"Huh, that's funny—because Anna told me that every single woman under your command has a crush on you."
"She was lying."
"No, she wasn't, and you know how I know that for sure?" she asked, rising up to her feet and closing the small distance that separated them. "Because I'm looking at you, right now, me and my newly acquired twenty-twenty vision, and I can see the truth with my own eyes."
She took hold of his hands, drawing them to her lips, and kissed him across the knuckles, long and tantalizingly slow. "And what I see, Scott Dillon"—she peered up into his face, raking her gaze across his features—"is one of the handsomest men I've ever encountered."
"Passable at best. Better in bed."
Her blonde eyebrows shot right up to her hairline. "Better in bed? Is that a promise or a threat?"
He rubbed his eyes. "You're a piece of work, Hope Harper."
"Are you calling me a liar?"
He chuckled, grasping her face with both of his hands. "I'm calling you my life. The woman I want to be with. I just can't believe you're looking at me—right at me—and find this"—he waved at his face—"appealing."
"Whatever gave you the idea that you weren't gorgeous?"
"It doesn't matter. I just never found much company among the ranks."
"Because they're totally intimidated by you, hello? Anna told me that much."
He cast a shy glance at her. "Really? Is that what she said?" Anna's words from the hallway, about how she'd found him incredibly handsome, echoed in his ears. Memories of all the women he'd seduced around Jackson traipsed through his thoughts as well.
"Know what I think?" Hope asked softly, drawing his face down toward her own, and kissing him full on the lips.
He returned her kiss. "Huh?"
"You don't know what to make of your Antousian self. That's why you wrestle with all of this."
He recoiled, taking several steps back. "Don't, Hope. Okay? Please?"
She wouldn't be denied, following him. "Because otherwise, a gorgeous, beautiful man like you? You'd get what you do to a woman like me."
She slipped her arms about his neck, reaching up toward him, and all at once they were utterly inseparable—like they'd been in the warehouse: his body molding against hers, her body giving in to his. There was no dividing line between their twin souls, where they ended and where they began.
Next thing he knew, she was tugging him back toward her bed. "Let's make out," she whispered in a husky voice. "I want to kiss you all the way down to your toes."
"I like the sound of that," he agreed with a hearty rumble. "But no making love?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. We need to go back to square one for a while."
Collapsing onto her bed, he groaned. "This is Antousian gorabung torture, is that it?"
She cradled his head against her chest, stroking his hair. "I'm not sure what that is, but I just know this:—a first time when we were prisoners isn't the right first time, not for us. So we back up for a while."
"For a while." He rolled her beneath him, feeling his erection grow firm and long. "Just don't make me crazy."
"Not too crazy." She laughed low in his ear, nibbling at it, and he felt chill bumps form along his forearms.
Hope nestled against Scott's chest, feeling his languid kisses across her brow; even now, long minutes after they'd finally halted their sexual advances, they still lay together. Somehow, amazingly, she'd managed to stop Scott at the proverbial door, but just barely. They'd tussled and made out, had their almost-way with each other, but ultimately she'd managed to dissuade him from actually making love. It was obvious to her that he was a man with immense sexual urges. That was fine by her, because she was a woman who shared those appetites.
Still, they'd finally pulled back, shirts and jeans and uniforms undone, and stilled in each other's arms, just stroking and caressing. She couldn't believe he was as absolutely beautiful as he was—though, of course, she'd already seen him in her visions. For some reason, however, she didn't let on quite how clearly she'd already seen him in her mind. He needed to believe this was her very first time seeing him up close. It seemed linked to his acceptance of her freely given love.
Now they lay curled together in her bottom bunk, night having fallen outside, and other thoughts began to intrude on Hope's mind, questions she'd been considering for the past few days.
"Back in the warehouse," she ventured, "Veckus said something that I haven't been able to shake—I know it's why you're afraid for me to receive genetic therapy."
She watched as Scott's face—a face she was so grateful to glimpse—grew troubled and serious. Despite his reaction, it felt good to know his thoughts with only one easy glance.
"I wondered if you'd caught all that," he answered softly, stroking her hair.
"I need to know what he was talking about." She captured his hand, bringing it to her cheek. "And why the idea of genetic therapy terrifies you so much. It's all linked together; I've figured that part out."
Scott brought her palm to his lips, kissing her in the center of her hand. "None of it matters, sweetheart. Let it go."
She shook her head adamantly. "It's extremely important to me. I'm in the middle of this war now, Scott, and I want to know what the stakes really are." She dropped her voice low. "And I need genetic therapy; I don't want to be sick anymore … but I need to know why it frightens you first."
Scott exhaled, leaning back from her, still holding her hand. "It's like I told you before. There was a virus back on Refaria … it didn't affect my adopted people—"
"The Refarians," she volunteered, for the sake of being clear.
"They're my only people." He met her gaze seriously. "I feel no affinity for the Antousians, my … natural capabilities aside."
"Do you honestly think I care what kind of shifting you're capable of?"
Scott hung his head. "You didn't really see me back there in that warehouse."
"And I didn't need to." She gave him a resolute look. "But explain this virus and its consequences to me."
Scott leaned toward her, burying his head against her chest. "I don't want you to hear any of this—it's so ugly, and just terrible, all the way through."
"Do you really love me, Scott Dillon?" She stroked the black hair atop his head. "Do you know I won't leave you?"
He made a plaintive, terrible sound. "I'm not sure, Hope."
She shoved him away. "Then we've got nothing more to talk about, not if you don't know my heart any better than that."
He stared down at her, tears glinting in his eyes. "Don't you get it? Don't you see how much I hate my mixed heritage?"
"Yes," she whispered quietly. "I've understood from the beginning.''
"I share a bloodline with them—with Veckus, all of them. I'm a monster in my blood, a killer in my DNA."
"But you are here, S'Skautsa. You are here."
"The only thing that's my saving grace."
"Tell me what happened back on Refaria," she insisted.
"Okay, I will," he told her coolly, casting a sideways glance at her. "But it's far from pretty, the truth about my species."
"I have to know if I'm going to make a future with you—and be part of this war."
He gazed at the ceiling. "Roughly sixty years ago, the Antousians reached a point where technology had surpassed their natural capabilities, their mental capacities. And so they made a decision: They chose to become enhanced." He stared at her meaningfully. "They allowed themselves, the whole lot of them, to become implanted with quantum cyberchips, nanochips that were barely more than microscopic so they could"—his face became a grim, sarcastic mask—"embrace the best of their future; that's what they all said. That's what my people said."
Hope had long heard talk about the possibility of humans accepting computer processor chips in order to outpace technology, to keep up with what she'd heard termed the "singularity"—the point when computers became "smarter" than mankind. Still, this was the stuff of science-f
iction novels, and she wasn't sure how to respond.
"Sounds frightening," was all she came up with, "to give yourself over to machines that way."
"Precisely. Why would any living being think that merging his intellect with that of a computer would be a wise thing? But for a while, it actually worked. They lived on Refaria, you must realize, a massive population of them, and for a very long while the Antousians and Refarians lived in great harmony. It was a time of advancement and peace—all except for one little detail: The Refarians refused to become cybernetically enhanced. They didn't want to be implanted with these chips, and there was a lot of debate about that fact. Back and forth, until.…" His voice faded, and he closed his eyes.
"Tell me the rest, Scott. I have to know."
He blew out a sigh. "Until the virus came, just like I told you before."
A strange thought began developing in her mind. Scott had told her all about the virus, how the Antousians believed that the Refarians had unleashed it upon them as a form of biological politics, only he'd never told her what kind of virus had plagued the Antousian people.
"It was a computer virus," she whispered softly.
He nodded. "And it wiped out most of my 'people' who had been enhanced, shutting down their biological bodies as their technological side became infected. There was no way for them to survive except—like I told you—to assume their ghost form. Become ether, and then what to do? They couldn't live forever like that, so they sought out the species that for some unholy reason was most compatible: yours. And they started a war on the very planet that had welcomed them as friends, brothers. They warred against the Refarians, always blaming them, forever claiming that the virus had been developed to wipe their own species out."
"Was it true?"
He turned on her, his face pale and livid. "Of course not! They were ambitious and overreaching—and the results were that it destroyed them."
"That still doesn't explain your aversion to genetic therapy, and why you don't want me to have it."
"Because that's how they tried to treat the virus, but it only infected a much larger portion of the population … spread it, contaminated even the Antousians who weren't carrying processors inside their heads. It was a bloodbath, all because of genetic therapy."
"I see," she said, sinking back into her pillow. It was so much to digest, and she could totally comprehend his adamant position against her receiving genetic therapy.
"I'm not saying it wouldn't work for you, Hope, but it terrifies me, all right? Scares the living crap out of me."
She leaned close against him. "It's not something we have to decide anytime soon. I've lived my whole life, practically, with my diabetes."
"I want you to get well … I just don't want you to die in the process." She could see the raw fear in his eyes. The man didn't want to lose her—especially not to the fate that had devastated his home back on Refaria.
"Let's just think about it," she said softly.
When Scott returned to his quarters, he was surprised to find a note pinned to his door. The handwriting was absurdly familiar—a slightly more rugged version of his own. Whipping the note off the door, he entered his room and began to read.
Hey, Chief:
I would talk to you in person, but I think we've both seen what happens if we so much as breathe the same air. Listen, I'm hitting the road, so we won't be bumping into each other, at least for a while. Before I go, I want to make sure you know something—a fact about my own future that I think you can avert.
I spent a lot of time afraid for Hope, afraid that if she got help that something terrible would go wrong. The truth is, buddy, that she was always sick and only got sicker in my future. Her diabetes caused a lot of problems for her, especially during her pregnancy. In one way, it's part of why she died, all those pregnancy complications.
Fear never gets you very far. Love her. Love her with everything inside of you, and don't be so damned afraid all the time. If my gamble has gone right, you've got nothing more to fear.
I suppose from now on I should call you my brother.
Jake
For a moment, he stared down at the paper in his hand, read his own writing over and over again, and then, making his decision, he crumpled the thing and tossed it to the ground. And ran—no, sprinted—back to Hope's side.
Chapter Twenty-seven
After parking the Suburban outside the brightly lit, gorgeous Snake River Lodge—it was all twinkling and like something from her fantasies of a honeymoon night—she let Scott take her hand and lead the way across the slippery, iced-over path. This was the way he'd chosen to celebrate her healing—her full and total medical miracle of the genetic therapy. Her diabetes had been eradicated once and for all.
"Watch your step," he cautioned protectively, and she tightened her grip on his hand in response. Normally she'd resist protectiveness from any man, especially when it meant someone was trying to limit her. But now, within the safety of Scott's guiding hand, she felt relaxed. As if it would be okay to relinquish just a bit of her control and rebelliousness—at least, with this particular man. He would never strip her of her independence, or deny her the adventure and challenges she wanted; all he would do was give her the right amount of freedom, helping her become more at one with herself.
As she entered the lodge a waft of warm air blew in her face, and her eyes instantly watered at the contrast. "You stay here a second," he told her quietly, and strode confidently to the concierge desk. He and the clerk spoke in quiet tones, the concierge nodding and then finally slipping a pair of keys and registration information across the desk. Hope was perplexed that, given their secluded, expensive military operation, they had funds for something as frivolous—at least, relatively speaking—as this night away.
They entered the elevator, completely alone, and he watched the numbers as they climbed upward. Funny, but she would have almost sworn this strapping warrior was nervous.
"How can you possibly afford this?" she asked.
He smiled, never taking his gaze off the elevator lights. "Easy. Didn't cost me a dime."
"That's not possible."
The elevator dinged, signaling their floor number, and he took her by the hand, again leading the way. "Just come with me, sweetheart. Stop worrying so much."
Once inside the privacy of their penthouse, Hope could hardly speak: Two stories tall, with an opulent great room and connected kitchen—with a Sub-Zero freezer, no less—the suite defied imagination. Surely now, in the middle of skiing season, the place had to rent for more than two thousand dollars a night.
Walking into the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and discovered bottles of champagne nestled amidst fresh fruit and expensive cheeses. It was a sultan's holiday.
One arm propped on the fridge door, she studied the array of delicacies. "No way this didn't cost you a fortune, Dillon."
He appeared behind her, slipping both arms about her waist. "Yeah? Well, you'd be surprised to learn all the places we have operatives."
She rotated slowly within his grasp, and he shoved the refrigerator shut, pinning her back against it. "You're saying that concierge is an alien."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Aron's been with us from the very beginning. We found long ago that it was beneficial to place numbers of our people in the ordinary world. In this case, Aron monitors a number of political activities that take place in this area—the vice president's visits … the secretary of state was here recently.… We also know for a fact that a few vlksai freaks occasionally take a break in this lodge. It's a good opportunity for intel."
He slid one powerful thigh between her own, rubbing. "We've got better things to discuss than how I'm paying for this night. Are you happy with it?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Romantic enough?"
She placed both palms against his chest. "You know that it's out of this world."
"Ah, so it's alien indeed."
Giggling, she gave a nod, but had to add—because she had to know, "But ho
w does Jared finance all of this? The weapons, the military operation, your food, all of it?"
Scott's gaze darkened immediately. "We have many supporters back on Refaria, beleaguered though they may be. They provide much of our equipment and technology, but we also possess an incredible storehouse of gems and minerals. We were able to get those out, and they are exactly like their counterparts found here on Earth. Remember, Refaria and Earth are twin planets in many ways."
"So you trade gold? Diamonds?"
He nodded. "And other things. It finances what we do."
"Amazing. It's like I've fallen into this bizarre alter-universe."
Scott stepped apart from her, surveying the kitchen and their surroundings. "You have fallen into an alternate universe, remember? And as far as I can tell, this is the better of the two so far."
Scott luxuriated in the flow of the shower, thankful for such great water pressure and piping-hot steam. Living in the compound and sharing quarters with so many others, he had to think strategically if he ever wanted a shower this hot. After he turned off the spigot, he wrapped a towel about himself and stepped into the bedroom, only to find Hope naked and studying him.
"That's what I like to see!" she proclaimed with a giggle. "And really see—man, I'm so thankful to have my eyesight back. Now I can ogle you anytime I want."
Funny, he never blushed with a woman, not about sex, but he felt his face burn as he adjusted the towel around his waist. "Is that what you're doing?" He allowed the towel to slip dangerously low about his hips. "Ogling?" Oh, gods, her obvious pleasure at the sight of his body pleased him endlessly.
He took a step toward her, but she surprised him by bounding to her feet and leading the way into the main living room—naked and all. He never took his eyes off of her as he followed, taking in her rounded hips, the way they swayed with each step. For a small woman she sure did pack a fabulous set of curves.
In the living room she spun to face him, looking him right in the eye. "Now I want you to do something for me, Scott—okay?"
Parallel Seduction Page 31