by Moira Reid
He parked the car in the small covered area next to the beach house and extended his radar for approximately the thousandth time since they’d gotten in the car. He didn’t know where Garren was, but he wasn’t anywhere near them.
Butch quietly opened the door and stepped out into the warm, moist clutch of the ocean air. Sucking in a deep breath that wasn’t full of the scent of Claire’s body, he closed his eyes. After so many hours inside the air-conditioned vehicle, the heavy taste and feel of the salty dampness chilled his skin Five hours of forcing himself not to let his hand stray toward Claire with her already so close had become a physical effort of epic proportion.
He left Claire asleep in the vehicle while he searched the perimeter, checking to see if anything unusual or dangerous lay in wait for them. Finding nothing, he quickly located Jerry’s trash cans next to the front entrance, which faced the Atlantic Ocean.
He found the key exactly where Jerry had told Liz his cleaning company left it. Unlocking the dead bolt, he pushed hard to get the swollen door open. The air was heavy with the scent of salt water and sand, permeating the space inside the beach house like a physical presence. He flipped the air-conditioning control to the lowest setting, then swept through the house, checking all the window locks. Minutes later, he returned to the car and removed the small bag of items he’d gathered to bring with them until they bought supplies to last through the weekend.
What kind of masochist was he? The salt air, a small, secluded beach house, the ocean, and Claire. God, could he make this any harder on himself?
Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he walked around to the passenger door and opened it. With all his machinations, she still continued the deep sleep she’d fallen into hours ago. He considered trying once more to wake her, then changed his mind. Best if she didn’t open those sage green eyes, best if she didn’t speak to him any more than absolutely necessary.
He slid his hands beneath her knees and behind her back and lifted her easily from the car. She moaned softly against his neck, then tucked her arms against her chest. The scent of her body began once more to resume its assault on his baser instincts. Ignoring them, he strode with purpose toward the door. The sooner he got her locked safely inside, the better.
The beach house had two large bedrooms, both with king-size beds, and a third bedroom full of bunk beds. He’d already tossed aside a mound of throw pillows and the bedspread on one of the king-sized beds during his sweep through the house, and after laying her gently down on the clean white sheets, he slid her spiked heels off and covered her.
He turned to leave, forcing himself to hold his breath and not take in the sweet scents mingling in the room. Between the mixture of the salt air and her pheromones, it was taking a Herculean effort not to strip off his own clothing and climb in bed beside her. The sooner he got out of here, the better.
“Where are you going?”
Her sleepy voice broke the silence of the night and almost cracked through the protective barrier he’d built around himself over the past five hours. She was not his, could never be his. She belonged to another.
“I’m going to bed. I brought some coffee from your office. I’ll wake you in a few hours and we’ll have some. Get some rest.”
“Stay with me, Butch.”
He clenched his teeth together and squeezed his hands into fists. He would not turn around. He would not look at her. “I’ll be right across the hall. See you in the morning.”
He pulled the door closed behind him and marched into the kitchen, then dropped the bag from his shoulder to the floor with a thud. The sound snapped his mind back from thoughts of her lithe body lying in that huge bed all alone.
She would fall back asleep in another minute or two, and he would be safe. For tonight. Damn, he had to do this twice more. He forced himself through one last check of the perimeter and the door and window locks before entering the other large bedroom.
What if she decided to come to this room sometime in the night? Could he resist her? Closing the door, he turned the lock and stared at it. He needed to be able to reach her at a moment’s notice. He couldn’t lock the door. Besides, keeping her out wasn’t really the problem. What he needed was a lock on the other side of the door to keep him in. Hell, if he gave into the urges burning through him, what lock could stop him?
He snapped the lock back and opened the door.
Tossing off his clothes, he climbed beneath the blankets with jerky movements. Tired and pissed off was no way to get a good night’s sleep. Olivia was right, of course. Her thoughts had burned into him like this planet’s sun fired his skin, but without the subsequent warmth and glow. The only thing coming from her in waves had been the resounding echoes of her accusations.
Too bad they were well deserved and all true.
So far, he’d done exactly nothing proactive to find Garren, he’d barely managed to avert two attacks meant to kill Claire. And yes, he’d compromised her future with her intended by mating with her—not once, but twice.
No wonder her mother hated the sight of him. If it weren’t for the captain’s unfailing belief in his ability to protect her, he’d have been on the next ship to Vivemonde already.
Considering that going home was the one thing he’d been waiting for all this time, he was surprised to find himself relieved it hadn’t happened.
“Yeah, that’s because you’re an idiot,” he mumbled.
He closed his eyes to encourage a few moments of relief from the never-ending loop of self-recrimination, but sleep was just not happening. Every nerve ending in his body tingled with the call of her body to his, every sense bristling with the memory of her in his arms.
She still wanted him. After everything she’d been hit with today, the one steady and unrelenting beat inside her had been desire. Desire to touch him, to taste him, to breathe in—oh hell. He slid his hand beneath the covers to the rock-hard erection he’d steadfastly ignored for the past five hours. If he didn’t do something about this right now, he’d never get any sleep.
“Butch? Are you awake?”
He might have been able to pretend he wasn’t if he hadn’t sat straight up in the bed, sending the springs creaking through the quiet night. He cleared his throat as he squeezed his balls to the point of pain. “Claire, go back to bed.”
As usual, she ignored him. “I want to talk to you.”
“I want to sleep,” he lied, then corrected himself. “I should sleep. We’re safe here, but I’ve got to stay sharp. We’ll talk in the morning. Go to bed.”
Damn, was she naked? He couldn’t see anything but the outline of her body in the dark doorway, but he closed his eyes anyway. The air was thick with her, and any effort to hold his breath was useless. His breathing became more rapid as her scent filled the room. He should have found a larger space for them to hide. A stadium, maybe. Or the Grand Canyon.
“I know you’re tired, but I have to ask you something. It will only take a minute.”
You are not opening your eyes. You are not. “What is it?”
“My father wouldn’t tell me. Who is my intended?”
A knife in his gut would have hurt less, but this was fortuitous—exactly what they should be talking about. “Another Viven, a prominent male of means and stature. Females say he’s handsome.” His words twisted the knife with unimaginable pain.
For a moment, he thought she had gone and her scent only lingered, until her voice tingled over his flesh once more. “Do you know him?”
He released his cock and squeezed the sheets in his fists, holding himself in place. You are not moving from this bed. “Yeah, I know him. He is a male of worth. If you join with him, you will be a very rich woman in a position of honor and power. If you join with him, there will be nothing Garren can do to you. If you join with him, you’ll be safe.”
He repeated the phrase over and over in his mind—if you join with him—and tried not to hang on to his own ridiculous hopes in that small word. If.
What could
he offer her other than more of what he’d already given? Nothing. His intended was not a kindred. This he knew with absolute certainty. The Auquerel was never wrong, despite what the captain might believe. The captain and Olivia had taken their own path, had spurned the ways of his planet. That was their affair; he was going back one day to live among his people. He could not afford the luxury of sloughing off everything he believed to pursue what amounted to his body’s own lusts.
So what if Claire was a female of worth herself? She was not his female. The Auquerel acknowledged that when it ordained her intended mate. All the more reason to steer clear of entanglements, especially the one jutting between his legs and tenting the sheets.
“Butch?”
“I’m trying to sleep. Can’t we talk about this tomorrow?” When my cock isn’t throbbing to be inside you?
“What’s this guy’s name?”
He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Err Yitzchak Yedidyah.”
Her laugh was clear and loud. “What? You gotta be kidding me. Isn’t that the…”
I wish I were. “Yes, your intended is the king.”
* * * * *
He didn’t sleep well, but sometime after she’d finally walked away from his door, the echoes of her laughter ringing inside his head, he must have passed out. Sunlight streamed through the thin curtains hanging over the large window in his room, and the air was cool and fresh.
No trace of her scent remained.
Had she gone? He leaped from the bed, yanked his pants up his thighs, and burst from the room. Her room was empty, the bed unmade. Judging by the state of the bedding, she had slept about as well as he had—like a boat tossed in a storm.
“Claire!”
He raced through the house, checking first the bathroom, the other bedroom, then the living room. The smell of brewed coffee filled the air, and he ran to the kitchen. A clean coffee cup sat next to a half-full pot.
“Claire!”
His heart thudded in his chest as he looked around frantically. The vertical blinds hanging in front of the sliding glass door of the living room were pulled halfway open, the sunrise casting a golden glow over the teal and blue fabric of the plush living room furniture. He shoved the blinds aside and searched furtively across the sandy visage leading to the sea.
About fifty yards up the shoreline, her slender body cast a long shadow to the west. She faced the rising sun, her pale, bare feet dug into the sand as a frothy, tumbling wave licked at her ankles.
Shoving the unlocked door to the side, he ran out on the deck and grasped the handrail for support, his knees as liquid as the waves before him.
“Hey!”
She spun around, coffee from the cup in her hand cascading in a wide arc.
“Ouch!” She dropped the cup, and the porcelain rode an incoming wave of the morning tide. She shook the spilled beverage from her skin.
He opened the gate. His legs pumped like pistons, thick sea air filling his lungs. Wearing a pair of boxer shorts he’d thrown into their travel bag last night and the blouse she’d worn yesterday, she resembled just another beachcomber and not the hunted kindred she was. She’d tied the length of her professionally dry-cleaned blouse casually at her waist, revealing a long, narrow stretch of bare skin to the air and his eyes.
His chest clenched with a yearning to drag her body to his and drink from her lips. He mentally jerked himself back by his hair fifteen yards from her.
She bent at the waist and retrieved the rolling mug. She was fine. She was here. She was alive.
And she was astoundingly beautiful.
“What are you trying to do?” she demanded, making her way over the loose sand toward him. “You scared me to death.”
He scanned both ends of the long shoreline. An elderly couple walked away from them about a quarter of a mile to the north. Otherwise, they were alone.
She slapped his chest. “And you made me spill my coffee.” Holding the empty cup in one hand, she continued to shake the other. “That was hot, ya know.”
“What are you doing out here? How am I supposed to protect you when you keep running off?”
“Cool your hyperdrive there, buddy. I was just watching the sunrise, not loading the speedboat for my big getaway.”
His heartbeat began to return to normal, until he looked into her eyes. Her face was fresh and dewy in the early-morning light, her hair swept back in a ponytail and tied with a ribbon. He forced himself to look toward the sunrise.
“You could have told me where you were going. I was…” I was terrified. Not because protecting her was his duty. Not because he’d been hired to do a job and he’d feared he’d failed. Not for any of the reasons he should be. “When I woke up and you were gone…” He did not finish the thought.
That was a mistake.
She closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You thought something happened to me.” She rested her head on his chest, squeezing his body until it molded to hers. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He disengaged her arms and forced himself back a step. “You shouldn’t be out here. We don’t know where Garren is or what he’s up to. You’re too easy a target for a bullet out in the open.”
“You’re right.” She drew in a deep breath and lifted her arms over her head. As she stretched, the tied ends of her shirt lifted, revealing the smooth skin of her bare midriff. “I just wanted to see the sunrise. Sorry. I’ll go in with you.”
Her chagrin twisted a knot in his gut. He turned and headed back to the house, his long strides outdistancing her shorter gait until she jogged to keep up with him.
He walked inside once more, knowing she would be safer in here while he was anything but. Being trapped in this small house with her was probably as dangerous as having a lunatic lurking out there.
What in the hell were they going to do for two days, trapped inside with her scent and the throbbing ache in his groin? The first idea that sprang into his mind was a nonstarter—as were numbers two, three, and four.
Claire poured herself another cup of coffee, then sat down in the living room. “So, how did you sleep?”
“With my eyes closed.” He walked into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee for himself, then stood motionless. No way was he going into that living room.
“Hmm. Well.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tuck her feet beneath her hips. He focused deep into his mug at the dark brown liquid.
“So what do you want to do today?” she asked.
As hard as he focused on it, the coffee offered no answer to that question. And he needed a better answer than those his oversexed mind was considering. A lot better.
Focus—work.
“I told your father I’d call him tonight at eight to see if the police have apprehended Garren—find out if he’s tried to make contact in any way.”
“Butch?”
“And I’m going to be sure he’s notified the council on Vivemonde of Garren’s activities here.”
“Butch?”
He ignored her attempts to interrupt him. This was a status report on his strategy to keep her alive, and that was the only thing either of them should be talking about. “After that, I’ll catch up on some sleep, as should you. We haven’t gotten much rest in the past two days, and you’ve got a big day on Monday.”
“Butch!”
He didn’t lift his gaze from the interior of the mug. Since nothing in his plan could begin until fourteen hours and twenty-two minutes from now, he had to find a way to put some distance between them, find a way to fill the time without touching her. Not making eye contact had to be the first step. “Yeah?”
“Why were you so angry last night?”
He gritted his teeth. “I told you, I needed to get some sleep. If I’d kept talking, you would have kept me up all night.” And moaned, and…
“Well, come in here and drink your coffee.” Her voice sounded resigned, as if all they had to concern themselves with was
filling the hours until they packed up and left this little vacation home.
If only it were going to be that easy.
“I should check the perimeter.” He set his cup down purposefully on the counter.
“Come on.” The exasperation in her voice echoed through the room. “Garren has no idea where we are. We’re at one of the most gorgeous beaches on the Eastern Shore, and you need to relax. You’re tied up like a noose. Come sit beside me, and we’ll watch some of those old television shows you’ve never seen.”
“Let’s set some ground rules.” He turned and stared at the space just over her head. Don’t look into her eyes. Don’t breathe. “Stay inside unless you’re with me. Keep all the doors and windows locked, and don’t answer the telephone, either the house phone or your cell.”
“Yes, warden.”
“This isn’t a vacation, and we’re not here to have fun, you got me?”
“You know something? You’ve got to learn how to live in the now once in a while. All this stress can’t be good for you. Come over here and sit with me.”
Time to get this out of the way. Once she understood that nothing further—nothing—was going to happen between them, perhaps her body’s natural responses would take note and tone down the production of that dizzying scent.
“Claire, I will protect you and keep you alive. That’s the job I’ve been brought here to do. The Auquerel has spoken. You are intended to my king, and whether you decide to honor that or not, I’m not your gigolo.”
Chapter Seven
Not her gigolo? She drew in a deep, calming breath. She’d never taken long to make up her mind about anything, and in two short days, she’d decided. What some Auquerel on another planet proclaimed wasn’t her problem. What her mother thought of him wasn’t her problem either. She’d been making her own decisions for a long time now. So whatever the heck his problem was—also not her problem. She knew who she wanted, and nothing on this planet or any other was going to change that.