Ajax (Olympia Alien Mail Order Brides Book 3)

by K. Cantrell

  “Oh, man.” Clem bites her lip. “He’s really torn up over hurting you.”

  “He is?” I glance at her and then at Ares. It’s clear he agrees with her assessment. “It was an accident.”

  Surely Ajax realizes that. This is not like Malcolm at all, who always made it really clear I deserved whatever punishment I received. Never did he hurt me by accident.

  As for Ajax, I’m not even upset about it, especially not when there’s a healer in the house who can apparently knit bone back together faster than I could make a cup of tea.

  “Yeah, but he’s tried so hard to avoid that,” she counters. “To the point of completely disengaging, even though he came to Earth specifically because he wanted companionship.”

  God, I’m slow. Of course that’s why he doesn’t want to talk to me, why he doesn’t want me to touch him lest we fall into a comfortable familiarity that might cause him to accidentally hurt me exactly as he has tonight. The familiar twisting in my chest wrings tight.

  This is why we aren’t connecting as fast as I was hoping. He’s deliberately staying aloof.

  Yet this is the first I’m hearing that he came to Earth for something more than asylum. That’s crap. I want to hear these things from my own husband, not second hand from the wife of my interpreter. Except my husband is not here. He left instead of sticking around to see if I’m okay. Maybe Clem got it wrong.

  “He said that? That he came to Earth for companionship?” I ask.

  Clem nods and Ares says, “It is the reason I wished to help him. He seeks something that is impossible for him to find because he cannot forge normal relationships with fragile beings. This is as true on Torvis as it is on Earth, but at least here, he is not employed by the military, so he is content.”

  That’s even more crap. Content is not a goal, never mind that it was mine until this second.

  I climb off the couch and have to wait a second as the blood resituates in my head. A tiny phantom of pain lingers in my arm but really, it’s fine. “Thank you Penelope for a lovely evening. Sorry we’ve cut it short with all the drama. But I have to go find my husband before something happens to him.”

  “Oh, no, of course,” she says hastily. “The last thing any of us need is for a Torvian to attract the attention of the police. Definitely make sure he’s okay.”

  I nod and follow Ajax out the door, clatter down the stairs and head toward the water. It’s the most logical place for him to go and it’s where he asked me to walk on our first date. Only date. Perhaps that’s one of the keys I missed. He did ask me to spend time with him and I was so busy worrying about my own limitations in the romance department that I never stopped to consider what he wanted out of this marriage. Or his life, for that matter.

  Just because he’s an alien doesn’t mean he doesn’t have dreams. Sure he wants to be safe, just like I do. But that’s not the extent of who we are as people, what we hope for, long for. I’ve let putting one foot in front of the other be my sole focus for far too long.

  I haven’t been brave at all.

  Squaring my shoulders, I increase my pace and sure enough, I glimpse the broad shoulders of my husband across the street. Even though it’s dark, I can see him standing near the wharf in an out-of-the-way place where he’s not impeding the flow of traffic, his gaze trained on the dark water. The path is lighted but he’s standing in partial shadows. Regardless, he’s not easy to miss.

  He glances up sharply as I join him, his gaze hungrily searching mine and I let him look at me without comment because I need for him to know that I’m not hurt.

  “It’s not your fault,” I murmur and to heck with it.

  I reach out and wrap my fingers around his, holding on tight. Yes, he could easily break my bones but he doesn’t squeeze my hand. Neither does he yank free. Instead, he lets me drive the contact and that works for me in so many ways.

  “Brooklyn better,” he rumbles. “No hurt.”

  I nod. “Ares fixed it all. It’s fine. It was an accident.”

  His eyelids flutter shut for a beat. “Sorry. Not happy. No more touch.”

  “First off, you don’t have to apologize. There’s nothing to be sorry for. Your heart was in the right place.” He quirks a brow at me curiously and I realize he needs me to amend my phrasing so he can understand my meaning. “You reached out because you didn’t want me to fall. It was automatic. Because you care. Not because you were trying to hurt me. There’s a difference. A huge one.”

  He shakes his head. “No hurt. No touch.”

  I’m not beating my head against this wall any longer. “You’re touching me right now and it’s not hurting me. Watch, we can do this too.”

  I drag his hand to my chest and flatten it against my collarbone, holding it captive with my palm. His dark gaze flies to mine and locks in place as the electricity between us gathers.

  “See,” I murmur and slide his hand to my face, turning my cheek into it. “No hurt. But yes touch.”

  This should be freaking me out. But it’s not. A man is touching me but he’s practically demanding that I guide what he does. Also, he’s not a man in the human sense. It’s powerful to be the one in control, especially given that the man in question is twice my size and has already demonstrated the ease with which he could snap another bone.

  His fingers brush my cheek of their own volition as if he’s just as caught up in the moment as I am. Heat spreads through my face and tugs at me lower down, in places that I thought were dead.

  That’s when he pulls free, his face a mess of emotions.

  “What?” I ask softly, nearly weeping with frustration. “You don’t want to touch me?”

  He nods, eyes closed as if for fortification, and that’s when I realize he’s struggling. Maybe he wants to touch me a whole lot, but he’s scared to. I think about what Clem and Ares said and I have to know.

  “Why did you agree to this marriage, Ajax?” I ask him point-blank. “Is it because you wanted to have a legal reason to stay in America or some other reason?”

  His eyes blink open and a faint line appears between his brows as he contemplates me, his gaze dark and enigmatic. “Stay America. Job. Only.”

  I’m a little disappointed that he didn’t take the opportunity to tell me there’s another reason, like maybe he wants to have a real marriage. I should back off. But I don’t. There’s more here. I can feel it, and not just because I have inside information. It’s in his touch and in the moments between us at home when he watches me with this undisguised longing.

  “What if there was no job?” I blurt out. “What if I said I married you because I need someone in my life? I’m lonely. I want to talk to you. Maybe go on another date. Spend time together like people do who like each other and think there’s a possibility of more down the road. What if our marriage can be more than an arrangement?”

  That is not what I meant to say. But I can’t take it back. It’s all true. It took these extreme circumstances for me to get up the courage to be honest. And frankly, it’s a little ridiculous of me to expect him to tell me the things in his heart when I hadn’t done the same yet.

  Now maybe we can get past the weird netherworld our relationship has been thus far. It’s not like he’s had a lot of the job to do. He’s basically a bodyguard—and a husband—in name only.

  Maybe he wants something more than a bland, boring existence with nothing to anticipate, nothing to enjoy. If so, I can relate.

  But he shakes his head, clearly bemused. “No. No touch. No kiss.”

  “That’s what we agreed to, yes. But we’re allowed to change our minds. The real question is whether you want the possibility of more. I’m not saying we’re right for each other, or even that we’ll fall madly in love. Just that we’re together for better or worse. Why not take it up a level?”

  This is pretty bold, especially for me. But I think it’s worth it to throw down and see what’s what.

  Instead of my impassioned speech removing barriers, his face closes
in and he manages to look even more miserable than he did a minute ago. “No deserve Brooklyn. Too strong. Many problems.”

  Oh, man. He means every word too. I can tell. “That’s so not true.”

  But then I falter. What am I doing? He’s right—this is a very difficult line to walk when I’m pretty gun shy in the first place and he’s already broken my arm once today. Maybe I should give it a rest and wait until I’m in a better place.

  Except no one has ever told me they don’t deserve me. Like I’m special and he’s not good enough. That’s total crap, but the pure agony in his voice runs through my head on an endless loop. You don’t say something like that to a woman you think of as your employer.

  And a woman trying to be brave doesn’t let it go.

  “Just tell me this,” I say. “What if we can find a way to fix the problems? Will you at least admit that you want to try?”

  Slowly, he nods, his gaze on me, dark and full of something delicious. “Yes.”

  Six

  “Good,” I say and I’m shocked at how shaky my voice is. “Hold out your arms like this.”

  I demonstrate a spread-eagle stance and he does it, his expression intrigued. Without taking time to think through what I’m doing, I operate on instinct alone and step into his body, wrapping my arms around his torso.

  Ajax jerks as we align and lowers his arms in response, but quickly flings them back up and away from me. That’s perfect. My ear rests against his chest and the thumps beyond the wall of flesh and bone must be his heart. It’s erratic and loud and the sound of it thrills through me.

  “See, this is okay, right?” I murmur.

  Rumbly sounds that must be his answer vibrate through my cheek but it’s not English and I don’t bother to ask for a translation because I’m too busy running my palms along his back. Good God, the man’s muscles feel like granite under my fingertips. He’s got so many fascinating contours that I might spend an hour here and never learn everything about my husband’s body.

  I want to learn. I try to be shocked at how much this is turning me on, but I fail spectacularly. I’m completely free to do whatever I please with a man and it’s heady to have that much control. The hot arrows shooting through me make me a lot braver than I was expecting. Enough that I draw back a little and slide my palms up the contours of his chest until I’m standing on my tiptoes so I can cup his jaw.

  It’s smooth. Warm. He watches me, his gaze going dark with pleasure as I feather a thumb over his lips. Call me brazen, but I can’t help it.

  “Will you let me kiss you?” I ask huskily and thank you God he can’t possibly see the blush I know is heating up my cheeks. “I can’t reach unless you bend down.”

  Instantly, he complies, and with only a microsecond for me to prepare, our lips meet in what should be a sweet kiss. It’s not. It turns heated and raw as we both hungrily seek more. Tongues clash in a wild mating dance and I am lost in the sensation of being thoroughly ravaged by this man’s hard and demanding mouth.

  I sense his arms a moment before they wrap around me and the pressure nearly steals my breath, but then he wrenches away and backs up. My mouth cools far too fast and I nearly weep at how short and unfulfilling that kiss was.

  “Sorry,” he spits out and shakes his head. “No control. Not happy.”

  I don’t like how hard this is for him. This is going to have to go much slower than I was hoping. “It’s okay. That was a great first step. Of course I want you to be able to hug me and you know, maybe more. But if you can’t control your strength, then we’ll have to find ways to be creative.”

  He nods and I can at least take solace in the fact that we’re making progress, albeit jerky and halting. Who would have thought that my first foray into dating again would taking on so many interesting parameters? After all, most women date guys they meet on a dating site or pick up at a bar. I’m dating my alien bodyguard husband who can’t touch me.

  And I like that we’re taking it slow. I like that he pays such diligent attention to whether he’s hurting me. This is shockingly perfect for me and I want to be sure it is for him too.

  “This is okay, right? Getting closer?” I ask him.

  “Yes, Brooklyn. Yes, kissing. No touch bad.”

  By now, I know that his face communicates as much of what he’s thinking as his mouth and his conflict is evident. “Bad because it’s hard for you to control it?”

  “No. Like Brooklyn. Want to touch.”

  His dark eyes seek mine and in them, I see exactly how much want he has. It steals my breath. He struggles because he wants to touch me and can’t. Awareness prickles across my skin and it’s the most delicious kind of forbidden anticipation.

  “Touch me again then,” I encourage him with a glance at the scant few people strolling along the path several yards away. “Just see what happens. We’re in public. It can’t go very far anyway.”

  Slowly, he reaches out and touches my lips with his fingertip. A shock of sensation darts through me, but then it vanishes as he withdraws, his fingers hovering near my face but not committing. I bite back a groan of frustration.

  On one hand, I’m totally good with his hesitation. I can see everything coming and since I’ve been surprised by violence in the past, I have a tendency to be skittish as a result. That doesn’t play into the dynamic here and that’s awesome.

  On the other hand, dang it this is hard!

  “Try again,” I say and wince at the sheer demand in my tone.

  But I can’t pretend I’m not dying to get his mouth on mine again, though this time, I’d like it to happen a little more organically. While I appreciate the opportunity to direct our contact, it’s nice to get lost in it sometimes too, instead of always having to think about not only my next move, but his. The more we practice, the more normal our relationship can become. The more naturally it can evolve.

  This time, he cups my jaw in a similar fashion to the way I did his a few moments ago, but his touch is so light I barely feel it. Automatically, I turn my cheek into his fingers, allowing them to graze across my face.

  He sucks in a breath and yeah, I’m feeling it too. The heat gathers and before I can blink, move, or prepare, his lips claim mine in a fierce kiss that defies all my expectations. Instinctively, I move in closer, seeking his heat. I wrap my arms around him and his settle at his sides. Not where I want them. But I’ll take everything else.

  His tongue darts forward to explore, almost punishing in his eagerness. I recall that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the body and I worry for a moment that this is a bad idea, but he sweeps that out of my head by deepening the kiss. I let him because it feels that good. Ajax is entirely too conscious of his strength to let it go too far, and sure enough, he pulls back to end the kiss well before I’m ready.

  “Take Brooklyn date,” he rumbles and threads a lock of my hair through his fingers. It pulls a little on my scalp but I don’t mind.

  “Okay,” I agree quickly and maybe a little breathlessly. “Tomorrow night?”

  He nods. “More touch.”

  “Yes, I am completely available for more touching.” This makes him smile which pretty much dissolves my bones. Not that they were all that solid in the first place. “You’re pretty good at it for someone who can’t do a lot of touching.”

  The smile slips off his face and he shakes his head. “No touch after—” A jumble of sounds follows, none of which I understand. He squeezes his eyes closed for a beat. “Process.”

  “Process? You mean the genetic experimentation?”

  He nods. “No touch. First time.”

  Surely he can’t mean what that sounds like. “This is the first time you’ve touched someone since they experimented on you?”

  “Yes.” He says it so matter of fact but I am well-trained to pick up on his non-verbal cues. Pain scores shadows through his gaze and it’s easy to guess that he’s suffered over this lack of contact.

  Of course he did. Who doesn’t enjoy a hug between fri
ends or a backrub at the end of a trying day?

  “You’ve stayed away from everyone so you didn’t accidentally hurt them,” I say but it’s not a question. Obviously that’s been his reality for a long time and I’m furious with his government for messing around with his genetics to the point where he can’t do something as achingly simple as holding hands without worrying he’ll turn my bones to dust. “You haven’t had a…girlfriend or whatever since then, either. Have you?”

  I’ve read the manual Ajax came with from cover to cover and learned that Torvian mating customs are pretty different from ours—namely that they do so for procreation only. Regardless, Ajax knows his way around a kiss, plus the other Torvian-human couples I know are pretty demonstrative in the affection department, so it’s fairly safe bet he’s familiar with the same type of sex I am—and he hasn’t had any in quite some time.

  He must have been so lonely. No wonder he left his planet and came here, willingly stepping into a green card marriage because that was the best he could hope for.

  “No. Alone many cycles.” He waves at the night sky where a smattering of dim stars shine down on Olympia, which presumably encompasses the moon he uses as a reference to time passing. “No touch. No intimacy.”

  He stumbles over the word but I don’t know if it’s because he’s not sure of its meaning or because he’s uncomfortable with the subject. Why? Because he doesn’t like admitting to having needs? Or is he worried I’ll interpret all of this as a bad pickup line?

  Either way, we’re married. I think we’re past the point where pickup lines are even a thing.

  “Me either,” I confess in an attempt to at least get us past whatever awkwardness is still lingering here. “Not for many cycles.”

  His brows come together in a scowl and he says something that sounds vicious in his native language. I imagine it might be a colorful phrase of the cursing variety. It shouldn’t make me smile, but I can’t help it. Pretty much everything he does makes me smile.

  He doesn’t return the smile. “Bad man.”

  Oh. He means Malcolm. If his anger toward my ex is the source of his native language cursing, then he can say it again as many times as he wants. “Yeah. I have a bad man in my past and that’s why I’ve been alone.”