Ultimate Passage: New Beginnings: Box Set ( Books 1-4) (8 page)

H
e paced the kitchen
, pausing to take in the black, silver, and red décor. The whole house had furniture in bold, stark, crisp lines, including the kitchen. The Asazi part of his mind relished the order and unchaotic nature of the house.

Why the hell had he done that? Why had he told her he’d make breakfast? And coffee?
Since when have you ever used a human appliance?
By the Asazi Sacred Writings, he was becoming more and more stupid every moment. It would be a miracle if the humans didn’t capture and kill him, or examine him with a scalpel and a microscope. Damned fool. Damned, damned fool. Yes he would be damned. Damned and sentenced to die in this chaotic, frantic world, while at home everyone wondered what had happened to him. He might as well slink away and find somewhere to take his own life and destroy his body so as not to leave any evidence.

But there was one problem. He wasn’t a quitter.

He stopped and took stock. Mr. Coffee. Well, that would be where one made coffee, wouldn’t it? He would worry about the cooking part later. Cooking? Asazi men didn’t cook. Not the ones who became soldiers, anyway. And most of them did. They had to have more soldiers than anything else. Soldiers, medics, and morticians. Soldiers to fight off the intermittent invaders, medics to heal the soldiers, and morticians for the rest.

He took a step closer to Mr. Coffee and grabbed the handle of a glass jar on top of a metal plate. He understood that part. The metal would be a conductor for heat, but... what about the coffee? Where did that come from?

Lifting the black lid on the top, he wondered if that was where one put coffee. Wait, he needed to find coffee. From the other room, the sound of water streaming bought him some time. Hopefully she was the type who liked to spend a lot of time in the washing and grooming stages. That might give him enough time to figure out where the coffee was and how to cook it. He opened cupboard drawers and doors with as much stealth as he could. Somewhere—there!—the label said coffee. Yes! Coffee Mate? What did that mean? A brand of coffee? He pried the lid open. White powdery coffee? Who was he to question advances in Earth’s science? He poured a healthy amount of the powder into the top of the coffee-maker, stepping back as a tiny white mushroom cloud formed.

Then he heard it. The water cut off. Time to hurry. Now what? He filled the remainder of the container with water. A red button with a 1 and a 0 on it... of course. He pressed the button and took a step back, fairly proud of himself. His mind went to his grandmother again, and how she used to smile when he did things that humans did. That should do it. And what about the glass container? Did that go on the Mr. Coffee machine? Or... He thought of the girl at the coffee shop last night, who had put a cup under the spout that made the coffee concoctions. He fumbled around in the cabinets, found a mug and set it on the metal plate. Within seconds a stream of hot, white liquid made its way out of the tiny spouts on the underside of Mr. Coffee’s tank.

And now for breakfast. She would be screwed if he was making it. How could he get out of that? He couldn’t. So he rummaged through the refrigerator, hoping whatever he was going to make didn’t have to be prepared on the stove. Surely there were foods that would be ready, like the way it was in the Asazi world. One button, and a meal was being pushed through the chute for the recipient.

The refrigerator was nearly empty. How could that be? How could someone who owned a restaurant not have a kitchen full of food?

Maybe offering to take her to breakfast would be a better idea. But then would she want to go their separate ways? Perhaps cooking something for her here would make her hate him less? Though this morning she didn’t seem to hate him as much. In fact, for a second, he would have sworn he saw hunger in her eyes. Of course that had been chased away by embarrassment when she noticed that her breasts were bouncing. What she probably hadn’t noticed was the way the peaks, rosy and poking against the fabric, were tempting him to—

Get your mind off of that. Now. This is pointless.

He turned the burner on the stove. Nothing happened. Nothing except a hissing sound. Maybe that was normal? Maybe a stove hissed so that the person cooking would know it was on? But where was the heat? He touched the silver circles. Nothing. He hovered his hand over the four circular areas. No heat. Odd. Maybe it didn’t work.

He’d go ask her. Or should he?

A loud bumping knock from down the hall, in the direction of her room, answered that. Worried she might be hurt, he sprinted the few yards and pushed the door open with his forearm.

Sacred Writings in stone and blood!

She was naked, leaning over a chair that had fallen. She jumped up, fallen chair forgotten. What he couldn’t ignore was the sight that had greeted him. A firm, round ass, curvy, parted just enough to see a glimpse of—

She screamed. “What are you doing?”

“I heard a noise.” He turned his head away, kept his gaze down. “I wasn’t sure you were unhurt. It seemed loud from the kitchen.”

“You can look now.”

Was she inviting him? To—

He turned her way. Oh, she was covered.
That’s what she meant.

Marissa wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“I don’t know. Not familiar. Maybe it’s the coffee?”

“No, it smells like gas. Is the burner—” She took off for the kitchen, wrapped in a sheet that trailed behind her.

He ran after her, not sure why she thought the kitchen would smell like gas. He’d been by the gas station, and this smell was nothing like that.

“What the hell happened here?” Her hand was over her mouth, the sheet slipping on one side.

“I made coffee.” He looked at the Mr. Coffee. The problem was, the white coffee had overflowed the cup and was surrounding the coffee-maker in an ivory pool.

“Oh my god. The burner.” She turned the knob on the stove. “Why was this on?” She scanned the counters. “There isn’t even any food out.”

“I was going to make you breakfast.” He could feel the anxiety building in him. He was such a failure at this mission. Stupid, nonsensical mission. And just as quickly, his pulse escalated, and his wings pushed up against his shoulder blades.

“What’s up with the coffee machine? What’s this white crap?” She opened a drawer and took out a towel, popped open the lid on Mr. Coffee and peered inside. “You put creamer in here? Tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I didn’t. I put Coffee Mate.” He grabbed another towel and began the process of sopping up the white liquid as quickly as he could, hoping to erase all residue evidence of his failings. Give him a weapon and he would rule, but this domesticated human stuff—failure. He shoved the towel into the white mess.

“You—” She gave him a strange look. Like maybe he’d lost his mind. “You put creamer in there. Coffee Mate. Creamer.” As if she was talking to a baby.

He wanted to hope she wasn’t saying that what he’d put in there wasn’t coffee. But he knew that was exactly what she was saying.

“What were you thinking? Are you okay? Do you know how to make coffee?” She tossed the first towel in the sink and grabbed another.

That one he could answer truthfully. “No, I don’t.”

She paused her wiping and looked up at him, green eyes wide, mouth in an O. “You’ve never made coffee? Ever?”

He put his finger under her chin to close her mouth. “No.” He was getting angry. Angry at himself for messing everything up. Angry at Kal for sending him here. Angry at this girl for—

What was he angry with her for? Angry that he couldn’t control his pulse around her, that’s what. And that was just for starters. He angled himself away from her, in case the wings erupted enough to be noticeable under his shirt. Damn, she’d call the police if that happened. Then he’d be in a heap of trouble.

“Something weird is going on here.” She backed up and put her hand close to a wooden block with several knife handles spiking out like sentries.

“Weird how?” He backed up, anything to keep her from thinking he was dangerous. Anything to keep her from reaching for a weapon. He’d have to kill her. That would make his mission a failure.

No, that wasn’t what was bothering him. He couldn’t imagine those green eyes not lit up, not on fire.

“Your skin. It—” She rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m seeing things. Your skin was just—I swear, it looked like it was a glowing, shimmering orange color.”

He forced a laugh, hoping it came out authentic. “Orange? I think you had too much to drink last night.”

Her giggle was sheepish; so was the look on her face. Still, a cute little laugh. She walked to the counter on the other side of the kitchen and sat on a barstool, put her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. “It’s been a day. Week. Life.”

“Are you okay?” Great. Just great. Now he’d asked her to bring him into her life. He’d start to care and—

Who are you kidding? You already care.
Damn that conscience, or whatever that was. But it was right. He did care about her. How could he have come to care about a woman he’d known for only 24 hours? He looked at the kitchen clock, a silver square without numbers on it, with hands that were shaped like elongated triangles. No, less than twenty-four hours. In two hours it would be twenty-four hours since he’d first entered Two West Two.

She shook her head, still in her hands. “Nah, I’m not that okay, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

He took a step closer, hoping to console her, anything to make her feel better, but the sheet slipped with the headshake. And then slipped lower, exposing creamy skin and the edge of one rosy nipple.

If he told her about it, then she’d think he was a pervert for looking. At the same time, he didn’t want to take his eyes off her body. He turned away and focused on the greenery outside the kitchen window, but he couldn’t get the image out of his mind. She’d probably think he was cold for not acknowledging her distress, but—

Curses. He couldn’t just let her sit there in pain and not comfort her. He turned her way and without casting a single glance below her neck, he put his hands on her bare shoulders. Her skin gleamed in the morning sunlight, and her flesh was warm to his hand.

Goosebumps rose beneath his fingertips. Still sitting, she raised her eyes to his, her lower lip trapped between her teeth.

Finn traced the curve of her lip with his thumb, releasing it from her teeth. Her eyes left his, travelling down his chest, then lower. In his pants, the same reaction tugged at him, reminding him how much he wanted her.

She raised a brow, then looked him in the eye again. Her chest was unmoving, like she was holding her breath.

S
he couldn’t believe where
her thinking was going. She found herself wanting to give in to all the naughtiness she’d always dreamed of yielding to but never had. Her life had always been so PG-13, and now she wanted to elevate it to triple X, completely bypassing anything in between. She wanted to unbuckle his pants and see him, feel him. Even taste him.

His thumb was still on her lip. She lowered her head and took it in her mouth, sucking on it. He moaned, and his chest swelled with a deep breath. Marissa put a hand on his stomach, then raised it toward his chest.

With a sweeping move he picked her up under her arms and placed her on the countertop. The sheet dropped with the motion. He sucked in a breath just as the sheet fell.

Marissa didn’t care she was naked, didn’t care that she was probably a hungover-looking mess. None of that mattered.

His eyes were focused on her breasts. Her nipples peaked and hardened under his glance, wanting to be touched. Her breathing shallowed, and still the man did nothing but stare at her.

“Finn.” His name was almost a whisper on her lips; she couldn’t manage much more than that. “Don’t just stare at me. Please. Can you—” What was she thinking? Was she really going to ask him to touch her?

He took a foot in each hand, raised her feet and put her heels on the counter. The undertaking spread her legs. Cool air passed over her heated dampness. He stared between her legs, his tongue moistening his lips. It was innocent, but so suggestive. Marissa put her hands behind his head and fought the urge to give it the tiniest pull forward. Lord, she wanted this man so much. Wanted to feel him on her, around her, in her.

Finn traced his fingers from her heel, up her calf, under her knee, around and on the inside of her thigh, his movements slow, deliberate, gentle. Deep within, Marissa’s muscles flexed in response. His fingers stopped at her folds, pressed down, then drew her open.

At the burst of coolness on her inner folds and wet center, a gasp ripped from her lungs and her head flew back, tapping the cabinet behind her.

Finn lowered his head, his breath warm on the same areas that had just cooled. She held her breath, waiting, wanting, knowing, and yet knowing nothing at all.

H
er face was flushed
as her hands applied the tiniest pressure behind his head, pressing him closer to the place he wanted to be. Her skin was cool, and there were goosebumps on her flesh as he traced the contours of her legs, her thighs, until finally reaching her dark, rose-colored folds. He touched the fleshiness, enjoying the way she contracted under his touch, and spread her open, juices evident at her entrance.

He breathed her in, savoring the scent of her, the essence of this human female, this woman. He bent his head closer and closer, going slowly, giving her a chance to push him away, the whole time absorbing her scent and wondering if her taste matched it.

When she didn’t push him away, driven to distraction by his shaft pulsing a primal beat, he lowered his head, touching the tip of his tongue to the tiny button he’d exposed. Beneath his fingertips, her flesh quivered, her legs opening wider.

Wondering what would please her, he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked gently, basing his rhythm and pressure on her reactions.

He released her clit and ran his tongue downward, allowing it to slip inside the slightest bit on the return journey.

“I can’t believe this.” Her voice was sex-rough, a tortured whisper.

He raised his head, her essence on his tongue. “Shall I stop?”

“Oh, god, no. It’s just... this isn’t who I am. Is it?” She ran her fingers over her face, through her hair. “I barely know you.”

“I feel like I’ve always known you. And yet—”

“I know. I know.” Her breathing was rapid, hasty. “It’s the same for me. But still—”

Wracked by confusion, still tasting her, Finn came to a decision that his throbbing member protested against. The Asazi part of his brain had ceased to exist. It was his lust and his emotions that ruled now. And then suddenly, something defeated the Asazi part that wasn’t working and even defeated the lust that threatened to overtake him. He shifted away, put his hands on her knees, closed her legs, and helped her off the counter.

Asazi curses and damnation! This was hard, walking away from her, from her scent, taste, feel. He battled to control his lust.

With a gentle kiss on his mind, he placed his lips on hers. Her mouth parted, and his tongue acted of its own volition, entering, exploring, reaching, doing all the things it had wanted to do below.

He cupped her breast, his thumb twirling the hardened button, rolling it between his thumb and finger, amazed by the instant response. Her breast swelled in his palm. Her chest rose and fell at a rapid rate.

He took a half-step back, retrieved her sheet and reluctantly wrapped it around her. “You go get dressed, I’ll clean the kitchen up, and we’ll go to breakfast. My treat. What else do you have to do? You have two days off. You may as well enjoy one of them. Who knows, I may be able to help you solve a problem or two.”

Her laugh was wry, but she stood and headed down the hall, sheet bunched in her fist, covering all of the parts he’d love to see in greater detail—explore, taste, savor.