Froggy Style (16 page)

T
he limo limped down Fairily Way, a couple of blocks from Lollie’s shop. With the exception of the hot desert wind rushing through the missing windows, silence filled the vehicle. My mind fully occupied, sickened by the thought of what could have happened, I glanced at Lollie. She sat rigid in her seat, anger vibrating off her in waves.

We hadn’t spoken since the assassination attempt. What could I say? “I’m sorry that I almost got you killed?” Guilt weighed on me, a new and totally unwanted feeling. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. How I longed for those shallow, not-a-care-in-the-world frog prince days. But I did care, and more importantly, I wouldn’t risk her life again. The farther I stayed away from Lollie Bliss, the better for all of us.

Beauty included.

Lollie interrupted my errant thought. “You’re still planning on marrying Sleeping Beauty, even after this.” She motioned around the broken limo. “Why, Kermit? Do you love her that much?”

“No.” I closed my eyes.

“Then why?”

I wanted to tell Lollie, a practical stranger with a sadistic streak, the truth—about Beauty, about the curse, about the loneliness of watching the world from the confines of a pond. But I couldn’t. Not when she looked at me with those big dark eyes. I blew out a breath. “Arranged marriage,” I lied.

Karl grunted.

“You’re a very bad liar.” Lollie gave up. The anger left her face, but sadness remained.

I stared into her eyes. “Thank you for not pushing.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused, as if weighing her words. “We all have our secrets to keep,” she said as she opened the door to the limo. It creaked once and then fell to the ground. Lollie winced. “Oops. Sorry.”

Karl gave her a sweet smile. “It will be all right, my lady.”

“I doubt it, Karl.” I motioned to the busted door in the street. “I think the car’s totaled. Even All the King’s Horses Body Shop won’t be able to put it back together again.”

Lollie gave Karl a half smile. “Thanks for the ride.” Then she turned to face me, our eyes locked, mine icy blue, hers black in color. I wanted to know all Lollie’s secrets, the good, the bad, and even the ugly stepsister variety. I wanted to know everything about her. But there was a cost for wanting Lollie, a price I wasn’t willing to pay, namely Beauty’s life.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Lollie said, standing completely still, as if waiting for a scrap of frog prince wisdom. After a few seconds, she turned to the Rose and started to unlock the front door.

“Lollie, wait,” I said, scrambling from the missing doorway. Metal crunched under my feet.

“Yes, Kermit?” She spun to face me, her hands out. Her eyes sparkled in the fading sunlight like rich chocolate ice cream with sprinkles. I was a sucker for sprinkles.

I shook my head to clear my desire. “Um . . .”

“Yes?”

“We can’t see each other anymore.” I licked my lips. “I’m sorry.”

The corner of her upper lip crooked upward. “You’re sorry, Kermit?”

“I am.” I inhaled sharply. “Listen, you’re a wonderful woman, but right now I need to focus on saving Beauty—”

“Try saving your breath instead.” Her eyes blazed as she turned away and vanished through the front door of the Rose. A lump formed in the back of my throat. I wanted nothing more than to scream, “Stop. Wait.” But I didn’t. Instead, I watched as Lollie walked out of my life, forever.

With a heavy heart, I turned to Karl, whose face was twisted with anger. What was his problem? For once I’d taken his advice and dumped Lollie. Now he went all pouty on me?

“That was stupid,” he said.

“Forget Lollie.” I doubted I’d be able to. Not for a long time. I released a harsh breath. “Let’s go back to the palace. See if we can find a clue as to where Beauty is and end this nonsense once and for all.”

Karl ducked his head. “I can’t play junior detective with you this evening.”

“Why?”

“I have other plans.”

“Plans, you say?” I tilted my head in question. What was it with Karl lately? He was never around when I needed him. Not that I “needed” him, or anyone. I was the Frog Prince, for frog sakes. “What sort of plans?” I asked, trying to keep the whine from my tone.

His face heated, growing almost as red as the sunburned ring on the top of his head. “I don’t see how that’s any your of business.”

“Fine,” I said. If Karl had naked plans with Candi, so be it. I was a big boy. I could handle one night alone, provided room service served forty-year-old scotch. And a lot of it. “Take me back to the hotel.”

Karl winced.

“What? You want me to walk to the hotel?”

“I knew you’d understand,” he said, jamming the limo into gear and taking off up the street. Smoke billowed from the limo’s engine, leaving a trail of exhaust in its wake.

“Frog!” I kicked the lamppost on the street corner. In any other part of the city, I’d simply hail a cab, but finding a taxi down here was as unlikely as baa baa black sheep joining the Klan. “Now what?”

I turned around, catching a glimpse of myself in the window of the Rose. I looked tired and greener than I liked. Dried blood matted my black locks. The bruises left by RJ’s beating had faded to an unhealthy yellowish brown. All in all, I was looking a little worse for wear, but nothing a hot shower, an ice-cold beer, and a steak wouldn’t cure. Well, those and finding my missing fiancée before the greenish color became permanent.

With a sigh I shoved a pair of sunglasses over my eyes and prepared for a long walk back to the hotel. Darkness hovered on the horizon. The desert at night was no place for a frog prince.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind me. “Leaving so soon?”

I turned toward the sound, surprised by the vision in front of me. Lollie Bliss stood behind me, wearing a black sports bra and a pair of jean shorts. While I certainly didn’t mind the view, what she had in her hand drew my attention much more—an icy-cold bottle of beer dripping with sweat.

For a second, I lost my mind and considered begging Lollie to run away with me. Luckily I came to my senses in time and managed saying nothing more than “I think I love you.”

“How sweet.” She held the beer out to me. “But I prefer my princes a little less . . . Oh, what’s the word . . . engaged.”

I took the beer from her fingers and gulped down half the bottle. The alcohol slid down my throat, easing away the aches and pains of today’s events. I tilted the bottle in her direction. “Oh well, it probably wouldn’t have worked out between us anyway. Great, mind-blowing sex aside.”

“How will I ever survive?” She waited a beat. “Well, good night, then.”

“Funny,” I said with a stiff laugh.

“I thought so.” Her smile widened. “It’s going to be dark soon.”

“Yep.”

Her hand fisted on her hip, but her eyes filled with vulnerability. “So do you want to spend the night or not?”

All noble ideas and princely concern about my future bride and Lollie’s safety vanished under the sudden rush of blood to my bollocks. Besides, what harm could there be in our spending one night together, other than blown minds and chafed knees?

“Well, are you coming in?” She motioned to the door.

“What do you think?” I shot Lollie a half smile, the one I reserved for special occasions, the one that melted the panties off even the most frigid princess.

“Let’s get something straight.” Lollie pulled open the front door. “I asked you to stay the night out of pity. It’s a very long walk back to your hotel, and I hate to see a prince with blisters.”

“Your concern for my feet is sweet.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.” She glared down at my appendages. All of my appendages. “We are not going to sleep together. Got it?”

“Of course not.” I added a dimple to the smile. “Who wants multiple orgasms anyhow?”

Ignoring my sexual prowess, she motioned to the back of the shop where a small spiral staircase stood. “There’s an efficiency apartment upstairs.”

“After you, my lady,” I said, bowing low.

The glare she shot me was enough to ignite the Snow Queen on fire. I frowned, unsure what I’d said wrong this time. Lollie’s moods swung like a group of fairy-dust addicts around a mulberry bush. It was hard to keep up. “What?” I asked.

“If you don’t know . . .” She pushed past me, nearly knocking me over in the process, and stomped up the staircase. I followed behind, watching her toned butt under her tight shorts. Shorts designed to display the inky swirls and tribal designs that rose up her legs. Craziness and possible killer boyfriend aside, Lollie Bliss was the kind of woman a frog prince dreamed of.

Nightmares counted as a form of dreaming, right?

“Stop looking at my ass,” she ordered when she reached the top of the stairs.

“Me?” My lips curved in affected shock. “I would do no such thing. I’m a prince, mademoiselle, not some commoner.”

“Right.” She pushed open a door at the top of the stairs. The scent of ink and woman drifted from the apartment. “Well, Kermit, make yourself at home.”

Walking into the apartment was like waking up in heaven, literally. White everywhere. The couch. The cabinets. The walls, ceiling, and floors. I half expected to meet Saint Peter at the pearly refrigerator.

For a woman as colorful as Lollie, her apartment lacked any spark, as if a different woman lived there. Yet the place seemed to suit her. She was the splash of color the atmosphere needed. Just being here, with Lollie, in a stark white room, calmed me more than a case full of mead. My missing fiancée, my father’s disownment, a killer, all these things faded away.

My finger ran over a white bookcase filled with books on sketching the human form, calligraphy, and even the ancient art of Japanese tattooing known as Hitoppori. No Mother Goose or Grimm’s sordid tales here. This was the bookcase of a woman who lived and breathed visual art. “Nice place,” I said, gesturing to the mostly empty room.

“I call it home. Would you like another beer?” Walking a few feet into a small but tidy kitchen, she grabbed two bottles of beer and held one out to me.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bottle from her hand. Our fingers touched, and my heart skipped a beat. I cleared my throat, trying not to focus on the fact that I was alone in an apartment with the woman featured in many of my fantasies over the last few days. “So why tattoos? It’s kind of an odd profession for a young lady such as yourself.” I gave her a wink.

Taking a long drink from her beer bottle, Lollie plopped down on her white couch and touched a button on a remote. Soft violin music filled the room. For a few seconds I thought she hadn’t heard me, but then she tipped her bottle in my direction. “Do you really want to know?”

Her fingers stroked the neck of the bottle, and the blood in my head, as well as my good intentions, went south. Since I’d spent most of my teenaged years fighting the same problem, I managed to focus on her odd question. “I asked, didn’t I?” I moved from the bookcase to the couch and sat on the edge, far enough away from temptation and her smooth, ink-lined legs.

She took another sip of beer, her eyes never leaving my face. Whatever she saw in my expression relaxed her. “I love to feel the power of the needle in my hands, the way color soaks into the flesh, the beauty of skin and ink. When I finish a tattoo it is a living, breathing opus, a forever reminder of a moment in time, a story for the world to see.” Her eyes lit with intense excitement. I wanted to put the same look on her face, but for a far different reason.

“You’re very good at what you do.” I gestured to the beautiful, colorful, and intricate designs on her body. My fingers itched to caress the number “8” on her breast one more time.

“Thank you,” she said with a little laugh. “Yet tattooing bikers, drunken co-eds, and the occasional prince isn’t really the Fairymerican dream come true.”

I let the prince comment pass. We had the rest of the evening to discuss the pocketful of posies tramp-stamped on my back. “So when did you realize you wanted to be a tattoo artist?” I pictured a little girl in leather and pigtails inking her friends with a ballpoint pen.

“When I was a kid, I spent most of my time alone.” She smiled sadly. “While my siblings took piano lessons and played outside with the other kids, I stayed locked inside, daydreaming.”

A faraway look entered her eyes. The innocent dreams of youth quickly faded from her gaze. “My stepdaddy wanted me to be a proper lady so I could land a rich husband, but I wanted more.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I tried to please him, to make him love me, even a little . . .”

“I’m so sorry.” Taking her hand in mine, I gave it a reassuring squeeze. I understood, perhaps more than anyone, what it felt like to crave a father’s approval. “He’s a fool. You are beautiful and talented.”

“Save the fancy compliments for your wife.” She snickered, the humor not quite reaching her eyes. “They won’t get you laid tonight.”

I winced, hating her words and the hurt that settled deep within my chest. “That wasn’t—”

She waved me off. “When I turned sixteen, I realized that I could never live up to my stepdaddy’s ideals,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I would never be a beauty like my sister.” Like the bottle clutched so tightly in her hand, she seemed ready to break. “So I vowed to be true to me, and do my own thing.”

“You left home?”

“There’s nothing left for me there.” She drew in a long breath. “I took odd jobs to support myself.”

I pictured Lollie flipping burgers at the Pease Porridge Hot Diner. The image brought a smile to my lips, until she spoke her next words.

“One day, broke, desperate, living in a tent shaped like a shoe and having no idea what to do,” her eyes locked on mine, “I met someone who taught me how to tattoo.”

I closed my eyes.

“That’s the day,” she paused, as if weighing the effect of her words, “Spindle saved my life.”