by Mimi Riser
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Amber Quill Press
www.amberquill.com
Copyright ©2007 by Mimi Riser
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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SAMANTHA WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARVES
By
MIMI RISER
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ISBN 978-1-60272-062-6
Amber Quill Press, LLC
www.amberquill.com
Also By Mimi Riser
Romeo's Revenge
SAMANTHA WHITE AND THE SEVEN DWARVES
Boy, people were jerks, weren't they? Whoever invented humanity had a lot to answer for. Thinking grim thoughts, Sam shot a bird at the driver who'd just cut in front of her. He was lucky she didn't have a gun. She glared through her cracked windshield at the bumper-to-bumper traffic, knowing she was going to be late for work.
Again.
Knowing her wheezing auto was overheating.
Again.
What she didn't know was where she'd find the money to get it fixed, not to mention pay her rent and utilities—especially if she got fired, as seemed likely since she was already on probation at the job for mouthing off to an ass-pinching sleazeball ... who'd turned out, unfortunately, to be the firm's newest, biggest client. Sheesh, you'd think she'd been the offender and not him. Could life get any worse?
Funny she should ask that.
Without warning, a blinding flash struck! A buzzy, fuzzy, tingling rush and—whiz—car, traffic, all her earthly worries were far away. Earth itself was far away.
And she had a whole new set of worries.
"Holy shit,” she muttered, hoping the sound of her own voice would add an element of sanity to the situation.
It didn't.
She stood frozen, staring, her heart racing and eyes popping. She'd read about happenings like this in the tabloids while waiting in line at the supermarket—on those rare occasions when she could afford to buy groceries—but she'd never believed those absurd headlines. She wasn't sure she believed them even now.
What the hell was this? A spaceship? It looked like something straight out of Star Wars, like something Han Solo might fly—if he was really down on his luck—dusty, rusty, loose wires dangling everywhere, and it stank like...
"Shit,” she repeated. “I've been abducted by aliens."
Smelly aliens.
She counted seven before her on the bridge of the craft. Small, grotesquely humanoid figures in a motley assortment of tights, tunics, and curly-toed booties. The Ren-faire costuming struck an oddly jarring note against the sci-fi setting, making her head swim. The creatures had stocky little bodies, broad faces with big, bulbous eyes, and bright, bushy shocks of hair sticking straight up from their scalps. Hair that traveled the color-spectrum from screaming red through orange, yellow, green, turquoise and blue to pulsating purple, each alien with his own separate hue. They made her think of three-foot-high troll dolls, or almost. They also had wicked-looking yellowish points protruding over their lower lips. Terrific. Troll dolls with fangs.
She locked her wobbly knees to stay upright. Good frigging grief, this was like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves on acid. Except her name was Samantha White, not Snow, and she wasn't exactly the fairy-tale princess type. She was a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe—the bane of her existence. Men never took you seriously when you looked like a sex goddess. They just took you. Jerks. And too often she'd let them. Stupid her.
Or lonely her. Lonely years in an orphanage, praying for a family to love her—and wondering if God were dead or just deaf when no family ever appeared. Lonely years since, searching other avenues, hoping sex would lead to love, that she could turn a frog into a prince with a kiss. Okay, a lot more than a kiss, but it all proved as effective as her prayers, so she'd scrapped that approach, too. Three months ago, in fact.
Three long, itchy, bitchy, horridly hormonal months. Her libido was on its last frayed nerve, but she refused to be ruled by it. She had her priorities straight now—lift a guy's hood and take a good look at his engine before jumping behind the wheel and grabbing his stick shift. How else would she ever find someone made for the long haul, a man who wanted a home and family as much as she did, and had the fortitude to commit to them?
Surely there's at least one prince among the frogs—
Coarse cackles interrupted her brooding.
"I think we've lost our new cargo, lads. Well, her attention anyway. She looks spacier than what I'm seein’ out me view screen."
"Twit. They all look like that at first."
"It's the transport beam. It scrambles their circuits for a bit. She'll snap to once her electrical charge levels out ... maybe."
Sam snapped to instantly and glared daggers at the snickering dwarves. Good frigging ... “Why am I worrying about frogs when I'm surrounded by aliens?"
She slapped herself on the forehead to rattle her brains back in place. All it did was increase her headache and make the troll doll with the blaring blue hair turn around to blink at her.
"Hey, ducky, watch who you're callin’ an ‘alien.’ Everything's relative, y'know. From where I'm sittin', you're the alien."
"Go to hell,” she shot back. She was damned if she'd argue semantics with a toothy troll in a Peter Pan suit and fluorescent fright wig.
He's only a hallucination. He had to be. No aliens and no space-ship. Just too many stresses in her life. She'd finally cracked under the strain and gone stark raving mad.
Gee, why did she find no comfort in that thought?
The troll-man smirked. Either that or he was having a sudden attack of gas. “Whatever you say, ducks. Happens we was headed there anyways.” He leaned back in his seat and laced stubby fingers over a midsection that made him look like he'd swallowed a cantaloupe whole. “Xotto! Set course for planet Helle. And make it snappy!"
"Up yours,” Xotto of the glaring green hair grumbled. “Ain't my turn. It's Vrotto's."
"Is not!” the turquoise topped troll—Vrotto, obviously—declared. “I was navigator last stinkin’ trip. It's Totto's bloody turn this time."
"Like crap it is! I'm on meteorite watch. How the fuck can I navigate and watch for meteorites at the same time? You stupid twit!” Red-haired and redder faced, Totto slammed down his chubby fist on the console he was hunched over.
The console hissed and crackled, shooting sparks everywhere.
"Ouch!” Sam leapt back as the glittering spray stung bare flesh. Too much bare flesh. Breasts, stomach, thighs ... Gulp. She looked down at herself and blanched. It seemed that when the aliens had beamed her up, they'd neglected to beam her clothes along, too.
"I'm naked!” she screeched.
"Mmm, yes, I noticed."
The murmur came from behind her, a deep, husky purr of a voice that stroked over her like crushed velvet, making her skin flush. Choking on her own breath, she spun about to confront it—
And nearly swallowed her tongue.
What the ... That couldn't possibly be who it looked like.
The voice came out of Shakespeare's Hamlet. Well, someone dressed like Hamlet, in an all-black medieval-style doublet, shirt and hose, and with sleek black hair capping his head. But he was built like a Greek god, tall, tan and muscular, handsome as the devil and looking infinitely more sinful. A man rippling with power, radiating raw sex.
Sam's mouth we
nt dry. Switch the doublet to a dinner jacket and this guy might have stepped straight out of her wildest fantasies—or her video collection, which amounted to the same thing. She adored old movies and the actors who'd starred in them, and here stood her all-time favorite. All he needed was a martini, a gun, and a mission to save the world.
"Now I know I'm nuts,” she rasped out.
The man grinned, sending a hot shiver down her spine.
"Oh, no, not nuts,” he corrected, and his gaze lowered to her nipples. “More like fruit, I'd say. Strawberries, in particular."
"Blimey, it's a good thing Notto didn't hear that,” one of the aliens muttered.
Why? Who the hell knew?
The man ignored the interruption, all his attention on Sam's chest. “They're such a deep, dusky pink when ripe—one of your planet's great delicacies, I think. So firm yet juicy, strawberries. So tender and sweet.” He licked his lips. “One wants to savor them slowly, to roll them around on the tongue and suck and suck and—"
"I get the message!” So did her strawberries, which were now tingling and puckered into hard peaks.
"I doubt it. But you will.” He punctuated the promise with another grin, and Sam went damp between the legs.
She knocked her knees together and clutched her arms over her breasts as his gaze raked down her body, then up to her face.
"You've turned out quite nicely,” he told her, something in his tone making her back hairs prickle. “A near perfect duplicate. Isn't that right, lads?” He glanced around at the dwarves.
The blue one yawned. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, guv'na."
"Ain't my type, but what the crap do I know? You're the prince's man. I'm just contract labor,” Xotto the green grumbled.
Red Totto and turquoise Vrotto grunted noncommittally. The purple one scratched under his arm and the orange one let out a loud belch. The yellow one seemed to have fallen asleep. He was slouched over his console, snoring.
The hunk in black shook his head and sighed. “Pay them no heed, love. Absolutely clueless, the lot of them—wouldn't know a quality clone if it bit them in the ass."
Sam's stomach knotted. Clone? She didn't like the sound of that.
"Trust me, with the proper schooling, you'll do splendidly,” the man added.
Schooling? She liked the sound of that even less. The knot in her stomach tightened, and she hugged herself harder.
"What are you talking about? What's going on here?” The demand came out in a dry croak, pathetic. She swallowed and tried again. “Who the hell are you?” That sounded like a mouse with a sore throat. Not much of an improvement, but the best she could manage.
Dreamboy looked nothing but amused. “Ah, yes, how rude of me. My apologies. Allow me to introduce us...” With a fluid flourish, he swept out his arm, indicating the crew one by one. “These are the Harvesters: Jotto, Xotto, Vrotto, Totto, Flotto, Notto, and Bleggh."
"Bleggh?” Sam blinked at the orange-haired dwarf. He gave her a big, toothy smile and rumbled out another resonant belch.
"Sorry,” the man said. “He does that a lot, I'm afraid."
"It's all them Betelgeuse beans he eats,” green Xotto explained (as though anyone cared).
"At least his burps is better'n his farts,” Flotto of the pulsating purple hair groused.
"Phewy.” Jotto of the blinding blue held his nose. “You can say that again."
"At least his burps is—"
Jotto slapped Flotto in the head. “I didn't mean literally, you bleedin’ idiot."
Mystery man heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You see what I have to put up with?” he said to Sam. “But to finish the introductions...” He dipped a short bow from the waist. “I, my lovely one, am Deuce, your trainer."
"T-trainer?” She liked the sound of that the least of all. Panic prickled over her, icy chills mixed with escalating heat. Her thighs quivered with the effort to keep her legs under her. Her voice quivered more. “Trainer for wh-what?"
"Sex,” he said. A sudden fire in his eyes almost melted her where she stood.
Oh, God ... She did have to ask, didn't she? Her breath whooshed out in a ragged gasp and her knees buckled.
"Careful.” Strong hands gripped her waist to hold her upright—hot hands, scorching her skin, while the gleam in his dark eyes sizzled straight into her core. “You're not going to faint, are you?"
Um ... she was seriously considering it. “Would it help me any if I did?"
"Probably not.” Deuce chuckled. “But I could have all kinds of fun reviving you."
Yeah, that's what she'd figured. Help...
His grip shifted and he swung her up in his arms, high against his chest. Dizziness swamped her with the motion. She grabbed his shoulders for support, hating herself that she couldn't let go, that she was suddenly clinging to him like a lifeline.
His hold on her tightened. “Relax, love. I won't let you fall."
Hah. He had no idea she was teetering on the brink already, about to fall deep into lust, if not love. But for her, the first always led to the latter. She was dumb that way; never had been able to separate the physical reactions from the emotional.
Men could, it seemed—at least the ones she'd known. Like bees, they flitted carelessly from flower to flower, gathering the nectar, then moving on to fresher fields. And she was the blossom left behind, drained dry, stung so many times she felt like a damned pincushion. She couldn't stand another prick, and she meant the term as both a verb and a noun. A prick from a prick, and an alien prick at that. Talk about a culture gap. How could he even be the same species as her? She'd seen Starman, damn it. It never paid to love someone from another planet. Long distance relationships were doomed from the start.
Grief on a stick, she was insane, wasn't she, to be thinking things like that at a time like this, when she'd just been snatched off her world, for God's sake, and had no idea why or what would happen now.
Except for that mention about “schooling” ... and “sex"...
And who was her trainer?
Him.
Right. She was in deep shit. Being abducted was only part of the problem. This guy could too easily hijack her heart along with the rest of her. All he had to do was say “stirred, not shaken,” and she'd be both.
Groaning, she lifted her head off his chest to study his face. He sure looked like a real man. All man. Tall, dark, and dangerous, just the type she always fell for, just the type who always left her feeling bruised and used and wanting to slit her wrists.
His eyebrows quirked up at her scrutiny. “Something the matter?"
"Besides the fact I've been kidnapped, you mean?” Acid dripped out with the words.
He didn't seem disturbed by it. Unfortunately. “You haven't been kidnapped, love. You've been harvested. This is what you were created for. I'm taking you to your destiny."
"Fuck a duck, now he tells me!” A shower of sparks flew out as Totto cursed and punched his console. “I thought we was takin’ her to Helle. Destiny's clear at the other end of the galaxy! I'll have to re-set the bloomin’ coordinates. And I'm still on meteorite watch!"
"Screw the meteorites,” Flotto muttered. “We'll be makin’ the leap into hyperspace soon and won't even be able to see ‘em. What we can't see, can't hurt us."
"A dopey way of puttin’ it, but he's right,” Jotto said, with a wink over his shoulder at Sam. “Once we pass light-speed, we'll be travelin’ in another dimension, as it were.” He swiveled his chair about and boxed Totto's ears. “And you leave the coordinates alone! Deuce was speakin’ figuratively when he said ‘destiny,’ you stupid twit."
"Bastard! I'll shove some destiny up your arse—and I don't mean figuratively!” With a roar, Totto lunged away from his controls and grabbed Jotto by the throat.
Amidst a noisy flurry of flailing limbs, the two fell, huffing and grunting, to the deck. Consoles hissed and spat sparks over all. Vrotto and Xotto leapt up from their places to pull the fighters apart and got sucked into the squabb
le, all four dwarves thrashing around in a jumble, kicking and pummeling each other. Watching them, Flotto scratched himself and Bleggh belched. Notto roused up from his snoring with a start and stared about, blinking sleepy, bewildered eyes.
"What's up? Have we landed?” he asked. “Are we in Helle?"
I am, Sam thought as Deuce gathered her closer and hustled her off the bridge.
"Close,” he commanded, and the hatch they'd exited slid shut behind them, cutting off the racket of the dwarves, leaving her alone with him in a long, silent passageway steeped in shadows. The only illumination came from a glowing oval filling the far end.
The proverbial light at the end of the tunnel? She doubted it.
"Don't worry.” His husky voice echoed in the stillness, and his soft-soled boots made scarcely a sound as he strode toward the light with Sam in his arms. “We'll reach our destination on schedule. You might not guess it to look at them, but the lads know what they're doing. Really. They're very good at their job.” He paused in front of the oval, which turned out to be an open hatch. A wicked grin curled his lips. “So am I,” he promised, and stepped through the portal into a small cabin lit by several free-floating globes that hovered in the air like helium-filled party balloons. How festive.
"Our work area.” Somehow he made the word “work” sound deadly seductive. In his case it probably was.
Sam shivered, but not from cold. From her perch in his arms she glanced about the space ... Empty except for the bobbing light globes and something that looked like one of those molded plastic chairs without arms. Only this chair had no legs, either. It levitated a few feet off the deck in the center of the cabin, held aloft by God knew what.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. She'd expected something ... well, erotic. A sci-fi sex chamber filled with dancing neon dildos maybe. Not that she found the idea of dancing dildos all that erotic, but they were the only high-tech sex toy she could dream up at the moment. A medieval bordello hung with tapestries depicting naughty acts had been another possibility, something to match Mr. Muscle's gothic garb.