I knocked on the dark mahogany door and peered through one of the two windows in the top half of the entrance. Inside was gloomy and lacked light, but I could see someone drawing close through gray afternoon sunlight spilling in via what I assumed was the kitchen.
But no one opened up. I waited. Knocked again. Then I heard a soft yet deep voice say, “Enter.”
So I did.
Hans Muller took my breath away. I’d heard stories. That he was nothing like what you expected. I’d expected an unkempt hermit with bleary, wild eyes and a set of mismatched clothes. What stood before me in the poorly lit foyer was a blond man of medium height who looked like a New York model. Normally I liked my lovers a little less pretty, but there was something in Hans stare that drew me in and refused to let go.
His features were fine, soft. His full lips begged to be kissed. Straight, thick hair was slicked away from his face and just brushed the wide, ribbed straps on the white tank he wore. A simple pair of blue jeans hugged his slender hips. He wasn’t muscle bound, but he was fit. His wide eyes were so light blue they looked like circles of ice.
He looked me up and down, and his face remained unreadable as he did so. “Who are you, and why are you in my house?”
I frowned, scratched my somewhat shaggy eyebrow (damn, they’d need a trim before they poked me in the eye). “Greg Butler. I’m from the Sudbury Review.” I held up my bag. “I’m here to interview you this weekend.”
Now he smiled. The gesture took its time curling his lips, and the look reminded me of a cat carefully stalking a mouse. “Ah, Derek sent you, even though I refused. This shouldn’t surprise me.”
This time I scratched at the stubble peppering my face. “You know Derek?”
He turned away, revealing a firm ass that bunched nicely as he walked. “Yes, we’re … old friends, you could say. He was the first interview I ever allowed.” With one hand, he beckoned for me to follow him into the kitchen.
The room was sparse, but filled with state of the art appliances. I saw a state-of-the-art mixer in one corner that looked like it would’ve cost a tidy sum. I’m not much of a cook, but I could tell Hans was a baker of some sort.
That’s when my eye caught the retro arborite table to my left. It was laid with a blue and white checkerboard cloth, and the top of this was filled with gingerbread men. Or, at first glance, I thought they were gingerbread men. I tore my gaze from them for a moment when Hans spoke again.
“So what does Derek want for this interview, hmmmm?” He sounded both faintly amused and annoyed. “He’s gotten all he’s going to get. I don’t care how many sexy reporters he sends.”
I blinked at that, then grinned. “Why, thank you. Sure I can’t change your mind?”
He walked to one side of the table filled with gingerbread men, crossed his arms over his chest (I think to show off his pecs). “What did you have in mind? If you’re creative, maybe I’ll spill secrets even Derek doesn’t know.”
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release Janet The Giant Lover: 50 Shades of Fairy Tales by Roxxy Meyer
Janet the Giant Lover
By Roxxy Meyer
I like my men big and brawny. Not all over-bulging muscle and popping veins, but, as my Aunt Macy used to say, “Built like a brick outhouse.” Okay, not the most romantic image, but you get the point.
And in my line of work as a tattooist, I deal with a lot of hot, burly giants, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened after Aunt Macy died and she willed me her little bookstore on Granville Street.
Aunt Macy told me, “Janet, when I kick the can, you can do whatever you want with this place.” She’d repeat this on most of my visits, while we had coffee and brownies like only Aunt Macy’s could make them, sitting between dusty stacks of everything from Moby Dick to Her Scottish Rogue. Aunt Macy loved bodice rippers, and she actually wrote historical romance under a few pen names. Along with the bookstore, it covered the bills and left a little over, but she wasn’t rolling in wads of Jackie Collins’ type cash advances. Still, Aunt Macy had been quite content with her life in her small cozy bookstore, with apartment over top.
Now, as I locked my Jeep and walked to the brick building, with its green and white striped awning, a wave of sadness hit me in the chest. I sighed heavily, blew a strand of platinum blonde hair from my eyes, and hitched my backpack over my tank top clad shoulder.
I caught my reflection in the glass door as I unlocked it. One pigtail was higher than the other and my hazel eyes looked bloodshot and bleary. My face seemed paler than usual. I was tired from the long drive up, and my faded jeans were sticking to me in the late spring humidity.
No sooner did I open the door and step into the shadowy store than someone was behind me, grabbing my shoulders with large, slender hands and whirling me around.
“You must go help them!” a tall, almost Amazonian, woman in a billowy, blue cloak whisper-rasped at me.
“Go help who?” I scrambled back from her, trying to get in the door and shut it before she could pull a knife or something on me.
But she shoved a large, booted foot in the narrowing space and grabbed at the candy striped strap of my shirt. “The ancient one from the mountains is coming. It will start a war if you don’t help them stop it!” Then she shoved a tiny drawstring bag made of burlap in my hand. “Take these. Plant them in the garden behind the store.”
And with that, she was gone. Her rubenesque form seemed to float away under the amber glow of the globe streetlamps. But her face remained in my mind. Old world, with big dark eyes that reminded me of an owl, a slender nose, full lips. She looked like a giantess who’d sprang to life from some book of myth and legends.
I opened the tiny sack she’d placed in my palm, finding three white beans inside. At least they looked like lima beans to me. Figuring I had nothing to lose, and not believing fairy tales could ever come true, I went to Macy’s little garden in the back and planted, as my visitor had instructed.
Four hours later, just as I was crawling into an older tank top and shorts with Spiderman on them--AKA my pajamas--the ground started to rumble. I thought Vancouver was finally getting that massive earthquake we West Coast Canucks feared.
But a look out my upstairs bedroom window revealed the ground was ripping open for a different reason. A humungous beanstalk tore through the earth and shot up into the sky. As it burst past me, it slapped me in the face with wide, green leaves. I batted away the offending flora and retreated back into the apartment, where I watched the thick, ropy column climb its way to the moon.
And as I stared up at the rapidly sprouting mega-plant, Jack and the Beanstalk filled my thoughts. The old fairy tale was one of my favorites, and Aunt Macy used to read it to me often when I was small and she’d pay a visit.
“Crap, I have to climb that bitch, don’t I?” I said to myself as the stalk broke through a thick patch of clouds.
Good thing rock climbing was a hobby of mine. I often went to the community center to scale the climbing walls they had there. So I headed out to the Jeep, grabbed my climbing gear, and then headed to the garden to scale a vegetation monstrosity.
Thankfully, there were deep recesses in the stalk, and thick vines I could rest on. The climb took all night, and the sun beat hot rays on me when I finally reached the top, breaking through cool clouds that hid another world above.
I gasped when I saw what laid before me. A world of emerald green with lots of rolling hills and a spattering of trees. Directly in front of me, a massive, grey stone castle loomed. It even had an old school drawbridge.
“I’ve died, and heaven is a book of fairy tales,” I said as I walked toward the towering citadel, complete with turrets and ruby-colored flags rippling in the wind.
As I walked, I noticed sheep grazing in a field, and the animals were almost as tall as I was! I expected a giant to rumble up behind me and bellow “Fee Fi Fo Fum!”
“Wow,” I exclaimed. “If only Walt D cou
ld see this!”
The drawbridge was already lowered, so I tentatively placed my climbing shoe on its weathered planks. Below me, murky moat water swirled with unseen creatures. I saw a massive flipper break through the surface, attached to an oily body that looked as big as a skyscraper. Swallowing down my fear, I focused ahead and walked quickly to the other side.
The gate leading into an inner courtyard was made of wrought iron rails, and the space between them was wide enough for my five-foot-six, curvy frame to slip through. I walked through an overgrown garden with crumbling fountains, unkempt hedges, and other decaying finery. Thanks to a small window near the base of one castle wall, I easily slipped inside the sprawling structure. The open shutters creaked slightly when my climbing shoe hit one of them as I thumped to the floor below. I held my breath and stood still, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the heavy shadow inside.
That’s when I heard the voices. I crept around a long dining table, edging closer to the door on the other side, so I could listen.
“It’s over, Rex,” a smooth baritone drifted through the cracks in the rounded, wooden door. “We both know it’s been over for a long time.”
“Bullshit!” a deeper bass voice boomed. “We can work through this. For Loki’s sake, you haven’t given us a fair chance.”
The other man laughed a bitter laugh. “Haven’t given us a fair chance? It’s been six months since Kama died. We’ve grown farther apart in that time and we both know it.”
“That’s just your unresolved grief talking, Logan.”
“No, that’s the cold, hard truth, and now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pack.”
His footsteps made the cobblestone floor beneath me quake. I tried to skitter back from the door and out of sight, but I was too late. A towering giant with long, curling caramel hair and eyes that matched entered the dining room I hid in. He was at least two feet taller than me, and he gaped down as I gaped back.
“Well, what do we have here?” He smirked, making his baby smooth face look lecherous.
“I… I was sent by someone,” I blurted as I staggered back and my head slammed into a table leg.
Another giant entered the room. This one was a few inches taller than his partner. His hair was a shorter, shaggy mane of midnight black, and his eyes were a pale amber that almost shone yellow. A trimmed beard lined his lower jaw and a moustache slightly hid his upper lip.
“Who sent you?” he growled, giving me a suspicious frown.
“A woman. She was a giant, like you,” I rambled on about my encounter with the blue-robed giantess outside Aunty Macy’s bookshop. “She said I had to help you. Something about an old guy coming down from the mountain?”
The two looked at each other then back at me. “The ancient one,” the black haired man said.
“Think she’s telling the truth?” Caramel eyes, who was clad in tight brown breeches and a flowing linen shirt, raised an eyebrow at me, then looked back at his partner.
“Did the woman give you a name?” the one who appeared sullen asked this. He wore a vest that looked like it was made from tanned leather, and breeches that matched.
I shook my head.
“We haven’t seen a below dweller in a long time.” Caramel eyes stroked his chin as he regarded me. “It has to mean something, Rex.”
Rex, the brooding one, nodded. “Let’s put her in the cage until we figure it out.” A slow, wicked smile formed, and he reached for me just as I scooted under the table.
***
The pair of giants stuck me in a gargantuan gilded jail that reminded me of an oversized birdcage. Sadly the bars were placed close together, so there was no escaping my prison. At least not yet.
Logan AKA caramel eyes stayed with me in the spacious master bedroom where the cage was located. While Rex, the dark brooding one, left us alone. Now Logan sat on a big four poster bed, laid out with a silky plum colored quilt and matching curtains and pillows. He braced his fists on the mattress, leaned forward, and studied me.
“Why are you here really?”
“I told you.” I lifted off the multi-colored cushions sprawled across my cage floor and went to the door to return his stare. “A woman sent me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Kama?”
I wrapped my fingers around the bars. “I don’t know. She ran off before I got her name.”
“What did this woman look like?”
I gave him a description of the giantess.
His eyes went wide then his handsome, baby face pruned in distress. “That sounds like her, only that’s impossible.”
I tilted my head. “Why’s that?”
“Kama’s dead.” Logan drew closer to the cage and sat on the cold, cobblestone floor beside it. “She was our wife, and she was a diplomat with the Royal Council of Lowland Giants.”
“Lowland giants?”
He smiled. “That’s us. Mine and Rex’s people. Kama and some others went to have peace talks with the mountain giants, but it ended badly.” His smile dropped and he looked away.
I touched his arm through the bars. “What happened?”
“She and three others in her traveling party were killed by mountain giants. War scouts were waiting to ambush them.”
I grew more curious and more confused. “How would she expect me to help you?” A ghost had sent me up a beanstalk. This was just too bizarre.
Logan shrugged and his eyes drifted as he lost himself to thought. “I don’t know, little one. I just don’t know.”
I changed the subject then. “So…what do you and your husband plan on doing with me?”
His smile was gleaming, wide, and salacious. “Well, I have a few ideas.”
And at the mention of his ideas, I had one of my own. Judging by his carnal up and down perusal of my generous curves and breasts, my plan to spring this prison just might work.
I tugged my tank top farther down, exposing ripe, round cleavage. “Really? What did you have in mind?”
Part of me wondered what kind of chance I was taking here. After all, who knew what size of penis a giant would be packing. I wasn’t too worried about protection since I was on the pill, and maybe giant’s had condoms. Who knew? It was a risk I was willing to take to get down that beanstalk and back home.
As if reading my mind, he said, “There are some things you should know about a giant first, love.” Through the bars, he brushed my cheek with big, rough fingers. “We’re big everywhere, and we like rough sex games. Are you up for that?”
I swallowed and steeled my courage, jutting my chin and breasts higher. “I can take anything you can give.”
***
Read an excerpt from a sizzling Wild & Lawless release The Executive’s New Clothes: 50 Shades of Fairy Tales by Roxxy Meyer
The Executive’s New Clothes
By Roxxy Meyer
Ethan snuggled up behind me and we spooned after our usual dynamite sex. He kissed my ear and I shivered, smiling sleepily as I nestled my head deeper into the pillow. I was warm and comfortable, and in a perfect world I’d never have to move.
But this isn’t a perfect world, and my cell phone picked that moment to trill its Donna Summer ringtone--She Works Hard for the Money.
Ethan groaned, and I wiggled my bare butt against his growing erection.
“Hey.” He swatted my thigh. “Not fair. You’ll end up answering that, and--”
“I don’t have to.” I turned in his arms and swept my fingers down his lightly haired chest, smiled up at his boyish Jude Law face.
He stopped my hand just before it curled around his hard on. “But you will.” He smiled, and I tried not to see the disappointment in his expression. “You’re Katey Kitteridge, fashion designer and creative director extraordinaire. It’ll kill you to let it go.”
I kissed the tip of his nose, ruefully edged away from his irresistible, lithe body and warmth. “Just ten minutes,” I told him as I bent to grab my cell from my pants pocket.
“Right.” He grinned.
“And pigs will fly this Tuesday, or so I’ve heard.”
I shook my head and threw a stray sock at him before I punched TALK. “Hello?”
“Katey, I need you at the office STAT.” My no nonsense boss and longtime friend, Lynette Perkins, had just ruined my morning quickie.
“What’s up?” I asked her, casting an apologetic look at my best friend and amazing photographer, Ethan Whittaker.
Ethan nodded knowingly and got out of bed. My gaze followed him to the bathroom door, not missing the guilt-tripping pout he sent my way before he disappeared inside. Before he did, I mouthed, “I’m sorry,” again.
Lynette cut through my guilt, giving me details that had my heart racing and my anger climbing. “Blaine Devereux wants to personally commission you to make a suit for him,” she said in a rush, her usual calm, cool voice rising with excitement. “This is big, Katey. Real big. This could put us in the ranks with brands like Gucci, or at least get us rubbing elbows with them on a more frequent basis. This will make your name as a designer. You could open up your own house.”
I tried to quell the anger rising in my gut. Lynette and her husband Jake were not only my bosses, they were my best friends. We’d worked together in the fashion industry from day one, and we’d gone to college together. People called us the three musketeers. I knew this was big--Blaine wasn’t someone you said no to, but I truly detested the man, solely based on reputation alone, and I had no desire to work with him.
“Blaine Devereux,” I simply said, trying not to give the depth of my loathing away. “But he hates women.”
Ethan emerged from the bathroom and raised an eyebrow at the name. He looked delicious, his lean chest still sprinkled with shower droplets, his golden blond hair wet and slicked back. Once more I regretted having to leave.
Surrender to a Sex Therapist Page 6
