by Willa Okati
Elven Escapades
Willa Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2007 Willa Okati
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ISBN: 978-1-59596-728-2
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Editor: Crystal Esau
Cover Artist: Karen Fox
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Elven Escapades
Willa Okati
Hmmm… anyone feel like a few more… Elves?
Sergeant Elizabeth Hawkins has decided that enough is e-damn-nough. Not one but two of her friends, Ciara and Sara, have gone missing over the past couple of years. After being spotted in the company of two hunks, or so she’s heard. Great, fine, but hey, they could send word, you know?
The good word Elizabeth wants comes in the form of a messenger sent to deliver the news that her friends are fine -- more than fine -- and having the time of their lives. A very tall, broad and devastatingly handsome messenger who comes complete with his own complementary blond hunk to complete the set.
They’re a sneaky pair, they are, and they know just how to push Elizabeth’s buttons. Killian and Roan love their games. Luckily, so does Elizabeth. She’s ready to play if they are. As soon as she wraps her head around what Killian’s telling her: neither he nor Roan are human. They’re Elves… and they’re ready to make the jailhouse rock for her like never before.
Is she up to the challenge? Hell, yes.
Prologue
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Sergeant Elizabeth Hawkins of the Annandale PD jerked out of the first good sleep she’d had after a night of mostly tossing and turning. Bracing herself on one elbow and a forearm, she blinked dazedly and tried to figure out what the hell had woken her up.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Okay, apparently someone had decided to attack her front door with a battering ram.
Bong-bong-beedle-de-bong!
And they’d tried punching her doorbell for good measure.
“Mental note, reminder one thousand -- disable that damn thing,” Elizabeth mumbled. The braid she’d done her hair up in for sleeping had come loose as she’d tossed to and fro, not in the fun way, on her mattress, and the result would do Medusa proud. She shoved a hank of dark blond tangles out of her eyes and sagged against her pillow, praying her early-morning visitor would take a hint and go the hell away.
They didn’t. In fact, they seemed to switch the battering ram out for a giant woodpecker juiced up on cocaine and caffeine, interspersed with the occasional hammering of her doorbell.
Elizabeth pushed her face into the pillow and groaned. Who on God’s green earth is bugging me on a Saturday? Haven’t they heard about cell phones?
Somewhere in the depths of her sleep-foggy mind, a thought took shape and tapped her on the shoulder. “Shit!” she yelped, muffled by her pillow. “Sara!”
Fuck! No time to lose. Elizabeth hurled herself out of bed, grabbing a once-loose but now too-tight purple terry robe from its hook behind her door. She threaded her arms through the sleeves and tied the belt in a hasty knot. There. Not what she’d call presentable for company, but it beat answering the door naked.
If Sara had come back, or someone who knew where Sara had gone, to hell with modesty. Elizabeth had been praying for a break in the case of her missing friend for far too long to worry about flashing anyone.
Her bare feet skidded on the slippery throw rug in her entryway as Elizabeth scrambled for the door. Almost falling smack on her ass, she regained her balance at the last second. Without a pause to catch her breath, she slid back the chain, threw the deadbolt, and wrenched the door open. “Sara?”
A fist roughly the size of Texas stopped just short of bonking her nose. Elizabeth went cross-eyed, blinking at the massive meathook.
“Okay, not Sara.” Elizabeth tugged her robe tighter and looked up to see who had come visiting.
And up.
And up.
“Good God, you’re huge,” she blurted. “And you’re --” She snapped her mouth shut, twin splotches of heat blooming on her cheeks at the thought of what she’d almost said: You’re gorgeous.
Which, even half-awake, she was definitely aware of. Well over six feet tall with the chest and shoulders of a fullback -- hence the mighty power of his door-knocking -- he had the kind of rugged, rough-hewn good looks that made her go weak in the knees. Add those plusses to the wicked sparkle in his eye that not even a solemn expression could mask, and he was something out of a wet dream.
Her own particular brand of wet dream, but still.
Elizabeth stared at the fantasy man on her doorstep. Who are you, and what are you doing here? Would you like to come in for coffee, tea, or me? No, no, wait a second. Random hunks do not show up at your home without a good reason, plain Jane. “Hello,” she said slowly, trying to puzzle him out. “Can I help you?”
“You’re Sergeant Lizzie, aye?” the man asked. Elizabeth’s pussy clenched. Just hearing her name spoken in this guy’s sinfully deep, liltingly Irish voice made her think wicked, kinky things.
She fought her way back on track. “Elizabeth. Yes. No. Wait. My friends call me Lizzie. My girl friends. Sara. Sara called me Lizzie. Do you know where she is? Did she send you?”
The man held up a hand to stop her stream of babble. “Take a breath, lass,” he scolded with a grin. “Aye, I’ve come from Sara. She sent me with a message.”
Elizabeth all but collapsed from sheer relief. Sara, a reclusive artist and one of her best friends, had disappeared two months earlier without a trace. When Elizabeth discovered Sara to be missing, she didn’t think it was a coincidence that on the same day Sara’s ex-fiancé was dragged to the station on a good handful of charges. The bastard had been drunk as three skunks, in possession of a recently fired handgun, and bragging about teaching uppity bitches a lesson.
The thoughts of what he might have done to Sara were what kept Elizabeth awake at night. “Okay,” she said, catching her breath. “Is Sara all right? Where is she?”
“I’ll be glad to answer all I can, lass, but, if you’ll allow me, introductions first. I’m called Killian.” He bowed to her, an oddly anachronistic but charming gesture that tickled Elizabeth’s hommina-hommina meter.
Maybe she could get away with a kiss of gratitude?
“Killian,” Elizabeth repeated, extending her hand. “Thank you. Come inside?”
Killian’s hand engulfed her own. “Gladly, but in a moment. Sara ordered me to make sure you knew who and what I am.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sara had a bit of a nasty shock when --”
“Wait. You never said if she was okay or not. Is she hurt?”
“Not hurt, no, not at all. Happier than she’s ever been, I’d say, and in good health besides. She’s with my cousin Niall and his partner Gent.”
“With… as in, with? You mean to say she up and disappeared without a word for a hook-up?”
“Not a hook-up, Lizzie. More of a lifetime commitm
ent, and for my kind, a lifetime can be very long, which brings me back around to the point. When Sara found out what Gent and Niall were, it gave her a wee turn. She’d rather I was up-front with you; she said you appreciated honesty.” Killian gave Elizabeth a heated once-over that surprised the bejeezus out of her but made her shiver. “She didn’t tell me you’d be quite so beautiful, though.”
The knot on Elizabeth’s robe began to slip. She grabbed the material to hold it in place, not that it seemed to be doing any good. The way Killian looked at her… she might as well have been naked.
Before she could stammer out a response that made any kind of sense, Killian bowed again. “Milady, I’ll be direct. If you would, look where I direct your gaze.” He swept his thick mass of black hair away from his ears. Very nice ears, except… a bit… pointy.
Elizabeth let go of her robe’s sash. The knot unraveled and the belt dropped to her feet. The robe gaped open, but she barely noticed. “What the…?”
“I’m an Elf, milady. There! That’s out in the open.” Killian slyly peeked at Elizabeth’s newly exposed naughty and nice flesh on display. “You are a bit of radiance, aren’t you, lass? A real beauty. May I call you ‘radiance’? I’m a big one for pet names. And I’ll be coming in now, if I’m permitted to enter. I’ve a feeling you and I are going to change one another’s lives forever.” The power of his wink made Elizabeth’s pussy start to cream.
First things first, though. Elizabeth put her hand to her forehead. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re a what now?”
Chapter One
A few years down the line…
Ex-cop turned professional bounty hunter Elizabeth Hawkins adjusted the tight fit of her cocktail dress, trying to look casual instead of uncomfortable. Two years working this gig and she still hated some of the costumes the job demanded. No pain, no gain, though, right? And I’ve got it all on the line. Here. Tonight.
This isn't half as easy as it looks on TV, she thought irritably, wanting to scratch the place where the zipper itched like a mother. She’d dressed to blend with the crowd in this dark and smoky club, and she’d handled a lot worse, but the heavy fog in the air and the club’s vaguely sinister music made her feel dizzy.
She closed her eyes just for a moment to regain her equilibrium, and promptly fell away into Never-Never-Land.
* * *
A disembodied voice rumbled with pleasure. “There you are at last, Radiance. I’ve searched high and low, for I don’t give up what’s mine. Oh, you’ve been a bad, bad girl, Radiance, but now we’ll settle our score, won’t we?”
Elizabeth’s hands clenched into fists on her knees. She recognized the speaker’s voice. He had the kind of fuck-me vocals a woman never forgot. “Killian?”
Heavy clouds of white, jasmine-scented vapor parted as the man -- Elf -- himself emerged, drawing closer to Elizabeth. As seen from below, with his wildly curling black hair blowing over his broad, bare chest, his black eyes flashing with dark humor and lust, and his lips tilted in a knowing smile, he reminded her why she’d fallen in love with him.
Killian went to one knee in front of Elizabeth, but she knew this wasn’t about humbling himself. He still held the high ground. Offering her a hand up was a challenge and an invitation.
Elizabeth stayed stubbornly put. The sight of Killian -- and God, he hadn’t changed a bit -- still made her legs wobbly and her pussy wet. Big and broad as a blacksmith but with the long, clever hands of an artist, he could do things to a woman she’d never forget. Elizabeth had woken up more times than she could count from dreams of him, so desperate for release she had no choice but reach between her legs to finish herself off.
She never was able to drop back to sleep afterwards. She’d try a shot of brandy to make herself sleepy, but while the scorching burn of the alcohol felt great going down, those late-night drinks failed to give her so much as a buzz. Never were any answers in the bottom of the bottle, either.
Killian gentled the fierce passion in his expression, tempering it with a coaxing smile. “Will you not come and dance with me again, Radiance? We could be as glorious together as we ever were.”
Elizabeth clamped her lips shut and shook her head.
“Come dance with me,” Killian beguiled, leaning so far forward he was inches from touching her. “Make a new start.”
“I’ll sit this one out.”
“Again, Radiance? Suit yourself.” Killian stood gracefully as a cat and whirled around, the skin-tight deerskin pants he wore hugging the tight, clean lines of his ass and legs. He paused ten paces away before turning to offer her a dazzling smile. “Here’s what you’re missing out on, my bonny lass.”
He began to dance, whirling in intricate circles, a visual maze that made her dizzy to watch, fogging up her mind and making it hard to think… to remember…
* * *
“Oh!” Elizabeth sat upright with a gasp. The purse she’d held tight on her lap slipped from her grasp and tumbled to the floor. “Killian?” she blurted.
“Lizzie? Hey, Lizzie!” Joe, Elizabeth’s apprentice -- a pretty piss-poor klutz; God only knew why she’d taken him on -- shook her arm. “You okay?”
“What?” Elizabeth’s thoughts had gone fuzzy. “Did I fall asleep?” She glanced past Joe, who had crouched beside her, and around at the small, elegantly appointed club.
Very upscale for a strip joint, but she’d seen weirder things in her time. Women dressed in designer labels filled more than half the room, chattering softly in accents that ranged from Bostonian to Carolinian, artfully arranged at small tables and taking small sips of delicate cocktails. Classy, beautiful, and dangerous as sharks.
Elizabeth was so out of her league. She might have been packing heat and known how to use the hardware, but any one of these Ladies of Breeding and/or Cold Hard Cash could cut her down with a few well-chosen words. One drop of a Steel Magnolia's sugary venom could knock her flat. Ex-cops turned bounty hunters -- not exactly the cream of society.
Lucky for her she had an ace up her sleeve.
Joe jostled her. “Lizzie, you’re kinda freaking me out here.” If Elizabeth hadn’t known him, and if she’d squinted, she might have mistaken him for a wiry Army recruit with his hair buzzed short as peach fuzz and his baby face.
“Don’t call me Lizzie,” she replied absently, still fumbling to recover the scraps of her dream. “I’ve told you at least a dozen times I don’t like nicknames, and you’re not being as cute as you think you are.”
Beneath the table’s long linen cloth, Joe laid his hand on Elizabeth’s thigh, way too close to Ground Zero for her taste. “You told me your friends called you Lizzie.”
“Key word there, Joe? Friends. We’re not friends, and we sure as hell aren’t ever going to be lovers, so how about you back off, hmm?”
Joe bristled, as she might have predicted. So touchy. “It’s going to look a little conspicuous if I have to holler, ‘Hey, Bounty Hunter’ when I want to get your attention, don’t you think?”
“Then call me ma’am, you moron. A little respect wouldn’t hurt for once.”
Joe didn’t bother to hide his scowl. Elizabeth did swallow down her sigh. Classic rookie: chronic case of thinking he knew better than his superiors and a related pole permanently lodged up his ass. “Yes. Ma’am.”
“That’s better.”
Elizabeth expected Joe to move on like a good little bounty hunter trainee, but he lingered, fidgeting with the red silk bowtie he wore, tugging at the slightly tight waistband of his black dress slacks. A menu dangled from his free hand. He looked harried, as if posing as a waiter went far beyond the call of duty and into the realms of annoying.
Why, exactly, had she decided to train Joe for the life and times of a bounty hunter? It wasn’t as if she herself had the decades of experience probably needed to be a good teacher. Spur of the moment choices… they could be the best decisions ever made, and, Lordy, they could also be the absolute worst. Joe would never succeed at becoming a hunter. He had t
he balls and the brawn, but not the brains.
Besides, he was just window-dressing to cover up this part of the game she loved to play. Poor schmuck.
“You’re still here?” she asked, very politely.
“So kill me -- like I said, I was worried for you.”
“Not your place to fret about me, Joe.”
“Hey. We’ve been through some stuff together.” He clumsily stroked her leg.
She considered kicking him in the nuts. “We’ve seen some action, sure. The job’s a lot of things, but it isn’t boring.”
“I’m not talking about the work we do, Lizzie.” Joe’s fingers drifted higher. Any further and she decided he’d be in for a few missing fingers. “I still think we could make ‘us’ work.”
Once again, living proof snap decisions often ended badly. “Joe.” Elizabeth kept her voice low and her expression pleasant. “We have never fucked. We are never going to fuck. It was a mistake. Now move your hand and move your ass, and maybe you’ll get out of here with your nuts intact. Are we clear?”
“You’re the one who taught me never to give up the prey.” Joe gave her his best shot at a smoldering look and only managed something resembling acute constipation. “I’ll put my own contract out on you.”
“Right. Do that. Until then, keep your hands to yourself and mind your manners.” Elizabeth pinched a sensitive nerve in Joe’s wrist, at which he flinched back with a satisfying look of shock. “That’s better. Anything to report?”
“No.” Joe shook his head. “Everyone’s clean as a whistle as far as I can tell, but then again you’re being pretty tight-lipped about what we’re looking for. Thief? Gigolo? Debtor? Bail jumper? One of America’s Most Wanted? How am I supposed to know the target when I see them if I don’t know who they are?”
“You’ll know.” Elizabeth reached for a highball glass, sweaty with condensation, which she’d pushed into the middle of her table after one unfortunate sip. “Move on.”