Finally, gasping and weak from the force of his orgasm, he withdrew from the sagging ensign in a slick rush, lowering him until his knees touched the pad and his upper body rested on the bed. When Hastion whimpered, Cecine instinctively laid a hand on his head, panting, “Be at ease, Ensign.”
Then he felt the warm stickiness making Hastion’s hair cling to his fingers and stiffened, appalled to have touched him so intimately without permission. “I find I must apologize.”
For a long moment, it seemed the ensign had fallen asleep.
“Sir?” he finally asked without moving.
Both annoyed and relieved to not be looked at, Cecine said, “I shouldn’t have laid hands on your genitals. You’re a warrior and worthy of all the respect due one. Rest assured it won’t happen again.”
After another long pause, the ensign lowered himself to a sitting position on the pad with his arms clasped loosely around his knees, presumably to wick away the lubricant and semen. He kept his head down, his expression hidden.
“Apology accepted, sir,” he replied neutrally.
Cecine clenched his teeth. Peserin’s hell, had his lack of control driven the ensign off?
Everything in him rejected the notion. Frustrating as it had been to restrain himself, he’d derived incredible physical pleasure from the act and he wanted it again. It might take more restraint than he possessed to let the ensign walk out of here uncommitted.
Gathering his will, he said, “It seems compatibility won’t be an issue for me, but as I said, you may take a few days to consider my offer.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir.” Cecine had barely had time to stiffen in protest when Hastion finally looked up from under his brow, his blue eyes barely visible through the dark tangle of his hair. “I accept your terms.”
The next morning, Cecine took the tranlift to Rizzine Deck and made his way purposefully toward the med lab, encouraged by the report he’d received after breaking his fast. Not only had Shauss determined Shelley Bonham completely ignorant of both her dead husband’s heritage and his plans for the ship, but he’d discovered hidden depths to the little nurse that gave Cecine hope their mating might not be the hardship for her any of them had imagined.
When he entered unannounced, Tysan looked up and immediately jumped to his feet.
“Minister.” He bowed deeply. “My congratulations. The announcement of Lieutenant Hastion as your second came as a pleasant surprise. I was under the impression you were exempt from taking ancillary mates.”
“I’m sure you’re aware of my feelings regarding that privilege, Doctor.”
Tysan inclined his head. “An excellent choice then, sir. Shelley seems more at ease with Hastion than any of the rest of us.”
Cecine gazed down the long row of undulating therapy bunks, all but two of which were occupied by Terran females. “How are the trials progressing?”
“Extraordinarily well, sir. Thirty-one subjects successfully achieved full transition, sixteen have achieved full retrogression and are entering the neogenesis phase, and we have three new subjects in intervallic stasis while they undergo lipoloading and genome resequencing.”
He looked at the doctor. “Failures?”
“Still just the three, and as I reported before, they were among the most severely deteriorated subjects we received.”
“Trials on recruits?”
“Have been approved pending successful outcomes in at least forty-two of the forty-seven remaining subjects.”
“Time frame?”
“A matter of weeks, sir.”
A matter of weeks. Cecine allowed himself a small smile as the seed that had sprouted in his brain sometime during the night took root. It was the perfect solution for all involved. “Have protocols for preloading recruits been approved?”
“Yes, sir, a combination of infusions and dietary supplements.”
“Could it be administered without the subject’s being aware of it?”
“Of course, although she wouldn’t be unaware of its effects for long. She would likely become quite overweight within a few weeks.” He hesitated before adding carefully, “The ethics of such a treatment might be called into question unless the female were claimed.”
“You’re aware of my claim on Ms. Bonham.”
“May I assume the claim will be finalized before genome resequencing commences?”
“The claim has already been finalized.”
Shock and dismay widened Tysan’s eyes, and his mouth worked silently as he grappled for the words least likely to end his career.
Or his life.
“With all due respect, Minister, I…” he swallowed, “…find it difficult to credit that you, of all males, would…within hours of her giving birth, would…”
Cecine raised a brow. “Force myself on my unsuspecting mate?”
Much to his amusement, Tysan was sweating. “I’m certain that’s not the case, sir. I visited with her only ten minutes ago.”
“And how did you find her?”
“Recovering quite nicely.”
Relenting, he said, “Empran, inform Dr. Tysan of the status of my bond with Shelley Bonham.”
“Minister Cecine’s claim is final,” Empran reported.
Tysan blinked. “My congratulations then, sir. But…” A question still burned brightly in his eyes.
“The how of the matter need not concern you, Doctor. My claim cannot be revoked except by an act of the high council so I have final authority over all matters regarding her care.”
Tysan nodded graciously, though his reservations still showed in the stiffness of his facial features. “I could not in good conscience clear her for intercourse or initiate the resequencing process until I deemed her fully recovered from the birth. And she should not be impregnated for at least two years following transition.”
“I assume you’ve administered ovulation inhibitors?”
“Of course, sir. However, I would be remiss in my duties if I did not inform you of the risks inherent in the resequencing procedure.”
“I’m well aware of the risks, Doctor,” Cecine said. “I’m certain you’ll do everything in your power to mitigate them.”
“Indeed.” Tysan nodded slowly. “Very well, Minister. I will design a preloading regimen for Ms. Bonham and initiate treatment immediately.”
Chapter Four
Four months later…
Shelley was chasing a huge, scary alien down a never-ending hallway. If it weren’t so damn aggravating, she’d be laughing her ass off at the irony.
“Minister, I really need to speak with you,” she said for the third time, her heart pounding with exertion and anxiety, and more than a little antagonism. She’d intended to confront Minister Cecine at breakfast, but he was already on his way out when she got to the dining room.
“Not now, Ms. Bonham,” he replied without looking back. “I’m due on the surface in ten minutes.”
Shelley swiped her forearm across her sweaty forehead as she jogged after him. It was hell keeping up—his legs were almost as long as she was tall, which meant she had to take three steps for every one of his. It didn’t help that she was almost as big around as she was tall. God help them both if she tripped—she’d probably start rolling and take him out like a bowling pin.
But after spending all last night psyching herself up, she wasn’t about to let him get away without giving her some kind of answer.
“This can’t wait, sir.”
“It must. I’m already behind schedule.”
Her ire ramped up another degree. The few times she’d found the nerve to prod him gently about her return to Earth during the big family-style meals he hosted in his private dining room, he’d basically patted her on the head and told her not to worry her pretty little head.
Not that he’d actually touched her. Or said she was pretty. And really, the most powerful being in the galaxy probably did have more important things to do than map out her future.
That didn’t ma
ke being perpetually put off any less annoying.
“Just how long do you intend to keep me in the dark?” she demanded. “All the other compound employees received their reintegration plans weeks ago and most of them have already gone home, but no one’s told me anything. I have to make plans just like everybody else.”
“All in good time, Ms. Bonham.”
“Good time?” Her eyes bugged. “The ship leaves in less than a month and I have two babies to provide for!”
“I’m well aware of both facts,” he said, hooking a hard right and heading into a tranlift.
She followed him in, too grateful for the breather to be unnerved by the tight quarters. “Then please, sir, just give me five minutes.”
“I’m sorry but I haven’t a moment to spare this morning.” Both his brilliant hair and scarlet robe flared out majestically as he turned on his heel. Staring straight over her head at the door, he added, “I’ll be happy to speak with you upon my return.”
“And just when—eep!”
He grabbed her by the upper arms and set her aside so he could exit through the door she hadn’t even heard open. So much for her breather—where was a damn slow elevator when you needed one?
Chafing her tingling arms, she raced after him. “And just when will you return?”
“I can’t say for certain.”
Shelley blinked back tears of rage. Redheaded bastard. He could ink everyone into his schedule but her.
Dammit, she knew she’d regret staying under his so-called protection. She should have started kicking and screaming and demanding to be sent back to Earth as soon as she recovered from the delivery, media firestorm or no. He knew damn good and well she’d had absolutely no idea who Mark really was or what he’d been up to. Hell, she still didn’t know if she’d even been legally married to the prick.
She followed the minister through yet another sliding door and her eyes widened when she realized they were in the transport bay. Behind the instrument panel stood Ensign Holligan, whose pink- and lavender-striped blond hair reminded Shelley of her old My Little Pony figures. Commander Kellen, Lieutenant Shauss, Hastion and two other aliens she didn’t know were already on the flare platform, clearly waiting for Minister Cecine. The instant he stepped up there, they’d all disappear and she’d be left standing here like an idiot.
Her jaw tightened until her teeth creaked. Enough was enough, dammit. He was not going to leave her twisting in the wind for one more minute.
Grabbing two handfuls of his velvety robe, she yanked hard and yelled, “Talk to me, you big jerk!”
Everyone in the room froze and it got so quiet you could have heard a pin bounce off the thick biologic pad underfoot.
Acutely conscious of all the incredulous stares directed her way, Shelley thought she did, in fact, hear a bead of sweat drip off her second chin and plop softly onto her pink T-shirt.
She swallowed hard as the minister slowly turned to look down at her. Way, way down. Their bodies were less than a foot apart and the proximity was setting off red alerts all over hers. She could actually feel the heat radiating off him. She could even smell him—the almond dermal scrub that filled every soap dispenser on the ship and a light, tasty cologne of some kind. He reminded her of those windmill cookies her mother had always bought in bulk.
When his gaze dropped pointedly to the hem of his robe, she released the crushed fabric, smoothing it with her sweaty palms as it slipped away.
Licking her suddenly dry lips, she said, “Sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m really sorry I called you a jerk. I just…well, I’m going a little crazy being cooped up here for so long.”
His expression didn’t change. “Then I suggest you make an appointment with Dr. Tiber.”
Irritation tightened her jaw again. “I don’t need a shrink. I need to get off. This. Ship.”
“And so you shall. Eventually.”
When the minister turned again and stepped up onto the platform, Hastion shot her an appalled look. Shelley threw her hands up, shooting back a wide-eyed glare that said, What the hell was I supposed to do?
“But for now,” the minister said as he faced her, “you may rest assured that the Alien Affairs Department is working hard to find a suitable placement for you and the twins.”
She crossed her arms. It had better be more than just suitable. Last month the GaraTer Alliance had decided that her conversations with her husband violated the terms of her confidentiality agreement and demanded she return every red cent they’d paid her over the last year and a half.
Which wouldn’t have been such a huge problem if Mark had saved her checks for the down payment on their dream home, as he’d promised. But the money had apparently vanished without a trace, so not only was she dead broke but she was drowning in debt. Even with a master’s degree in perinatal nursing, it would take twenty years to repay everything she owed. She was lucky Tara Gale, one of the mating recruits Minister Cecine had hired as nannies, had volunteered to stay another year on Earth with them for nothing but room and board or she’d be totally screwed.
“You know,” she told him, “if you’d just said that in the first place, I wouldn’t have chased you all over the ship.”
He nodded at Pony Boy and then told her, “You must be at least eight feet from the platform before Ensign Holligan can initiate the flare.”
“Oh, sorry.” Blushing, she backed up several steps.
As the flare generator hummed to life, the corners of the minister’s lips curled a little. “By the way, Ms. Bonham, you’re welcome to chase me anywhere you wish.”
He and the others were sucked away in a flare bubble before her jaw had time to drop, leaving her gaping at the empty platform. What the hell did that mean?
She looked at the poker-faced Holligan. “Please tell me he didn’t just…”
What, flirt with her? Please. More like make fun of her. The asshat probably thought she needed the exercise.
Sighing, she turned to go. “Never mind.”
“Have a nice day, Shelley,” Holligan said blandly.
She whirled around and gave him a sharp look. His expression hadn’t changed, but there was definitely a twinkle in the lavender eye not hidden behind his hair.
Aliens were so damn annoying. They always acted like they knew something you didn’t.
“You too, Pony Boy,” she said, flipping him off over her shoulder as she walked away.
When his chuckle followed her out the door, she itched to go back and slam his pretty little pony head against the instrument panel until he was bleeding rainbows.
And then fuck his gorgeous, rock-hard alien body until he was coming rainbows.
Shelley stumbled. Yikes! Where in the hell had that thought come from?
No sexing the aliens! she scolded as she stalked down the corridor, scowling and sweating like a pig. Her hormones had to be seriously out of whack. She’d grabbed the minister’s robe and called him a jerk, for God’s sake! She was lucky as hell he hadn’t backhanded her into the next solar system or tossed her in the brig.
And it was so unlike her. She had a lifelong history of anxiety disorders, and finding out all the shit about Mark had probably set her therapy back ten years. In less than five minutes, she’d reverted from compassionate, dragon-riding protector to powerless, scared-of-her-own-shadow victim. If she hadn’t had the babies to be strong for, she’d probably have spent the last four months curled up in a ball in the corner of her room, sucking her thumb and crying for her mommy. Instead, she’d meditated and stretched for an hour every morning and evening—when the twin-powers allowed it—trying to center herself, get some perspective on her situation and reclaim some of her own personal power.
She’d thought she was doing pretty well. She’d accepted that she could never return to the life she’d had before, that she was going to have to go new places and learn new ways of coping, and she’d actually begun to feel some sense of peace about it all.
Now she was tuggin
g on aliens’ capes, calling them names and flipping them off. That wasn’t riding the dragon—that was poking it with a sharp stick and daring it to eat her.
Clearly it was time to pay Monica another visit and figure out what the hell was wrong with her, before she did something that got her into real trouble.
“I grow fonder of that little Terran every day,” Kellen said as they flared to the surface.
Shauss grinned. “She’s certainly amusing.”
“And unpredictable,” Hastion added with a frown.
Cecine couldn’t disagree with any of them. Shelley Bonham had always been a walking contradiction, terrified of them one moment and standing up to them the next, and though her fear appeared to have diminished, her contradictory tendencies had done anything but. It had taken most of his control not to chuckle out loud at the look on her face when she realized what she’d done.
It had taken the rest not to snatch her up off the floor and devour her. Peserin, but she’d turned into an unbelievably tempting little tidbit over the past few months, and her small show of aggression only increased his desire for a taste of her. Tysan’s treatments had made her plump, strenuous exercise kept her firm, and the fruits and vegetables she ate gave her a scent so ambrosial he could hardly resist taking a bite whenever she came near him, especially when she’d been feeding the twins from her breasts. She no longer produced milk, but the heat and perspiration from her exertions this morning had added a savory depth to her fragrance that made his stomach contract as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
And he was ravenous, though not for food. His encounters with his second hadn’t grown any less frustrating, and lately he availed himself of the ensign’s services less and less frequently. Almost in defiance of the relaxation exercises he performed with Shelley many evenings—concealed by an observation flare, of course—deprivation was already taking a toll on his patience. The sooner his tasty little Terran took her place in his bed, the better off they’d all be.
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