Parallel Seduction (6 page)

Leaning his head backward, he seemed almost intoxicated. Kelsey couldn't repress a giddy smile; she loved him when he got like this, loved his utter abandon to their joining. She was smiling at the image of him, so lost in the thrall of their mating, when suddenly the water's surface began glowing. And then, without any warning, it was as if the pool began to electrify.

Jared's dark eyes widened, ringed with panic. "Kelsey!" he cried, his voice thick. "Get out! Hurry!"

She gaped at him, and he shoved her off his lap—hard. "Out! Now!" he roared, scrambling at the edges of the rocks, panting. A wild snarl exploded from him, his eyes rolling into his head, and she seemed unable to move at first. He finally fixed her with a gaze unlike anything she'd ever seen—in any creature—in her whole life. His muscled chest heaved and pulled at air; he motioned wildly with his hands, flailing first in one direction then another; the water snapped with a kind of electricity again.

She was suddenly afraid for both their lives, but especially his, given how erratically he was changing. "Jared," she said, attempting to soothe him, "I'm going to help you out of here."

He unleashed a barrage of Refarian words that she couldn't understand, gesturing again toward the edge. He wanted her out—and now. She scrambled onto the frozen ledge, out of the water, which was growing more and more luminous by the moment—as was Jared's body. He gazed up at her, pain and helplessness in his eyes, and in the space of a heartbeat, he Changed. He Changed completely, until the water lapped over the edges of the rocks, and there was only him. Beautiful, magnetic, mystical Jared in his most natural form. He filled the whole of the pool, glowing and powerful, like some giant sun brought to Earth just for her.

Even shivering there on the ledge of the pool, she felt his energy fanning toward her. She backed away as the water began to bubble and churn; inside her mind she heard his plaintive whisper.
Go away! Now!

"I'm not leaving you here." She reached for one of the towels she'd stowed here ahead of time. Behind her the candles she'd lit an hour ago all extinguished simultaneously—then, as if catching Jared's energy, illuminated again with a flame ten times higher than they should have possessed. The water roiled faster, swirling with currents of power. The pool itself had become almost a kind of cauldron, containing all of Jared's magnificence, but threatening at any moment to overflow the confining boundaries.
Mate … mate … Leave me.

"I won't go!" she shouted back, gesturing at the glowing ball of power that was her mate in his Change. "I'm staying, Jared." God, he was stubborn beyond reason. She was terrified, no doubt about it, but she would never leave him here alone, trying to find his way through the first true moments of his cycle.

No. Control!
Then smatterings of Refarian, broken by halting English inside her own mind.
No hurt. You! Go.
More Refarian; then the water suddenly popped with harsh electric currents and he flung himself outward, speeding into the shadowed forest around them, away from her.

If she wouldn't leave him, he would leave her; that was obviously his plan. "Jared!" she called, his name echoing in the silent woods. "Jared! Please, let's stay together. Jared!"

The tears came fast and hard. She watched the pines in the distance illuminate. Then, the bright light seemed to fade as he put more and more ground between the two of them—until only shady darkness stared back at her. "Oh, Jared, don't hide," she whimpered, and buried her face in her hands.

"L
ieutenant Dillon discharged
himself an hour ago." Disapproval was evident in the medic's voice.

Hope glanced toward Anna, who leaned on the counter with what seemed to be a disturbed expression on her face. "Let me get this straight," Anna asked. "Dillon is no longer a patient here?"

"We couldn't exactly prevent him from leaving," the woman told them, tapping data into some kind of device, although Hope couldn't see what it was.

"Well, did you
try
to stop him?" Anna insisted, obviously upset by this news. As was Hope—from what she'd seen, Scott had no business being out of the medical complex so soon. He'd been drugged up and delirious as recently as last night.

The nurse sighed, and Hope gathered that she looked up at them both. "He's a mind of his own, the lieutenant. We did everything in our power to get him to stay, but there was no convincing him."

"Was he even able to walk out of his own volition?" Hope asked worriedly. "His legs … how could he leave unless in a wheelchair? On a stretcher?"

A beeping noise interrupted them—some patient calling for the nurse—and she moved around the desk. "The healers visited him. He felt better, and we tried to explain that the relief might only be temporary. He ignored us, grabbed a pair of crutches, a packet of pain pills, and hobbled his way back toward base. Wouldn't let a single medic escort him to quarters, either."

"Stupid, stubborn man," Anna muttered under her breath.

Hope pretty much had to agree with that assessment. A lifetime of dealing with doctors and her diabetes was enough to convince her that he'd made a ridiculous choice. "What was he thinking?" she wondered aloud.

Anna turned to her, slumping against the counter. "That he'd have a better shot of seeing you outside the medical wing, that's what."

Hope frowned. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, trust me. I've known the lieutenant for a long, long time. Determination is his default operating mode."

"I was coming back—"

Anna patted her on the arm. "Not enough. Not nearly enough for a warrior like Dillon. He couldn't stand you seeing him laid out like that."

Hope's thoughts whirled; from all indications, Scott cared for her as much as she did for him, which was a ridiculous thought, at least on the surface. They barely knew each other, only … that wasn't nearly the full truth.

And she had a feeling that the "truth" was about to confront her, full on, back at the main cabin.

"I
wondered when you'd come
to see me." It was Scott's voice in the half darkness of Hope's new quarters. She and Anna were just inside the door, not completely in the room, but not quite in the hallway either. They stood, frozen, as Anna quickly interpreted the layout of events for her.

"He's lying there in your bunk. Quite at home, I must say, spread out on your pillow and blankets like he owns the place."

"Heard that," he rumbled, and there was the sound of him stirring.

"Indeed, sir," Anna chirped, then added, "I'm gone, then," and her booted footsteps immediately retreated down the hallway.

We're alone now, away from the hospital
…  
and we have some privacy, finally.
That was Hope's first thought, and then a second chased right on the heels of that one.
What will happen between us now
—
now that those dreams can become actual reality?
The worst part? She knew exactly what an expert he was in bed, and how fine his chiseled body felt beneath her fingertips, all glistening with sweaty sex. And what a great fucking cock the alien possessed, including what he'd apparently done with it inside of her on many an occasion.
Great fucking cock, indeed,
she thought, stifling a nervous giggle.

"Come closer," he invited hoarsely, patting the bed beside him.

"Shouldn't you be in a hospital bed—not my bed?"

Pushing the door shut with her back, she stood in what was now, at least for her, complete darkness. The late-day sun had slipped low enough that this lower-level room received almost no light, and without the additional hallway illumination, she was marooned.

"You got a problem with me being in your bed, Harper?"

"Call me Hope." Damn it, she kept telling people—all kinds of people, all over the base—just to call her by her first name.

"Hope," he ventured silkily, "I thought you'd like having me here. In your bed. Between your sheets." He paused significantly, then added in a low voice, "Between your legs."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Yeah? Well, you don't know me very well yet."

"I know you're used to getting what you want—and whenever you want it," she told him, tilting her chin upward proudly.
And I'm not easy. I shouldn't be easy, not for you.

His next words came in Refarian, slippery smooth; perhaps he thought she wouldn't translate them fast enough to understand their meaning. "I can't help what you've been doing to me, Hope. I pray that All will save you from my scoundrel's soul."

"S'Skautsa, you're no scoundrel," she answered back in his own language, taking a tentative step into the darkness, following the sound of his slightly erratic breathing. "But you don't belong here."

"You don't want me in your bed?"

"I didn't say that."

He laughed, a throaty rumble of a sound. His raspy voice had done things to her from the very first time she'd heard it on the FBI intercepts she'd been charged with translating. But here with him now?
Right here
, alone with him in her room, reclining on her lower bunk as he apparently was? Well, it did insane things to her libido.

"So you do want me," came his reply. And it definitely wasn't a question.

"You were crazy to leave the medical area so soon."

"Again—you don't know me very well. Not yet, in this time. Crazy's my middle name. How else could I lead these rebels like I do? It's an insane career, an insane motivation. Jared should've locked me up years ago."

"Maybe the hospital is his big chance," she volunteered.

She doubted his entire depiction of himself. Clearly he was a man of intense discipline and honor; the soldiers she'd met on the base all seemed to revere him totally.

"Jared knows I can't be stopped when I want something, and I definitely want something, Hope," he whispered suggestively, causing goose bumps to form along her arms. The idea that he needed her as much as she needed him caused her to tremble all over. So she focused on the darkness that stood between them. Had Anna left a discarded boot on the floor? Or a strange alien weapon or anything else that might trip her up? Patting her back pocket, she felt the outline of the small folded cane that the medics had given her, at the same time they'd offhandedly mentioned genetic therapy.

How the hell am I supposed to get from
here
to
there
without appearing like a freaking invalid?

"There's nothing in the way, Hope. You're safe," he told her gently, all his innuendo and sexual tussling gone.
Suddenly
he was her rescuer all over again, as he had been at the base. "You can walk straight to me."

It was as if he'd read her mind.
Maybe he did,
she thought, taking a first tentative step.

"You're safe," he repeated. "I won't let you get hurt."

"That's not a promise anyone can make."

She
knew as much, after believing the doctors thought it was "unlikely" she would lose her eyesight and "likely" she'd be able to one day have a child. Some promises should never be made—not the kind that could easily get broken.

"I meant
that
I
wouldn't
let you get hurt walking over here," he said awkwardly, as if covering his tracks. But she knew better. She heard him patting the place on the bed beside himself again.

"What about here, at your compound?" She took another step toward the gravelly, deep voice. "Can you protect me here, too?"

His breath seemed to catch in his throat. "I won't let you get hurt, Hope," he repeated. "I mean it. Didn't I prove that back at Warren?"

She stood still, hesitating. He
had
saved
her life
—
there
was absolutely no question about that fact—
and
been horribly injured in the process. "I don't want anything to happen to you, not because of"—she hesitated, taking several determined steps toward the bed—"my limitations. Not again."

"You're here," he said softly, and suddenly the strong grip of his hand encircled her forearm.
Without
another word he pulled her down beside him, practically atop him, with a rough, awkward tumble, and she found her mouth mere inches from his own, her palm splayed against a hard, muscular chest. Beneath her hand his heartbeat was strong and quick. She could feel the heat of his breath against her face, could smell the masculine scent of his body, different from other men, unique to him. Perhaps alien, she couldn't say for sure.

Hip to hip they lay, she half on her side, he flat on his back and definitely staring at her. It wasn't fair, this advantage he had over her—that he could see everything she was doing when she felt so powerless. Helpless. Captivated by everything about him. And in that moment he kissed her. No warning or notice, just his warm, full mouth crushing against hers, urging her to open to him. So she did, without holding back at all, wrapping both arms about him, burrowing closer. She curled her fingers through the dark hair at his nape; it was a little bit curly and wiry-thick. As their kiss deepened, she rubbed at the base of his neck, feeling cordons of muscle that led to his powerful shoulders.

After several moments he pulled back from the kiss, panting against her face. Their mingled breath was the only sound in the darkness that surrounded her, until he did the strangest thing: He began to sniff her face, in long and short bursts, pressing his face into her neck and shoulder. Then her hair, dragging in long inhalations of breath.
Sniffing?
This was a totally new one on her. Granted, she hadn't had a ton of dates lately, but as far as she remembered, that had never part of the dating or sexual code.

Maybe it was an alien thing. She could see the bumper sticker now:
Aliens sniff it better.
She began to giggle, and that caused Scott to take hold of her harder, working her up underneath him—at least, as best he could, given that he was still undoubtedly in pain from his injuries. At last he had her pinned beneath one thigh, and again found her mouth, hungry and demanding. Skimming his hand along her hip, he slowly ventured his touch inward, slipping one hand between her legs; nothing but her blue jeans separated the friction of his fingers from the warm, wet place between her thighs. And that place was getting a whole lot wetter as he rubbed and felt her, gripping her. Rough. Needy. Insistent.

Scott Dillon is definitely no time waster,
she thought hazily, feeling him work the snap of her jeans with deft precision.
Especially when he knows what he wants. And he wants me.

He gave her zipper a firm tug, and her pants spread open. Sliding his fingers inside, he dipped them within her panties, feeling her silky hairs, caressing her intimately without request or apology. What happened to kissing? Feeling her breasts? He was an all-or-nothing kind of guy, obviously, and she was usually a pause-at-second-base kind of girl. But Scott Dillon already had hold of her heart; she knew she'd let him go wherever he wanted, all the way home even.

As he captured her mouth with a rough, angled kiss again, she murmured against his lips, "How do you feel about walls?"

"Walls?" he repeated curiously.

She shook her head.
You're going as crazy as he is, Harper.
Surely he wasn't having the same erotic, frenzied dreams she was, no matter what she'd witnessed earlier in the hospital. Then again, this moment felt remarkably similar to every dream she'd been having about the guy.

He worked her pants lower, and with surprising gentleness he slid rough, warm fingers within her panties. Then he moved those same fingers up inside her, gasping as he made contact with her. She gasped, loudly, and rolled her head back into the pillow. Cascades of immediate sensation unleashed within her body. Then, rough and low, he whispered in her ear, "I'll take you against any wall you want, Harper."

"You've got a real way with women, Dillon," she countered dazedly, wrapping her arms about his neck again, and he gave her jeans a fierce tug, pulling them all the way down along her hips.

"You've got a real way with me," he whispered against her cheek, licking her face with the tip of his tongue.

Scott was making her feel things that no human man had ever done before; he even reacted to her differently in bed, with his aggression and his blatant needs. It was hard to say where his alien nature began and his warrior self ended. It all mixed together, making him an unstoppably aggressive lover.
Lover,
Hope thought, sliding her palms up underneath his soft T-shirt, feeling the warmth of his masculine skin, the play and pull of his muscled back.
He has always been my lover.