Froggy Style (14 page)

L
ollie and I headed down the stairs, pausing a few steps from the bottom. Guilt nearly overwhelmed me, not at Sleeping Beauty’s kidnapping, even though I felt sort of responsible for that, but for my growing attachment to Lollie Bliss. She had gotten under my skin, slowly, over the past couple of days. But I didn’t trust her. Not in the slightest. Lollie had her own agenda, and I doubted my or Sleeping Beauty’s continued good health topped the list.

“Karl’s parked out front,” I began.

“Jean-Michel? Is that you?” a high-pitched voice called from around the corner. The click of high heels followed, rapping against the hardwood floor like the little drummer boy in the gay pride parade.

“Frog! That’s Sleeping Beauty’s sister, Pretty. Wait for me outside.” I turned to face Lollie, but she was already gone, disappearing out the front door in a flash of ink and blue-black hair. I glared after her departing figure. Pretty came around the corner as the front door snapped closed.

I held up my hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

“About what?” A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. Her blank stare met mine and she gave me a small smile.

“Never mind.” I decided to keep Sleeping Beauty’s disappearance a secret, for now. Why worry her loving family unnecessarily? It was the princely thing to do, I assured myself. “Would you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Of course.” She batted her eyes at me. “Your every desire is my command.”

“Um. Good to know.” I cleared my throat. “For now, could you just show me which bedroom is Sleeping Beauty’s?” When she looked at me like I was demented, I quickly added, “From the outside. I need to know which of the windows is hers . . . for a wedding surprise.”

Spindle had to get Beauty out of the bedroom somehow. The window seemed like the ideal choice given the guards parked outside her door.

“How sweet.” Pretty sneered, but motioned for me to follow her down the hallway and into the garden at the back of the palace. She pushed open a large redwood door. A new world emerged before my eyes. Plants the size of a less-than-jolly-giant swept across the yard. Birds chirped a little too brightly overhead. An array of rainbow-colored stones, which looked suspiciously like gumdrops, lined the walkway.

Pretty stepped onto the yellow brick walkway. “This way,” she said. The path was covered with multiple-colored flowers. Blond-haired fairies buzzed around playing tag with baby bumblebees. A pond filled with lily pads sat dead center of the garden, but there wasn’t a frog in sight.

Well, except for me, and I didn’t exactly count. Not yet. Unless Sleeping Beauty stayed kidnapped—then all bets, as well as my handsome face, were off.

I followed Pretty, half-listening as she pointed out various plant life. Where was Beauty? I wondered. Was she still alive? She had to be. I would know if she wasn’t, right?

She was my
One
.

My heart lurched at the thought of a life without her. A life filled with lonely, fly-eating evenings by the pond, a pond much like the one in front of me.

Pausing in her flora lesson, Pretty pointed to a row of thorn-coated roses, almost black in color. The blooms appeared as big as Pretty’s head. Petals littered the ground like drops of dried blood.

“Aren’t they pretty?” Pretty asked, fingering the closest bloom in a sensual manner. I swallowed hard, pulling my eyes from her deft fingertips, and murmured my agreement. She beamed up at me. “The . . . three of us, Beauty, me, and our mother, we used to come to the garden every afternoon during the summer. Mother would point to each flower and tell us all about them.” Pretty’s eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “I never enjoyed gardening, but the time with Mother was priceless.” She took a shaky breath. “And then she died.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning every word. Even though my own mother was alive, albeit crazy and locked away in a tower, I understood the hole left by the loss of a parent. Thankfully I’d had a drunken fairy with a sadistic streak to fill a little bit of that void. Yeah, Mother’s Day was a bitch.

Who had Beauty had to protect her? To bandage her skinned knees? I pictured the four-year-old menace from the pond. She’d seemed so alive, bratty, sure, but eager to take on the world. Nothing like the bitchy woman I’d met a few days ago.

“Father did his best,” Pretty said when the silence grew between us. “But Beauty . . . well, she’s Beauty. When she’s not asleep, which is maybe an hour out of the day, she spends her time here, in the garden. Father has tried again and again to draw her out of her shell, but Beauty . . . Well, you’ll find out soon enough.”

“That I will,” I said in agreement. Yet I doubted every word falling from Pretty’s pink lips. What a thorn the grief-stricken, sort-of-sleepy princess must’ve been in the king’s side. Unlike his private stock and thousand-dollar rugs, Beauty didn’t quite fit into his carefully crafted world of wealth and privilege. An embarrassment he’d called her, only hours ago. Hate bubbled inside me. The king had destroyed that precocious child from the pond, turned her into a sleepy, annoying replica. Yet every so often, a spark of that kid surfaced. And maybe, in time, I’d meet the real Sleeping Beauty, unless Spindle smothered her with a pillow.

Damn.

Pretty reached for my hand, pulling it against her beating heart. “I would make a wonderful queen, don’t you think?”

“The window,” I reminded her.

“Of course.” Her sigh was loud enough to fell a lesser man, but I was made of much sturdier stuff, namely the highest quality of snips and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails.

Pretty brushed her fingers against her skirt. “Follow me.” She took a couple of steps, crushing the petals on the ground. They left little red stains on the yellow concrete.

 

A half hour later Pretty led me back to the palace. My mind swirled with questions. The trip to Sleeping Beauty’s bedroom window had proved uneventful as well as unproductive. The dirt under the window looked untouched, as did the rose trellis winding its way up the side of the palace with the exception of the footprints Lollie and I had left less than an hour ago.

I sighed and scratched my chin. What the hell had the king been thinking, putting in what amounted to a rose-covered ladder up to his stepdaughter’s bedroom window? A horny prince would climb anything for a little action.

I should know.

Which brought me to another question: If Spindle hadn’t used the window, or the rickety trellis, how had he managed to take Sleeping Beauty from her bed without anyone being the wiser? The palace wasn’t exactly empty, and Beauty wasn’t quiet. Not by any means.

Had he drugged her? That made the most sense. But even then, he had to remove her from the palace without getting caught. So how had he done it?

Another thought popped into my head. What if Spindle didn’t need to drug her? What if she’d left of her own accord? I shook my head. That was crazy. I wasn’t just some run-of-the-mill prince easily tossed aside by an annoying princess. Besides, what chick would choose spinsterhood or another thirty broken engagements over yours truly? I knew, deep down, that Sleeping Beauty hadn’t run away.

Mostly because leaving would expend too much energy.

Spindle had her. I was sure of it.

Ninety percent. Okay, eighty-three percent when factoring in my general lack of evidence. Hell, without the rose on her pillow I was down to the low twenties. Not that any of it mattered. I had to find Sleeping Beauty, kidnapped or not, in less than 158 hours or face a fate worse than death—a ten-millimeter lime-colored penis.

“T
ook you long enough,” Lollie sneered when I hopped, figuratively, into the backseat of the limo. “What were you doing in there? Or do I even want to know?”

I waggled my eyebrows.

“Pig!” She smacked me in the arm. “She’s your fiancée’s sister. Your kidnapped fiancée, I might add.”

“Mademoiselle,” my gaze drifted to the tribal vine tattoo snaking out of her tank top, “are you, perhaps, a wee bit jealous?”

Her snort grated on my ears. “Are you kidding? If anything, I’m trying to protect that young woman from the likes of you. She probably loves her sister too much to tell you to go to hell.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I grabbed Lollie’s fist before it met my flesh for a second time. “Forget Pretty. We need to focus on the big picture here.”

“Big picture?”

“Sleeping Beauty, of course.”

“Of course,” she repeated with a sneer.

“Karl,” I called to my manservant, who sat behind the privacy screen ready and willing to drive me to wherever I needed to go at a moment’s notice. “To the Rose, and step on it.”

Nothing happened.

“Karl?”

Again no response. I lowered the privacy screen. As expected, Karl sat behind the steering wheel, his chauffer hat askew. “Hey, Karl,” I said.

“Shh!” He pointed to the phone in his hand. “I’m on the phone.”

“I can see that.” I motioned to the palace and then to Karl’s phone. “But this is important.”

“Oh, and my call isn’t?” Karl glared at me in the rearview mirror. “No, I wasn’t talking to you,” he said to the person on the other end of the phone. “I was talking to Jean-Michel. Yeah. That he is.”

“I’m what? Paying you by the hour? Going to have you beheaded as soon as we get back to the hotel?” I grinned. “If you don’t hang up and drive me to the Rose by the time a certain red-haired midget closes shop, I’ll pick the option I like best.” It was already five minutes to five. The likelihood of us getting to the Rose to confront Red had vanished twenty minutes ago. But it was always fun to torture Karl. He caved so easily.

Or not.

“Hold on,” he said to the caller and then spun to face me. “I said I’m on the phone. Now, keep it in your pants until I’m finished. Oh, right. You don’t know how.”

The privacy screen rose once more, blocking my cry of outrage. “Ungrateful little twerp,” I muttered. “After all I’ve done for—”

“To,” Lollie said.

I glared at her. “For. To. What’s the difference?”

“I get that you’re mad, Kermit.” Her hands slid to her ample hips. “But does everything always have to be about you?”

I jerked back as if she’d slapped me. “What? Are you saying I’m selfish?” Me? Selfish? Was she insane? I spent my life giving to others. Damn it! “I’ll show you selfish.”

With a day’s worth of frustration, both sexual and kidnapped fiancée wise, I yanked Lollie out of her seat and onto my lap. My hand wrapped itself around the back of her neck, and I pulled her to my lips. The kiss was filled with violence and desperation, but sensual too.

Lollie didn’t seem to mind the swirl of emotions, if her hand gripping my thigh was any indication. Her tongue swept inside my mouth, teasing mine like a game of ring around the roses that I only hoped would end in someone going down.

She moaned, low and deep in her throat, a sexy noise that drove me to let out my own. “Ribbit,” I croaked.

Lollie jerked back. “What was that?”

“What was what? I didn’t hear anything.” I swallowed and pulled her against me, feeling the heat of her skin on mine. “Now, where were we?”

She frowned, but resumed her position, crushing her mouth to mine. My fingers roamed over her body, running along her tank top and finally slipping inside to trace the creeping vine tattoo. Under the pad of my fingers, her skin felt so soft, no inky outlines, just smooth flesh. I brushed my thumb over a particularly inviting bit of artwork that resembled a distorted number “8” mere centimeters above her nipple. Her pulse leapt under my touch.

Trembling in my arms, Lollie took control, knocking me against the leather seat and straddling my upper thighs. She yanked my shirt over my head; her eyes caught mine and then slowly lowered to the letter “B” above my heart. “True heart,” she whispered and then gave a bitter laugh. Rather than question how she knew about the birthmark, I focused on the heat of her touch. My body burned as her fingers stroked my heated flesh. I reached for her, wanting to brand her as she’d done to me, pulling her mouth against mine until flames devoured both of us. Her fingers left my chest and tangled in the top button of my trousers. I gripped the edge of her black lace panties, tugging at the back of the fabric.

“Yes,” she moaned, which sent shivers of lust through my body. “Oh yes.”

I tugged harder.

She paused to smile down at me. “Will you still respect me in the morning?”

“Doubtful.” I winked. “But I will like you a lot better.”

“Oh goody,” she said before her hand slipped inside my pants. I groaned as her fingers trapped my erection, teasing and tempting me to yield all control. But her efforts were in vain. I would never surrender to her tantalizing torment. Not today. Not any day.

“Oh God,” I said, turning to putty in her skilled hands.

My head began to buzz, almost like a mechanical whirl.

“I’m not cleaning up after you.” Karl’s voice penetrated my brain. Unfortunately, that would be the only penetration for yours truly today. At the sound of Karl’s voice, Lollie scrambled off me, her cheeks flushed and red.

“Mind your own business,” I said to my manservant, reaching again for Lollie’s arm. I missed her scent and the heat of her body against mine. I wanted, near desperate with need, to own her, to mark her like the ink staining her skin.

Lollie glared at me and slapped my hand away. “Behave yourself!” Her eyes met Karl’s. “He jumped me.”

“Of course, my lady.” Karl bowed his head. “Happens all the time. I’m only glad I was here to protect your innocence.”

“Really? I jumped you?” I gestured to my swollen lips, battered from her passionate assault. “That’s what you’re going with?”

She shushed me and smiled at Karl. “Be a good man and take me back to the safety of the Rose.”

“If you’re finished with your call, that is,” I sneered.

Ignoring my comment, he asked, “Shall I raise the privacy screen?”

“Yes!” I shouted.

“No. That won’t be necessary.” Lollie crossed her arms over her chest, her breasts swelling against the fabric of her tank top, and scooted to the far side of the vehicle. “Thank you for your consideration, though.” She added after a pause, “And your silence.”

“Whatever you wish, my lady.” Karl tipped his chauffer’s cap in her direction.
My lady?
Twenty-four hours ago he warned me away from her, and now he was tipping his cap and calling her my lady? What the hell? Karl had obviously been kidnapped by aliens and probed. A lot.

Without sparing a glace in my direction, Karl returned to the driver’s seat and started the engine. It roared to life, reflecting my own frustration.

“Beheading it is,” I muttered, yanking my shirt back over my head.

“Only if I point out which suitcase holds the travel guillotine.” With that insolent remark, Karl put the limo into gear. We slowly drove down the yellow brick driveway to the nearly empty street. No sign of the Ford Unicorn anywhere. I settled back into the soft leather of the backseat as we headed down the canyon, on a mission to save my wayward fiancée, and, if I was lucky, find my way back into Lollie Bliss’s panties.