by Eve Langlais
“I know you are attracted to me,” she said, getting to her feet before twirling, the thinness of the gown she’d chosen to wear settling around her, at times clinging to a hip, a breast, teasing with her shape. The lessons learned in the flowery bowers with the matrons came in handy. When it came to making alliances, it was all about being noticed. She noticed how his gaze tracked her. She kept turning, employing the subtle art of the tease, just without the usual mind tricks. She’d almost had him before. A little more nudging and he would melt.
“I can see your devious mind whirring, pixie. It ain’t going to work. Shake that ass all you want. I am not cheating on Sky.”
“You can’t cheat on the dead.”
“First, I’d have to be tempted, and let me tell you, you’re not half the woman she was.”
The harshness of the statement froze her. Dropping all pretense, she whirled to face him. “Why do you insist on lying? You are attracted to me.”
“So what if I am?” he practically snapped. “You’re female. I’m a guy. It’s chemical, means nothing. And I took care of it.”
“What do you mean you took care of it?”
His lips curved into a cruel smile. “What do you think it means?”
He’d satisfied himself elsewhere.
With another female.
For some reason the idea of it hurt. She lashed out. “Why are you so cruel? What have I done for you to be such a—a—” She stumbled for the right word. He supplied it.
“Dick. You can say it like it is. I never promised to be nice. You’re the one who is being pathetic throwing herself at me.”
“Throwing myself?” She gaped. “I hate you.”
Which was why she couldn’t understand why her blood boiled at the sight of him. It didn’t just boil through her veins but throbbed between her legs as well.
What was it about him that ignited her desire?
It made her angry that she lusted after a male with so little regard for her.
She paced away from him. “I can’t wait until I can leave this ship.”
“What’s wrong, pixie? Did I hurt your feelings?”
Yes. Yes, he had. But she’d never admit it. “More like I’m tired of dealing with your boorish manners. It would seem your nanotechnology is defective.”
“How do you figure? Everything is in tip-top working order.”
“Except for your manners. They could use an upgrade.” She tossed the barb at him with a triumphant smirk.
“You insulting my metal parts?” He held out his arm and flexed it, and it was then she noted the gleaming metal through the rips in the skin.
Immediately her irritation melted. “You’re injured.”
“It’s nothing.” He went to move, but she managed to grab hold of his arm.
She bent closer to look. “The dermal layer is damaged.”
“Bots will fix it later. I just gotta get the right kind of nutrients first.”
“How far does it extend?” She ran her finger from the tear to the joint in his elbow then higher, feeling the flesh, real to the touch.
“Shoulder. But it’s not my only replacement.”
“You were grievously injured.”
“Almost died. But they replaced all my broken bits and then had me introduced to a nanobot colony. One of them adopted me.”
“And spread throughout your body.” A symbiotic relationship. “Do you still feel?” she mused aloud, running her finger up and down his arm. Catching his shiver.
For some reason this caused him to tense up. His body became a rigid statue.
“I feel.” He swallowed. “But I shouldn’t.” He drew his arm out of reach, and she noticed him twisting his wedding ring again.
A widower who still grieved. Who struggled with a promise to a ghost.
It only served to increase her fascination with him.
“So which port will you deposit me at?” She turned from him, hip giving a slight switch to work the fabric of her gown.
“Despite my recommendation, Captain says you stay aboard as planned. For now,” Abrams admonished. “That might change if something else happens.”
“Like what? More kidnappers? I can hardly prevent them, now can I?” A lilt of sarcasm in there.
“Someone is going through an awful lot of trouble to get to you. Assassins aren’t cheap.”
No, they weren’t. But some things didn’t have a cost too high. “It’s about honor.”
“Ain’t no honor using someone else to do your dirty work.”
“In my culture, it’s considered more gauche to dirty your hands doing it yourself.”
“Shitty system.”
In that she couldn’t entirely disagree. “My father will send more.”
“Your dad’s the one doing this?”
“I caused him great dishonor when I refused the alliance he arranged.”
“Never heard of an elf pulling a runaway bride before.”
Because it didn’t usually happen. She whirled and caught the skirt of her gown before sitting on the chair. “My people don’t broadcast their private affairs.”
“Are they all as snooty as you?”
“No. Most are much worse,” she replied with a smile.
“Can’t abide pretension.”
“Some would call it having manners.”
“Fuck manners. Who needs them?” Turning from her, Abrams stripped off his shirt. Slabs of muscle drew her glance. The seamless appearance of his arm filled her with wonder. If not for the tear, you’d never know. Not a single line to show he wore a mechanical one. Odd, because elsewhere on his body, he bore scars.
“Why did the cyborg nanotechnology not heal the marks of your old injuries?”
“’Cause.”
With that one syllable she knew why he had them still. They were a reminder. A tribute to his dead wife. A punishment because he’d lived.
His hands went to the waistband of his pants. She knew what he did. He was forcing her to look away. To not stare upon him.
The fabric slid down, and her eyes followed, over the thickness of his thighs. The tight calves. When he straightened to a standing position again, her gaze went to the spot between his thighs.
“I see the rumor is true.” She didn’t have to say which one, and yet he blushed.
She gaped at the surprising sight.
“I’m taking a shower,” he barked before striding into the bathing chamber.
As if she’d let him hide.
She entered before the door slid shut. He immediately whirled. “What are you doing?”
“I wasn’t done with you.”
“I was. And this ain’t right. Get out.”
“What happened to ‘fuck manners’?” She used his own vulgar words against him.
“I’m married.”
“No, you’re not. Not according to law.”
“And?” He stomped into the shower. “I’m not looking to get hitched.”
“Neither am I.”
He turned to face her as the lasers did their thing and cleaned his body. “Are you propositioning me for sex?”
“What if I was?” What if she was being bold and going in blind?
She couldn’t read his emotions. Couldn’t read his thoughts. Could only feel and see. Even sight was restricted because he kept his expression locked tight.
She took a step closer. Reached out to touch his chest.
His fingers whipped around her wrist.
“Don’t.”
“What are you afraid of? You’re a cyborg. Control yourself.” She ran the tips of her fingers over his skin. The shell around him rippled. A hint of emotion seeped out. Wild. Lusty.
He was keeping it bottled inside. She flattened her palm against his flesh.
Soft and strong.
The feeling of it pulsed from her, and his flesh twitched.
“That wasn’t a compulsion,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Not everything I can do is about control. I can also read f
eelings and project them, too. It’s considered especially pleasurable during sex.”
“You’ve done this?”
“No.” The intimacy of such a thing required trust, and when you could read minds, that wasn’t easily found. Until now.
Abrams provided an interesting dilemma. She couldn’t read his mind. Could only judge him on his actions. On the surface they came across as brusque, and yet, she saw them for the mask they were.
A broken man seeking to wallow in his misery. Afraid he might be happy again.
“This is harassment,” he remarked.
“By your human standards.” She smiled. “In my culture it is known as the luudo. The flirting game.”
“That kind of game can get you in trouble.”
“I can handle trouble.”
“Can you, pixie?” His sudden grab of her shoulders meant he could slam her with a bit of force against the wall. She gasped.
He leaned in close. “Do you understand what you’re doing in tempting the cyborg?”
“So you admit I tempt you?” A breathily spoken inquiry.
“Yes, damn you. Damn. You.” He said the words distinctly and roughly against her lips. He kissed her.
Pressed his mouth to hers and ignited her passion.
It simmered between them. Hot and encompassing. Their mouths moved in sensual rhythm, tasting and caressing. Their breaths joined as one, and their hearts raced with excitement.
He dropped to his knees, and she looked down, watching as the jets in the atomic shower disintegrated her robe, leaving her bare to his view.
He stared for a moment. She feared he might run.
Instead he touched. He parted her thighs, wedging them open. His face buried between them, and she moaned at the hot breath fanning her sex.
She had to grab for him at the first lick.
The heat of it almost made her combust.
He lapped at her, his moist tongue working her most intimate folds. Tickling inside, finding her flower and stimulating it. He tasted her, and she let him.
She encouraged him. Her fingers ran over the bald pate of his head, feeling the energy thrumming, the restrained passion.
A mental coo of pleasure radiated from her as he lapped at her most intimate place. Stimulating her pleasure button. Making her clench in anticipation.
He thrust a finger into her. Two…
He pumped them as his tongue danced on her button. Flicking it as he pumped her in and out. But it was the vibration of his tongue and digits that sent her over the edge.
She clutched at him, gasping, as the climax hit her suddenly, leaving her trembling and spent.
He wasn’t done.
He stood, so big. So strong.
She reached down and gripped him. The velvety steel length of his desire. It throbbed in her grip, and he uttered a groan.
Their gazes met, and he froze, froze even as the tip of him nudged the moist spot between her legs.
He would move no further.
“Why are you stopping?” She desperately craved what came next.
“I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Now, when her body was on fire, he had second thoughts?
She dug her fingers into his buttocks and pulled him closer. The tip of him pierced, enough to cause a tremor. “Don’t you dare stop now.”
He groaned again. “Fuck me, why can’t I help myself?”
“Because it’s our destiny.”
Whatever held him back collapsed at her words. Along with her legs. Good thing his hands were there to hold her up, to pin her against the wall as he slid the thick steel of his shaft into her.
Stretching her. Claiming her sex in a way that had her gasping and clawing at him.
He took his time thrusting. Long, slow, deep strokes. Strokes that vibrated. He ground himself into her, the head of him hitting just the right spot.
Over and over.
Her pleasure coiled tight. His breathing remained even, and yet, the tenseness in him couldn’t be hidden. When she climaxed, the muscles of her sex squeezing, pleasure exploded in her.
As it flooded her so did she shove it at him.
Feel it. Feel how you make me feel. She thrust it all at him. Tossed her essence against him, staining his aura with her own.
It triggered his orgasm, which, in turn, fed her own. A circle of bliss that kept giving and left them both panting.
Yes, even he panted.
She’d made him lose control.
The triumphant feeling brought a smile as she stroked him.
He tensed and then shoved away from her, exiting the bathing cubicle. Ghwenn was left to stare at his broad back.
Did he seriously abandon her?
“We didn’t do anything wrong.” Not entirely true. But, given he wasn’t a pure Driadalys, the same rules probably didn’t apply to him.
“Get dressed.”
That was what he had to say after the pleasure they’d shared? “Back to being a dick, I see.” She flung his own word at him.
He didn’t reply, and she was too angry to let him simmer.
“Your wallowing in misery is commendable. After all, you are entirely to blame for your wife’s death.”
That earned her an angry glare. “What are you talking about?”
“I am talking about the fact you could have done more to save your wife.”
His eyes blazed as he stalked back in her direction. “I did everything I could to save Sky.”
“Yet you lived. She didn’t.” Intentional cruelty. The only weapon she had against his indifference.
“She died protecting me,” he shouted. “She took a blow meant for me. I couldn’t stop her.”
“That’s even worse, then,” she said with a sneer. “She sacrificed her life for you, and this is how you’re wasting it.”
“I am not wasting—”
She sliced a hand to cut him off. “You are. Your wife gave you the most precious gift, and you’re repaying it by being miserable.” She yelled the words at him, chest heaving by the time she was done. “Do you really think she meant for you to live the rest of your life alone?” She hammered before he could say a thing. “Would you have expected her to remain a widow her entire life?”
“No. But—”
“No buts. You shame her with your attitude.”
He stood stone still. “I never thought of it like that.” He paused. “She… I…” He might have eventually spit out the words if the communication unit on his wrist hadn’t gone off.
“Abrams.” It was the captain.
“What?”
“You and the guest are to meet me in Corridor A Fifty-Seven as soon as possible.”
“That’s a docking corridor. Someone coming?” He tapped at the wall in the bedroom, heedless of his nudity as he retrieved information.
“We have company. They hailed us only a moment ago when they came out of a jump.”
A ship appeared on screen. Massive, emerald green, and accompanied by a fleet of smaller vessels.
Ghwenn clenched her fists by her sides.
“That’s an elf ship,” Abrams commented.
“A Driadalys escort has been sent to retrieve our guest.”
“Pretty big fucking escort,” Abrams retorted. “What is she, some rich dude’s daughter?”
He cast her a glance, and she held her chin high as the captain revealed her secret.
“Apparently, we’re in possession of Ghwennatha Rexterraesta, a princess of the summer planets.”
“Princess?” Abrams roared.
Chapter 13
“I was going to tell you,” she exclaimed as she skipped to keep pace with him.
Crank wasn’t in the mood to listen. Bad enough a tiny slip of a woman had guilted him into realizing what a shit he’d made of the second chance Sky had given him. He’d slept with a fucking princess.
“You’re a princess.” The third time he’d repeated it.
“Yes.”
“A royal elf.”
Which was bad. So very, very bad. “Rumor has it that having sex with an elf princess is a death sentence.”
“Not a rumor. My kind are very serious about keeping the bloodlines pure.”
“Speaking of pure...” He glanced at her messy mane of dark locks. “What color is your real hair?” Because unlike a human woman, she didn’t have any bush to cover below.
“Does it matter?”
No, because he would have almost slept with her no matter the hue.
“A fucking princess.” The snort of disgust was for himself.
“I don’t know why you’re so shocked. You said I was snooty.”
“As an insult.”
“Which makes it all the more delicious.”
He tossed her a glare. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’ve rarely run into anyone who thought it appropriate to treat me with disdain.”
“Don’t think because I know you’re a princess that’s going to change. I still ain’t bowing to you.”
“You already did.”
The subtle reminder had him almost groaning aloud as he remembered the feel of her against his tongue. The scent. The pleasure…
His hand clenched tight—the human one—fingers digging into his palm. “You should have told me,” he growled, still annoyed. Although he couldn’t have said if it was because she’d lied to him or because they didn’t get a chance to finish.
“If I had, you would have treated me differently.”
“Fucking right.” For starters, he wouldn’t have slept with her. But he had, and now he couldn’t stop picturing it. Remembering it. Craving…her.
“How come your eyes are purple instead of green?” he asked. His history on the Driadalys might be thin, but he did know that royalty had specific eye colors. The Summer Land family being green.
“Eye shields.” She paused long enough to pinch at the orbs, pulling off the lenses and revealing their true color.
Bright. Vivid. Green.
“All lies.” He shook his head and kept walking, not even caring if she followed. Where would she run?
Around the corner, the hall widened into a receiving chamber. The pearlescent walls contrasted with the uniforms the crew wore. Unlike the Gaia Federation military ships, the crew on board the Gypsy Moth all wore one color. Black. It matched his mood.