elaine, I can explain,” Brian said, his hands springing free of the double-D breasts.
Without a word, Elaine marched back to the lab. She'd only been away for a moment. If the drink machine on the second floor had worked, she wouldn't have opened that door. Thank God she'd made this discovery before she'd been even more idiotic and married the creep.
She crossed the shiny white floor to her desk and ran her hand over her favorite microscope, letting the coolness seep into her flushed skin. With careful precision, she poured a drop from the glass jar marked Bayou Miste onto a slide. With another clean slide, she smeared the sample across the glass, and slid it beneath the scope.
The routine process of studying microorganisms calmed her like no other tonic. Her heartbeat slowed and she lost herself in the beauty of microbiology. She didn't have to think about the world outside the science department. Many times in her life, she'd escaped behind lab doors to avoid the ugly side of society.
“Elaine the brain! Elaine the brain!” Echoes of children's taunts from long ago plagued her attempts at serenity.
Elaine snorted. Wouldn't they laugh now Elaine the brain, too stupid to live.
A tear dropped onto the lens of the microscope, blurring her viewfinder, and the lab door burst open. Elaine scrubbed her hand across her eyes before she looked up. She'd be damned if she'd let the jerk see her cry.
“Elaine, let me explain.” Brian strode in, a sufficiently contrite expression on his face.
He'd probably practiced the expression in the mirror to make it look so real. Elaine wasn't buying it. She forced her voice to be flat and disinterested. “Brian, I'm busy”
“We have to talk.”
“No... we don't.” She turned her back to him, her chest tightened and her stomach clenched.
“Look, I'm sorry.” Brian's voice didn't sound convincing. “It's just... well... ah, hell. I needed more.”
Elaine's mouth dropped open, and she spun to face him. “More what? More women? More conquests? More sex in the hallways?”
He dug his hands in his pockets and scuffed his black leather shoe on the white tile. When he looked up, a corner of his mouth lifted and his gray eyes appeared sad. “I needed to know I was more important than a spedmen, that I was wanted for more than just a convenient companion.”
