Alien, Mine (8 page)

God help me.

She struggled to resist the way his woodsy scent stormed her senses, the virile allure of him filling her vision. Keeping her limbs close to her body, she shuffled around and put her back to him as the doors closed.

Some imperative command nagged at her mind, but Eugen’s close semi-naked presence overwhelmed her ability to process thought. The car accelerated. High-speed movement threw her off balance.

Shit! That was it.

She made a desperate grab for a brace bar, missed and slammed backwards into Eugen’s chest. His arms whipped around to support her, his big hands landed square on her breasts.

Her knees buckled and he hauled her against him as though she weighed nothing. His hands flexed and desire spiralled in a driving shaft of heat from her breasts to her sex. Hot rapture poured into her nipples, making them proud as they strained towards his touch.

Oh, God, please don’t let hardened nipples be a sign of arousal in Alliance females.

She fought the abandoned response of her body, while her back savoured the hard thrust of muscle clamped to her. His fresh, tangy scent infiltrated her reserves of self-control. Waves of pleasure swamped the niggling voice of reason screaming to get her legs under her, take her own weight.

Every sensual part of Mhartak’s body came close to exploding. The exotic, erotic feel of Sandrea’s long hair cascading across his chest and the heavy weight of her full, soft breasts in his hands lay siege to his composure. A primal snarl of possession tried to rip past his restraint. He had to get her out of his arms or he’d end up tearing these soldiers apart for simply being here, near her. He bent his head to her ear.

“Open your legs, Sandrea.”

Ah, g’Nel, had he really said that?

An image blazed into his mind of her naked, eager, willing, spread below him, ready to accept his aching, hungry flesh. Heat speared into a hardening arousal and a groan of passion almost escaped his control. A last survivor of sanity moved his hands to her arms and he tried again to get the right message across.

“Sandrea, widen your stance.”

Her weight shifted, moved an inch or so forward. His body snarled at the separation, tried to countermand his brain and order his arms to drag her back.

The car decelerated.

His unfocused mind could not halt the sway of the full length of his torso into her back. The firm cushion of her buttocks cradled his thighs. Pulsing waves of heat pounded through his cranial ridges.

The car came to a halt and the doors slid open.

Through the clouding mist of sensual overload and embarrassment, Sandrea recognized an opportunity to escape. She stumbled from the turbo-tunnel car while her lust-befuddled mind focused on one thing.

Had that really been a hard, thrusting erection nuzzling into her lower back?

“You were coming to see me?”

A shiver rippled down her spine at Eugen’s usually smooth voice, roughened with a gravelly undertone. Her legs wobbled and she leaned into the corridor wall.

“Are you alright?” He sounded concerned.

She gathered her strength and turned to him.

Do you think I’m attractive?

“Yes,” she squeaked, cleared her throat and demanded compliance of her recalcitrant body. She almost managed to stand straight. “Yes, thank you. I, um”—she waved a hand toward the turbo-tunnel—“I’m not . . . used to them.”

“Come into my office. Sit down for a moment.”

“Oh, er, thank you.”

She pushed off the wall then stared at the arm he offered. Her glance flicked to his face. An expression of warm politeness covered . . . what? Distaste? Irritation? Arousal?

Yeah, right.

“You appear as though you could use the support,” he said.

“Thank you, but I really only came to give you this.”

She delved into a pocket then extended her hand. He stared at the gold medal for a split second. A couple of soldiers marched past and he returned their acknowledgement.

“Perhaps if you will join me in my office?” he said and waited for her to precede him.

The door closed behind them and she turned to him, and swallowed.

Any chance you could put on a shirt?

“You are uncomfortable wearing it?”

What? Oh.

“No, General, but with all due respect, I don’t think anyone’s going to mistake me for anything other than what I am.” She placed the medal on his desk.

His steady regard held her for a long while.

“Thank you for your consideration,” she said, “I
am
very grateful for your care.”

He seemed to ease, relax a trifle, then said, “You are more than welcome, Sandrea. I wonder, would you care-”

“General Mhartak?” Lieutenant Graegen’s voice emitted from the audio system.

His mouth clamped together and a muscle flexed in his jaw.

“Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?”

“Could I speak to you for a moment regarding that report you requested?”

What had Eugen been going to ask?
Would I care to . . . what?

Sandrea sat on the end of her bed turning her comb over and over in her hands. Her stomach grumbled at something she’d eaten at dinner.

He’d seemed so serious.

Her door chimes rang. She sighed at the unsolved puzzle, placed the comb on the small table, and walked to the door.

“Eugen!”

He gazed down at her with solemn eyes.

“May I come in?”

She stood aside for him. “What can I do for you?”

His gaze landed on the comb and remained fixed. He placed the tip of one finger on it.

“You . . . like the comb?”

“I do, very much. Do I have you to thank?”

He shrugged. “It seemed the very least I could do.” He paused for a long moment then swung suddenly towards her. His intense, green gaze caught her, held her.

Warm pressure massaged her fingers.

When did he take my hands in his?

One of his hands reached up and threaded a tress of her hair through his thumb and forefinger. The muscles of his throat worked.

“Do I . . . trespass?” he asked.

Warmth from his closeness washed over her. The fresh, woodsy, cedar and citrus scent of him wrapped around her senses.

Did he what?

“Oh. Ah, no, Eugen.”

He smiled. A hand drifted down her back, landed on her waist.

Is it getting hot in here?

He leaned closer, applied slight pressure to her back. She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest. With lush joy her palms and fingers absorbed the heat radiating through his shirt. Sensual tingles tripped down her arms.

“Do
I
trespass?”

His nostrils flared and his broad chest expanded.

“You do not.”

He released her hair and cupped long fingers along her chin. His thumb smoothed a gentle caress over her cheek. Her skin traced his touch with greedy, heightened awareness.

“I would be honoured if you would consider me your . . . friend.” His deep voice entranced her senses. “Someone to turn to, to rely upon, to help you adjust.”

Her body begged to lean into his. She denied it.

Don’t read too much into this.

She’d been a good distraction from work, remember? This might just be how Angrigan friends relate to each other.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

The wind of his long sigh brushed her neck.

“Very well.” He took another huge breath and closed his eyes.

She gazed at the wild beauty of his face.

Have I jumped off the deep end?

Her breasts ached for those big hands to cradle them again, for his mouth to explore their sensitive contours with wet, sucking caresses. How could she display apparent sanity after experiencing several mind-breaking events and then, given half a chance, want to tear the clothes off an alien she’d taken a fancy to?

Maybe she was mad. Maybe the only way she could survive out here was to entertain a kind of mad sanity.

His lids lifted, the message in his eyes warm, and then he smiled. Her heart did a crazy jig about her chest.

“I apologize for interrupting,” he said.

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

“No?” The hand cupping her jaw moved and he traced a long finger down her nose.

“No. You didn’t interrupt, the pleasure is mine.”

He gazed into her eyes and her body sang the hallelujah chorus.

“I believe Private Shrenkner is accompanying you to the mines tomorrow?”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to that.”

“They are very beautiful.” He crooked a finger under her chin and gently tilted her head. “Do as she says.”

What?

She tried to suppress the embarrassed blush rising up her throat. Here she thought he’d been going to make some reference to
her
being beautiful.

“Oh, er, of course.”

He nodded. “You have agreed to educate us in your language, yes?”

“I have.”

“Do not tax your—”

“Eugen, I’ll start climbing the walls soon if I don’t keep myself active.”

His head tilted to one side as though a little nonplussed, then his expression cleared.

“Very well.” He cast a long, speculative glance at her bed. “I’m sure you long for the ease of your couch.”

What is he thinking?

He released her face, raised one of her hands and pressed a warm kiss to her wrist. Her pulse leapt to his touch.

“Good night, sleep well.”

After that look and the feel of your lips on my skin? You’re kidding!

Mhartak entered his quarters and stood motionless in the semi-dark, staring at a wall. He could still feel the warm flush of Sandrea’s breath at the base of his neck and the way, under his hand, the small of her back curved to her waist. His muscles ached from exercising every ounce of restraint he possessed to not pull her to him. To not crush the lush fullness of her breasts to the hardness of his chest. To not rip the clothes from her body and satisfy the roaring throb of his desire.

He dropped his chin to his chest and breathed out a long sigh.

She had accepted his offer of friendship.

Was that why she’d allowed his familiar touch? Or was it simple curiosity on her part? Perhaps even a means of protection, a sensible bid to align herself with someone of powerful standing? Had the acceptance of his touch been of any consequence to her at all?

He shook his head. Did his form hold any sexual appeal for her whatsoever? How could he attract her interest? What courtship rituals did human males perform?

He clung to the knowledge she had not rejected him.

And at least he could take comfort that for once he had left her in a calm state of mind.

Gleaming like pure light, huge clusters of enormous polygonal, crystalline shafts flooded the crystal mine chamber with the surreal beauty of amber radiance. Sandrea lost herself in its inherent magic.

“There are more through here,” Shrenkner murmured and moved away.

She followed, weaving through supporting pillars carved from the housing rock, avoiding workers rushing to and fro as she walked into lavender light. Almost an entire wall glowed in amethyst splendour.

Oh my glorious God.

Shrenkner took her through five more chambers before sheer geological magnificence overwhelmed her. She dropped to the rock floor and leaned her back into a rose coloured nodule the size of a small car.

“This is truly incredible, Shrenk’,” she said. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“My name is Shrenk
ner
,” the soldier corrected politely.

Ah-huh.

“You don’t go for nicknames?”

Shrenkner frowned. “No one has before.”

Not surprising.

“Do you mind?”

She almost gaped as the other woman smiled.

“Actually, no.”

“Great.”

A breath of wind brushed her face. A horrifying odour slid into her nostrils. Alarm lifted her upright.

“Shrenk’?” she hissed.

“Yes, Sandrea?”

“Should I be able to smell Bluthen here?”

“What?”

“I can smell Bluthen here.”

“You’re joking with me.”

“No, I’m not.” She emphasized her denial with a vehement shake of her head. “Can’t you smell them?”

“No, I can’t. You’re sure?”

She sent the private a you-don’t-think-I’d-be anything-less-than-intensely-serious-about-
that-
subject-do-you? look.

Shrenkner pulled a medical scanner from her fatigues and waved it in her direction.

“What are you scanning me for?”

“I’m not.”

Cold slithered along her fear receptors.

“Can you tell where they are?” Shrenkner asked.

“Only in a general sense. I wouldn’t be able to pinpoint any without being obvious about it.”