by Ivy Barrett
“This is a high security level.” She sounded as assertive as her evening attire allowed. “How did you get down here?”
“Commander Mal Ton Adoha.” He spoke with a pronounced accent, adding to his exotic appeal. “I’m your escort for the evening.” His shoulders remained squared, arms at his sides as his teal gaze boldly assessed her figure.
She would have been insulted by his stare, but in all honesty, her dress begged for the attention. Her breasts curved well into view and one side of the gown was slit to mid-thigh. The dark brown material shimmered with green and gold iridescence, perfectly matching the multi-colored hazel of her eyes.
“To arrive at the gala on schedule, we must leave in the next few minutes.”
She acknowledged the statement with a stiff nod and turned to Janelle. “Com me if there are any unusual developments.”
The corners of Janelle’s mouth quirked suspiciously as she looked from Andrea to Mal Ton and back. “Gotcha covered.” She dropped her voice to barely a whisper and added, “Remember my suggestion about the coat closet? That one is perfect for the job.” She turned back to her desk before Andrea could react to the comment.
With measured steps, Andrea crossed the lab. Mal Ton’s gaze focused on her face and awareness arced between them like sizzling currents of electricity. This could prove interesting. Director Sanchez had streamed Mal Ton’s dossier to her workstation when he’d first insisted on private security for the evening, but the profile hadn’t included an image. Now she had a devastating face to put with his impressive credentials.
She paused near the door and motioned to the security scanner, needing to alleviate her final paranoia. “Would you mind?”
“Of course not.” He pressed his palm against the smooth surface and the scanner confirmed his identity.
“You said commander. What do you command?” She switched to Standard, the language established for the facilitation of interplanetary trade. He was making a valiant effort to speak Earthish, but she preferred to avoid miscommunication.
They turned to the right as they left the lab, her high heels providing a rhythmic accompaniment for their conversation. The extra three inches only brought her head even with his shoulder. Damn, the man was tall.
“Habit. I keep forgetting I’m retired.”
She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed. He was a man in his prime. How could he be retired? “How long have you been on Earth?”
He chuckled. “I immigrated from an obscure planet you’ve probably never heard of and to my knowledge no human has ever visited. I could say the name, but it doesn’t translate well into Standard.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She scanned open the lift and stepped inside. “Scientists are curious by nature.”
His only reply was an enigmatic smile.
A luxury transport awaited them in the departure ring. Faster and far more comfortable than the public shuttles, the sleek ship would have them Earth-side in a matter of hours. Mal Ton offered his hand as she approached the steep stairs leading to the passenger cabin. She placed her hand on his palm and his warm fingers closed in a gentle grasp. The courteous gesture shouldn’t have been arousing, but the commander exuded male virility.
Andrea took a deep breath and looked around the elegant cabin as Mal Ton ducked through the hatch behind her. Chilled champagne and hors d’oeuvres had been thoughtfully tucked into compartments near the main row of seats.
“Does everything meet with your approval?” His deep voice sounded from close behind her.
Touch me. Wrap your arms around me and… She shook away the disconcerting thought. He was here to ensure her safety, not alleviate her sexual frustration. “Everything looks fine. Thank you.” Had he heard the odd catch in her tone? Did he feel the tense awareness or had she just spent too much time alone in her lab?
“I’ll notify the pilot that we’re ready for departure.”
She turned around in time to see him disappear through a door on the other side of the cabin. He moved with remarkable grace for a man of his size. Broad back, tight butt, and muscular legs, the man was just plain—fuckable. She didn’t try to hide her smile. With him gone, there was no need. Janelle must be rubbing off on her.
After pouring herself a glass of champagne, she selected a seat and waited for Mal Ton’s return. He ducked back through the doorway a few minutes later, his gaze intense yet inscrutable.
“You have a vidcom from General Bryson. Are you available to take the call?”
Just the name sent irritation rippling through her body. If she refused the call, Bryson was liable to show up at the gala. “He can’t seem to figure out that he’s wasting his time.” She took a moment to secure her safety restraints before she flipped up the small vidscreen tucked into the arm of her chair and waited for Bryson’s image to appear.
“What can I do for you?” She made no attempt to hide the impatience in her tone.
“I was hoping you’d reconsidered my offer.” He sat behind a desk, his hands neatly folded in front of him.
“I have no desire to be involved in an off-world project. We have problems enough right here on Earth. I told you that three days ago, and I told you why.” He looked human and had given her no indication that he wasn’t, but his persistence made her wonder about the nature of his connection to the Protarians.
“Without your assistance, the Protarian people will succumb to extinction within a generation. The mutations are getting worse. How can you sit back and let that happen?” A sharp note cut through his tone. This was the aspect of her success she hadn’t anticipated and liked the least. The process was still highly experimental and required her personal supervision. How did she divide her time and prioritize cases when there were so many in need? She couldn’t let this man bully her. Other applications were just as urgent and had none of the extenuating circumstances.
The transport lifted off, then accelerated rapidly. She pressed her hand against her chest and waited for her equilibrium to return before she spoke again. “I’m not the only geneticist on Earth. I have every confidence you’ll find one willing to accommodate the Protarians.”
“Without RENA, any other geneticist will be useless to the Protarians and you control RENA. They don’t have time for conventional research. Why are you opposed to helping them?”
She hadn’t meant to get into all this in front of Mal Ton. He’d flipped up his own vidscreen and didn’t appear to be paying attention. Shifting her focus back to Bryson’s expectant face, she took a deep breath. If the stubborn jerk wouldn’t accept her polite refusal, she’d spell it out for him.
“I’d never heard of Protaria before you brought the planet to my attention, so I did some research. I wasn’t able to find much on the Interweb about them, but what I found was upsetting to say the least. They hold intergalactic patents for the technology that produces several forms of renewable energy and they’ve been at war for three hundred years. What kind of people can be so technologically advanced and yet allow war to rage for three hundred years?”
“You don’t approve of their history, so they don’t deserve to live? Could you be any more arrogant?” His brows scrunched together and he expelled a sharp, humorless laugh.
“It’s not arrogance. I must set priorities. Do you have any idea how many applications the RENA program received last month?” He said nothing. His infuriated expression made it clear he only cared about one. “Is my information accurate? Are the Protarians still at war?”
His eyes shimmered and he pressed his lips together so hard they disappeared. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
“I disagree.” She straightened her back and looked into his eyes. “What guarantee do I have that the Protarians won’t weaponize RENA? Clearly war is their top priority.”
“You know nothing about their priorities,” he snapped.
“Dedicating time and resources to a people so committed to war is counterproductive to everything I believe. If the Protari
ans can negotiate an end to the hostilities and guarantee that RENA will only be used to heal, I will be more than willing to reconsider their application.”
“You foolish girl.” He looked away from the screen for a moment and a shiver ran down Andrea’s spine. His personal investment in the negotiation became more obvious with each word he spoke. Did he know someone on Protaria or was he dreading the loss of their promised compensation? “You’re lucky the Stilox didn’t find you first. Now they are truly savage. Their only contribution to history is their weapons, their brutality, and their tradition of sharing their women!”
Who were the Stilox and what did they have to do with the general’s proposal? Rather than allow the conversation to continue off course, she said, “I’m sorry. I wish I could help everyone but I can’t. It’s simply not possible.”
He shook his head as his gaze filled with disappointment. “Just remember I tried to be reasonable. Enjoy the party.”
* * *
Mal Ton stood at the edge of the massive ballroom watching Andrea waltz around the dance floor in the arms of a dashing young human. Most of the men wore black while the women were resplendent in every imaginable hue. Artificial candlelight flickered high overhead and the holo-orchestra morphed with each new song.
Mal Ton’s empathic receptors had been inundated with emotion the moment he entered the crowded room. He’d hoped to scan the assembly, learn as much as he could before taking Andrea to his ship. The sheer onslaught of emotion had made his objective impossible.
Mustering energy and concentration, he shielded his mind from the overwhelming barrage and relaxed behind the mental barricade. These humans were confusing creatures. Their sophistication and civility often hid vicious impulses that would rival the most brutal Stilox warrior. Mal Ton found it all rather hypocritical. Many considered his people ruthless, but they lived by a strict code of honor.
He located Andrea again and found her gaze on him. Hazel eyes dominated her delicate features, reflecting the simulated candlelight. She looked back at her partner as the man led her into another turn. Her golden hair had been pulled up and styled with sweeping twists and tiny braids. It had been pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck in her vidfiles. What would it look like unbound, loose around her shoulders?
Opening his mind just enough to sense her feelings, he stifled a groan. Desire and an aching fascination rolled across his receptors. If she didn’t stop lusting after him, he’d forget his mission and give her exactly what she was imagining. Were human females always so hot-blooded?
The evening had been a dreadful bore. He’d sat at her side during the tedious meal while others monopolized the conversation, often speaking Earthish too fast for him to understand. He was left to admire her quick wit and easy smile, to wonder if her skin was as soft as it looked, and imagine her shapely body slick and rosy with passion’s afterglow. Her vidfiles hadn’t begun to capture the complex beauty that was Andrea Raynier.
A short presentation followed the meal. Her colleagues extolled her accomplishments and praised her character. Each testimonial escalated Mal Ton’s resentment. How could such a paragon of intelligence and nobility dismiss the Stilox crisis as incidental? Sure, the Protarians were technically negotiating for her cooperation, but the biological crisis was ravaging both planets.
She wasn’t the only one who had done their homework. Earth had a violent and bloody past dating back several millennia, not three centuries. Who was she to cast judgment on him? She knew nothing about the conflict between Stilox and Protaria and hadn’t cared enough to learn. After glancing at one fragment of information, she’d condemned two planets to death.
He sighed and squared his shoulders. That assessment wasn’t fair. This feisty scientist hadn’t created the problem—she’d just refused to become involved. He had to admire her conviction even if it contradicted his.
The swirling pattern of the dance brought her near for a moment. She smiled at her partner, her eyes sparkling. The lad held her too closely, but she didn’t seem to mind. A slow wave of tingling awareness rolled across Mal Ton’s senses. He tried to raise his shields and found his mind already protected.
You want her. This isn’t a response to her lust. You want this human.
The realization both shocked and fascinated him. It had been ages since he’d felt attraction for anyone. He’d seen too much and lost too many. All his weaker emotions had been consumed by decades of rage. Sexuality was a weapon like any other. He used them all with equal proficiency. His soul was beyond redemption so he shielded the others, protecting as many as he could.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, ignoring the considerable pressure in his groin. She danced with an older man now. Her partner’s gaze lowered to her breasts with obvious interest and Mal Ton fought back a snarl.
The survival of his people depended on this woman, whether she was willing to accept the fact or not. The Stilox might not be a priority for Andrea, but she was top priority for them.
With a measured sigh, Mal Ton steeled himself for what he was about to do. He let the ravaged faces of his loved ones scroll through his memory and reinforce his determination. This was war. It’s not her war. He silenced his conscience and cleared his mind. There was no other choice; the Protarians had seen to that a long time ago.
The song ended and Andrea walked directly to his side, fatigue revealed in every movement. “I’ve had all the merriment I can stand. Get me out of here.”
“Shouldn’t your departure be announced?” He was as eager to leave as she, but his role required the question. “You are the guest of honor.”
“I’ve played my part all night, smiled on cue, danced until my feet went numb. Now I’m going home.”
He motioned toward the nearest exit. She offered a vague excuse to the only person who questioned her destination. Mal Ton signaled their pilot as they made their way to the private landing pad on the roof of the event center.
“You don’t enjoy formal galas, I take it?” They stood in the rooftop’s tiny lounge, waiting for their transport to return.
“I live in a research facility. The opportunities for any sort of socializing are minimal.” She shook her head and gazed out at the glittering skyline. “Even before I came to work for Medicort, I wasn’t much for parties.”
She leaned down and unfastened her sandals, groaning as she stepped out of the high heels. Her position gave him a fabulous view of her cleavage. Had the display been intentional? He touched her mind and found only relief and a tired sort of longing. Curious. Now that the opportunity to act upon her lust was at hand, she’d managed to suppress her desire. Humans made no sense.
As they crossed the roof, he looked out over the city. Buildings sprawled one next to the other as far as the eye could see. Their shapes and sizes varied, but the urban clutter marched on relentlessly. Multilevel trams and public shuttles sped between the buildings, mixed with the occasional private transport. It was all very impressive, if a bit tragic. Mostly it made Mal Ton long for the lush forests and pristine oceans of his youth.
He helped her into the passenger cabin and sat in the side row adjacent to her seat. They both fastened their safety restraints and he notified the pilot they were ready to leave. After the initial acceleration passed, he continued their conversation. It would take about an hour and a half to reach the rendezvous location. He was in no hurry to mist her. It wouldn’t do to have the tranquilizer wear off before he had her safely stashed aboard his ship.
“The entire space station is reserved for medical research?” he asked.
She rubbed her temples and nodded her head. “Medicort is a nonprofit program sponsored by multiple governments and private companies. We’re the largest research facility on, or rather, orbiting the Earth.”
“Why was an off-world site chosen for the program? That can’t be cost-effective.”
She smiled and heat erupted in her eyes. “We didn’t build the station. It was originally a defense outp
ost and we took it over after decades of peace made the operating costs hard to justify.”
“Rather than abandon the outpost, the military sold it to Medicort?” As he spoke, her gaze lowered to his mouth and her tongue peeked out, wetting her bottom lip. He didn’t need to touch her mind to understand her emotions. Her passion had flared again.
“They tried to donate it with the condition that they have access to all our findings, but we refused.” She dragged her gaze away from his mouth, focusing on some point beyond his left shoulder. Why was she resisting her desire now when she’d indulged it all evening, at least in her mind?
Mal Ton released his safety restraints and crossed his legs at the ankle. Taking advantage of her averted gaze, he swept her body with a slow, assessing look. The daring gown hugged her torso, showcasing her full breasts and accenting her trim waist. Her hips were nicely rounded and a strategic part in the skirt left one shapely leg bare to mid-thigh. He hadn’t expected her to want him and wanting her was even more of a shock. Still, this attraction could work to his advantage, if he was enough of a bastard to exploit the opportunity.
He’d fucked Nehalem without blinking an eye, knowing it was for the greater good. So why did he hesitate to seduce this human? Because your desire is real. It didn’t matter. His people were dying and Andrea was their best chance of finding a cure. He must do anything in his power—everything in his power to gain access to her knowledge and expertise.
“I’m sure no one at Medicort has regretted the decision to purchase the facility.” He let desire burn away the last of his hesitation. The next phase of his mission started right now.