Handsome Devil (9 page)

He pauses, turning his profile my way. “You started that, if you will recall.”

He's technically right, but as that doesn't serve my purpose, I blow right by that inconvenient fact. “Like they were going to let you live after handing me over. I'm fairly certain that if your brother had put his name on the bounty, they wouldn't have messed with you. If he had, though, it would give Betty the heads up and she would just go after him instead. You've got me. The bounty has to go.” I wave my hand at the communications panel. “So call him.”

M'anu slowly sits back in his chair, the plastic/leather/whatever material creaking under the redistribution of his weight. His gaze is pinned on me. I can't read his expression, but someone that cautious isn't exactly riding first class on the trust train. “You are very insistent.”

I point at myself. “Thirty million. News doesn't travel as fast as I would like it. If you drop me off at the space station, I want to make sure I don't get stolen again. Send the message now and I might just have a chance.”

He tenses more with every word. It reminds me of the last time I was on this clap chair. My skin starts to heat under the scrutiny. I really want to say something about that. Why the flip in his manner? Was it a temporary hormonal thing? Thrill of the chase? Undying attraction to my questionable beauty? I mean, I've got a mirror. I know I'm pretty in a cute, perky way. You've gotta love yourself before trusting someone else to love you. That doesn't mean anybody's declared
“I must have you!”
before.
 

Not that M'anu said it. Thank god. Too cheesy dramatic for me.

Besides, who needs words when he's got that Grade-A no-holds-barred animal magnetism in his corner?

He's doing it again, actually, leaning his head back on the headrest, studying me without blinking. He glances at my shoulder and a new light enters his eyes. Something that resembles pleasure, but there's too much pride to be sure. No idea what the pride part is about.

I will not shift. I will not fidget. I will not adjust to accommodate the sudden warm spot between my legs.
Easier said than done. This is unsettling. Whether I care what caused it or not, something about a silent Ferissian sets anybody's nerves on edge.
 

I clear my throat. “Anyway,” I say. Okay, croak. “You know what to do.” I shoot to my feet, the clap seat banging shut behind me, and turn away. Apparently it's too early to be hanging around M'anu just yet. Good god, he could set a girl's panties to 'melt' with that look. That's just all kinds of wrong. The drugs wore off; I've got nothing to fall back on. There's no pretending that everything is hunky dory when it's anything but.

Stockholm Syndrome is not in this chick's vocabulary.

“
Where are you going?” His voice is whip-crack sharp.

“
Away.” Just to head off any nitpicking I add, “I'm going to get something to drink. And eat. I'm hungry.”

“
Halt.”

And what do I do? I halt. I screw up my face, disgusted with myself. What kind of dummy actually does that?

He's standing. I've got my back to him, but I know that much. I could probably pick him out of a dark room with his eyes closed now. It's like my body has decided to go on hyper alert with him around. Now is not the time to fall into lust with someone. I'm not the bad boy fangirl some of my friends are. I don't sigh over the serial killer anti-heroes you find on some TV shows. I like the good guys, the second lead doctors and workmates that are too good to be true in real life.

A baby brother warlord too pretty for words is not one of those guys. The alien part doesn't even figure into the equation given my heritage. He's complicated enough as it is.

So why am I still frozen, waiting for him to stalk me like a jaguar eying me from a tree? I can almost feel his breath sweep over my shoulders

And my lungs are choosing a really bad time to start acting up.
Inhale at a natural pace, dammit
.
 

“
I am pleased your shoulder is repaired.”

Wow, he's close. “Thanks.” I manage to sound normal. “You did a good job.”

Fingers ghost over the shoulder under discussion. “It was my duty.” Invisible patterns are traced into my bicep and down, towards my elbow. “I take my responsibilities seriously.”

Whoa mama. The word
responsibilities
should not have that affect on me. “I can tell.”
 

To be clear, I would like nothing more than to turn around and jump M'anu's bones. I'm not a prude or a wilting heroine. I'm also not the kind of girl that gets swayed by a pretty face. I don't fall in with the 'live for the moment and save the regrets for later' philosophy. Know why? Because I've done that before, and the regrets part sometimes just doesn't outweigh the fleeting pleasure that brought me there.

So whatever is going on with M'anu, he's going to have to keep it under control until I get a handle on the situation. “Who's hungry? This girl. Let me know how the call goes.”

“
Why are you shying away?” M'anu's voice is firm but confused. He knows how to cut like a knife, this guy. “I answered your call.”

Okay, that's not something you hear every day. I turn. “My call?”

His expression tightens. It's less sexy than it is just plain dangerous. “The mating dance.”

“
Mating dance?” My brow furrows. “What mating—” Oh.

Oh shit.

Guilt and dismay swamps me. How was I supposed to know he'd misinterpret what I was doing? I mean, it's a misunderstanding, sure, meaning that no one is really at fault, but looking up into M'anu's face right now makes me feel like a gigantic ass. “M'anu.”

I don't know what to say beyond that. I don't have to. He can read my face. Worse, he understands.

And he is not happy.

The muscle layered under his jaw twitches. His pupils darken, which brings the flecks into brilliant relief until they are all I can see. My heart squeezes. Intergalactic badasses with sharp teeth and pink streaks in their hair are not supposed to look both hurt and accusing. You'd think I'd punched him, but I know he would have handled that better than this.

He gives me a once-over, passes by, and strides away.

For a second there I'm not sure if I should follow him. I didn't mean to lead him on. At the time I was just rubbing his nose into the fact that I took over his bridge. I didn't know badly coordinated Euro dance moves would be the equivalent of the Song of Solomon for him.

I hesitate, torn between leaving it well enough alone and making up for something I didn't even know I did wrong.

It's his back that does it. It's so straight and unyielding that it calls to me. Even now, he looks like a proud Roman. I have no way of knowing if this is just a passing disappointment or something more for M'anu, but suddenly that doesn't matter. What matters is that my heart does this flipflop of dread, and I know that I have to at least put my hand out there.

I run, sprinting past him and spinning on my heel with my arms out, totally blocking his way. “Whoa! Don't walk off before we talk about this—Jesus!”

My voice ends in a squeak when he suddenly bends down and brings his face in close. It's hard and tight, his lips thinned into white lines. He clamps his hands firmly on my hips and literally lifts me off of the ground. Like,
oh here is a vase I need to move let me just get that
type lifting. It's effortless and startling. No human man could do that. I'm not big and I'm not little, but basic Earth physics declares that what he's doing should be impossible.
 

He turns sharply to the right and sets me down precisely. I'm out of his way. He lifts his chin and turns around again, walking away.

I stare after him. I'm speechless. Stunned. Astonished. You get the picture. There's only one sentence my flabbergasted mind can latch onto.

That was...hot.

Instant flooding of my pussy hot.

That's never happened before.

Not like this.

M'anu halts abruptly. His head tilts to the side so that all I can see is his razor-sharp jawline, his nostrils flaring. He inhales deep, the sound clear over the hiss and hum of machinery around us.

Uh oh.

I was not expecting that.

Chapter Six

My eyes go big as plates. I scramble mentally for some sort of solution, but all I can focus on is the slow angling of his torso. If I thought his eyes were brilliant before, they're freakin' luminescent now. This sitch just go serious.

If I had enough spit, I'd lick my lips. But I can't. I don't. I'm stuck in the sights of a Ferissian who can apparently smell how much I want him, and the knowledge of that somehow makes me even wetter. My skin heats in a blush. I'm so embarrassed and turned on right now I don't know up from down. I'm naked without losing a stitch of clothes.

His boots do a soft slide over the floor. He's face to face with me. There's more than five feet between us that might as well be five centimeters. His expression has morphed from hurt to knowing and satisfied. He's not smirking, he's baring his teeth. Open-mouth, here kitty kitty teeth.

I've been the center of his attention before. To tell the truth, I don't think he's ignored me once in the entire time we've known each other. I know what it's like to be his prey.

This feels ten times more alarming.

The air crackles with tension.

He steps forward.

I finally manage to suck in a breath but force myself not to back away. No running. Running triggers chasing instinct. I don't want to be chased. Oh hell, does that mean I want to be caught?

No. My nerves are shot through with electrical impulses, like a leg that's fallen to sleep trying to wake up again. I'm hypersensitive to everything, including all the not-inconsiderable complications M'anu the Ferissian brings into my life. If I give in, I'm accepting more than a pair of broad shoulders and gorgeous eyes.

He's too intense. Too complicated.

Oh god, did he just purr?

I strangle a whimper.

He takes another step forward. I reach out blindly and find the railing, gripping it tight without taking my gaze off of him. Nobody's ever looked at me like I was the center of his universe before. I can see why it would be addicting.

This guy is a world of hurt and confusion in the making.

I'm no coward, but I'm no fool either.

I try to think of something that will diffuse this ticking time bomb but he's already there, filling up the space as if it were just waiting for him to come. He towers over me. I knew that before, but it's never more clear to me than it is at that moment. It's not just the predatory way he's staring at me. It's the way his whole body curves to enclose mine. Trapping me in? Or protecting me?

I honestly don't know.

He angles his head to the side, bangs brushing my forehead. I hold perfectly still. His cheek ghosts over mine. His mouth comes so close to my pulse point, and I tense, only to jump when he takes in my scent lustily. “Mmm.”

Well, that wasn't unsexy. I swallow. “M'anu.” His name passes through my lips in a breathy whisper. “This is not what I intended.”

He doesn't respond verbally, but his cheek slides over mine again. Catlike affection?

My lids slide down without conscious thought. To have his teeth so near to my neck, the most vulnerable part of me, should be terrifying. Yet fear is the last thing on my mind right now. His presence, his pure maleness, is drugging my senses.

This is the most erotic experience I've had in a long time—and he hasn't even kissed me yet.

My eyes crack open, focusing on his neck. His jaw. His cheek. His mouth. It's a tragedy that it's still all the way over there, so close and yet so far.

It wouldn't hurt to try it once, I realize. I had regrets in the past, but I also had some really good times. Part of being young is to take chances. Live a little. So what if M'anu is different from me? That's part of the excitement of discovery, right? I just need to make sure I don't get in too deep, is all.

I lean in. He watches me, eyes hooded. I'll have to raise up on my tiptoes to reach him. He's bending in, but he wants me to come to him. The gleam in his gold flecks says that louder than words.

So near. I close my eyes, anticipation stirring my blood, my heart galloping along for the ride.

He's so warm.

His breath breezes over my skin. “
Agmoiria...”
 

Agmoiria?

I'm so badly startled that I veer off, missing his face completely. He grunts, angling back to see me, but I'm concentrating on the icy bucket that just dumped itself over my head.

Agmoiria. Not Jules. Not even Judith. Frick, not even Jenner.

Doesn't he know my name?

I cast my mind back and try to think of one time, one measly time, when he called me something other than 'female' or 'the Agmoiria'. My hands wedge up against his sternum, not pushing, but not letting him get any closer. I come up blank.

He doesn't even know my name, and I'm thinking about not getting in too deep.

I'm an idiot. I'm already in too deep, and he just proved it to me with a single word.

Smooth, Jules,
I think with a short laugh.
Way to be all adult about this
.
 

When the hell did this happen? It's not like M'anu was running around doing his own mating dance or anything. I exert pressure on his (built) chest and shake my head.

It's not his fault. I'm the dummy. Well, maybe we're both the dummies, and space ships just aren't big enough for the two of us. “This is crazy,” I tell him with a touch of bittersweet humor. “
Animal Planet
gone galaxy.” I can't really bring myself to look away from his ear while I try to get myself into order.
 

His long fingers snag my chin and force me to meet his gaze. He's frowning ferociously, confused. “Why are you still talking?” he half-demands. There's an ocean of bewilderment in his tone.