Faery Godlover: BBW Paranormal Romance (2 page)

“Trouble?” Duada asked, tilting his head to the side and pursing his lips.

“Your little affairs have complicated tenuous diplomatic relations I’ve been cultivating for centuries, Nephew,” she said. “The duchess isn’t the first instance of this kind of behavior. Don’t fool yourself into believing that I don’t know about your visit to the Diamond Enclave, from which I still receive missives requesting your return. And that debacle with the Contessa and her sisters who
still
won’t speak to each other because of your unbridled tomfoolery.”

Duada was ruffled now, his arms crossed. Such a show of insolence would be harshly punished coming from anyone but a Prince of the court, and even at his status, Duada’s roll of his eyes was putting him on thin ice, based on the daggers the Queen was now shooting him.

“As such,” she continued, folding her hands in front of her with a suddenly smug look that Duada liked even less than his public humiliation, “I cannot ignore your misbehavior any longer. I must take action. But let no one in the Summerland Court say that their Queen is unjust,” she added rather loudly, casting an icy glare over the entire court.

Duada made eye contact with a few of the courtiers, silently seething and wondering which one was the straw that broke the camel’s back. This was, no doubt, some kind of ploy to force the Queen’s hand against him. He sighed. Not even his looks could grant him immunity to the politics of the court, it seemed.

“Shall I receive forty lashes for my terrible crimes of... what are my crimes, precisely?” he asked, tilting his head and arching a triumphant brow.

“You have broken no sanctioned law,” she admitted with a cool smile that chilled Duada to the bone, “which is why you shall receive no sanctioned punishment for what you have done. However, I am sending you away from the court,” she declared, and Duada’s heart dropped, along with his jaw.

“Are... are you
banishing
me?”

“Don’t look at it as banishment, dear Nephew,” she said with a smile, meaning that yes, she damn well did mean ‘banishment.’ “On the contrary, you are perfectly able to return to the court, rather soon. You only need to complete a small task I have arranged, a task quite perfectly suited to someone of your... particular talents.”

Duada watched her circle him like a shark, and he ran his fingers through his dark, thick hair, his amethyst eyes locking with hers. “Is that so? It sounds like you’re sending me on a mission to do precisely what you’re kicking me out for doing.”

“That’s the delightful part, dear Nephew,” she said, turning to face him fully and folding her hands in front of him. “Prince Duada, you are to go out into the world of humans. There is a woman in the city of Newark, New Jersey, in the United States. Her name is Jasmine Duval. I hereby assign you to her as her guardian.”

There was a general gasp from the courtiers in attendance, and Duada’s face burned as he clenched his fists. As ethereal and alien as the beauty of the fae was, their fury came just as quickly as their passion.

“You
cannot
be serious!” the prince nearly shouted. “You’re putting me on human duty? In
Jersey
, of all places?! What in the name of Stars could possibly be so important to some human woman that a prince is necessary to play her babysitter?”

“Oh you needn’t worry about that,” the Queen chided, “you won’t be playing the babysitter. I keep an eye on some humans from time to time, for one reason or another, and dear Jasmine is quite the interesting case. She’s a young woman, full of bright potential and lovely looks, yet she’s squandering her talents at some coffee shop in the city. Worse yet, and more importantly to you, her love life is... abysmal, to say the least.”

Duada blinked slowly. “You... are sending me to fuck some human girl?”

“No, she’s already had the pleasure of a fae in college—and he treated her rather poorly, along with a string of humans he laid with during his stint among them, but that’s none of your concern. What you are to do is to be her matchmaker.”

“Matchmaker,” Duada repeated, his face blank. “As in, set her up with romantic partners? Are you turning me into a human dating service, Your Majesty?”

“Just for one woman,” she said, obviously trying to contain her giddiness at Duada’s discomfort. “You are to arrange Miss Jasmine Duval on human dates. You will go to her, introduce yourself and what you will do for her, and comply with her wishes as to the kind of man or woman she desires. As we speak, I’m arranging for a transfer of American funds to your accounts, so you will provide for anything she might need to make this a success. Once she is in a stable relationship that she declares herself satisfied with, then and only then will you be free from your bondage as her guardian. You will find a more detailed dossier on her in your quarters. The Queen has spoken.”

The rest of the court gave a brief bow of their heads at the Queen’s decree, but Duada was dumbstruck. This was... beyond unreasonable. To be sent to the human realm and not even be allowed to sleep around, but rather to set someone
else
up on a date? The fae were notoriously jealous and fickle creatures, and Duada was no exception. He clenched his jaw, but after a few moments, he simply gave a bow.

“As you wish, my Queen.”

The Queen smiled, but then tsk-ed and waved him off. “Don’t be so serious, now, this will be good for you. It’s been far too long since you’ve spent any real time out of the palace; some ‘fresh air’ will do you good. Now off with you. I expect you to leave tonight.”

The Queen turned and made her way back up to the throne, and Duada held in a groan, turning and heading back up to his quarters. A headache was starting to blossom in his forehead.

And it started out to be such a lovely day.

***

Prince Duada crossed his legs in his seat on the first-class flight that was soon to be landing in Newark, New Jersey. He swirled a brandy around in one hand while he used the other to thumb through the dossier on this ‘Jasmine’ woman he was going to be looking after. His powers of glamour let him change his appearance to better blend in with the crowd, but he only used it sparingly to tone down the shade of his skin to a more human shade of tan. His amethyst eyes were hidden behind small, round sunglasses.His pants were tight black jeans, and he wore a tight fitting white t-shirt. A pair of stylish black shoes completed the ensemble. The way he carried himself exuded a masculine aura, one to which humans were particularly sensitive.

That much he’d learned from the fact that the buxom flight attendant hadn’t asked him to pay for the past three drinks.
Perhaps I can see why some of the lesser fae enjoy dallying around with humans every now and then. It’s just too easy!

He sipped his drink while reading over the dossier thoughtfully. It really was a surprise this Jasmine, or ‘Jaz’ as she seemed to go by, had so much trouble with men. He peered at her picture, a smile forming on his lips. The Queen had understated her looks--to say she looked ravishing would be an understatement. He had never been one to have a particular taste for humans, but this woman was quite the exception. Lovely, curvy hips that were so rare among the fae, hair that he wanted to run his fingers through, and eyes that held a certain kind of earthy beauty that made him appreciate why the humans didn’t find their world entirely bland.

She was sharp, too. Duada didn’t care much for the arbitrary ways humans measured intelligence, but Jasmine seemed to have breezed through her higher learning, and she was qualified for a position far above her station as a coffee server. What on earth—literally—was she doing at a place like that? Duada rolled his eyes. Any fae would go absolutely mad at the prospect of squandering their talents. He wondered if he might be able to do something for her career, too.

Unfortunately, the dossier was rather more scant than he would have liked. There was basic information, but nothing that would give him any real insights into who Jasmine Duval was as a person. Was he about to have to deal with a total pushover, or someone whose personality steamrolled everyone around her? He sighed, taking another swig of his drink. His aunt did love tormenting him.

As he gazed at her picture, he found himself wondering what she looked like without all that clothing, even if he was fond of her style. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to just keep his glamour up and sweep into her life and off her feet.

A delightful thought, he decided, but not one that would help him get back to the Summerland Court where he belonged. There would be time for trysts with humans later, if he so chose. However, the lack of information his aunt had provided him gave him the perfect excuse to get to know Jasmine a little better in person, he realized.

As the plane prepared to land in Newark, Duada smiled broadly and leaned back in his chair, stowing his dossier before finishing off his drink. It was about time he got to know his new playmate in person.

“Uh, yeah, could I just get a white chocolate mocha Frappuccino?” asked a guy with a thick mustache and newsboy cap in front of the counter. Jasmine blinked dubiously at him, fighting the ever-present urge to roll her eyes, or worse, reach over the counter and slap the guy. He’d been into the cafe at least three times in the past week or so, and yet he still liked to try and order items not found on the menu. At this point, Jasmine wasn’t sure whether he was just doggedly devoted to his running gag or if he genuinely could not figure out that this was not a Starbucks.

Suppressing a sigh, Jasmine forced herself to give him a half-smile and tilt her head ever so slightly to the side in mock apology. “Oh, so sorry, but we don’t offer Frappuccinos. You see, this is not a Starbucks. But we can make you a blended iced coffee with whipped cream, if you’d like,” she suggested, crossing her fingers under the counter out of sight. God, she hoped he would just nod and say “yes, please” like a normal person.

But nope. No such luck.

“So, is that like a Frappuccino, then?” he continued, his blank stare boring a hole in Jasmine’s forehead. She felt her eye twitch.

“Sure. Yes. Pretty much,” she conceded with an overly enthusiastic shrug. She wanted to scream, “NO, IT’S A BLENDED ICED COFFEE WITH WHIPPED CREAM, AS DESCRIBED ON OUR MENU, AND WRITTEN IN PLAIN ENGLISH RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE.” But instead she resisted, knowing that her manager was probably hovering somewhere behind her, just waiting to swoop in at any moment and write her up for displaying subpar customer service skills. It had only happened once before, which was really quite a tremendous feat considering the stupidity and ridiculousness of some of Jasmine’s customers. In her manager Cynthia’s eyes, Jasmine was a sweet girl who sometimes let her emotions take charge of situations.

But for Jasmine, this job meant tolerating some of the dumbest questions she’d ever heard uttered in her life. And the stupid questions were nothing compared to the weird, too forward, sometimes straight-up creepy advances she received from male customers.

The fateful incident for which she had been written up for misbehavior was one such example. It was a typical Sunday, the after-church crowd comprised of  well-dressed families and Bible-toting seniors was just starting to file out back toward home. The morning had passed with surprising regularity. That should have been her first clue. Not a single day at this cafe went by without some altercation or foolishness of some kind or another. So when the drunk guy in cargo shorts and a tank top came stumbling in smelling like cheap vodka and cow manure, she knew that she really,
really
should have gone on break. She should have ducked out. Hid in the bathroom. Something.

But no, she just had to be working the cafe counter when he tripped into her life looking like a raving, homeless Yosemite Sam. Jasmine, in a rare bright mood as a result of her smooth morning, had greeted him with a big smile. And he stopped in his tracks for a long moment, swaying on his flip-flopped feet while he gawked at her.

And that’s when the little voice in Jasmine’s head whispered
oh no
.

The man proceeded to stumble over, all but collapsing on the newly-polished wooden counter, and fling his arms out to grab at her breasts. Stunned, Jasmine let out a shriek and fell backward, knocking into her coworker Enzo, who happened to be holding a tea kettle of boiling water. In a split second, the tea kettle went flying, sending a spray of boiling water sizzling down the aisle that was thankfully empty of customers; the kettle itself soared through the air and crashed against the drive-thru window; and then the drunk man vomited all over the glass pastry case. The other customers in the cafe immediately ran out in disgust.

To top it all off, when the guy finished ruining the entire display case, he stood up with his hands on his hips and slurred, “Hoo boy, that apron sure looks good on you, but I bet it’d look way better on my bedroom floor!”

Before she even got a chance to really, truly assess the damage already caused by this whole outrageous scene and get a grip on her emotions, Jasmine bellowed back at him, “SCREW YOU, DICKWAD!”

Now, everyone else at the scene believed Jasmine to be fully entitled to that unsavory outburst. Her coworkers, especially the ones who had narrowly missed being hit with boiling water, backed her up at the following employee meeting. Even the drunk  appeared to sober up a little bit at her outburst, turning around and ashamedly dragging himself back out of the cafe without another word.

But there was one customer, one middle-aged blonde woman with an asymmetrical haircut, carrying a knock-off designer bag, who complained to the manager that Jasmine had “indulged in obscenities which offended her deeply” and that the woman “would not be returning to this establishment ever again” as a result.

So, Cynthia did what she had to do, she wrote Jasmine up for telling off the drunken creep who tried to grope her over the cafe counter.

Ever since then, Jasmine had been extra careful about her interactions with patrons, trying to restrain the annoyance constantly simmering just under her smiling surface. It wasn’t even that she was a particularly angry person by nature—it was just the stress of having a degrading, dead-end job and no better prospects that worked her over.

Today, with this dingus staring blankly at her, unable to comprehend the fact that the Java Joy Cafe didn’t sell Frappuccino’s, Jasmine had to bite her tongue. She merely wrote his name on a paper cup and set it aside, took his money and called the next customer in line.

Soon, it was time for her union-sanctioned fifteen minute break, so she untied her apron and folded it under the counter before grabbing a borderline-stale croissant and a thermos of iced green tea. She waggled her fingers at Enzo, who gave her a roguish wink as she flounced back into the tiny break room. He was yet another guy who hit on her pretty regularly, but at least with him it was fairly innocuous. Enzo was cute, she had to admit, but it didn’t take long to catch onto the fact that he was a ladies’ man, and proud of it. On numerous occasions Jasmine had caught him making out with a customer behind the coffee shop, only minutes after they first met. He just had this easy charm about him that made girls drop whatever they were doing and just… do him instead. But it didn’t work on Jasmine. After all, he was a little too much of a player for her liking, and besides, after they had spent so many long hours working together she considered him as more of a big brother or a good friend than a potential romantic interest.

In fact, Jasmine hadn’t really come across any legitimate love interests in a long time. Not since college, and even then, it hadn’t worked out so well. Sure, she’d dated around a little bit since then, but nobody really great had come along. Her college boyfriend joined the Peace Corps and shipped out to Columbia, leaving her here in New Jersey, citing a need to “expand his horizons” and “help those in need.” As it turned out, his methods for doing so actually involved having casual sex with every hot local girl who gave him so much as a passing glance while Jasmine waited dutifully for his return. Needless to say, he didn’t come back to Jersey.

Most recently, Jasmine had found a decent-looking guy on some dating app that Enzo set up a profile on for her. The guy was nice enough at first, bringing flowers to their first date, lending an ear to her vented frustrations about work. But it was weird-- he never let her go over to his house. He only ever came over to Jasmine’s apartment.

She found out not much later that it was because he was living in his grandmother’s basement, refusing to get a job while he waited for his band to make it big despite the fact that they hadn’t even gotten together for a jam session in months.

As soon as she found out the truth, Jasmine had dumped him.. But that was months ago, and Jasmine was starting to wonder if maybe it was for the best. She had a tendency to attract the very worst sorts of guys, from garden-variety losers to the straight-up villainous types.

“It’s like I have a homing device implanted in my ass or something,” she once lamented to her friend Lily over drinks at the bar down the street. “Losers and jerks from all over the world somehow manage to track me down every time. You know what? I should start offering my services as a good-guy-tester. Got a new boy-toy but you wanna see what he’s really made of? Bring him around me and see how he responds. If he shows any interest in me, he’s definitely a douchebag.”

“You just haven’t met the right one yet,” Lily had reassured her, with her typical Zen-level calmness. “He’s out there, Jaz, you just gotta be patient. And don’t give up hope.”

Sitting quietly in the break room, Jasmine heaved a sigh and took an unenthusiastic bite of her croissant. She was getting awfully tired of eating leftover cafe items and fending off attentions of the wrong sort from the wrong guys. She had wanted so much more out of life than this, but college hadn’t done much beyond saddling her with a hefty pile of student loans to deal with. Not to mention the feelings of failure and disappointment for dropping out before graduation. She’d only been a semester shy of getting her English degree when her money problems took over. Her parents were fairly well-off, but they refused to help her—in fact, they were too busy sailing around the world living the retired life to even bother to keep in touch. They’d been in their late forties when Jasmine was born very much by accident, and they were already too tired to throw themselves full-force into raising a child. She knew that they loved her, but it was obvious that she’d never really been a priority in their lives.

Besides, Jasmine was a fiercely independent young woman. She didn’t want to ask for help, even when it was desperately needed. She was dead-set on proving herself to the world, even if it meant digging herself into a very deep hole in the process.

So far she’d just dug herself right into a rut, from which there seemed to be no exit, no way out. She grimaced at the chewy consistency of the stale pastry and tossed it into the trash can across the room. However, she missed by about a foot, just as Cynthia walked in.

Perfect. Just perfect.

“If you’re going to waste food and drive up production costs, you could at least dispose of the evidence properly,” Cynthia said, shaking her head.

“Well, I didn’t miss on purpose,” Jasmine replied, getting up to put the croissant directly into the trash this time. Her manager plunked down into a chair and began peeling a banana while poring over the upcoming week’s schedule.

“Can you cover for Gabby next Wednesday?” she asked.

Jasmine’s stomach plummeted. She had been hoping to have that day off so she could finally go see a movie that had come out a week ago. Alone. Of course. She supposed those plans were kind of pathetic, anyway, so she might as well earn some extra cash instead.

“Sure, I guess,” Jasmine answered.

“Thanks. By the way, could you head back out there and help? Julie’s gotta go home early to see her kid’s piano recital,” Cynthia added. So much for a fifteen minute break.

“Yup,” she said dully, walking back out to resume her spot behind the counter, tying her apron on along the way. She typed her employee code into the register and glanced up, affixing a customer-service smile to her face. But at the sight of the man standing on the other side of the counter her jaw immediately dropped..

              He was so tall that she had to crane her gaze upward to meet his eye.. His sun-kissed skin was utterly smooth, almost to the point of looking like a wooden sculpture. His shoulders and chest were broad and clearly muscular, accentuated by his tight black button-up shirt. He wore the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing thick, golden forearms. Jasmine had to fight the urge to lick her lips. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a sly voice questioned what it would feel like to be lifted up into the air or pinned against a wall by those strong arms.

And that face… oh, that gorgeous face.

He had a set of full, luscious lips, and silky, dark locks that framed a square jaw and high cheekbones and his thick brows lifted questioningly at Jasmine’s hesitation. She longed to see what his eyes looked like, for despite being indoors, they were hidden behind a pair of curiously dark, round sunglasses. She wondered if perhaps he was eccentric.

But when she continued to stare blankly at him, he cleared his throat.

“Has a cat got your tongue, miss?” he asked, in a voice as deep and smooth as velvet.

Jasmine snapped out of her reverie with a rosy blush to her cheeks, shaking her head slightly as though to shrug off a trance. “Oh, s-sorry,” she began. “Welcome to Java Joy, what can I get started for you this morning?”

“It’s after noon,” the man corrected, with his sensual lips pulling to one side in a hint of a smirk. Jasmine bit her lip.

“Y-yes, sir. Afternoon,” she agreed, smiling sheepishly. Inwardly, she glowered at him. Great, another smartass. As if it really mattered what time of day it was anyway.

“Right. Could I trouble you for a glass of Kadupul flower nectar, shaken, with ice?” he asked, as casually as one might order a cappuccino.

Jasmine blinked dumbly at him, trying to find the lilt of a joke in his tone. But it wasn’t there. “Kad-what? Uh, I-I don’t think we carry that here,” she said, frowning at him in confusion.

He pursed his lips for a moment. “Hmm. Pity. Well, then I’ll just take a chilled moonbeam reduction with a smattering of gold flakes. And whipped cream.”