Fugitive (13 page)

   He was wet, naked, and the most shockingly attractive man Drusilla had ever seen, but now that he was smiling at her, she could also see his fangs and had absolutely no idea what she should do. Run, perhaps? And if so, in what direction?

   "Away from the window, you idiot!" she exclaimed to herself. "Now!"

***

Meanwhile, Zef was giving Manx a few pointers in the fine art of seduction.

   "Shake your cock at her," Zef suggested. "Gets 'em every time!"

   "That might help with eltrans," Manx said equably, "but I don't think it would work with Drusilla."

   "And just what makes you think that?"

   "She backed away from the window just now," he said with a nod toward the house. "I think I might have gone too far already."

   Rising up on his shaky pectoral fins, Zef crawled past Manx to get some idea of what Drusilla was seeing from her window. Manx didn't look at all frightening to Zef, nor did he appear to have gone too far; in fact, Zef didn't think he'd gone nearly far enough. "She can't see your dick with your leg crossed over like that."

   "I'm not trying to show her my dick!" Manx exclaimed. "I'm writing her a message!"

   Zef looked at the symbols Manx had drawn with a jaundiced eye. "What the hell does that mean?"

   Manx gazed regretfully at the sand. "Well, now that you mention it…"

   "What?"

   "It's a mating symbol," Manx replied miserably.

   "Ha!" Zef exclaimed in triumph. "You're asking her if she wants to fuck, aren't you?"

   "Well… maybe," Manx admitted. "Guess I should have used the other one again." Manx erased the female sign and wrote it again in reverse. "This one just means I'd like to talk to her."

   "Oh, really?" Zef said. "So now you're telling her, 'No, I don't want to fuck, but I'd like to talk?'"

   "You're making me sound like an idiot," Manx said, sounding even more miserable.

   "And I'm telling you, you just need to get that willie of yours up so she can see it!" Zef cocked his head, eyeing Manx curiously. "Now, what was it again? You have to smell her?"

   Manx nodded. "It worked last night when she was out on the patio eating dinner. She smelled so good it nearly knocked me out."

   "Food gets her excited?"

   "Well, maybe," Manx conceded. "But she was naked. Maybe that's all it takes. Either way, she almost got nailed by a total stranger. Don't think she would have liked that," he added reflectively.

   Zef thought it was just possible that it would be the answer to Drusilla's wildest dreams, but women in general were something of an enigma to him. You just never knew how they would react or what they were thinking. "Okay, then," Zef said brightly, "catch her without her clothes, give her something to eat, get your dick hard, and go for it."

   Rolling wearily onto his back, Manx let his arms fall onto the wet sand with a loud plop. He stared up at the dark purple sky, not seeming to notice the raindrops that fell in his eyes.

   "Zef," Manx said after a moment.

   "What?"

   "Will you please just shut up?"

Chapter 8

THE RAIN STOPPED BY EARLY AFTERNOON, BUT DRUSILLA didn't leave the house, so Manx and Zef went fishing. Actually, Manx was the one doing the fishing; Zef just ate the fish.

   "I would have shared my fish with you more often if I'd known you couldn't catch your own anymore," Manx said as the eltran happily crunched the fish bones. "Why didn't you tell me?"

   "Don't like to admit it," Zef said between munches. "Matter of pride, you know."

   "Maybe so, but starving to death just because—"

   "I'm not starving to death!" Zef protested. "I get plenty to eat—just not what I like."

   Manx knew the feeling. "I'm getting tired of fish, myself," he said. "I mean, I like them, but I miss Klog's cooking."

   "Hasn't been cooking for you since Drusilla came, has he?"

   "He hardly ever does when someone's staying in the house," said Manx, tossing Zef another fish. "I think he's afraid to."

   "Well, now that Drusilla knows you're living around here, Klog might decide it's safe to feed you again."

   "I certainly hope so," Manx said fervently. "At least then I could have my fish cooked." Manx had been known to use the grill on the patio when the house was unoccupied but had never felt that starting a cooking fire was a good idea for a man who was trying to keep a low profile.

   "I'll never understand why you feel the need to cook fish!" Zef exclaimed. "They're perfectly good just the way they are."

   Manx didn't bother to reply, since they'd already been through the cooking issue many times before—and his thoughts had already progressed to more important matters. "Maybe I went about it wrong," he said reflec tively. "I should give her something."

   "Give her something?" Zef echoed. "You mean Drusilla? What for?"

   "Women like getting presents," said Manx. "I'd like to give her some rainflowers—they're very pretty—but they don't last very long."

   "You could give her some fish!" Zef exclaimed, quick to catch on to the idea. "Then she'll get all hot and bothered and your weasel will work and—"

   "Zef," Manx said warningly. "That is not the only reason I want to give her a gift!"

   Zef ignored this, adding dismally, "Too bad we ate them all."

   Manx didn't see this as a problem. "I'll spear some more and take them to Klog and he can grill them for her. Maybe he'll give me some too," Manx added hopefully.

   "Oh, joy," Zef groaned. "Grilled fish. Yum."

***

After watching the episode on the beach and trying to make sense of the whole weird mess, Drusilla finally decided that getting plastered was the logical course of action and asked Klog for a margarita. "And make it a strong one," she added.

   Klog beeped and came back a few minutes later with a salt-rimmed glass filled with the best margarita Drusilla had ever tasted.

   "Is there anything you can't do?"

   Klog seemed to think about this for a long moment, but his reply was another one of those mumbles.

   "Should have known you'd say that."

   Klog went on with his work while Drusilla pondered the situation. What Manx had done was the most blatant come-on she'd ever seen—including the Ionian Impres sionist who— "No, don't want to think about that right now," she said with a shudder. Manx's proposition was quite palatable while the Ionian's had been just plain gross. "So, Klog," she began conversationally. "What do you think? Should I have gone down to the beach? Did he want to talk or—? No, he wanted more than that," she said, answering her own question. "Naked men don't smile like that if they're only asking for a donation to charity." She took another sip and thanked heaven for tequila as she felt her muscles begin to relax. She was more tense than she'd realized, though it was silly of her to think she wouldn't have been—not with a hunky Tarzan wannabe out there writing love letters in the sand.

   "Love letters, hell," Drusilla muttered. "He doesn't want love. He wants sex."

   "And what's so wrong with that?" the tequila asked. "Sex is good!"

   "But he's an alien! Hides out in the jungle and talks to amphibians and, and"—blowing out an exasperated breath, she added—"is the sexiest thing I've ever seen in my life! Man, would I like to—"

   "What?"

   "Nothing."

   "Nothing, hell! You'd like to do everything you can think of with him—and you know it!" the tequila said wisely.

   "I'd like to do a few things to him that I
haven't
thought of yet," Drusilla admitted. "If only Lester hadn't shown up and told me how dangerous he was!"

   "What makes you so sure he was talking about Manx?"

   "Oh, he had to be!" Drusilla insisted. "I mean, the guy
purrs,
for heaven's sake!"

   "What about the fangs and claws?"

   "Well, I don't know about that," Drusilla conceded. "Fangs, yes, but I've never seen Manx close enough to be sure… but even if he does have claws, I shouldn't have believed that bit about his being dangerous, should I? Zef knows him better, and he never said Manx was dangerous."

   "No," the tequila said firmly. "He's just a nice, big, purring kitty who wouldn't hurt a fly. Now, stop worrying and drink up!"

***

Drusilla awoke later that evening resolving never to ask Klog for a "strong one" again. "Never had a margarita talk back to me before," she said with a grimace. Just rolling over on the couch was enough to make her head swim. "Hey, Klog!" she called out, her voice sounding oddly feeble. "What's for dinner? No, wait… you can't answer that. Never mind. Surprise me."

   Klog had come in response to her summons and hovered for a moment as though waiting for her to make another request, but then the droid suddenly floated off down the stairs, returning a few minutes later carrying a row of fish hanging from a stick.

   "Where'd you get that?" she inquired. "Oh, no, wait. I forgot: yes or no questions only." She paused to rephrase the question. "Did you catch them yourself?" If so, Klog had to be the fastest and most efficient fisherman in the known universe.

   Klog buzzed and headed for the kitchen.

   It took Drusilla a moment to realize that the droid had scurried off before she could ask him another question— and probably on purpose, too. She got up from her chair and staggered after him, hanging cautiously onto each stick of furniture she passed.

   "Did Manx give you those?" she demanded.

   Klog chirped and whipped out a knife and began to fillet the fish, prompting Drusilla to back off just in case Klog thought she was asking too many questions and decided to fillet
her.

   "Okay, I'll just leave you to it, then," Drusilla said hastily. "Oh, and don't forget you're supposed to fix him a plate too—oh, wait—you never forget anything, do you?"

   Klog didn't bother to answer that.

   Drusilla left the kitchen and drifted over to her canvas. On a whim, she sat down and painted in a shadowy figure standing half-concealed by the foliage on the far side of the lake. "He certainly is spectacular," she murmured. As she was adding his long black hair, the urge to run her fingers through it engulfed her like a tidal wave. From there it was a short step to a full-blown fantasy where she was trailing her fingers through all the hair on his body, focusing on the curly nest in his groin. She could almost feel it tickling her cheek as she kissed him all over. Last, but not least, she kissed his cock and then licked it. Then he was doing it to her—kissing her in places she'd never been kissed before, licking her like she was made of candy…

   Glancing up at the window, Drusilla was surprised to find that it was now fully dark outside. What had seemed like mere moments of daydreaming had stretched on for at least an hour.

   "This has been
such
a weird day!" she sighed. "Hey, Klog! Got those fish ready yet?"

   Klog chirped and set her plate out on the table before beeping twice.

   Getting to her feet more steadily this time, Drusilla was able to negotiate the distance without difficulty. "Did you feed the cat?" she asked as she seated herself at the table.

   With another chirp, Klog gestured toward the patio.

   "Mmm, getting more communicative, I see," she said approvingly. "Sign language is good."

   Klog responded by squirting tea into her glass.

   "I guess I should just accept the fact that you can read minds," she went on, "but it's a little disconcerting. I mean, I know you're not magical, but it's uncanny the things you seem to know. They must've programmed you so you couldn't spill the beans on how that works, huh?"

   Klog chirped.

   "Thought so." Then something else occurred to her. "Did you call Manx for dinner, or did you just let him find it on his own?"

Klog chirped and then buzzed.

   "Yes to the first, no to the second." The fish was very tasty, but the thought of kissing Manx all over was making her crave something sweet. "Is there any of that cheesecake left?"

   Klog pulled a plate out of his "belly" and set it on the table. Drusilla stared at the creamy confection smothered in strawberries and imagined Manx tasting it for the first time. "Stuff's downright orgasmic," she muttered. "Don't give any of that to Manx," she said told Klog. "I want to do it." The fact that she wanted to feed it to Manx while sitting on his cock was a bit strange—she couldn't remember ever having wanted to do something like that with a guy she'd never even spoken to. Must be the tequila, she decided. If that was the case… Giggling, she said, "Hey, Klog, how about another drink?"

   Klog hesitated as though trying to decide whether or not he should cut her off.

   "No, don't," she said. "I might actually go out and talk to him if you did. Don't believe I've ever tried to strike up a conversation with a naked cat-man before," she said thoughtfully. "Not sure what I should say. What are your thoughts, Klog?"

   Klog merely mumbled.

   "Yeah," Drusilla said shortly. "You're right. But it looks like I'll have to if I'm ever going to have a conversation with someone besides Zef. Talking with Roger and the local women was okay, of course, but I—" Remembering that Klog had set a plate out for him, she jumped up from the table so quickly her chair fell over as she darted to the door for a peek.

   The table on the patio was empty. Manx had already been there and gone. "Well, I guess all that smiling and sand writing was just to get dinner, then." Disappointed, she went back to her own lonely meal, thinking that > ~ < must have meant, "I'll supply the fish if you'll cook them."

   "Not very romantic," she grumbled, but her expres sion brightened as she realized that it
had
been a dinner invitation—of a sort.

   After dinner Drusilla went out on the deck and leaned against the railing to gaze out at the lake. The rising moon was reflected clearly on the rippling surface, while the dark, dense jungle crowded close to the shore. A lively breeze picked up the hem of her dress and played around her legs. It was the perfect setting for a romantic tryst, complete with longing gazes and desperate kisses. Sighing, Drusilla real ized that the only romance she was likely to get on this trip would be the kind that took place in her own mind—unless she could get up the nerve to actually talk to Manx.