Romancing the Alpha: An Action-Adventure Romance Boxed Set

by Zoe York

  When her shoulder touched Marat’s, he looked down at her, his jaw close to her temple. Even though he had been running around with her, sweating and dodging androids, he smelled appealing, a mix of some lingering cologne or shaving soap and a masculine scent that she found herself noticing for the first time. She also noticed the hardness of the muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt.

  “Just looking at those bounties,” she said. He kept gazing down at her. Maybe he didn’t appreciate the closeness of some pirate girl who thought nothing of the origins of stolen ships or worrying about bank notes or insurers. “I don’t have my own tablet.”

  “No, I understand. I was just wondering...”

  She met his eyes, and her earlier thoughts about not wanting anything to do with men or sex drifted right out of her mind. Even after crawling through dusty tunnels and surviving a firefight, he was handsome. The day’s beard growth did nothing to diminish the strong line of his jaw or the faint cleft in his chin.

  “Yes?” she murmured, now wondering what he was wondering. If he should kiss her?

  “Would you tell me your Grenavinian name?”

  Ying blinked. “What?”

  “It might make a difference to the captain.”

  Ying did not give anyone her real name, and she wanted to bristle at the idea of sending it off to some man she had never met, but as Marat continued to gaze down at her, nothing but earnestness in his eyes, she heard herself saying, “Bryony. Bryony Brooksmouth.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled so warmly that her breath caught.

  He broke the gaze, facing his tablet again and bringing up the holo keys to type his message.

  She should have moved away to give him his privacy, but she wasn’t looking at what he was writing. She kept gazing up at him, trying to figure out why he was trying so hard to help her. By now, she believed he was being honest, that he truly cared, but she couldn’t imagine why. He wasn’t attracted to her, was he? He didn’t act like he wanted or expected anything from her. Besides, her amorphous gray robe wasn’t the sort of thing to make men’s minds go crazy thinking about sex and plotting ways to get that sex. Of course, he had seen her naked already, on that degrading slave block. Ying wondered what he would think if she suggested it was only fair that he show her what he looked like under his clothes. His trousers, long-sleeved shirt, and jacket weren’t revealing, but she could feel the outline of his hard body through the fabric. He was much more fit than the average pirate.

  Yeah, Ying, wake up from dreaming about your dead father and start thinking about naked men. That’s classy.

  She sighed at herself and tried to focus on the display. He had sent his message and was back to browsing an entry on Wolf.

  “It’s hard to let go, isn’t it?” Marat murmured.

  Huh? What had he read in her face that had prompted him to ask that?

  “During the day, you can, when you’re busy with work or... plotting revenge, whatever. But at night, when you’re alone with your thoughts, it’s hard to distract your mind.”

  “Are we still talking about me?” Ying asked, suddenly curious what he had meant when he had said “been there.” Earlier, he had implied a loss of his own.

  Marat’s mouth quirked wryly. It wasn’t quite as attractive as his grin, but she found herself watching his lips, anyway. They were expressive. “If it applies. You seem a little lost in thought there. Upset.”

  “That’s how my last three months have been.” Ying shrugged. She didn’t want to complain or whine. She hadn’t meant to look forlorn—or whatever expression had prompted his comment. Though she supposed she was relieved that he had believed she was thinking dark brooding thoughts, rather than wondering what he looked like with his shirt off. “But you haven’t told me about your bad dreams or why you were beating up mercenaries in a random spaceport.”

  “No,” he agreed, his face toward the display. Or maybe he was looking at the wall behind it. He hadn’t interacted with the tablet for several minutes.

  “And you’re not going to? All right, I’m not one to pry. Though I’ll let you see my dragon tattoo if you share.” She smirked at him, knowing full well he had already seen that tattoo in its entirety.

  “Oh?” Marat actually looked intrigued.

  Ying blushed at the idea that he might take her up on the offer. Maybe he had been too busy glowering at Wolf to notice her leg earlier? Or maybe he just wanted another look? Here in the privacy of this alluring and mood-enhancing maintenance shaft? She supposed the soft glow of the light stick was almost like candlelight.

  Marat looked back toward the display, sighed, then shut it down. He folded his tablet and stuck it back in his pocket. “Last year... oh, I guess it’s been closer to eighteen months now... I lost my daughter. She was about to turn eight at the time. I was serving in the Fleet then, so I wasn’t home as much as I would have liked, but I—I adored her. She and Karena—my ex-wife—and I used to go camping and flying and climbing, all manner of adventures when I was home.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head back. “I’ve told this story to people a few times now, and you’d think it would get easier, but it’s like I said. Night is the worst, isn’t it? When it’s quiet, and there’s nowhere for you to hide from your thoughts.”

  Ying’s humor had drained from her as soon as he had started speaking. All she could do was nod her head in agreement, though he couldn’t see it with his eyes closed, moisture glinting on his lashes. He had hinted at losses, but she had assumed they would be something like older family members recently departed, taken by some disease. It wasn’t easy to lose anyone—oh, how she knew that—but with a child, it must be particularly difficult, a deviation from the natural order of life.

  “It was my fault,” Marat went on. “I’d just come home on leave, dropped my gear by the door, and run into the house to greet my wife. Maya had a couple of friends over. They were playing some game or another and dug into my gear. One of the younger boys—it wasn’t his fault; he was too young to know better. I’d had the safety on, but he must have bumped it off, or turned it. Out of curiosity. I don’t know. But there was no question. It was my fault, one careless moment.” He swallowed.

  “What happened?” Ying whispered.

  “We were in the kitchen, on the other side of the house, but I heard the laser fire as clearly as if it were right behind me. I was there in a second, but it was already too late.”

  Ying wiped at her eyes, not sure when they, too, had grown moist and not sure whether the emotion was for her loss or his. Or both. He’d been just as helpless as she in the end.

  “The next few months were a blur of pain and helplessness and a need for endurance that I didn’t have. My wife wanted a divorce. I got out of the Fleet, thinking that if we had time, if I was home, we could figure things out. I at least hoped she would be able to look me in the eyes again. I don’t know. I never forgave myself, so I’m not sure why I expected her to forgive me. The day I was up on that space station, getting drunk and trying to figure out where I could fly that would make life better, that was the day I’d signed the divorce papers, that I’d finally accepted that there wasn’t going to be a solution to the problem.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ying said. Useless words, but it had stung when nobody had said them to her after her father’s death.

  “You don’t have to be.” He gave her a sad smile—she had wanted that smile to return all night, but not in this fashion. She had wanted the boyish grin. He lifted an arm, offering the hug he had hesitated over earlier.

  She scooted closer, not hesitating to accept it. This wasn’t about her and whether she needed anyone; it was about offering comfort to someone else.

  “A year hasn’t made the pain go away, has it?” she asked, wondering if her own pain would fade once she had accomplished her mission.

  “I suppose time has dulled it somewhat, but I can’t help thinking about Maya in the quieter moments and sometimes in the hellish moments too. Sometimes when we’re in a battle,
in the middle of some jungle on a moon with enemy soldiers all around us, I’ll have these flashes of thought where I’m almost existing outside of my body, looking in from the outside, you know? And I wonder what happened, how I came to be there, in this moment, covered with mud and sweat and blood. I mourn the loss of my daughter and my wife, but there’s a selfish part, too, that’s about me mourning the loss of what I thought my life was going to be.”

  “Yeah. I get that,” she whispered, then winced, wondering if she really did. She had never had that ideal life that he had, some vision of a blissful future, then seen it ripped away. She had always known her life wouldn’t be a dream, but she had enjoyed it, nonetheless, enjoyed being her father’s secret weapon, and she had thought he would continue to live on, that life would continue to be comfortable. Interesting. Full of adventure.

  “I thought you might. I don’t usually—well, Striker has never gotten this story, that’s for sure.”

  “I should hope not.” Ying smiled and rested her head against his shoulder, looking up at him through her lashes. His eyes were closed. Too bad. There was a part of her that wanted him to ask to see her tattoo.

  But maybe he was thinking of the wife who had left him, of the life he had lost. She shouldn’t intrude on that. The arm around her shoulders was nice. Maybe it would keep her dreams from returning.

  She closed her eyes and snuggled into his side a little more. She never snuggled, not with anyone she had to be tough for, but after hearing his story, she doubted she had to be tough for him, not tonight. Ying rested her hand on his abdomen. She resisted the urge to let her fingers roam, though she could feel the contours of his muscled stomach beneath the fabric of his shirt. His breathing was even, and she was wondering if he might have dozed off when he spoke again.

  “This is the second time I’ve gone on shore leave with Striker,” Marat said. “The first time, he said I looked glum and promised to cheer me up. He took me to a brothel.”

  “And did it cheer you up?”

  “No. Half of the workers were too young to be legal on any planet with laws. And morality.” He clenched his jaw for a moment. “I know it’s different out here on the rim, but it bothered me to the extent that... Let’s just say that I wasn’t going to have a good time with that going on out there. Didn’t bother Striker, of course. He’s so oblivious, I’m not even sure he noticed.”

  “He seems a charming fellow.”

  “Uh huh. Right. The real idiot was me. You’d think one time going down to a station with him was enough. But I was restless, tired of being cooped up on the ship.” Marat sighed, finally opening his eyes. They were full of apology as he looked down at her, and something about that concern—that gentleness—stole the remains of Ying’s natural tendency to wall herself off and hide her emotions. Not that she had been doing a good job of that since waking from her nightmare, anyway. “If I hadn’t been foolish enough to come down here with him,” Marat went on, “I wouldn’t have seen you and screwed up your plans. I’m sorry.”

  Ying couldn’t look away from his eyes, from the honesty and feeling there. It was different from what she had experienced around her father’s crew. And it was appealing. “I think... I’m not.”

  His forehead furrowed. “But...”

  She lifted her hand to the side of his face, the day’s beard growth rough against her palm, but not unappealing. Nothing about him was unappealing. His eyes widened, and he fell silent. He didn’t pull away. Ying leaned closer, her breasts brushing his chest as she lifted her chin to kiss him, more tentatively than she usually would. She was used to men wanting her, but those were her type of men, pirates and thieves, people who wouldn’t put morality into an equation that involved sex. Just because Marat had planned that scheme to rescue her didn’t mean it had been done out of sexual desire. He actually seemed like someone who would do something heroic just because he saw himself as a hero.

  He did seem surprised by her kiss, and he didn’t react at first. She might have drawn back, but the feel of his hard chest beneath hers and the manly smell of him filled her senses, making her linger, hoping he might find her presence equally appealing.

  His hand came up to her waist. To push her away or draw her closer? When he opened his mouth, she didn’t know if it would be to return the kiss or to ask what she was doing. But his warm lips caressed hers, and his hand rested on her waist, fingers stroking her through the robe. Her body responded to his touch, flushing with warmth, and she shifted even more onto him, relieved and astir with anticipation. She lowered her hand to his chest, pushing his jacket aside and exploring his musculature through his shirt. She struggled to keep her touch from being too bold, too hungry.

  Would she be presuming too much if she scooted into his lap? His kisses were light and exploratory, not hard and demanding, and she didn’t know if he had any notions of getting naked and having sex with her on the floor of the maintenance shaft. She shouldn’t be disappointed in that—it wasn’t a particularly romantic spot, after all—but she was enjoying the feel of him beneath her roaming fingers and wouldn’t have minded less clothing being involved. She also found the taste of his lips appealing and wanted to taste more of him. She opened her mouth, inviting him into her.

  Marat paused, gazing into her eyes, as if he were looking for some answer there. She might have protested his lips leaving hers, but his hand had slid around to her back, stroking her through the robe, giving her body something else to enjoy.

  “Are you...” he started.

  Feeling horny? Yes, yes, she was. Ying almost said it aloud, but she wasn’t sure if he was ready for such bluntness. He was a nice man, after all. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of bringing out his naughty side.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, an intensity in them that hadn’t been there a moment before. Maybe he liked her devilish smile?

  He swallowed and shifted one of his legs up to hide the swell of his groin. Her smile broadened. Ah, yes. He did like her smile. Or he simply liked having all of her pressed against him. That worked for her.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  “I—ah. Sorry, I’m just a little uncomfortable with you being in that robe.”

  “You want me to take it off?”

  “No,” he blurted. “I mean, yes, but not because... Er. I wouldn’t ever want to impose myself on someone who was a—wasn’t with me because...”

  Aw, he didn’t want to sleep with a slave.

  “I kissed you, hero,” Ying said and kissed him again, just in case he was remembering the moment incorrectly. “Now that we’ve established that, would you like to go back to doing some more of it?”

  “Yes.” His hand slid down to her waist again, then along her thigh until his warm palm found the bare skin of her calf, stroking her gently, almost reverently. A shiver went through her, and her body responded even more than when he had touched her through the robe. Her nipples tightened, poking against the coarse material. He was looking her up and down, and couldn’t fail to notice. His rapt attention made her hotter, and moisture gathered between her legs. “I wouldn’t have guessed you would want to kiss a man who’s afraid of spiders,” he murmured.

  “You said you weren’t afraid of them, that you just preferred they not bother you.” Ying let her own hands go back to exploring. She tugged his shirt out of his trousers and slid her hands beneath the material, eagerly touching his smooth, taut flesh.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he whispered. “So long as you’re not alarmed later when I use you for a shield if that tarantula comes back.”

  “Maybe I’ll keep you so busy that you wouldn’t notice a swarm of tarantulas crawling past.” She grinned and kissed him again.

  “That sounds appealing.”

  He kissed her back, and when she opened her mouth, he accepted her invitation. His tongue slipped in, caressing and stroking hers. This time, his hunger was apparent in his touch, both in his lips and in his hands. The lower one slid higher, pushing her robe up to her
thigh. She relished the touch, hoping his fingers would travel even higher. She pushed his shirt up, wondering if she could convince him to take a few things off. Maybe if she shifted into another position, she could handle removing his clothing on her own.

  Since her robe had already been pushed up, she had little trouble easing her leg over him and coming down on his lap. At first, his hands paused, and he seemed a little embarrassed that she would land on the bulge in his trousers. As if she hadn’t known that was there. She pressed into him, enjoying the feel of his hard length, even if the material of his trousers lay between them. Her slave outfit hadn’t come with underwear, and the fabric actually felt good rasping against her bare, sensitive flesh. She worried that he would be alarmed by her forthrightness, so she was relieved when he started kissing her and rubbing her again, his hands sliding up to her hips.

  A clang came from the darkness, and they broke the kiss, both of their heads spinning in that direction.

  “That’s not a tarantula,” Ying said, shifting off Marat’s lap.

  “No.” He pulled out his pistol.

  Another clang followed the first.

  “Azarov?” came Striker’s voice from the darkness around the bend. “That you up there? Don’t shoot. We’re coming in.”

  Marat’s head clunked back against the wall, and he sighed. “We?”

  A woman’s voice came next. “Yes, we.” She sounded hard and cold, like one would expect from a female mercenary. Normally, Ying would approve of that, but she had the sense that while Marat might have disobeyed Striker or talked him into helping, this woman would be another matter. “We’re here to keep you from getting the company in trouble and giving the captain a reason to shoot you,” the woman said. “Another reason.”