No Such Thing

by Michelle O'Leary

  He’d thought he had a clear memory of what the full force of her power felt like, what it did to him to have her inside everywhere, stroking him right down to his soul. But his memory was infinitely weak in comparison to reality, or maybe her increased strength had somehow magnified her affect. He’d forgotten what it felt like to be swept away, to lose all control and sense of himself in that violent rush of pleasure, to have no choice and not care. There’d been nothing but her and glorious sensation.

  And he would give anything to be in that moment again. Even now, when he knew what a tragic mistake it would be, when he knew how badly it would end. She was like an addiction, everything about her a drug he couldn’t stop craving, from her quicksilver wit to the sweet rush of her talent and everything in between. Terrifying.

  When he felt mostly under control, he stalked to main operations, meeting Pete on the entrance deck. "Status?"

  The man stared at him with wide hazel eyes and Declan wondered if he should have spent a little longer calming down. "Got diagnostics running, but I don’t think we took a hit. You okay, MC?"

  "Fine. We lose control of any of the units?"

  "No, none of the cargo got lost or busted. When we did emergency shutdown of the hole, the units drifted some, but Mem Soliere started stacking ‘em back up in the facility a few minutes ago. No losses. Is she okay?"

  "She’s fine," Declan said in a steely voice, keeping himself from baring his teeth in a snarl at Pete with serious effort.

  "Just wondering, boss," Pete muttered, hunching his shoulders with downcast eyes. "The cargo stopped moving after she went to your office and we hadn’t heard from her."

  "She’s fine, Pete," he snarled. "Keep your mind on your work."

  "This from the guy who can’t keep his eyeballs in his head with her around," Pete muttered with a pointed look out of the corner of his eye while he headed for his work station.

  Declan ground his teeth, trying to remember that Pete was his employee as well as his friend and he really shouldn’t deck him. He hadn’t thought he’d been that obvious when Ryelle had visited main operations that morning. Thinking back, though, he realized he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. Or done much work, for that matter. With an inner wince, he stepped to the rail and began directing his staff, focusing on the issues at hand instead of his increasingly desperate crisis with Ryelle.

  He had moderate success keeping his mind on his work as they alerted Mobulus HQ of the attack, concluded a satisfying diagnostic, and reopened the wormhole. The supplies were undamaged and unloaded without incident, and Declan made sure all the crew of the supply ship visited the infirmary to get a clean bill of health before he released them from duty.

  When the wormhole was cleared for resumption of transfer, the cargo units left the facility in a stately procession to the hole without anyone contacting Ryelle. Everything seemed to be getting back to normal operations.

  Declan was feeling a species of cautious satisfaction when Ryelle murmured in his ear, "I’m in my quarters when you’re ready," shaking him down to his toes.

  He hastily shut off the damned communicator and gripped the rail in desperation. The invitation in her voice was obvious and his body reacted accordingly while his mind fizzed and smoked with panic and lust. Damn her. She knew exactly what she was doing and worked her devious plans in total disregard of his wishes. He’d been pretty sarkin’ clear when he’d said he didn’t want to be seduced. Obviously, she knew it was possible to seduce him anyway—she’d done it with just a few simple words in his office.

  And now she was just expecting him to fall in line, to follow her wherever she led like a well-behaved hound. The scary part was just how much he wanted to do exactly that. He was falling again, hard and fast, and he was afraid it was as inevitable as it had been the last time. But the painful ending seemed just as inevitable, despite her declarations of love—because of them. He couldn’t believe she felt that way, which meant she was using it to play him, to get what she really wanted, which was…

  Well, hell if he knew.

  Maybe she was just fulfilling an old fantasy. Her desire had been real enough. His blood surged with lust and he gripped the rail tighter when he remembered her sleek body writhing against him. The luscious, frantic sounds she made and the urgent quiver in her muscles had suggested that she’d been nearly as wild as he. And her responses hadn’t been those of a woman inexperienced with sex—she’d been with him every step of the way, driving him insane with her passion.

  So maybe that was her goal. A quick affair, to finish what they’d started so many years ago. Tying up a loose end, answering a question he’d asked himself so many times in the night—what would it have been like between them? If he could keep his other needs in check, he’d love to find out himself. But if he had her, he’d want to keep her. He was afraid this time he wouldn’t be able to let her go and her inevitable departure would destroy him.

  As he stared across main operations, vaguely aware that his people were sending him furtive glances of question and concern, he resolved to stay the hell away from her from now on. It was the only way to rein in his lust, keep his sanity, and protect his moronic heart. To that end, he yanked the communicator from his ear and tossed it over the rail. Then he started mapping his day, merging his duties with his new avoidance policy.

  For the rest of the day, he did things that kept him out of main operations and his office, like a visual inspection and a hands-on diagnostic of the wormhole generators and visiting the supply ship crew to get a first hand account of the attack. He used Pete to relay information to his staff and to Ryelle, a situation that seemed to puzzle Pete at first then amuse him to no end. The man took great pleasure in informing his boss that the telenetic had called him something crass and had asked Pete to inform Declan that the situation with the attackers was status quo.

  For dinner, Declan visited his mother. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence and he did need to speak with her about the incident in his office, but he also felt a cringing revulsion for using the opportunity to avoid Ryelle. Coward. But he knew now that he wasn’t strong enough to resist her.

  His mother wasted no time bringing up the object of his obsession and torment while she ushered him into her rooms. "Come on in, hon. Dinner’s almost ready. Is that girl coming?"

  He frowned at her. "Ryelle? Why would she be coming to dinner?"

  "Because you looked at her like she was on the dessert menu," she said with a sardonic glance. "I didn’t think you’d walk down that road again, Declan."

  "I don’t mean to. It’d help if you stayed the hell away from her," he responded with acid in his tone.

  She pulled steaming plates from the warmer and set them down on her small table with a humph. "Was she serious about being in love with you?"

  "Hell, no."

  She gave him a considering glance as they sat down, her eyes seeing into him as if he was glass. "She sure seemed serious."

  "Yeah, well, she seemed serious last time, too."

  "You were both kids. She looks like she knows her mind now."

  "What is this? Playing devil’s advocate, or did you get sucked into her game?"

  She shrugged, focusing on her meal with a closed look that he recognized with a flare of alarm. "Maybe you should just talk to her about what happened. Get her side of the story. I’m curious to know what her excuse is for breaking my son’s heart."

  "She is sucking you in."

  With a hard glance, she pointed at his plate. "Eat. And don’t insult me. I’ve seen through better cons than this. She just doesn’t strike me as a player. If she’s not telling the truth, what’d she come here for?"

  "Hell if I know. Sex?"

  "Son, I’d be the first to tell you that you’re a fine looking man, but she’s come a hell of a long way just for a piece of ass."

  He snorted and dug into his meal, which was better than what he had in his food storage, for some reason. Everyone had the same quality provisions, so he couldn’
t understand how she made it taste so much better. Maybe she spiced it or something. It took him a few moments to realize that she’d stopped eating and was studying him with an intent expression and a worrisome crease between her brows.

  He swallowed hastily. "What?"

  "I’ve hated her for a long time, Declan. She took the fun out of you, your laughter and most of your smiles. I thought you’d get over it, that it was just a hard crush. You were so young—it was hard for me to imagine it was real love. But you didn’t seem to get better. You got harder instead. You push yourself too hard, you don’t enjoy yourself enough, and you haven’t made me a grandma yet. You never have a woman around long enough for me to even learn her name."

  "Mom—" he interrupted in discomfort, but she wasn’t ready to quit yet.

  "I know she’s the reason and I’ve hated her for it. But the woman I met didn’t look like the girl I pictured. I’m your mother and I want you to be happy. You haven’t been happy for a long time, Declan. If there’s a chance this woman can make you happy…" She made a little gesture and picked up her fork again.

  "And if it turns out like last time?" he asked, putting down his fork. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

  "It’ll turn out how it turns out. At least you’ll have tried. Finish your dinner."

  He sighed and rose to his feet. "Lost my appetite." Leaning down to kiss her temple, he said, "Night, Mom," and headed for the door.

  "You don’t smile enough, Declan," she called after him.

  He grimaced. When his mother got an idea in her head, she was a pit bull on a mission. It was very likely that he’d hear this same litany every time he saw her for quite a while. He made his way up to main operations, meaning to check in and make sure all was well before turning in for the night.

  Ryelle was there, shocking him with how good she looked to him. She had on the same dark green blouse and black slacks as she’d been wearing that morning, still elegant despite her casual position in a seat with her legs propped on a workstation and ankles crossed. She was in an animated discussion with one of the night staff, a young man who looked much too thrilled to be receiving her attention. At the same time, she was lobbing the ball back and forth between the other staff with her talent.

  She looked comfortable and—right in that space. In his space. He frowned, more disturbed by the sense of satisfaction and lack of panic about how well she fit than by her presence.

  "Sir?" the night manager approached with a welcoming smile that faltered at the sight of her boss’s dark look.

  Declan rearranged his face and greeted the woman. "Tillie, how goes the shutdown?"

  Her smile returned, eyes flicking to the telenetic below. "Well, sir. We had a very productive day and the wrap up was seamless. No issues."

  "Good to hear. Thank you."

  She beamed at him and headed back to her station. The atmosphere was calm, settled. There was no residual tension or anxiety about the attack as far as he could tell, the room’s activity as normal as it ever got. His satisfaction deepened. He was willing to bet part of the serene atmosphere was due to Ryelle’s presence.

  On impulse, he said, "Telenetic Soliere, may I have a word with you?" His tone was low and calm and no one in the room reacted except the youngster she’d been talking to, who shot him a guilty look and focused on his viewers with manic intensity.

  Ryelle flicked him an unreadable glance and stood, moving with unhurried grace to a grav step, which lifted her to his deck. She stepped onto the deck several paces away from him and folded her arms across her chest, dark eyes snapping with temper while her features wore a mask of indifference.

  For some reason, the fire in her eyes made him want to smile. "I see they let you play ball," he said in a neutral tone.

  "I can’t figure out the rules, but they’re not holding it against me."

  "It’s complicated."

  "So you said. Was there something you wanted to discuss, MCE McCrae?"

  His eyebrows lifted and he took another look at the dark temper in her eyes. "I think we’d better talk about what’s on your mind."

  "I don’t think so. I’m not currently talking to you."

  "Any reason why?"

  "Several," she snapped, taking a few stiff-legged steps forward and lowering her voice. "First, I don’t appreciate being thrown out of your office like a puppy piddling on the floor."

  He stared at her in confusion. "What?"

  "Telling me to do my work somewhere else in that unpleasant manner you’ve cultivated. It’s tiresome, McCrae."

  He thought back and realized in retrospect that he hadn’t been particularly polite or considerate. She was the station’s telenetic, working for their protection after all, even if her power had been distracting as hell. He shouldn’t have snarled at her like a bear with a sore paw. "I’m sorry, Ryelle. I wasn’t feeling myself."

  She blinked, as if she hadn’t expected his apology. Then her eyes narrowed. "Were you still not feeling yourself when you turned off your communicator? Because it was my understanding that we needed a reliable way to communicate with one another."

  "For station business. You weren’t using it for business, though, were you?" he asked with a smile tugging at his lips. He was enjoying this exchange a little too much. "The station’s com works just as well."

  "Oh, really? Is that why you were sending messages through Pete instead of contacting me directly? I never took you for a coward, Declan."

  "Self-preservation, Ryelle. Direct contact with you was getting me in trouble."

  "So you admit you’ve been avoiding me all day?"

  "I have."

  That seemed to take some of the heat from her temper and her frown became more puzzled than angry. "But you’re not right now."

  "Guess not."

  "Why not?"

  "Not sure."

  She opened her mouth, closed it, stared at him for a moment, then opened her mouth again. And closed it again. Unfolding her arms, she propped her hands on hips and gazed out over operations with a disgruntled expression. "Okay, I don’t know what to do with that," she muttered.

  He chuckled and moved closer to lean a hip against the rail next to her. The tingle of her power brushed over his skin, a sensuous reminder that she was still working. "Have you been keeping watch on the GenTec?"

  She didn’t look at him, but her expression eased a little. "They’ve mobilized, but it’ll take them a while to get through the field. There are some bigger ships that can’t zip through the ‘roids as easily as the screamers. At the moment, they’re all moving together and will be knocking on your door sometime tomorrow afternoon unless some smaller ones come on faster. I’ll keep watching."

  "Thank you," he said quietly. "For saving our supply and watching out for my station."

  She set her hands on the rail, looking down with a pensive curve to her luscious mouth. "It’s my job."

  "You’re going above and beyond and I just wanted you to know I appreciate it."

  She flicked him a troubled glance. "Glad I could help," she mumbled.

  He swallowed another chuckle. "You don’t take compliments well."

  She sighed. "I’m trying to hold onto my mad, but you’re not making it easy."

  "Good. You should never go to bed mad."

  She went still. Then she slowly turned her head to look at him. There was a different fire in her eyes now, one that roused the banked burn in his body to a roaring, hungry blaze.

  "You can even take me to bed with you," he murmured, watching the flare of desire in her eyes with ravenous humor. "That holo com unit goes pretty much everywhere."

  She turned to face him, a hand on her hip as she glared with amused outrage. "That was terrible."

  He grinned. "I figure I was due for at least one." He took a hasty step back when she pointed a threatening finger at him. "Since you’ve been teasing the hell out of me since you got here."

  She huffed then rolled her eyes and faced the room again, lips twitching. "Well, I
won’t be sleeping anyway. May as well keep you up, too."

  "That’s the spirit. Have you eaten?"

  "I’m not sure it was food, but I chewed and swallowed something that was labeled as such. It didn’t come back up, so I decided to call it dinner."

  He gave a sympathetic wince and waved her to the exit. "Come on. I’ll make you a shake. It actually tastes like dessert."

  "Really?" She looked almost as interested in this suggestion as his comment about taking him to bed. "What flavor?"

  "Chocolate, of course. Is there any other flavor?"

  She stared at him with dewy eyes as they left main operations. "I really do love you," she breathed.

  He laughed softly, for once not panicked by her declaration. He led her down to his rooms and she paused outside his door, gazing down the corridor the short distance to her own quarters. Then she looked at him with a suggestive lift of her eyebrows and said, "Huh."

  He suppressed a smirk and stood aside to let her enter his domain. "Admiring my restraint?" he asked.

  "Memorizing the route," she responded with a sly look at him over her shoulder.

  He chuckled again, following her in and heading for his kitchen. "There is an art and mystery to the creation of a milkshake," he informed her while he pulled ingredients from cold storage. "Especially when you’ve got limited supplies to work with."

  "I am prepared to be awed and inspired," she told him solemnly, leaning against the counter with a captivating twinkle in her eyes.

  He pulled the shake maker out with a flourish and admitted to himself with wry humor that he was showing off for her. "This is the Milkshake Master. An invention of mine. The intricacies of its function are top secret."

  "You can erase my memory later," she said with a muffled snicker.

  "In that case, let me introduce you to the key ingredient."

  He held out a small package and she leaned forward to study it. The light of greed and lust lit her eyes.

  "Ohhh, that’s real chocolate," she moaned, reaching for it.