In her peripheral vision she saw him smile softly. “We don’t get to choose what happens to us—but we always get to choose how we react to it.”
Also honey. The lingering memory of sugar on the tongue. Damn. “You can stop being insightful anytime you like, you know.”
“What, did I surprise you?”
“You’re always surprising me.”
A soft breath fell from his lips. She tried to get a look at him out of the corner of her eye. He appeared…speechless. Huh.
The seconds ticked by as they flew in silence above the Strait toward downtown. Distracted by competing thoughts, it took her a moment to notice he was regarding her rather sharply. “Yes?”
“What else did the Board say?”
She frowned and looked away. “They said…. Fine. They said the aliens would go through Senecan space first, and the distraction would help the war effort.”
“And you weren’t going to tell me?”
“Why tell you? There’s nothing you can do about it, and it’s not as though they can helpfully point the aliens in Seneca’s direction or anything. It’s impotent political blustering.”
“I get you have no particular love for my home or its citizens, but surely you don’t want them to be wiped out.”
“Of course I don’t—that’s not why I—dammit, Caleb.” She blew out a sigh through gritted teeth. “So I’m ashamed of those who call themselves my leaders. As if I was proud of them before. I thought…I thought I knew the darkness which could reside in people, I truly did, but I had no idea they had the capacity to be so appallingly ruthless.”
“Many people are. Especially those in power, and especially those in power in the military. I can’t say I’m surprised.” He paused. “Then again, I may be a bit jaded.”
She arched an eyebrow as she descended toward her building. “Speaking of…Richard knew who you were because your file was leaked to him. Directly.”
“What file?”
“Your Senecan Intelligence Division file.”
“To an Alliance Naval Intelligence agent? Impossible.”
“I’d agree with you, except for the fact it’s precisely what happened. Sorry, but it seems you’ve got a leak or a plant or some such. Who knew you were coming here?”
“Only Volosk. He classified this little ‘op’ Level V when he approved it, which means no one knew.”
“Is it possible he’s dirty?”
He laughed. It was the first time she’d heard his laugh in several days; she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it. “Michael Volosk makes your friend Richard look like a flamboyant renegade. No chance.”
She circled to the back side of her building and cruised into the parking level a third of the way up. “Well, nothing we can do to solve the mystery for the moment. Let’s get upstairs, and you can take a shower.”
He followed her to the lift. “Do I need one?”
Not in the slightest. “You were in military confinement for almost two days, what do you think?”
He leaned back against the lift wall. “It’s not like I engaged in any strenuous activity, or any activity at all in fact. It was all terribly dull.”
When they reached her door she gestured him in ahead of her. “In all seriousness, you can take a shower if you want, it’s upstairs to the left. I’m going to—”
“Alex, these are amazing. Did you take them?” He was standing in the middle of the living area, attention not on the view out the windows but on the wall of spacescapes.
She simply nodded.
His expression was unreadable as he glanced briefly at her before returning to the visuals. “They’re…really something. You have quite a gift.”
“I…thank you.” She wrenched her gaze away from watching him and went into the kitchen, dropping her cap and jacket on the dining table. “The laundry port is upstairs, too. If you toss your clothes in it, they’ll be ready by the time we need to leave. There should be something in the back of the closet you can throw on.”
“Ex-boyfriend’s?”
She looked up at him in amusement. “Yes.”
His response was a full-throated laugh as he headed up the stairs.
Once he had disappeared, she prepped a brief message to Richard.
Sorry.
He came here at my request, and I couldn’t leave him to rot in confinement. I wouldn’t be worthy to be your goddaughter if I did.
Okay, that was a cheap attempt at winning your sympathy. I doubt it worked, you’re too smart for it. Though you do have a soft underbelly so maybe it at least tweaked your heartstrings a little.
He’s not a threat to us. You have to trust me on this. And as much as it pains me to say it, the true threat isn’t the Senecan Federation either. This war is a lie. I know you haven’t the power to end it, but I beg you to do everything you can to expose it for what it is.
We need everyone working together to face what IS the true threat: the aliens on the threshold. PLEASE. You know I don’t give a shit unless something is real. This is as real as it gets.
I’ll be in touch when I can.
—Alex
She marked it for time delay and set it to deliver the next afternoon, long after she’d be off-planet and likely after he found himself one prisoner short.
48
EARTH
Seattle
* * *
Alex glanced up as he came down the stairs, returned her focus to the aural hovering above the counter—then looked up again.
It was odd for a minute, seeing him in Malcolm’s clothes. He had a leaner frame, so they hung a bit loosely on him. She had the totally irrational thought that was the way they were supposed to fit.
He caught her gaze and shrugged, gesturing to the drawstring linen pants and lightweight unbuttoned shirt. “This was all I could find.”
“I never said they would be ‘fit for the office’ clothes.” She didn’t comment on the fact the shirt did button. One, she was quite certain he knew and simply delighted in torturing her; two, she found she preferred being tortured by…she blinked. “Get down here and I’ll run through what I’ve got so far. You can let me know if you think we need anything else. As fugitives from the law and all.”
He came over to the bar and rested his forearms on it. “Again, thank you. I never intended to turn you into a fugitive.”
“Again, not your fault. And it’ll be fine. Probably.”
“Still, thank you.” His hand reached halfway across the bar, then stopped. It reminded her of the night before they discovered the alien army. Then, she had been glad he hesitated. Now she longed for him to cross the remaining space.
“I forgive you. Now about the supplies.”
They spent the next several minutes reviewing their requirements and the supply list she had compiled. He leaned on the long side of the bar near the end, her on the short edge near the dinner table; her aural floated in the air between them. It was comfortable and easy and close, and she was using ninety percent of her energy on not being distracted by his clean, soapy scent, by the loose curls of damp hair falling across his forehead, by the way his voice seemed so much huskier and more lilting than normal. It sounded almost musical.
He never should have kissed her, dammit. And now she was royally fucked. Except, not actually…. Well.
Luckily ten percent managed to be enough to get through the list. It mostly consisted of food and new spare parts anyway, seeing as she’d used her previous spare parts repairing her ship after he blew a hole in it and all.
She killed the aural and straightened up. “Okay, I believe we’ve covered everything. Sorry I didn’t have a chance to get you any clothes. I imagine you’re sick to death of your one outfit by now. But you can take those, and whatever else is up there.”
His head tilted. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “We’ll stop on the way for the extra food, and we should be able to pick up the spare parts at the spaceport.” She started walking around
the bar, and him, toward the small room tucked under the stairwell. “I’m going to hit the storage and grab some—”
“Alex.” Her name on his voice washed over her, sending shivers to dance on her skin. He had turned, followed her path with his body.
His hand rested on her upper arm. Gently. A request.
The surroundings faded to a blur while she, him and the space they inhabited zoomed into hyper-focus, as in a shallow depth-of-field image. And in a blink the last remaining speck of her resistance, tiny though it had been, dissipated away to nothingness.
In one fluid motion she pivoted, closed the distance between them and brought her hand up to wind in his hair. It was even softer than it looked.
For one infinite second his eyes met hers. They were open and honest and smoldering with barely restrained desire and so very, very blue. His fingertips slid across her shoulder and up the curve of her neck until his knuckles brushed along her cheek.
“Damn you.”
His brow furrowed into an endearingly straight line. “For?”
“Everything. Kiss me before I lose my mind—”
—his mouth was on hers—or hers was on his—and it felt as if a dam broke within her, and perhaps within him as well. His lips stole the breath from her lungs; she gasped in his breath to replace it. The hand which had grasped her arm what now seemed hours ago was entwined in her hair, then running over her shoulder, then delicately caressing her jaw.
Her hand that wasn’t fisted violently in his hair slinked inside the borrowed shirt. As her fingertips brushed across his ribs he trembled beneath her touch. When he nipped her lower lip in pleasure she grinned and continued on, tickling his skin on the way to the small of his back.
Then everything was tongues and teeth and stolen breaths and arms pulling bodies closer. Her head spun madly from the overload of sheer physical sensation. His skin was a wonder beneath her palm, but she couldn’t focus on it for the spectacular feel of his lips on hers, the taste of his tongue—
He still tasted like cinnamon and honey, even after the shower. Delicious.
—his hand at her waist tugged the shirt from her pants and immediately dipped beneath it and ran up her spine. She responded by crushing her mouth into his, as though brute force might bring him closer.
Eventually he pulled away a fraction to suck in air and shifted her so her back was to the bar. His body pinned her against it, again with greater strength than she would have imagined. And dear god but it wasn’t enough. Her hand slid down to his ass and gripped him tighter against her; his hardness pressed into her, just left of where she urgently wanted it to be.
He moaned into her mouth, a deep, rough tremor of carnal need.
She tore her lips from his and across his jaw to his ear. “Upstairs….” It was little more than a breath.
In an instant he had pulled her from the bar, dropped both hands to her hips and hoisted her up into his arms.
“Your wish is my very enthusiastic command.” His voice sounded deeper and rougher yet somehow even more musical but definitely not nearly so controlled now.
She gasped in delight and wound her legs around his waist with a slightly wild laugh. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he began not-so-carefully carrying her toward the staircase. She occupied herself with his earlobe, his neck, his exquisitely defined jaw, whatever she could reach.
He maneuvered the first few stairs like they were second nature—surprisingly, seeing as he’d traversed them all of twice and her hair spilled over his face—but she must have distracted him too much, because at the midway landing he slammed her against the wall and his mouth against hers. One leg slid to the floor; he maintained a solid grip on the other.
It was her turn to moan as he crashed into her. God he wasn’t wearing any underwear…he would be washing them, of course. Freed of needing to hang on to him, she shoved the shirt off his shoulders. Her voice escaped into free air as his lips trailed down her neck to the hollow of her throat. “This isn’t upstairs….”
He let go of her long enough to shake the sleeve off. This left the shirt hanging on nothing but his other wrist, which still grasped her leg firmly on his hip. His hand returned to snake up her stomach, her own shirt bunching in its wake.
“It’s up some stairs….” The words vibrated on her collarbone as his tongue teased along it.
She gave a ragged laugh and dragged her other leg free to coax him toward the remaining stairs by nothing more than the threat of physical separation. His shirt fell unnoticed to the landing as hers disappeared over her head.
Support had been woven into her top, and their chests were now skin-on-skin. The sensation of his chest pressed to hers was…was…‘pleasant’ was clearly too weak a word. A pittance to describe a treasure.
She cursed having to divert a miniscule portion of her attention to feel her way up the stairway backwards. A few more stairs. Only a few mo— her legs weakened as his thumb ran over then lingered upon a nipple, and she sank down short of the bedroom landing.
The tiny corner of her brain which managed to continue functioning at a minimal level of rationality noted his hand slid behind her head before it hit the top stair to take the jarring blow for her. Later, she should think about what a shocking act of kindness and sacrifice it was. Yup, lat—
—his mouth was on her left breast and his tongue was swirling around the nipple, suckling it right to the edge of pain while a thumb teased the other, and she thought her eyes probably rolled back in her head.
“Yebat’sya mne….”
His lips ghosted down her chest toward her navel with a throaty chuckle. “It would be my genuine pleasure.”
The words fluttered over her skin to send a fierce shiver coursing through her, though his accent now rolled so alluringly thick she could barely understand him at all. She didn’t care and oh how she wanted him to keep going…. Her spine arched, begging for him to keep going, but her fingernails scratched up his back and tugged him up to her until his mouth again crushed hers.
He was acting as if he was the one in control, yet happy to indulge her every request. She considered making a mental note for possible future reference, but got horribly distracted by his tongue halfway through.
In a supreme act of will she slid up the final two stairs and shakily stood with him.
Instantly her hands dropped to his waist and yanked the drawstring loose; the pants fell to the floor unaided. She tried to pull his naked form to her, but his hands were in the way, busy sliding her own pants over her hips. Hers were snugger and clingy and she wasted two precious seconds shimmying them and her underwear together to the floor.
Finally there existed nothing between them. For a perfect moment he held her next to him. She could feel every long, taut muscle, his racing heartbeat reverberating beneath his skin. She’d never known his pulse to race. He was so warm. It felt sublime and luscious and laced with an unexpected throbbing in her chest.
She looked up—it wasn’t far, he wasn’t terribly much taller than her—and willingly fell into the ocean of his eyes.
The back of her knees hit the bed. She curled one leg up and sank onto it, bringing him with her as if they were one.
With astonishing gentleness he slipped inside her, and they were.
She wondered if her eyes widened as much as his did, lips a mere centimeter apart, her hands clutching his face and his clutching hers.
“Jesus, you—”
Her mouth smothered his as she scraped a hand down his back and drew him all the way into her. The momentary tenderness melted, burnt away by the scorching passion which flared.
She thought she must have been with someone who was more beautifully passionate, more naturally in sync with her every movement and desire, who more perfectly fit within and around and against her, and later she would doubtless recall who it might have been. But damned if she could think of anyone now.
She arched into his grasp to meet his movements…on second thought, it suddenly seemed
impossible there ever could have been.
At some point his arms coiled around her and he rose up to rest on his heels as her full weight slid down over him. Oh my god….
Her fingers wound fiercely in his hair while the other hand ran along his back as her legs wrapped to envelop him. His hands mirrored hers, until one settled on her hip. It began to smoothly guide her, yet he let her set the pace…and the last remnants of the outside world, of time passing at all, blurred out of existence.
Her lips hovered a whisper apart from his, every so often connecting for a fervent yet somehow gentle kiss, as they exchanged the air necessary to continue living and feeling and experiencing this. Gradually the pressure began to intensify within her until she feared she would surely shatter—
—she buried her face into his neck and screamed, every measure of her tightening around him in a tidal wave of ecstasy.
Then she was falling back onto the bed and he was consuming her with a fervency and passion absolutely like nothing she had ever felt. His body was fire on her skin, his breath desperate in her ear, his hands everywhere and—
—she gasped into his shoulder as he carried her with him on his own torrent of ecstasy. His face was tangled in her hair and his arms had encircled her to hold her against him as if she was the only lifeline he possessed, but it was okay because his embrace was warm and wonderful and….
By the time she remembered how to breathe, he was planting feather-light kisses along her cheek, across her jaw and down her neck. Her eyes slowly focused to find him gazing at her, wearing an expression of…unfettered, almost innocent pleasure. It was so striking her newly found breath caught in her throat.
After untold moments—hours, days—he rolled them both onto their sides. They lay facing one another, panting slightly but grinning like fools.
She giggled devilishly. “You shouldn’t have kissed me in the confinement cell.”
“Yes, I quite clearly should have.”
Her head shook minutely; it was all she was able to manage in his embrace. “No, you shouldn’t have. You should have kissed me on the ship night before last.”
Starshine Page 34