Troll-y Yours BBW Erotic Curvy Fantasy Romance (The Centaurs)

by Fredricks, Sheri

  Not happy to see me? That’s because you haven’t met me properly.

  Aleksander straightened his shoulders and stepped into the Neigh Café the same way he entered a briefing room—absolute and purposeful. The glittering scowl that crossed Ms. Troll’s features gave him a sense of satisfaction. His enjoyment with her impatience climbed when she stalked toward him.

  “Are you following me?”

  Alek eyed the clipboard she held before her as if it were a warrior’s shield. “Do you always talk to potential clients that way?”

  “You’re not a client for another thirty minutes.”

  “What’s your name, sweet-thing?”

  Stubborn, she crossed her arms and locked her jaw, refusing to answer.

  “Ella?” Apron-clad Sacha stood near the swing doors holding a silver water pitcher. He raised his brows in their direction. “May I see you a moment, please?”

  Cute as a bunny, her mouth tightened before she answered over her shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”

  Aleksander flashed his grin, knowing from mirrored practice it was dazzling against his tanned olive skin.

  While Ella’s reaction was a subtle softening to her clenched jaw, her eyes narrowed on him.

  A worthy challenge, but I likes me a good game.

  By nature, Trolls were volatile mythics. Probably the reason he found himself drawn to them over the years. With nothing other than uprising rebels to fight the last few years, it answered the question he’d asked himself when he walked through the café door—why was he here?

  “Look, unless you’re here on Her Majesty’s business, I’m busy.” She tilted her head and her little foot tapped the floor.

  “You could say I am. What time—?”

  “What are you, the Head Palace Guard or something?” Ella rolled her eyes and huffed out a laugh.

  “Well, actually—”

  “I’m booked for tonight’s sessions. I’ll have another in a few weeks. Do you want to be on the waiting list for that?” Tiny red-gold tendrils escaped the silken mass pulled back from her oval face. Her pen clicked and she poised her hand over a sheet of lined paper. “Name?”

  He shrugged to hide his confusion. Why weren’t his charms working? Didn’t his battery recharge this afternoon? “Kempor Aleksander. Head Cen—”

  “Aleksander Hedson. Got it. Payment will be due prior to your session. And, Al…?” Her smile lacked warmth. “Please don’t be late.”

  Ella’s bluntness and the slaying of his name dropped his jaw.

  She turned on her practical, low-heeled shoe and walked briskly to speak with Sasha, who waited in the rear of the café.

  No woman in memory had ever tossed him aside like an unwanted toy. Why, he’d been dismissed quicker than a new recruit.

  Restless to reach a plausible explanation for the Troll’s behavior, Alek forged his way to an empty spot at the counter and sat his equine ass on the hard wooden floor.

  Around the curve of the bar, patrons eyed him over their drinks. A short statured male Troll with thick shoulders met his wandering gaze head on, then slid to the clear glass he gripped in his hand. Next to him, his Minotaur friend wore a dirty work shirt. The pair looked vaguely familiar.

  The bartender flipped his drying towel to land off to the side and clip-clopped his hooves toward Alek along the lengthy bar counter. “Get you something, Kempor Aleksander?”

  Alek glanced at his watch—five hours before he reported for duty. “Yeah. How about a brew dog?”

  Time enough for one and if he nursed it, he could stay for adventure time in fifteen. Curiosity unwound the muddled knot of confusion surrounding the Troll, Ella.

  “Glass?”

  Alek lifted a brow. “Spike, have I ever drank beer from a glass?”

  Spike placed a napkin and then the bottle in front of Alek. “First time for everything.”

  That includes this clusterfuck tonight, Alek deduced with sarcasm.

  Spike leaned his elbows on the counter between them and motioned with his thumb. “You in on this?”

  In mid-swallow, Alek nearly choked. “Kolasi no.”

  Not just hell no, but no way. He scratched his goatee and glanced over his shoulder.

  Ella’s gaze landed on him but she quickly looked away. Color bloomed in her cheeks until her freckles stood out.

  He faced Spike and picked up his beer. “People actually pay someone to get hooked up? Why not buy a sure thing?”

  His buddy Nubbs ran a profitable and highly sought after black-market ring where everything from whores to hallucinogenics were paraded and sold. The king of the underground did this covertly to flush out traitors for Her Majesty, Queen Savella.

  “Not everyone is as lucky as you with the ladies.” The front door opened and Spike swished his tail with a smile. “Kempor Hippolyte, nice to see you again. Get you something?”

  Without turning around, Aleksander pushed out the empty stool to his left, making room for Savella’s bodyguard. She always wore her sword on the left hip, and he didn’t care to be jabbed by the scabbard all evening.

  When the entrance door opened and closed a second time, sounds of everyday business in the mall ebbed and flowed.

  An aroma of a dozen rose bouquets floated down, surrounding him in a cloud of sweet perfume. Aleksander used his front hoof to kick out the empty stool to his right, but before he could hook his fingers around the barstool and pull it away from Hippy, the rustle of silk and a feminine sigh made itself at home.

  “Hey, Alek.” The world’s smallest purse, attached to the longest shoulder strap in history, plopped on the counter. “Spike, can I get a glass of Chardonnay, please?”

  Aleksander whipped his head to Hippy’s voice on his left. His eyes took in not a gnarled, seasoned warrior, but an alluring feminine figure, wearing a red wrap-style dress.

  Behind him, fast trotting hooves zipped from table to table. In the bar’s mirror in front of him, he glanced at the Satyr flower girl with an armful of red blooms dropping long-stemmed roses into each glass decanter.

  “Hippy—Pan’s hooves! Please tell me you’re not here for—” He took in her auburn hair, curled and styled into a messy, sexy look. He leaned closer. “Are you wearing makeup?”

  Un-fucking-believable. Kempor Hippolyte, Queen Savella’s bodyguard, here to find her mythic of worth on a speed-date.

  And looking damn hot.

  She wasn’t his type, though. Besides, he never fished off the company pier. Hippy had been on the royal force as long as he had.

  A look of disgust rolled his way. “Don’t be ridiculous, dumbass. I’ve got a date later. I do have somewhat of a private life.”

  Spike set her wineglass on a cocktail napkin, and Alek grudgingly pushed a few greenbacks across the counter. “I got it.”

  It appeared everyone had a love life, except for him.

  *~*~*

  Oh my gods. He’s still here! And chatting it up with a gorgeous female.

  The knot in Ella’s stomach tightened to match her grip on the clipboard. Couldn’t be an ugly Minotaur sitting next to him. Oh no, it’d have to be someone with a killer figure and sculpted arms who probably spent hours in the gym every day.

  Glancing down, she gazed in disgust at her simple brown, shin-length skirt and sturdy leather shoes. I look like shit. This gig had better make some serious money, because wearing hand-me-downs and clothes Mama chose made her the Troll who lived under the bridge.

  Al’s long fingers stroked his goatee.

  Ella imagined how it might feel if he were to stroke her cheek the same way.

  Ridiculous. She shook her head. The Centaur was Mount Olympus handsome and she—well, she was a plain Troll who lived at home with her parents.

  Her breast tingled where his palm touched earlier. Another opportunity missed. She should have turned to him and smiled, instead of offering to castrate him with a snarl. His aura, violet and dark red, all but exploded with sensuality.

  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

  After 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?”