Alien Overnight (5 page)

“Hey, Monica—wait a minute.”

She stopped and looked at Jasmine, who was waving her back with a furtive look on her face. Curious, Monica approached her desk once more, and Jasmine stood up and looked around before gesturing for her to come closer.

“The commander’s been looking for you,” she said in a low voice.

After the pulse spike waned, Monica crooked a brow at her. “Of course he’s looking for me. I’m three hours late.”

Jasmine bit her lip.

“Hello?” Monica prodded when she failed to say anything more. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“I’m not sure,” came the frustrated reply. “I’m just getting a weird vibe lately.”

“Vibe? What, is my aura shaking or something?”

Jasmine frowned. “Monica, I’m serious. Haven’t you noticed all the guards in the halls?”

“Yeah. What about them?”

“Doesn’t it seem like they’re kind of…guarding
you
?”

Monica stared, her mind racing. Shit, she was probably right. No doubt the commander had sicced the guards on her out of concern that the pheromone incident might repeat itself. The jerk. She’d
told
him it wouldn’t happen again, now that she knew to steer clear of the demonstrations.

“Don’t worry,” she said with authority. “I’ll take care of it.”

23

Robin L. Rotham

She strode down the hall, prickling with annoyance. It was bad enough he’d had her transferred without asking permission, and that he had Lieutenant Shauss skulking around keeping an eye on her. But to have posted a whole slew of guards to make sure she didn’t molest some unsuspecting—

My God
,
does he think I
’
m going to attack him
?

Cheeks burning, Monica slammed the door behind her and then immediately

wished she hadn’t. Fucking headache. She yanked her lab coat off a hook on the wall and pulled it on, then sank into the cheap imitation leather executive chair, holding her breath as it creaked under her weight. An impatient nudge of the mouse activated her computer, and she sucked down more coffee—hazelnut this morning, her favorite—and brooded while waiting for her e-mail folder to pop up.

Here she was, having erotic dreams about the commander, and he had her under guard! Why did
he
have to be the one who made her pulse spike, damn it?

Finding nothing in her inbox—surprise, surprise—she pulled a file from the mess on her credenza and tried to turn her attention to work. Spreading the folder open on her desk, she flipped past the first few pages until she came to the list of recruits for the afternoon orientation. There were seventy-two names in all, and though right now they were little more than ink on paper, a meaningless collection of statistics, soon many of these women would become her patients, her charges and perhaps even her friends.

Tomorrow the first of their physical evaluations would commence, putting her one step closer to the launch pad.

A rebel yell nearly burst from her at the thought.

If someone had told her five years ago that one day she’d travel God knew how many light-years to help repopulate a planet decimated by genocidal enemies, she’d have sworn they were on crack. Or looked for the hidden camera. Everyone knew she was a total space nut and she wouldn’t have put it past some of her coworkers to humiliate her on national television.

For as long as she could remember, Monica had dreamed of being an astronaut, but with a list of physical defects as long as her arm, she’d never stood a snowball’s chance of making it into the space program. So she’d settled instead for studying astronomy, devouring science fiction novels and following every
Star Trek
and
Star Wars
incarnation with fanatical devotion. Her obsession with space hadn’t made her many friends, but it had sustained her through her grandparents’ defection and the resulting shitty eternity in Denver’s foster care system, and then through the lonely and demanding years in medical school.

The stunning landing of the Garathani ship, broadcast worldwide on every channel, had alternately chilled her with distrust—they were shaking hands with politicians, for God’s sake!—and warmed her with an unreasonable hope for the future. Then one miserably sunny morning, after a thirty-six-hour shift at the hospital, she’d answered a knock on her front door, wearing only a faded
X
-
Files
t-shirt and boxers and holding a 24

Alien Overnight

half-eaten bowl of Cap’n Crunch, to find a couple of suits standing on her front porch—

a less than stellar start to her interstellar career as Dr. Teague, Medicine Chick.

They’d flashed Secret Service IDs, eyeing her shirt with thinly veiled contempt as they sauntered in and turned off her TV without so much as an apology. Then they’d grilled her at length about the meaning of her life, and when she’d finally concluded it had no meaning and was ready to ask for one of their guns and eat it, they’d offered her the chance to do more, to be more. And she’d taken it, if only to find out what the Garathani might really be up to.

Of course, she’d had to sell her cute little English cottage in Kellen Gardens, which was like excising her own heart with a plastic spork from the Chicken Shack. You could have knocked her over with a cotton swab when, the day after she moved into the Beaumont–Thayer Compound, her orientation partner pointed out a tawny-haired seven-foot alien in an outrageously formfitting uniform and cooed, “That’s Commander Kellen. God, isn’t he just dreamy!”

What were the odds that she’d have another Kellen in her life so soon after giving up the last one? The name wasn’t exactly ubiquitous, at least not on this planet. On Garathan, who knew? Maybe it was their equivalent of John.

“Kind of you to join us today, Dr. Teague.”

Monica jerked, sending the empty coffee cup careening off the side of her desk and onto the utilitarian carpet.

“Thanks a lot, Commander,” she muttered, leaning down without looking at him and trying hard not to blush. “Ever hear of knocking?”

Their fingers made unexpected contact over the smooth ceramic and she snatched hers back as if they’d been burned.
So much for not blushing
. When he set the cup on her desk without replying, Monica met his eyes briefly before looking away, her cheeks hot.

Usually sunglasses lent her a certain feeling of anonymity, but not today. Today she felt absolutely naked in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, Doctor?”

His chiseled face was devoid of expression, but she could tell from his tone that he’d enjoyed asking her that. The man had an unusually good grasp of the subtleties of the English language—for an alien—and a well-known fondness for euphemisms, the more obscure the better.

Whether he was trying for amusing or annoying at the moment was impossible to tell, but at least he’d provided a convenient excuse for her behavior. He’d rattled her enough that she was no longer in the mood to confront him about the guards. She just wanted him
gone
so she could break down in peace.

“That about sums it up,” she said, nodding.

“Why?”

25

Robin L. Rotham

Well, shit.
Go away
,
Commander
, her eyes telegraphed through the tinted lenses.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t getting the message. Planting his feet slightly apart and clasping his hands behind him, he stared at her like he’d heard something freaky was about to happen to her and he didn’t want to miss it. His military posture threw the bulge at his crotch into prominent relief and only divine intervention could have kept her eyes from settling there. None was forthcoming.

Speaking of freaky things you wouldn’t want to miss…

“Doctor?”

Suddenly drowning in drool, Monica swallowed hard and met his gaze again. The barest hint of a smile curved one corner of his mouth.

“I, um…I just didn’t sleep well last night.” Oh hell, she was blushing. Again. Damn that stupid dream! Until this morning, she’d felt pretty comfortable with Commander Kellen and the other Garathani reps. Now she felt off balance and embarrassed in his presence. And crabby. Hopefully, as with most dreams, the mood-altering effect would wear off soon and she would revert to her usual oddball self. Then she could tell him where to shove his guards.

“Perhaps you should return to your quarters and rest until the afternoon orientation.”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” she assured him, sorting through papers like she had some earthly idea what she was doing. “Did you need something?”

“No. I was merely…concerned about you.”

His hesitation made her look up.

“Oh. Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” God, what she wouldn’t give for a poker face like his! Those lapis eyes were disconcerting in their study of her. She’d thought herself accustomed to the unblinking Garathani stare, until this moment, when it was trained so intently on her.

Phantom sensations from her dream chose that instant to bedevil her, prickling her nipples and arrowing straight down between her thighs.
An alien invasion
, he’d said, and she’d known instinctively he wasn’t talking on a planetary scale.

The heat that rushed up her neck this time was excruciating, consuming her entire face in a fireball of humiliation as her heart pounded beneath her breastbone. She closed the folder with hands that wanted to tremble and reached down to open a file drawer, desperate to escape his questing gaze.

His fingers curled under her chin and urged her face up for his inspection.

“You don’t look fine, little Terran.”

Little Terran
. If his hot touch on her skin hadn’t made her freeze, the echo from her dream sure as hell would have. Had he ever called her that before? It was hard to remember, with her brain shorting out like she’d plugged in one appliance too many.

She’d certainly picked a hell of a day to leave off the war paint. Would this infernal blush never fade?

26

Alien Overnight

It was way past time to go on the offensive. Jerking her chin out of his hold, Monica stood up and met his eyes with steely determination. Okay, rubbery determination.

“I promise you, I’m fine.” Drawing a shaky breath, she asked, “Why do you have guards watching me?”

“Ah.” And here she’d thought his gaze couldn’t get any more penetrating. His head tipped to one side, causing that gold and brown mane to ripple. “So that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Damn right it’s bothering me.” She crossed her arms over her ribs. “It’s true, isn’t it? They’re guarding
me
.”

He regarded her impassively for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yes, they are.”

“Goddamn it, Commander, I told you I’d avoid—”

“They’re for your protection, Doctor.”

“
My
protection,” she snorted. “What do I need protection for? You’re the one who’s—” Monica clamped her jaw shut to stem the flow of revealing words.

“I’m the one who’s…” Kellen looked fascinated. “Do go on, Doctor.”

“Well, you
are
a likely target for violence from xenophobic Earthlings,” she improvised, absurdly pleased with herself for coming up with something plausible under stress.

“Your susceptibility to our pheromones makes
you
a far more likely target for the unscrupulous advances of desperate men.”

“Oh, give me a break. They’d have to be pretty damn desperate.”

“Which is precisely why we’re on Earth, if you’ll recall.”

She noticed he didn’t deny her contention.
Ouch
.

“Listen, Commander, I’m sure you think you’re doing me a favor, but the fact is, I can’t live under constant surveillance. You can just call off the guards now and I’ll take my chances.”
Such as they are
.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do that.” Before she could object, he held up a hand and continued, “You may be willing to take the chance, but you’re hardly the only one with anything at stake here. If you happened to be attacked, it’s not inconceivable that this entire program could be stalled indefinitely by the political fallout.”

She ground her teeth. “But it’s not—”

“Dr. Teague,” he enunciated clearly, “feminine defiance can have unpredictable effects on my self-control.” Planting his hands on her desk, he leaned into her face.

“Perhaps you should concede this battle of wills before the guards have to drag
me
off you.”

If there’d been anywhere to go, Monica would have taken a hasty step back. As it was, she just about swallowed her tongue.

27

Robin L. Rotham

“Are we done here?” the commander asked without backing away. She nodded vigorously. “I’m glad to hear it. The guards will remain, with the continuing stipulation that they’re to leave your presence immediately if they become aroused.”

“That’s, um, good to know.” Monica blinked repeatedly, desperate to regroup.

Damn it, she’d let him put her on the defensive again with that ridiculous scare tactic.

Eyeing him with renewed determination, she said firmly, “Now, unless you need something else, I have a lot of recruits to sort through.”

It was his turn to blink, she noted with some satisfaction. But then his eyes darkened and he leaned in until his nose nearly touched hers.

“Are you
dismissing
me?”

Every self-preservation instinct screamed to life at the dangerous undercurrents rippling his tone, and deciding a tactical retreat was in order, Monica let her gelatinous knees drop her back into the chair.

“Gee, was I being too subtle?” The panicked breathiness of her tone kind of ruined the effect, but she stuck it out. “Some of us actually have to work around here.”

“Mmmm.” His response, like his expression, was unnervingly neutral. “As you wish, Doctor. But do plan to spend the better part of the morning in my office tomorrow. We have a number of details to iron out regarding recruit evaluations.”

“I’ll ink you in,” she vowed, opening the file folder once more and fixing her gaze to the first typewritten page that presented itself.