by Cynthia Sax
Tattooed Tryst
Cynthia Sax
When a tattooed stranger strides into the diner and gazes at Lori with his flame-infused eyes, she realizes he’s someone special. Something special.
There are tall, gorgeous aliens hidden among us, aliens armed with big guns and burning kisses, aliens taking what they want and whom they want, melting resistance with firm lips and rough, calloused touches. Aliens with fascinating tattoos…
Trake takes one look at the waitress serving up coffee and sultry smiles and knows she’ll be his. With military precision, he begins his passionate assault, using every weapon in his sexual arsenal to seduce Lori. Time is limited. He leaves Earth in nine days and his human mate can’t make the difficult journey. This is his sole chance at the ecstasy of bonding.
He will not fail.
Tattooed Tryst
Cynthia Sax
Chapter One
The stranger paused on the threshold, his angular face turned in her direction, his eyes shielded by sunglasses. A wide, silvery scar sliced across his cheek from his left eye to his chin, a snug-fitting T-shirt barely contained his muscular chest and a long coat hung open from his shoulders, the leather as black as his military-style crew cut.
Lori expelled a soft sigh, her appreciation tempered with disappointment. Everything about the man screamed dangerous male, his status acutely clear.
Passing through and not looking back.
Not interested in repeating past mistakes, Lori ducked her head and scrubbed spilled syrup off the gleaming-white counter, her actions deliberately casual, as though million of strangers sauntered across the small town diner’s black-and-white checkered floor, their leather coats flapping around bodies as hard as honed steel.
He perched on the stool in front of her, and linked his fingers before him, the tanned skin striped with scars. His scent, an intriguing combination of leather and burned matches, teased her nostrils.
“Coffee, black, five sugars,” he rumbled.
“Sure thing, sweetness.” Lori poured the steaming-hot java and plucked five sugar packets out of the holder, using routine to settle the fluttering of desire. “Here you go.” She set the mug, sugar packets, and a teaspoon before the stranger, careful not to touch him.
He ripped the packets open, added the sugar, and slowly stirred the coffee. “No comment about the sugar?” A corner of his mouth lifted into a semblance of a smile. There was no reflection, not even a shadow, in his dark lenses as he curled his hand around the white ceramic mug.
“We like our sweet stuff here.” Lori returned to her scrubbing of the syrup spill, vividly aware of his proximity.
“Hmmm…” His lips flattened once again into a grim white line. “Is that so?” He removed his sunglasses, his eyes the blackest black, his irises lit with a flicker of red-and-blue flames.
“Name’s Trake.” He dropped his gaze to her nametag. “Sit down, Lori.” He patted the seat beside him, his palm smacking the red vinyl. “And tell me about your Pearl Falls.” His command was barely audible above the buzz of conversations around them.
“I’m working.” She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of his sudden interest in her small town. “And there’s not much to tell, Detective.”
“I’m not a detective.” He rejected her wild guess.
She tilted her chin upward. “But you are a customer and waitresses don’t socialize with customers.”
Trake looked at her and then at the empty stool. “You’re refusing me?” He frowned and rubbed his chest, the stench of burnt cotton rising from his body. “You’re refusing me,” he repeated. “What does that mean?”
“That I’ll get fired if I sit down on the job. That’s what it means.” Lori rolled her eyes, amazed at the man’s arrogance. “You’re not my only customer.” A hand waving from two tables away caught her attention. Reality break’s over. She nodded at Big Rig Gerry, a truck driver notorious for his impatience. “I have to—”
“No.” Trake caught her wrist, his hand moving quicker than her gaze could follow. “You don’t. They won’t remember you neglected them.” He held her easily, his grip firm, yet gentle.
She glared at him. An angry retort dangled on the tip of her tongue.
“And you won’t remember me,” Trake stated with a quiet certainty, the bone-deep loneliness she felt reflected in his scarred face.
He’s been forgotten.
“I’ll remember you,” she promised him, wishing someone would offer her the same assurance. “You’re not the type of man anyone forgets.”
He searched her countenance as though seeking verification. Yep, he’s been left behind too. Lori’s remaining resistance melted into a puddle around her practical white sneakers.
“No, you won’t remember, Lori.” Trake shook his head sadly, weariness weighting each word. “Every human forgets me.”
Human? “I’m not every human.” She eased onto the stool and he released her wrist, his calloused fingertips lingering over her skin, directing waves of bliss up her arm. “I remember everything, too much, I sometimes think.” She summoned a smile. “So talk to me.”
The request hung in the air. He stared across the room at the door and she watched him warily, wondering when he’d leave and why she cared.
Trake shrugged. “It won’t be a breach of protocol, not if I phrase it correctly, and you’ll never remember.”
Breach of protocol? She blinked. “Phrase what correctly?”
He fixed his unusual gaze on her. “I’m looking for my brother. I have nine Earth days left to find him.”
His brother forgot him. Damn. I hate being right. “And if he doesn’t want to be found?” She covered Trake’s hand with hers, his skin abnormally hot. “Some people don’t want to be found, you know.”
“Why?” Lines appeared between his dark eyebrows.
Because she’s starting over with a new family, a new daughter. Because a small town girlfriend doesn’t fit into his big-city plans. “There could be any number of reasons,” Lori murmured.
“I have to find my brother.” His jaw jutted, determination written all over his handsome face. “I gave my vow and I don’t—”
The brass bells above the diner door tinkled. Trake lunged to his feet, reached inside his coat and whipped out a gun. A beam of bright blue light shot from the flared muzzle and spread outward, expanding to fill the room.
Time stopped. Everyone froze. Coffee hung from the pot in Shirley’s hands. Officer Penny paused in mid-bite, her mouth stretched to accommodate a giant piece of sausage. Mayor Jim’s beefy fingers hovered an inch above Rob’s flannel-covered shoulders.
“Trake,” Lori whispered, the quiet eerie. “What just happened?”
He pivoted on his booted heels, his long leather coat swirling around his calves. “Why aren’t you immobilized?”
She faced the muzzle of his space gun. “I don’t know.” Lori swallowed hard, panic rushing through her. “But I can be. See.” She stilled, holding her hands high. “You don’t have to shoot me. I’m not moving.”
“You’re talking,” Trake pointed out dryly. She snapped her mouth closed and his lips twitched. “We’ll discuss this after…” He waved his gun toward the door.
“No, not after,” Ed from the gas station squeaked, his wiry body vibrating as though he were a fly caught in an invisible web. “You should talk about this now, Orogone.” The fabric of his blue overalls rustled.
“Duty first.” Trake slid a lever on his gun’s glowing barrel. “Foremost. Always.”
“I’ll die.” Ed paled. “If you send me back to Bourgrass, they’ll kill me.”
“Your fate isn’t my concern.” Trake aimed, his hands steady and sure. “I find and transfer.”
Lori’s heart pounded. He woul
dn’t really shoot him, would he?
Ed’s face twisted into a sneer. “You son-of-a—”
A thick blue current struck the smaller man, shaking him, and Lori screamed. Orange feathers covered Ed’s face, his features sharpened, his nose elongated. The air rippled and his form vaporized.
“You killed him.” She backed away from Trake. He calmly pocketed his gun as if he killed people every damn day, his blasé attitude frightening her even more than his actions. “You killed him and you’re not wearing a mask, which means you’ll have to kill me too so I don’t go to the police.” Lori glanced at Officer Penny. “The unfrozen police.”
“I didn’t kill him.” Trake gestured at the emptiness. There was nothing left of poor Ed, no blood, no ash, not a stitch of denim. “I returned him to his home planet.”
“Home?” Her lips quivered.
“Bourgrass.” Trake approached her slowly, cautiously, as one might approach a wild animal. “That’s his home.”
“Ed said that.” She grasped on to Trake’s explanation, trying to make sense of the bizarre situation. “He said you were sending him to Bourgrass, and if you’re sending him to Bourgrass, he can’t be dead. He’s not dead,” she repeated, the tension easing from her shoulders. Her breathing slowed. “You sent him home. That’s all.”
“To his home planet.” Trake nodded, his big body an inch away from hers.
“To his home planet…which means space travel, and that’s impossible.” Lori laughed shakily. “As impossible as you are. Look at you.” She waved her hand at Trake. “You’re sexy and interested in me and your job is to send people home.” She smiled feebly, feeling foolish. “So this has to be a dream.”
His face darkened and Lori nibbled on her bottom lip, her worries returning. “It’s a dream, right? It has to be. Anything else…” She met his flame-lit gaze, silently pleading for reassurance.
Trake smiled without humor, his eyes holding onto his sadness. “That’s right, Lori. This is a dream.” His voice softened. “Tomorrow you won’t remember a thing.”
He yanked her to him, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and his mouth covered hers, silencing any protests, his lips as hard and determined as the rest of him. She pulled away, alarmed by his aggression, and he captured her face between his rough hands, holding her still while he deepened their embrace, his mouth coaxing, convincing her to open to him.
His tongue slid over hers, tangling, twining, dancing, and she curled her fingers around his jacket’s lapels, clinging to him. He tasted of caramelized sugar and Lori sucked on his flesh, devouring him.
She swayed against Trake, trusting him to hold her. His muscles flattened her curves, his fingers caressed her cheeks and his chest burned, scorching her breasts, the heat radiating through their clothing.
“Trake,” she murmured into his mouth and she grasped his nape, tilting her head back, needing to be closer, to open wider for him, to give him everything she had, leaving no regrets for a next dream that might or might not come. He cupped her ass with one hand, lifting her off the tile floor, rubbing her mons against the hard ridge in his black pants.
“Need.” With his free hand, he flung his jacket open and placed her fingers over his heart, the remnants of a charred T-shirt crumbling under her touch. Her palm sizzled, pain shot over her skin and the smell of seared flesh filled her nostrils.
“Yes.” Trake sighed, his chest heaving. He flattened his hand over hers and the agony flowed into euphoria so acute and so concentrated, the room spun around her in a dizzying blur of color and light.
“Trake?” Lori pressed her fingertips into his muscles, her skin already healed, adapted to his heat. His heartbeat pounded inhumanly fast, shuddering violently against his rib cage as though it were a wild animal rattling a cage.
“What are you?” She stared into his eyes, intoxicated on the blues and reds she saw there. He playfully pressed his lips to the tip of her nose and she blinked, smiling drunkenly, bemused by his action.
Trake, her dream stranger, released a barrage of kisses over her jaw, her chin and her neck. She laughed, rubbing the raised flesh on his chest with her fingertips, her caresses drawing purrs of pleasure from his throat.
“What are you doing to me?” She arched, offering her cotton-covered breasts to his mouth. “I’ve never felt this reckless before, not even in a dream.”
Trake stilled, the muscles in his body contracting. “I can’t do this.” He stepped away from her and she shivered with the loss of his body heat. “Fuck.” He swept his hand over his black hair. “You’re not what I need right now.”
You’re not what I need right now, Lore-Lore. She closed her eyes, picturing Dan’s freckled face and his wide grin. Pain sliced through her chest. Harvard’s a chance of a lifetime and I have to concentrate on this opportunity. You understand that, don’t you?
“You’re like the others, thinking only about what you need and what you want.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest and glowered at Trake. “Be that way. Why would I care? I’m not dreaming about you ever again.” She tapped her right foot, venting her anger on the tiled floor. “I might have played the fool and waited for them, but I’m sure the hell not waiting for you.”
Trake blinked slowly. “You won’t wait for me.” His lips twisted. “You won’t remember me.”
“You’ve got that right.” She slammed her fists down on her hips and leaned forward on her tiptoes to glare at him, nose to nose. “I’m forgetting you the same way everyone else has forgotten about me.”
“I won’t forget you.” His face softened with an emotion resembling regret. “Ever.” He brushed his thumb over her trembling lips, his gentle touch scuttling her anger. “Be happy, Lori.”
He straightened his shoulders, turned away from her and walked out the door into the morning sun. As the door closed behind him, the diner sprang to life, the noise deafening after the quiet.
“Lore-Lore.” Shirley snapped a red-and-white dish towel at her. “Stop with the daydreaming. I can’t serve this hungry mob by myself.”
“But…but…but…” Lori stammered, disoriented. Am I still daydreaming? Or is the dream over? “Ed from the gas station vanished. We should notify the police.”
“What are you talking about, hon?” Shirley arched her thin gray eyebrows. “There’s no Ed working at the gas station. Have you been watching too much TV again? I told you how that desensitizes you to—”
“Trake,” Lori interrupted her friend’s weekly spiel on gratuitous TV violence. “The man in black,” she explained. “He shot—”
“Am I getting my eggs today?” Big Rig Gerry hollered, his face red with displeasure.
“Go, get him his eggs.” Shirley turned Lori around and gave her a push in the irritable man’s direction. “We’ll chat about your country singer later.”
* * * * *
I’m forgetting you… Trake walked away from the diner, the pain in his chest increasing with each step, every cell in his human frame shrieking for him to turn around. He marched along the sidewalk, pounding the heels of his military-styled boots on the concrete, his menacing expression causing stroller-pushing mothers and chatty old men to cross the street, avoiding him.
Fuck. Trake grimaced. Before arriving at the diner, his two Orogone souls had been entwined peacefully within his torso, his rational half calming his emotional half. Upon meeting Lori, his souls had ripped violently apart, battling for space inside him, sending surges of hot energy and raw emotion throughout his body.
Humans would call it a hormonal imbalance. Trake called it torture and the pain ended with joining or death.
Joining was preferable and desired by both of his souls. Once he sexually joined with Lori, one of his souls would flow into her body and trigger her transformation, changing his One to become more Orogone, more akin to him. Their vastly different genetic structures would merge into a single viable species, their newly acquired similarities ensuring their ability to procreate.
A
fter they joined, she’d hold his deepest emotions, preserve his fondest memories, and safeguard a duplicate reservoir of his knowledge, past, present and future. Although Trake would have access to those emotions and memories, his remaining rational soul would guide his decisions. Both souls would have room to grow and flourish.
Can’t join now. Trake hunched his shoulders, pushing aside the agony to focus on his personal hunt, his duty to Orogone completed for the Earth day.
Go to Earth, Trakesur, and find your brother. His mother’s voice lingered on the morning breeze. Bren’s alive. I know he is. Bring him home.
I’m trying. Trake gritted his teeth.
A shadow detached from an alley, matching him stride for stride. “I have nine Earth days,” Trake snapped, the ticking clock a reminder of his failure.
“Is that so?” His friend Raff laughed, his carefree demeanor irking Trake. “Then the all-seeing, all-knowing council is wrong? You haven’t met your One?”
“I’ll complete my assignment.” Trake rubbed the blooming red sphere tattooed over his human heart. The waves of blue ink radiating from the solitary sun mercilessly spread the mating heat over his chest. Direct contact with the mark burned his shirt and charred the liner of his leather coat.
“It’ll kill you, Commander.” The smaller Orogone clucked his tongue. “No one has delayed the joining that long and lived.” Trake, knowing that fact, didn’t argue, and Raff shook his head, the blond spikes on his head rattling. “You haven’t found your twin in thirty-two Earth years. Would you risk losing your One and your life for nine more days of searching?”
“Yes,” Trake replied without hesitation. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, the strain of separation from Lori, his One, trying his renowned resolve. “And if you were the lost warrior, I’d also risk everything to find you.”
“I know you would, Commander. You’ve done it before.” Raff sighed, grooves forming around his mouth. “Then we hunt. Where?”
“Here.” Trake stomped into a small store, the only grocery store in town, and heads turned, the locals noting their entrance. A blonde cashier popped her gum as she stared at them. The elderly woman she had been serving patted her gray hair, rings the size of small planets orbiting her wrinkled fingers. A tattooed, pierced creature hastily placed a celebrity magazine back on the rack, her pale face flushing pink.