Stone-Hard Passion
Anya Richards
Book two in the Unveiled Seductions series.
Tattoo artist Jasmina is on a mission to entice her client Vidar into bed, but getting the shy, obscenely ripped troll to agree is going to take some work. Even telling him straight-up she wants him doesn’t break through his reserved, polite demeanor. Just what does a jinn have to do? Maybe showing him the pleasures they can enjoy without jeopardizing their friendship will do the trick.
Beneath Vidar’s staid exterior his blood burns with the thought of having Jasmina for his own. He’s been carrying a torch for years, never thinking she’d be interested in a troll. Although he desperately wants to take Jasmina up on her offer, there’s something about him she doesn’t know, and he doubts she’ll still be interested if she finds out.
When Jasmina’s past threatens and Vidar offers her sanctuary, there’s no way to stop their passion from boiling to the surface. But despite their new closeness, secrets and dangerous enemies can destroy what they’ve built, forcing them to sacrifice everything to prove their love.
Stone-Hard Passion
Anya Richards
Acknowledgment
Thanks to my indispensable crit partners, Amy Ruttan and Cristal Ryder, for all your support and for loving my troll as much as I do.
Chapter One
Jasmina watched snow blow past beyond the massive glass panes fronting the Midnight Café, remnants of a blizzard crossing over from the human world to the faie the night before. The winter seemed especially long this year, but now spring was upon them and Jasmina almost wished it wasn’t. The shorter nights meant Vidar couldn’t stay long at the tattoo parlor, but had to rush off to avoid the sunrise. She often wondered what it was about the sun’s rays that reacted with trolls to turn them to stone. No one seemed to know.
“Did you get the essence from Cassie?” At Ula’s question Jasmina turned to look up at the goblin, who raised one neon-green eyebrow in emphasis. “You better have. Your troll will be here any minute.”
Jasmina saw her one eyebrow and raised it to two. “Since when has Vidar become ‘my troll’?”
From her spot behind the high reception desk, Ula smirked. “Since you’ve been tattooing him for the last two years. The only reason I can think of for him to get that much ink is because he’s stuck on you.”
Jasmina smiled. It was a wonderful way to deflect almost anything. “Lots of my other clients have more ink than him, but the designs aren’t as intricate. I apologized for it taking so long the last time he was here.”
“Huh, bet he said it was no problem. Probably came up with some new idea to prolong the process.”
“Nope.” She let the smile turn to a grin, thinking about the idea she had to allow her to keep working on Vidar longer. “As far as I know we should only have a few more sessions. Besides, it’s not like he’s here every day. More like once every three, four weeks or so.”
The goblin didn’t seem to be having as much fun poking at Jasmina as she’d hoped, but Ula wasn’t one to give up easily. Still grinning suggestively, but with her long, skinny fingers drumming the desk, she said, “More than enough time for him to fall for you. Like every other man who comes in here seems to.”
That smarted. Being an anomaly definitely had its disadvantages. As the only jinn woman around she attracted a lot of attention, mostly unwanted. But she just giggled. “I don’t recall being hit on by Hervé, or Jakuta, even before he met Gràinne. Vidar and I are friends, as can be expected after spending so much time with each other. Vidar is…” Smart, hard to read, and almost obscenely ripped. “Shy. And a true gentleman.”
Ula snorted. “As I expected. Absolutely useless. Besides, he’s a mess. Even if he were interested, I’m pretty sure you’d run a mile.”
Okay, that was going too far, even for the acid-tongued goblin. Jasmina didn’t mind being ragged on, but she couldn’t let Ula insult Vidar that way. “You know, if you get past the stereotypes about trolls, you’d realize he’s not that bad-looking.”
Silver-hued eyes wide, Ula stared at her as though Jasmina had lobsters coming out of her ears. “Are you kidding?”
Jasmina only grinned again, knowing it would drive Ula bonkers.
Cassandra was floating toward them, got to the desk and started talking before Ula could take the discussion any further.
“I put the sun-essence in your room, but let me know if you’re going to want more because I’ll need extra notice. I might have to go away for a while in a couple of weeks.” Cassandra tugged on her vintage brown leather coat then flipped her sheaf of flame-red hair out from under the collar. Glancing at the four-foot-high chronometer behind the bar, she frowned. “I better get out of here. I’m running late.”
“Hot date tonight?” Ula leaned forward, crazy green curls flopping into her eyes.
“Unfortunately, no.” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Or at least I don’t think so. My mother set it up, so I’m guessing he’d be marriage material rather than the hot, one-night-stand type.”
“Like the troll.” Ula sniggered.
Ignoring her, Jasmina sent Cassie a sympathetic look. “Your mom’s at it again, huh?”
Taking a breath, Cassie blew it out with an annoyed huff. “I swear to Sol, my mother feels my biological clock ticking, even though I don’t.”
The three of them shook their heads in unison.
“Whatcha gonna wear?” Ula narrowed her eyes, lips curved in an evil grin. “Let me guess…the slip dress you wore to the Solstice party?”
Hervé had asked them to wear clothing to the party that would showcase their tats, and Cassie’s spidersilk dress had more than fit the bill. Cut down to her ass in the back, plunging in the front and barely long enough to be decent, it had every man in the place hoping for a wardrobe malfunction so something private would fall out. Cassie had confessed to having it be-spelled to stay in place.
“No, although it’s tempting.” She laughed lightly, but Jasmina could see the stress and annoyance in her eyes. “I’m going more for the tough, biker-chick look tonight. This guy is a grand mage, and they’re usually pretty conservative.” With another quick glance at the chronometer, she tugged the strap of her messenger bag higher up on her shoulder. “Okay, I’m outta here.”
“Hang on.” Ula’s eyes snapped with mischief. “Before you go, got a joke for you.” Cassie paused, and Jasmina knew what was coming even before the goblin continued. “Little Miss Jinn here thinks the troll’s good-looking. Ever heard anything like it?”
Cassie looked from Ula to Jasmina and back again, but to Jasmina’s surprise, she didn’t join in with Ula’s laughter. Instead she shrugged. “If you look past the hair, he’s okay.” Now it was Jasmina who laughed at the look of shock making Ula’s mouth gape. “He must be one of the mountain trolls, rather than lowland or one of the bridge clan.” She wrinkled her nose. “Those are pretty gross.”
“See?” Jasmina couldn’t help rubbing it in, even stuck out her tongue at the goblin. “I’m not crazy.”
“You both are,” Ula retorted, throwing her hands up in disgust.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Cassie qualified. “He isn’t pretty, like most of the men around here are. I don’t know if I’d even call him handsome. But he isn’t ogre ugly either.” With a wave of one hand, she took off.
No, Jasmina silently agreed as she leaned against the desk to wait, ignoring Ula’s grumbling. Vidar certainly wasn’t pretty. His face was too rough-hewn to be beautiful—craggy, with a large, blunt nose and broad, flat cheekbones—but perhaps that was what she found so attractive. Most jinn men were extremely handsome. Same or more so with the other magical races, leaving her to sometimes wonder how much of what she saw was real and h
ow much was spells and illusions. Vidar was natural, without glamour—either magical or cosmetic—and over the time they’d spent together she’d come to appreciate that more and more.
As though her thoughts conjured him, the front door opened and the troll stepped in, pausing on the threshold to look around in his slow, thorough way.
From a distance she could see why Ula was so dismissive. In a world where grooming and choice of clothing was limited only by imagination and the availability of a decent spellcaster, Vidar stood out, and not in a particularly good way. His blond hair was shoulder-length, wild and totally in keeping with the huge, bushy beard and moustache covering the lower part of his face. It also seemed to go particularly well with the long-sleeved plaid shirt and shapeless sheepskin vest, baggy old jeans and work boots he was wearing.
But behind all that hair was a pair of the kindest, most intelligent eyes Jasmina had ever seen, and a mouth that was surprisingly delicious. And under the clothes…
A hot trickle skittered down her spine.
Just then he noticed her, and she thought there was a little smile lurking in his gaze. She didn’t translocate to meet him halfway, as she did with her other clients. The first time she’d done so to Vidar he’d stepped back, a wary, almost angry expression in his eyes. And when she’d offered to magically whisk them up to her tattoo room, he’d politely declined. Jasmina figured he was just one of those beings who, unable to translocate themselves, viewed it with suspicion.
Besides, it was a pleasure watching him walk toward her. It was easy to track him as he wove his way through the other patrons since he was at least a foot taller than most. Crowds tended to part for him and it was no different tonight, although the place was already pretty full.
Even though it was only just dark, Fridays tended to be pretty steady, with a decent crowd coming in for lunch and never seeming to go away. Upstairs in the loft Jakuta was finishing up a piercing job, and Hervé had just started on his first client of the night. In the bar and games area people talked and pool balls clacked, the party atmosphere rising, the night beginning to rev up. In a few minutes the DJ Hervé employed from Thursday through Sunday nights would crank up the music and the place would really start to rock.
Jasmina had no problem leaving all of it behind and taking Vidar up to her quiet room. In fact, she admitted to herself with another secret thrill, she was looking forward to it greatly.
“Huh,” Ula muttered, thankfully while he was still out of earshot. “Maybe not ogre ugly, but I still can’t see the attraction.”
Jasmina didn’t bother to reply, just stepped forward to greet Vidar. Behind the fair, slightly curling lashes his light-blue eyes were definitely warm. The corners of his mustache lifted slightly with a rare smile.
“Hey.” Damn, her voice sounded breathy. She cleared her throat. “How’ve you been?”
“Good,” he replied, holding out his hand as usual for her to shake. “And you?”
“I’m well, thank you.” His hand was warm, a little rough. Jasmina had never been with a man who did manual work. All the men she’d known intimately had soft, often manicured hands. She liked the maleness inherent in the rasp of his palm against hers.
And why was it, she wondered, still holding on to his fingers, they hadn’t moved past the handshake stage? Every other client, after the first two or three visits, moved on to the cheek kiss. By rights Vidar and she should be at the kiss-on-the-mouth stage by now.
Without thinking it through, she went up on her toes and kissed him lightly on his cheek. While she was close, she inhaled his distinctive scent. It was one she particularly liked, a natural piney smell that made her think of a verdant, healthy forest.
When she stepped back he blinked at her, and she could’ve sworn his face went slightly pink, although if it did the color faded quickly. Behind her Ula made a little sound, and Vidar’s eyes swung to the goblin.
“Nice to see you again, Ula.” His voice was deep, calm, with a little hint of a lilt at the ends of his sentences. “You’re looking well. Green hair really suits you.”
Whatever the goblin said was lost in the sudden boom of the music as the DJ got going, and Jasmina was relieved. There was no telling what might come out of Ula’s mouth, especially considering the conversation they’d been having.
Leaning close to him, she bellowed, “Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
He nodded, but hesitated. It was then Jasmina realized she was still holding his fingers. She was about to loosen her grip when he simply transferred her hand to his other one and started toward the steps leading to the loft and private tattoo rooms above.
Startled, she automatically fell into step beside him, glancing up at him from the corner of her eye. He was looking straight ahead, as though there was nothing unusual about the fact they were holding hands. This from the man who couldn’t look her in the eye for longer than a couple of seconds when he first came to the Café to inquire about getting his tats.
She suppressed a giggle, amused at her surprise. They’d known each other for two years and she was shocked that he’d actually loosened up enough to hold hands with her…as a friend? Perhaps, if she were patient enough, in another ten she could get him into bed.
Where did that thought come from?
Quickly she slanted him another glance, was relieved that he didn’t seem to have heard her little gasp.
Yet the thought of having Vidar as a lover wasn’t unwelcome, or repulsive. In fact, if she were really being honest it wasn’t even a new concept. Having seen his torso bare as she inked him, she’d found herself wondering about the rest of him, still hidden beneath the low-slung pants. He was more than ripped. Vidar had the kind of body that came from hard physical labor, not from a conscious desire to look good. His shoulders were broad, his chest and abdomen deep, his arms massive and all of him rippled with hard muscles.
She’d already been plotting to get him further exposed, although she was going to sell it to him as being in the name of art, and on a purely professional basis. Now she realized maybe it wasn’t just curiosity driving her.
Not at all.
As they got to the top of the stairs and started toward the door at the back of the loft, she let go of his hand to allow him to go ahead. Knowing Hervé would be watching, she looked back to wave at him, saw that he’d indeed looked up from the arm tat he was doing. Acknowledging her with a nod, he went back to work and she went through the door, giving Vidar another longer, considering glance as she did.
Hervé was one of those men both women and men fell over themselves trying to attract. When she first applied for a chair at the Midnight Café, Jasmina thought him extremely interesting, with his long, dark hair and flashing green eyes. There was an edge to him too, as there was to many of the dragonkin, but even that air of suppressed danger didn’t appeal to her as much as Vidar’s earthiness.
Pushing through the door into her private room, her heightened awareness of Vidar made her a little nervous. Not an emotion she was used to. Going to one side of her tattoo table, she hooked her wheeled stool closer with her foot and sat down to mix the ink with the sun-essence Cassie had left for her. It was the standard formula for inking trolls, and without the additive the tats would just fade away almost immediately.
Vidar had already taken off his sheepskin vest and was hanging it on one of the hooks suspended on the wall. As he started on the buttons of his shirt, Jasmina took a deep breath, wiped her suddenly clammy hands down the outside legs of her jeans.
“So, tonight we’re finishing up the shading on the squirrel, right?”
“Yes.” Vidar kept his back turned as he unbuttoned his cuffs. “Ratatoskr.”
Another deep breath, but before she could say anything more, his shirt came off, and the words died in her throat.
Despite the hours of work she’d put into tattooing him, it was as if she were looking at his back for the first time. Perhaps because she’d been thinking of sleeping with him the smooth movement
of his skin as it shifted over the rippling, flexing muscles made her mouth go dry. Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palms with the desire to run her hands over each ridge and plane, explore the deep contours along his spine.
Trying to be objective, she forced her focus to the tattoo itself. Yggdrasill, the World Tree of Norse mythos, spread its branches across his back and over his shoulders. The trunk ended just at the top of his low-slung pants, as though the top of the denim represented ground level. The serpent Jörmungandr bisected the tree, continuing around to the front of his waist where it held its own tail in its mouth. Four stags were tattooed in amongst the intricately interwoven branches and the outline of Ratatoskr, the squirrel, scampered down the trunk, carrying an insult from the eagle perched at the topmost limb.
The art on his back, along with the intertwined runic lettering on his arms and Fenrir, the wolf, on his chest, were some of her best work. But she’d had an amazing canvas to create it on.
Vidar had hung his shirt on another hook and turned to face her, so Jasmina swallowed, gathering her bravado.
“The squirrel’s carrying the insult from the eagle, you said. Who’s it going to?”
The corners of his mustache twitched. “To Níðhöggr, the dragon eating away at the roots of the tree.”
“Uh-huh.” Jasmina kept her gaze on his even while swinging the stool from side to side, too keyed up to sit still. “Aren’t you going to put Níðhöggr in, just to complete the scene?”
For a moment he didn’t move. His gaze bored into hers, sharp as ice shards, making it an effort to keep the smile on her face. Crossing his arms, Vidar shrugged. “I never really considered it.”
Probably not, since it would mean taking off his pants for her to tattoo his ass, something this reticent man wouldn’t have thought of himself. No, he would definitely need a nudge to show her his butt, and she was just the jinn to supply it.
“Seems to me if you’re going to do something, go all the way, right? Níðhöggr would make it perfect.”
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