Deep Kiss of Winter (36 page)

“Once again, you lie.
Alien
.”

“I'm human, damn it!” Macy was human, so Aleaha was, too. That's how it had to be.

“You want to be, are trying to act like it, but you're not. AIR had to know.”

A fear she harbored, no matter how much she relaxed. “Go to hell.”

“Perhaps I'm already there.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Soft,” he said. “What's your real name, alien? Something that fits your real face, I'm sure.”

“I
am
human. And I already told you my name.” Shivering, trying to ignore the white-hot pulses hammering at every point of contact, she said, “Release my hands. Please.”

“So you can hit me again? I think not.”

“So I can
feeeel
you.” She didn't have to force the words out; they wisped out of her mouth of their own accord.

He didn't pause to ask what had changed her mind; she was instantly freed. Her hands slid to his back, as if she meant to grab him and pull him closer. His nostrils flared at that first tentative, seemingly willing touch, and he braced himself on his elbows, pressing deeper into her body.

Automatically her knees fell open, welcoming him. She couldn't stop them. That honey scent . . . His hips surged forward, his erection sliding over her clothed but already moist folds. She gasped, unable to stifle the satisfied sound. And in that suspended moment, she almost forgot her true purpose.

“That's the way, Macy.”

“Don't call me that. Call me—” The moment the words hit her ears, she sucked in a breath. Why would she want him to call her by her real name, especially when she'd refused to tell him what it was? She was Macy now, and she had to remain Macy, even with lovers. Not that she would become this guy's lover.

“Call you what, then?”

“Ale— Macy.” Damn it! She'd almost told him. Again. What kind of moron was she?

A perverted moron at that, since she found the man responsible for the fall of her friends so damned sensual, erotic, and wholly masculine. A drug that overshadowed any hint of inhibition. Just looking at him, she wanted to drown in sensation.
For the sake of the others, don't lose focus
.

“Do you like it soft or do you like it rough, Ale— Macy?” he purred.

Why not both?
Knife. Get the knife
. “I—I don't know. Why don't you find out?” Inch by inch, she trekked her trembling fingers down his sides, not stopping until she reached the coarse material of the holster. Almost there . . . almost . . . Her palm found smooth material and hard muscle, but no weaponlike bulge.

“What's your real name? Tell me. Please.”

Would he never give up?

“I promise not to tell,” he murmured. “You have my word. But how can I kiss you properly if I don't know what to call you? Please.”

She didn't want him to leave her yet. Not until she had the knife. And she feared he would indeed walk away if she refused yet again. That was the only reason she was giving in, damn it! “Aleaha,” she found herself saying. She didn't trust him, but part of her did want him to know, which was why she didn't simply lie. “Happy now?” Where the hell was the knife?

“Aleaha.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as though he savored the reverberation. “Much better. And now that we've got that settled . . . are you looking for this, Aleaha?” In a movement so swift she saw only the remnants of his spirit, he palmed a blade from his boot and waved the gleaming silver tip over her nose. “I moved it during our chase. Just in case. Over the past two years, I have learned to plan ahead.”

With a yelp, she shrank deeper into the cold ground. Ice-covered rocks stabbed into her bared back where her jacket and T-shirt were torn. “If
you cut me, I'll . . .” She'd what? Bleed all over him and ruin his clean clothes. Like he didn't know that already. She was screwed.

“I told you, there will be no bloodletting. Besides, I like the passion and concern you've shown for your friends,” he said, tossing the blade out of reach. Then he baffled her by bending and sniffing her neck, his nose brushing the sensitive skin there, the thundering pulse. “I won't punish you for that.”

Another shiver rushed her.
Concentrate
. Without the knife, there was no reason to remain in this position. No
intelligent
reason. “Let me up and I'll negotiate for the agents' freedom,” she said, recalling his earlier attempt at bartering. “Just like you wanted.”

“The time for that is over.” The inflection in his voice was dark, carnal, and animalistic. His gaze lowered to her lips. “Now I believe I promised you a kiss.”

“Don't you dare kiss me.” The words were automatic, but there was no heat behind them. Passion, like fear, was not a good thing for her. Yet a part of her wanted him to take her mouth anyway. Take everything she had to give and demand more, forcing her to feel, to need, to crave. Finally. As she'd dreamed of for so long.

“Don't cut you, don't kiss you. Anything else I shouldn't do?” She started to tick off an entire list, but he added, “Never mind. I'm through with this conversation.” And then his lips were meshed with hers, his hot tongue probing for entrance.

She flattened her palms against his chest and shoved. He didn't budge. In fact, he grabbed hold of
her wrists and repinned them over her head, smashing her breasts into his chest—mmm, good, so good—at the same time cupping her nape and forcing her jaw up, preventing her lips from moving away.

“Open,” he commanded against her mouth.

She shook her head, even though denying him was one of the most difficult things she'd ever done.

“Open.” He applied a hard pressure with his chin, creating the smallest of gaps.

Still she resisted. She'd lose control, and he'd find himself kissing a stranger, maybe even another man. He'd become enraged, disgusted, and she wouldn't be able to blame him.

Determined, he changed tactics. The pressure gentled, and he pulled back slightly. Soft, so softly, he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Open. Please. You'll like what I do. I swear.”

Don't give in,
her mind beseeched, even as she recalled all the nights she'd lain in bed, aching so badly she'd wanted to die, wishing intimacy weren't so dangerous for her. Wishing a lover could please her without discovering her secrets. She'd been down that road a few times, and she couldn't allow herself to take it ever again.

The first time, she'd been regarded as a freak. The second attempt had ended in a fight for her life. The third—and final—attempt had started rocky but had ended successfully. Or so she'd thought, until she was chased down and nearly locked up.

Breean has seen you in action, so he already knows what you can do
.

But he's a monster
.

So are you
.

I am not!

The internal debate ended with an,
Mmm, he smells better with every second that passes, like cinnamon and honey, wildflowers and sex.
Down-and-dirty, nothing-held-back sex. The kind she'd always fantasized about having while she touched herself, alone, always alone, finger dancing over her clitoris.

She must have unintentionally obeyed him and opened her mouth because suddenly his tongue was pushing past her teeth, stroking, thrusting, twining. Every nerve ending in her body leapt to instant life. Liquid heat flooded the apex of her thighs, and she trembled.

“Sweet,” he praised. “So sweet.”

Make him stop,
she thought, dazed, even as she wound her legs around his waist and locked her ankles, arching her back. His erection rubbed the new center of her world, and she gasped, lost to sensation. As feared, she felt her appearance change, expanding from average height to a bit taller, a little more rounded.

Shockingly, he didn't seem to mind. Seemed to like it, actually, as he hissed in a breath. “Again.”

She did, unable to help herself. She arched, appearance changing to someone shorter, rounder. They moaned simultaneously, then his tongue was back inside her mouth, hotter now, harder, and he was sucking her the way he might suck on a woman's clit, laving and savoring every drop of moisture. Their teeth
banged together as he drew her closer. Her still-hard nipples pressed into his chest, abrading deliciously.

“M-my shirt.” She wanted to tell him to rip it the rest of the way off her, but was having trouble forming the words. She ached, oh, she ached, and that ache demanded all of her attention. A touch, a glide.
Something
. Except, she felt the hair on her head shorten, her legs lengthen, and something harden between her legs—and it wasn't Breean.

There wasn't time even to gasp in horror. Because of her sudden spike of fear, the male form was quickly replaced. This time her hair grew and the color of her skin went from tanned to pale, her body from lean to lush. In a snap, however, she changed yet again. Female, still, but longer, slimmer. She clutched at Breean, relieved, needy. He hadn't erupted when she'd sprouted a penis. He hadn't even stopped kissing her.

“I knew I'd like the dark hair.” His tight clamp eased on her nape and his fingers slid to the front, stopping at her voice box, fanning over her pulse, then dipping to her breast. He kneaded the soft curve.

With his acceptance came a flood of uncontrollable, undiluted desire. And holy hell, did she have pent-up desire. That touch, so tender, so innocent, wasn't enough.

More,
she thought. “I need . . . I need . . .”

“Me.” He jerked the material up, revealing her navel, her bra—which he moved, too—and then her breasts. Her stomach quivered as he studied her. Cold air beat around them, but she felt only heat. Only need. “Pretty,” he said, sounding as if he were in
some sort of trance. “Like berries. Pink, ripe. Mine.”

He palmed her, skin to skin this time. Yes! When he thumbed a nipple, plucked it, she lost hold on reality, arching, writhing, ready to beg. There was only amazement, wonder, pleasure. So hot, blistering, singeing all the way to the bone. “Yes, yes!”

“I could touch you forever, I think.”

“Lick,” she commanded. Something was flowing through her veins, so potent she was almost drunk with it. That desire, yes, but also . . . what? His scent? It was strong, heady, dizzying, but could it have caused this sweet urgency? This sizzling desperation? No longer did she care where she was, who she was with, or how many times she shifted. Satisfaction was the only thing that mattered.

Her body was not her own. In that moment, it was his. Breean's. His to do with whatever he pleased. She had no shame, truly no goal save climax.

“Give me,” she said, only then realizing he hadn't obeyed her. He was still staring down at her, tension bracketing his eyes. “Lick.”

“I don't think I'll ever tire of looking at you.”

“That's great. But look and touch at the same time,” she said.

He chuckled.

Finally his lips settled over one of her nipples, tongue flicking against it.

Raspy gasps escaped her, and she rode his cock up and down, sliding, sliding, still desperate, so desperate. He sucked, hard. She cried out, closer to heaven in that moment than she'd been in her entire
life. Happily, willingly swimming in pleasure, the need for release a constant ache between her legs.

“More,” she demanded. “Harder.”

This time he obeyed quickly, giving her what she wanted. She chewed on her bottom lip, tasting blood, wishing it were
his
lip she nibbled. His mouth, his tongue. Perhaps his cock, thrusting in and out, filling her, stretching her jaw. Her tongue would lave the thick head, sucking, sucking, until he was wrung dry, until—

Who are you
? drifted through her mind.
Who is this sensual creature you've become?

His fingers abandoned her breast, only to slip lower to the waist of her pants. In a few seconds, he was going to delve past her panties and sink straight to the heart of her. He'd feel her wetness. He'd work those naughty fingers into her one by one. He'd pump them in and out, driving her to the brink.

Yes, yes. That's what she wanted; there was no fighting this desire. This fog. Yes, fog. That's what it was. That's what was swimming through her veins, clouding her judgment and lighting her on fire. Blazing, delicious. And wrong.

Wrong?

“S-stop,” she managed to gasp out. The madness had to stop. And if she just paused a moment, she could figure out
why
this was wrong.

Instantly, he stilled. He was panting as their gazes clashed. “You want it,” he growled low in his throat. “You want me.”

“No,” she said, then more loudly, “No!” It
wasn't her writhing, but someone else. Someone he'd created.

Nailed it again, she thought. Somehow he was changing her, making pleasure her only concern. And okay, yeah. Some part of her suspected this was her fault. That she simply wanted him more than she had ever wanted another. But that was wrong for different reasons, so she
would
still stop him.

“I can feel the desire inside you. You need a man.”

“Not you.”
You, only you
. Damn it.
Stay strong
.

“
I
need a woman.”

Pick me! Strong, remember?
“Not me.”

Desire was blended with irritation and anger, all three fiercely directed at her. He looked frightening just then, reminding her of the warrior who'd attacked and defeated AIR's best in a matter of minutes.

Now
she felt shame. Now she felt guilt she would never be able to deny. What kind of woman tongued her enemy, no matter the reason, while her teammates languished?

“You deny us both, Aleaha.”