Taming the Wildcat (Sargosian Chronicles) (6 page)

The tension in her loins increased, spiraled outward. Her pussy clenched tightly around his invading cock. She never wanted to let him go, and her body echoed that sentiment. Before, she had never thought of heaven, but now, in this tiny room aboard a troop transport, she’d found it in the arms of a rugged mercenary.

Two distinct sounds penetrated the fog that surrounded her. She wasn’t scared, she knew she slept, but just on the edge of waking up. Warm and comfortable, even if the bed she lay on was solid with very little cushion to it. Frowning, she burned through the last layers of sleep and back into reality. She was on a bed, but a slumbering body lay beneath her. One comprised of solid, chiseled muscle with very little give.

She smiled. Roz.

Naked, they were in the same position they had fallen asleep. The last time they had made love, she had ended up on top. A rush of heat raced through her at the thought. She hadn’t had the strength to move afterward, all of her bones had turned to jelly.

He’d simply picked her up and draped her over him, as if she were a blanket. Refusing to listen to any protests she made about weighing too much, he’d dragged her back each time she’d tried to move. He’d gone as far as spreading his legs to trap hers between his.

Shifting her head carefully, she peeked up. He was out like a light. She smirked when she realized how they lay. Oh yeah, she’d know right away when he woke up.

The sounds that drew her from sleep were those of his heart and breathing. Funny how she found those two sounds so comforting. Laying her cheek back against his drool-worthy six—no, eight-pack abs—she settled down, one hand still over his heart. Her gaze drifted to his arm, resting on hers with his hand cupped loosely around her elbow. Even in sleep, he held her close.

Her gaze locked onto the intertwined, scrolling tattoos that covered the length of his arms. They covered the back of his hands as well.

Lifting her arm carefully, she traced her fingertips lightly along the lines on his forearm. Following the swirls, she ran her fingers over every line she could see and reach. All of the Wildcats bore similar tattoos, though none of them had the same design on the back of their knuckles. There had to be some significance behind the tattoos. They were too ordered and similar for there not to be.

Inhaling deeply, his scent filled her lungs. She nuzzled her nose against his skin several inches above his navel.

“I can’t think of a better way to wake up.”

The rumbling voice, felt more than heard was her first indication he had woken. Startled, she looked up. His eyes were warm and more hazel than green this morning.

“What are you up to?” he asked as she carried on, tracing over his tattoos.

“Looking at your tattoos. They’re…”

She wanted to say beautiful, but she wasn’t sure how he’d take that. Does any man want to hear his tattoos are beautiful? She couldn’t think of a different word, though.

Before he could protest, she pushed up so she could kiss him. “I think they’re beautiful.”

She shifted to lie pressed up against his side. Reaching over, she picked up his hand and brought his knuckles to her lips to kiss each one.

Looking into his green-gold eyes, she smiled. "Why do you and all of your men have similar tattoos? I know they're not exactly the same. I can see the difference in the patterns."

He shifted and nestled her closer into his side before clenching his fist and angling it, so she could see the design across his knuckles. Red and black, the pattern traced across his first two knuckles, then flowed almost to his wrist where it disappeared into other swirls.

“This is my rank,” he explained, his deep voice low. “I’m a Lead, which means Lead Warrior. There’s only one rank higher in my people…Warlord. One day I’ll get there.”

He turned his arm so she could see the back. The heavy loops and swirls, red around black, covered his skin. “These are all the battles I’ve been in.”

He touched the inside of his arm. “And this is my lineage, back ten generations.” His finger traced up the smaller loops, skipping over some areas of the design that looked as though they’d been scrubbed out, tattooed over roughly to obliterate what lay beneath.

Her gaze followed his fingers over all of the marks on his skin. It surprised her that they seemed to be a language rather than just designs. She noticed the way he traced most of the tattoos until he reached the one on his inner arm. He purposely avoided it; his voice hadn’t changed, but she could sense a slight change in him.

She’d never been good at keeping her mouth shut when she wanted to know something and this was no different. She did, however, try to keep her words soft. “What happened here?”

Her fingers slid over the area on his arm. She didn’t pull it closer to look at, but left her palm over the spot. She searched his eyes for an answer, hers filled with everything she felt for him. She had nothing but love in her heart for Roz. If he hurt, his pain was hers as well.

His full lips compressed, she saw the battle he fought reflected in his eyes. Finally, he sighed. “You’re human, right?”

When she nodded, he carried on. “Right. Our families work differently. When we’re born, our parents are normally from different clans…families to you. We take the name of whichever parent is higher ranked. My mom was a Kelat class…so I was born into her clan. Then my mom died, the big war on my planet ended and my clan disowned me. I have no lineage on that side anymore.”

She knew what it was like to not have a mother around, though it sounded as if he’d lost his earlier than she’d lost hers. What troubled her was his family, his clan, had disowned him. Even though he said they worked differently, anger stirred inside her at how he had been treated. Taking a breath to steady herself some, she tried to find out why they would do something like that.

“Why did they disown you? That’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”
Damn it.
Her anger had a foothold and she needed to stomp on it before it got loose. “I thought…well, where I’m from at least, families stick together.”

She had reached over to take his hand again, her fingers laced through his.

He squeezed once and covered his eyes with a slow sweep of lashes so long it was unfair. When he looked back at her, the hard mask was in place again. He shrugged. “They didn’t like the fact I take after my father.”

Her eyes dropped to his chest. She fell quiet for a moment, a little stung at how he closed himself off from her. No, closed off wasn’t right. Guarded. She’d seen that look on his face before…and on her own as well, in the mirror when she told herself the things that had happened to her didn’t matter. Over and over again she’d repeated the words until even she almost believed the lie.

Still, this was worse. His own family had done this to him. No. They weren’t his family anymore.

She felt as if she had lost her balance and now floundered at her own stupidity for pushing him too far. She should have kept her big mouth shut. She felt the tension that had crept into his body, and a tiny part of her hoped because of it he wouldn’t notice she’d tensed as well.

She couldn’t make the universe right for every person she came across, but she wished, more than anything, she could take back her careless words. Putting a smile on her face she didn’t feel, she tried to find something good to focus on. Even if it were something small, she needed to repair the damage she had caused. For the first time, she looked at him with a touch of shyness.

“Your father must be absolutely amazing if you’re anything like him. Though I don’t know if my opinion counts. I’m a little biased when it comes to you.”

She laid her head against his chest, the only retreat that was open to her. His big hand drove gently into her hair, pulling until she had to look up at him.

“He is, but not as amazing as you.” His voice was soft as he pulled her up to claim her lips again.

Flipping her hair back over her shoulder, Summer finished with the blow dryer. The hot water from the shower had worked wonders on the muscles she hadn’t been aware of before she’d met Roz. Somehow working out in the ship’s gym and her long runs around the decks just didn’t make her twist and bend the same way.

Thinking about her flexibility over the past three days, she twisted around again to stare at her lower back in the mirror. Spread across the entire small of her back were the beautiful scrolls and curls of the Sargosian language. In the center of the design—Roz’s name.

Funny, she’d had no idea he was so artistic. Everything about him surprised her. He had surrounded his name with extra swirls, dots and designs, but what really melted her heart were the wings he’d drawn from the sides of his name. Wings. She smiled again. He really was her angel.

The design she had put around her name on his chest was large, but not as big as the one across her lower back. It took up the entire left side of his chest. She had written her name in English, at his request, but surrounded it with swirls and designs that mimicked and complimented the tattoos on his arms. Some of the designs she had drawn were based on musical notes and symbols. She had even included a few notes from one of her favorite songs. She smiled at the idea of her name being written over his heart. With a final glance at her new artwork, she walked out of the bathroom as naked as the day she’d been born. She’d found it was a waste of time to wear clothes around him. They never stayed on for long.

Stretched out on the bed, the sheet barely covered his groin. In fact, he had one leg kicked out to the side. Smirking, she realized he still lay in the same satisfied, lazy sprawl she had left him in. She’d shown him there were
much
better things to wake up to than just having her draped over him.

Lying down on the bed, she curled up next to him again. He smelled wonderful. That mix of scents that were unique to him alone.

“Are you sleeping?” She leaned over to kiss across his chest.

“Mmm.”

Sitting back, she looked down at him. What a faker. With a laugh, she shoved at his shoulder. “You, sir…drew an entire mural on my back.”

He opened his eyes to look at her. There was a wry twist to his full lips. He didn’t look the slightest bit repentant. He looked…smug.

She narrowed her eyes, but gave up trying to pretend she was put out. She smiled happily, her emotions almost overwhelming her. “It’s beautiful. I love it.” Leaning down, she captured his lips in a slow, heat-building kiss.

*

Roz returned it, a rumble of pleasure in his deep chest. She had no idea what he’d drawn on her was a marriage tattoo, or an approximation of it, anyway. Her species did rings as he recalled. Nothing as permanent or beautiful as the designs his people etched into their skin. For a Sargosian marriage, or at least the kind the tattoos they’d drawn on each other indicated, was not just for life but extended past death itself.

She nibbled on his lips, and he smiled. She was gorgeous, both in body and spirit. Even though he’d drawn his name on her, he knew she was too good for him. What did he have to offer her? The life of a mercenary’s wife? A man who lived and worked hard without the creature comforts human women were used to. One day he’d die just as hard. Probably on some backwater planet someplace, paid to fight in a war not his own.

He’d always wanted to be a warrior. So when the war on his planet had ended and robbed him of the chance to follow in his warrior parent’s footsteps, he’d left. He’d walked three days over the baking desert sands to reach the recruiting station at the spaceport and lied about his age to join up.

He’d lost his name, his family…he’d lost everything to get off planet and follow his dream.

Pulling back, he looked into green eyes that sparkled with warmth, and dare he hope, more than affection. If he hadn’t left, he wouldn’t have been here and would never have met her. The sacrifice, the scrubbed-out marks on his arm…were all worth it.

Somehow, the Lady had smiled upon him at last. She had seen fit to bless him for every drop of blood and sweat he had given in his pursuit of becoming a warrior. He commanded his own unit as Lead Warrior. The Lady Goddess had given him a new family of sorts with his men. Sure, they were a rowdy bunch and fought a lot, but they looked out for each other. And now, the Lady had blessed him with Summer.

Most women didn’t even want to deal with his men, yet she’d taken to all of them with true warmth and affection. She wasn’t afraid of any of them, even though they all towered over her.

She had cooked breakfast and dinner for them ever since he’d brought her on board. He found it amusing how they fell over themselves to do anything she asked. The fact she didn’t take advantage of them the way some women would have, just melted his heart more. She’d shocked him and the entire unit when she proved she knew all of their names. She made everyone feel included in a way that didn’t bring out his possessive side with a vengeance. What had she called them? “Her Boys.”

To think he’d worried Jei or the others would have made a play for her was something he could laugh about now, but not a few days ago. Now, he knew every one of them would protect her with their own life. Though if he were honest with himself, he knew if he messed up with her, there would be a long line forming to snatch her up and beat him into a bloody pulp.

Last night had been amazing. As was quickly becoming the nightly ritual, when Summer came out to prepare dinner, suddenly all other duties or preoccupations were dropped. Not only had she cooked an amazing meal last night, she had entertained them all by telling a story. “Peter Pan” had been the story she’d chosen, one she’d said he and the Wildcats reminded her of.

She had spun the tale so well he almost saw the feathers and leaves the children in the tale had worn as part of their wild little outfits. While he knew she didn’t see them as children, or him as some flying kid with no shadow, she did make a good connection between the “Wild Boys” in the story and the Wildcats.

Hell, they did act like overgrown children sometimes…until it was time to get serious. She had also unknowingly touched on something. Something he hadn’t told her yet. His species didn’t age physically past a certain point. So in a way…her tale about a group of wild children, who refused to grow up, oddly reflected a species that was blessed with what appeared to be eternal youth.