Last Man on Earth
Michelle M. Pillow
Last Man on Earth © Copyright 2009 - 2011, Michelle M. Pillow
Cover art by Natalie Winters, © Copyright 2011
Second Electronic Printing December 2011, The Raven Books
First Electronic Printing October 2009
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
Published by The Raven Books at Smashwords
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This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence.
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Last Man on Earth
Michelle M. Pillow
Dedication
To the wonderful editors, final line editors, cover artists, authors, and all the other Raven family members at The Raven Books.
Thank you for all your hard work and awesome attitudes!
Chapter One
US Underwater Base 654-D, Atlantic Ocean 2172 A.D.
I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth, Dr. Hagan!
Rena frowned. That’s what she’d said to Micco Hagan the day he’d propositioned her in that Houston bar all those years ago. She’d been there speaking at the marine biologist convention. He’d been rude, arrogant, a little drunk and had only done it in order to win a bet with his friend. The day seemed so long ago now, as if in a dream.
All those years ago.
The thought struck her and she had to pause in her task to think. It had only been three years, but it felt much longer. Oh, how things had changed. Who could have known that in their effort to help the ailing environment, scientists would have caused one of the most catastrophic events to hit the earth since the great Ice Age.
Weather control. Now a dark joke, it had once been the promising answer to years of planetary abuse. But they should never have played God. For the first few months it had been great, perfect. Then, as it always does, nature came back to claim its rightful place as ruler. The earth became total chaos. Millions died in erratic weather patterns, some freezing, some sizzling and even more drowning. The few who could be saved were moved under the cover of night to keep the rest of the Earth’s unsaveable population from finding out. They were taken to secret military bases to live until the damage that had been done righted itself. That’s how Dr. Rena Gates found herself one of the very few survivors, sunk deep into the ocean’s depth in what they ironically started calling the lost city of Atlantis.
I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.
How ironic that those offhand words would now come back to haunt her. Micco Hagan was one of the last men on Earth and, according to the very official order she’d just received from the man in charge, she would definitely be expected to sleep with him. General Davies had military control over the base. He was a fair man, one who did right, and they could have gotten much worse. However, Davies did rule his underwater domain with only a few objectives in mind.
Directive One. Preserve the human race, a sense of humanity, civility and a long history.
Directive Two. Preserve the military base and maintain order.
Directive Three. Most importantly, survive at all costs.
That was the missive. Survival. What was free will when they had an obligation to continue the human race? Those who had found some sort of love out of necessity had been allowed to marry in the very beginning, but those who hadn’t after a couple of years underwater were now being forced to join according to their bloodlines—a very cold, scientific process. Micco was in charge of the database, of testing genetics and comparing them, of recording all births to ensure the future wasn’t hereditarily tainted.
She crushed the marriage order in her hand and her frown deepened. If Micco was in charge, then he signed off on their match. She had a hard time believing there was no other suitable candidate on the godforsaken sunken city. Out of two thousand thirty-six people surely there was another match to be made. Or had he gone mad? Was this some sort of joke?
I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.
“Damn it!” She threw the paper at the metal wall of her bunk and growled. A few of her roommates glanced at her and laughed.
“Who’d you get? Sam the man with a plan?” Darcy chuckled, tossing her red curls as she crossed over to pick up the paper. Like everyone, she wore a t-shirt and loose cotton pants. Today, she went for a combination of black and green. Of course, black and green were their only options. She uncrumpled the letter. “Holy crap!”
“What?” Ginger and Lucy asked in unison.
“Hagan! You get to sleep with dark, sexy, descended-from-warrior-gods Hagan!” Darcy exclaimed, inciting a round of jealous gasps and semi-hateful glares in Rena’s direction. “Every woman I know has tried to get into his pants.”
“Seriously, if you don’t want him, I’ll trade you,” Lucy said. “I got some mechanic from the underside. I barely know him except that we’ve had mandatory gym time together like twice and I think he had brown hair.”
The room full of military cots seemed to close in on her more than usual. The city felt like the inside of a submarine but was more spherical in design and stacked five levels tall.
“I got a fisherman from the pit,” Ginger added. The pit was the pressurized room in the bottom center of the city used to catch their meat supply. “He’s cute enough, but can you imagine what he’s going to smell like at the end of a shift? Rena, girl, you got the freakin’ jackpot. Hagan is smart. Sexy.”
“Sexy,” Lucy repeated.
“Freakin’ hot,” Ginger said.
“Seriously, I want to trade,” Lucy insisted.
“You can’t trade. It’s all genetic matching,” Darcy stated, ruining the catlike smile that had begun to form on Lucy’s mouth. “Apparently, I’m genetically matched to that strange guy who talks to himself. You know, the one they’re always asking to leave the mechanics area because he takes supplies without authorization.”
“Do you mean Dr. Van—Dr. Von…?” Lucy asked.
“Von Sibenthal,” Darcy said.
“He’s not, ah, all that, um, bad,” Lucy said, trying to sound positive.
Rena pushed up and headed toward the door. “I’m going for a run before my shift.”
“You just got back from a run,” Darcy called behind her.
Rena ignored her.
I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.
* * * * *
I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth, Dr. Hagan!
Micco took a deep breath, not for the first time wondering if he’d made a mistake. The words still stung, even after everything that had happened. Whatever it was that put them on the same life rescue list, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just possibly, it was fate. Even now, even years after her rejection, he wanted her as badly as
he had that night in Houston.
Rena had been so soft and sweet-looking back then with the deep brown eyes that made a man melt a little on the inside, and medium brown locks bleached by the sun to create blonde streaks. Now, after the health mandate, her body had hardened with toned muscles from her workouts, and the sunlight had faded from her hair to leave it a lush flow of darker waves. Like everyone on the base, there was a strain to her gaze, an aging that came from surviving so much tragedy.
He’d tried to talk to her, but she avoided him when she could, ignored him when he managed to get into the same room with her, and always looked at him as if she didn’t remember. Oh, but he knew she remembered him. Once, five months ago, in an isolated corridor, he’d run into her. He hadn’t been planning it, as he paced through the halls to get away from his roommates to think. The whole future matchmaking scheme had just been placed on his shoulders, and he needed some time alone to process the full impact of what he was being asked to do. Not only did he have to marry people who potentially would not like to be married, he also had to reassign their living arrangements. As one of the head scientists on the base, he was to have one of the larger quarters for himself and his new bride—which wasn’t saying much since it only afforded about two more square feet on each side.
“You,” she’d said to him when he almost ran her down.
“Me?” he’d asked, trying to be playful and bring one of her smiles to her full lips.
In that moment, as she glared at him, he knew she remembered. He’d been an ass. He knew it. She knew it. Hell, the whole bar had known it. If he could take it back, he would. But none of that mattered now. Nothing from those days mattered now.
Mumbling, he returned his attention to the holographic screen floating above his desk and tried not to feel the fact that his cock was hard—again—from thinking about Rena. “Well, you might not sleep with me if I was the last man on Earth, but let’s see if you sleep with me as your last option on Atlantis.”
* * * * *
“Join hands,” General Davies ordered, standing above the crowd. He looked over the cramped dining hall from his place on top of a center table.
Rena stiffened as Micco’s warm palm clasped hers. A chill worked over her, adding to the dizzy feeling she got whenever he was near. She tried to tell herself it was repulsion, but it was a lie. A big, fat, juicy lie. Just like that night in the bar, she wanted him. Desire raged like a fever through her blood, igniting her nerves with tingles and causing her thighs to tighten.
His tanned skin and defined features gave evidence of his Native American heritage. Like most men on the base, he wore his hair short, though somehow, on him, the haircut accentuated the dark, piercing depths of his eyes to the point she got nervous looking at him for too long.
Feeling jealous eyes on her, she turned her attention down to her boots. Micco was one of the handsomer men on the base with an animal magnetism and charismatic pull that left more than one lady weak in the knees. She’d heard whispers about him, late-night girl talk speculating about how good he’d taste and how good he’d be in bed.
“You’re married,” the general announced.
“Short and sweet.” Micco chuckled next to her, and she tried not to watch the way his mouth curled up at the corner. “Huh, Mrs. Hagan?”
Rena grimaced. It wasn’t hard. The lust in her veins fueled her bad mood as she tried to deny it. “I have to go collect microscopic specimens. Don’t expect me home.”
“Ah,” he gripped her hand harder before she could pull it away. He turned his attention to the general expectantly.
“You’re all ordered back to your new quarters to discuss, talk, consummate the marriages, to procreate.” The general sighed hard, muttering gruffly, “You all have leave to…just get it out of the way so we can all move forward with our lives. And remember, you’re doing this in memory of all those who can’t. It’s up to us to secure humanity’s future.”
“Shall we?” Micco asked, his voice dipping.
“Our ancestors would be appalled by this,” Rena said, unable to look at him.
“Some of our ancestors arranged marriages,” he countered. “And our ancestors weren’t in our position. I think we all want the same thing—the continuation of our people.”
“If you say so.”
“You could have filed a complaint. I didn’t see any paperwork come across my desk seeking a change of—”
“What? You know as well as I nothing would have been done, and I would have looked like I didn’t care about the future of humanity. You know how things are around here. And who am I to complain when every other base city is implementing the same program? I know we’re following a plan of action, and that the work we do here, now, will be for the betterment of our species, but forgive me for not falling into your arms in celebration of my good fortune.” Rena jerked from him, hurrying into the throng of newlyweds. Fear made her legs move faster. Why couldn’t she have gotten the plain fisherman from the pits who smiled at her every morning when she went to collect her samples? Or the cook with the jagged scar on his cheek?
As she hit the metal corridor, she ran for her new room, following the narrow ropes of light that lined the ceiling and floor. Rena hoped he wouldn’t follow, but inside she knew he would.
* * * * *
Micco gave an easy smile that he didn’t feel as he made his way through the crowd to follow his new wife. Luckily for him, not too many people paid attention to what was happening as they began slowly drifting from the dining hall to do as they were ordered.
Arriving at his quarters, he went inside and the smile dropped. Really it was two rooms—a tiny bathroom that reminded him of the old airplane compartments and the main bedroom. Rena stood with her back to him near the bed, as far from the door as she could walk.
“This is some sort of revenge, isn’t it?” She turned, shooting daggers in his direction with those brown eyes of hers.
“Revenge?” Absently, he moved his hand over the scanner to shut the door. His body tensed with the knowledge of what they were expected to do, alone, in their shared room.
“For rejecting you before in Houston,” she stated bluntly. “You’re still mad that I dared to tell the great Dr. Hagan no. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? You haven’t gotten over losing that damned bet!”
“Bet?” He watched her cross her arms over her chest, well aware of how the motion pushed her breasts up and together. “What are you talking about?”
“Houston. You spilled a drink on my shirt and asked me if I’d like to come back to your room to get out of my wet clothing. I had to run to my room to change and was almost late for my speech because of that!”
She couldn’t possibly still be that angry about his stupid come-on line. Hearing it, he wanted to blush in humiliation. Not one of his finer moments. She’d just been so damned cute and him so damned drunk and horny. “You say that like it matters now.”
“Well…” As if realizing the conversation was a little absurd, she shrugged. “It mattered then and you really embarrassed me. I can only assume you plan to embarrass me some more with this—”
“I embarrassed you? You were the one yelling at me and denouncing my manhood in front of everyone within a fifty-mile radius.”
“I was wearing a white shirt,” she exclaimed. “The chairman of my company saw me looking like I’d just finished participating in a wet t-shirt contest.”
“Mmm.” Micco gave a small moan and licked his lips. “I remember.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Her arms tightened their hold and the t-shirt pulled tighter to her breasts.
Micco gave a short laugh. “Because you’re my wife and I’m—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. I don’t want to hear about how you’re looking to get me out of my wet clothes, or whatever line you’ve come up with since then.”
“I was going to say I’m your husband.” Micco clicked his tongue. “Such a dirty mind.”
She tried to maintain her glare, but he saw the smile peeking through. “This is a useless conversation. Can’t we just tell them we took care of business? That way I’ll go back to work and—”
“That’s insulting. We’ve been in here for only a few minutes.” Micco closed the distance between them, trying not to be too obvious. “My lack of prowess would be all over the city.” He inched closer. “Or perhaps it will be your lack of charms that they talk about.” She wasn’t moving away. That was a good sign. Her breathing deepened, as if calling him in. “Either way, there is no escaping the small-town gossip.”
* * * * *
There is no escaping this room.
Rena swallowed nervously. She’d done all she could to avoid being this close to Micco. When he came into a room, she left. When he spoke, she did her best to get away. Now, as cream gathered in her sex and tingling erupted over her flesh, she knew why. Anger and disdain were no longer working.
Was it her imagination or was Micco beginning to tower over her? The room felt small and a wave of dizziness overcame her. The all-too masculine smell of him engulfed her senses, reminding her of how long she’d been without a sexual partner. When she’d first come on the base, she’d promised herself that she would not have sex with anyone in the city. Such things led to complications.
But that neglected part of her body suddenly demanded to be turned back on. She’d denied herself so much, some out of choice, much out of necessity. Her hand shook. How even to start? What if she had forgotten how? What if she wasn’t any good?
Rena turned her eyes down and focused on his boots. His hand glanced over her arm, sliding up from her wrist to her elbow. Electricity shot across her body, heating her in all the right places.
“Hagan,” she began, trying to think of something, anything reasonable to say.
“Just try it,” he whispered. “If you don’t enjoy it, I’ll stop. I promise.”
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