Handsome Devil (10 page)

This time I laugh for real. Well, one thing was intergalactic—males don't like playtime to be interrupted. “Because I realized something—don't ask me what—that made me decide this is not the way I want to go with you.”

He shakes his head. “That does not make sense. You are aroused. I am aroused. We want each other.”

I have to settle for the lamest sentence in the universe. “It's a mental thing.” I try not to cringe. God, it's like saying 'it's not you, it's me'. Ugh.

He hasn't budged an inch. I can see that brain working through the situation. As physically superior as M'anu is, a girl would think he doesn't have too much upstairs. That's not the case here. Just by talking to him I know he's no meathead. He's just simplistic. Basic. Not a lot of gray, complicated area with this guy.

If you're a threat, he kills you. If you're attractive, he fucks you. If his brother needs him, he gets his hands dirty. No bullshit.

Who knew a male like this would intrigue me?

I take hold of his wrist gently. So far he's been up front with me, and I don't want to be the one that brings in games to our interactions. I have to give a better explanation. “I didn't dance for you on the bridge, and I felt bad for making you think so. Nobody's ever picked me up that effortlessly before and it called to my primitive instinct.”

He's pleased by that, his lips quirking.

“
But,” I add, because there always is one, “I think that this heat between you and me is just something that happens between two people too close together for too long. It's not something I would feel normally.”

That wipes his smile away and he huffs.

My fingers wrap around his wrist tighter and I tug, signaling that I want to be let go. I can never in a million years make him release me if he doesn't want to. He doesn't
look
like he wants to, glaring down at me like I just took away his favorite gun.
 

It's only when he lets go that I realize it never occurred to me that he wouldn't.

Holy hell. I've placed a lot of trust in this man. I had no idea how much until this very second.

Talk about scary.

But M'anu being M'anu and not some human male, he doesn't step out of my space. He's there, bigger than life as ever, challenging me. I know what this means. If I want this to come to an end, I have to be the one that backs down, not him.

Animal kingdom alpha male stuff.

I shake my head. Dudes.

I've got a lot of pride, but I'm not the kind of girl who will belabor a point for the sake of hubris. Time to make my exit.

I step around his—and I can't stress this enough—wide body, his arousal cloaking him like a second skin. For an instant I wonder what he looks like under that gray long sleeved shirt, and that is seriously the last thing I ought to be thinking about right now.
Get it together. Geez.
 

“
Oh.” And this is important, too important to take a smooth stage left without saying something. “Agmoiria is just a title, by the way. My name is Jules.”

xxxxx

That did not end in a satisfactory fashion.

I stand stock still, gaze centered on the empty spot the female occupied a moment ago. I listen to the echoing of her retreating footsteps, my head tilting so I can catch the very last vibration before she rounds the corner and disappears. The white noise of the ship cocoons the silence once more.

I allow it to sink over me, absorbing the hemming and hawing of the vessel. It soothes me, and yet the familiarity of my surroundings allows me to focus on the new, intoxicating scent in the air.

I inhale. Female.

The female.

Agmoiria.

Jules.

Her name, or title as she calls it, does not concern me. What preoccupies me is not that sound. It is her smell, and beneath that the perfume that signals she desires me. It pulls at my mind, which urges my body to turn and finish what we have barely started.

I move my head minutely to the side, looking at the rail she has abandoned. I lift a finger and trail the tip over the bannister. Still warm.

She believes that this is done. “A mental thing” she said. She claims that our attraction is due to close quarters. I see no reason the origin should influence the outcome. I want her. She wants me. That is enough.

I begin to walk, allowing my feet to take me where they will, one precise step at a time.

I didn't dance for you on the bridge, and I felt bad for making you think so.

For a moment she pitied me. Even if it led to her eventual arousal, the thought is galling.

But she desires a strong male, I remind myself. I did not imagine the lust I smelled.
Still
smell. She finds my physical ability to lift her attractive. Primitive.
 

'Primitive' is a concept with which I am intimately familiar.

My people value a balance of technology and tradition. We embrace the convenience of space and all of its wonders, but part of us will never be more than we are. It's encoded in our nature. Our need for combat is merely one of our engrained behaviors.

The need to mate, for example. She may find it strange, but Feruz's actions are nothing exceptional for Ferissians. He found a female he admired and wanted to pair with. Doing what he must to ensure that is a choice, yes, but our characters are uniquely suited to seeing that task through to the end.

It is now my turn to choose.

How strange that realization is. This was to be a simple mission. Grab the girl and get her out of the way once she serves her purpose. Yet I recognize this moment for what it is—seen through the lens of my people, it shines clear and bright.

She will no doubt find it curious and sudden. That does not agitate me. Ferissians are a practical people. Warriors especially are taught to capitalize on an enemy's weakness while eliminating their own. That means accumulating weapons, skills, and people that will make them stronger. Feruz decided Bethina, while wild, complemented him.

Does the Agmoiria complement me?

I continue to walk, each step matching a thought. This is no instant decision, no choice to be taken lightly. All the angles and variables must be considered, yet the end comes down to one of two answers: yes or no.

The Agmoiria is a fierce woman from a clan of formidable females. That is desirable. I am after all a fan of combat.

She is however small. Weak in comparison to myself.

She does not cower.

She has the capacity to be shrill when I do something to displease her.

When I please her, however...I rumble at the memory.

Despite my initial impression, the Agmoiria is indeed intelligent.

Ironically a little
too
intelligent. It would be very difficult to keep her in check. The incident of the bridge comes to mind. Yet her creativity and resourcefulness are to be esteemed.
 

She is correct; a small space and strange circumstances has made me aware of her in a way I would not have been previously. Regardless, I have taken note, and there is no undoing that. I do not find her to be unworthy. I find her...enthralling. Still, this is not about emotional or physical response alone. A lifetime is very, very long when spent with the wrong partner.

Half-human, delicate of structure in contrast with myself, childbirth would not be easy for her.

Not impossible, however. Nor are offspring a foregone conclusion.  

There is, of course, the subject of her opinion of me to consider. I have seen and smelled her body's sexual response. Certainly pleasing, but every Ferissian knows that lust is nothing compared to the crucial factor...

Though what that crucial factor is
, I ruefully acknowledge as I contemplate the metal grating that comprises the catwalk,
remains to be seen
.
 

I have reached the point where the corridor divides. I may go left, right, or straight. I stand, head down, scenting the air. My head turns right. One foot, and then the other follows. The long corridor hides the door from view, but I can hear the female rattling around the mess noisily. The clanking of a plate and cup echo beneath the hum of the ship.

The portal reveals itself eventually, and I stand in it, watching the Agmoiria mutter under her breath as she slaps at the food processor. I'm not certain why a woman who can navigate a computer as if it were her native environment would believe physical force would help.

She pauses, as if catching my scent in return, and turns her head. Her eyes are not as bright as before, but she offers me a sheepish smile. “I can't get it to work,” she admits. “New model?”

There is a flush on her cheeks, but she does not avoid my gaze. Part of me expected her to stutter and lower her head in embarrassment. I am gratified that she has not chosen that path. I cannot deny that there is an awkward tension that grows with each moment I stay silent, but she simply lifts a brow and goes back to her work.

She stabs uselessly at a few buttons. “I haven't been in space in a while. I'm kind of out of touch with these things.”

I am not certain what I am looking for. I think perhaps I am hoping a secret will reveal itself and answer my questions. I do not lean against the wall, nor do I step inside the room. I remain on my side while she remains on hers, wondering if there is something I am missing that will bridge the divide. “You must hold the green button for four seconds to confirm.”

She tilts her head. “Oh.” She follows my instructions. “Sweet. I'm starving.”

Her hand, innumerable times smaller than mine, continues to rest on the keypad without pressing anything. I detect a hesitation I have not seen before from her, and when she looks up, it's with an uncomfortable swallow. “Hey. You were shot back there, weren't you. A couple of times. That's why you showered and changed shirts.” Her gaze flickers down. “And pants.”

I turn my head, waiting, hands at my sides in their customary positioning.

She turns her softly curved body towards me, unconsciously mirroring my stance. “Are you okay now?”

I blink once, then nod.

“
Good.” Concern morphs to something that twinkles in her eye. “Wouldn't want you dropping dead on me. I need you to steer the ship.”  

There's a curious warming in the right half of my chest. I decide to take one step forward. One step only, just enough to place me inside the room.

 
She scratches the back of her neck, then tugs at the knot of her hair. “I mean, you've had a rough night, right? Stabbed, beaten, shot.” She pulls the tie from the tendrils but catches them before they can tumble free. Confident fingers expertly smooth the strands back to her nape, where she creates a sort of bun with a few twists. “Boarded by pirates, outsmarted by a half-human. You've been busy.”

The warming grows, spreading out and down.

I advance again. One step.

Hair done, she puts her hands on her hips and looks up at me expectantly. “So, you hungry?”

She missed one lock. It hangs next to her ear, a solitary curl that fascinates me.

“
M'anu, you're doing the not blinking thing again.” She frowns. “Are you angry?”

I shake my head. Truth.

“
Upset?”

Again, no.

She twists her mouth and wrinkles her nose. “Deep in thought?”

Yes.

She runs her tongue along her teeth. “Uh huh.” She blatantly debates with herself. “Look, I'm sorry.” Her shoulders contract in a shrug. “We started off on the wrong foot and I'm pretty sure it's not a  situation that's going to clear itself up. You're intense and I'm...a word I can't think of at the moment, but trust me, we're going to get on each other's nerves a lot. Might as well make the best of it until we part ways. What do you say?”

Ah, the question of the hour. Superstition is extremely impractical, but fortunate coincidence has won more than one battle in the course of history.

The answer reveals itself in reflex, an unconscious unfurling that fills me with a sense of peace. It is the right choice, and once made, one I will not stray from.

I reach up with deliberate intent, winding the curl around the edge of my finger, very aware of her watching me. I study her eyes. The brown is not so flat as I originally surmised. There are layers of color beneath, which one must observe from close range. The hair I have captured is soft and shiny. Healthy. Inviting.

I tuck it behind her ear, trailing my finger over the skin behind the shell until it settles on the pulse just beneath. It dances. The knowledge causes the heat in my breast to solidify and become permanent.

When I again meet her gaze, a smile is playing across my lips, real and unencumbered. “Yes.”

Chapter Seven

Something in me stills, alert. That one word has a lot of gravity—a monumental amount of meaning—that is totally mismatched with the question. “You just decided something, didn't you.”

His smile gets bigger
—revealing those intense, sharp teeth—
and it takes over his eyes. Oh yeah, he's looking way too satisfied. Big things are going down.

I have this feeling that this has all happened before, like he's in the habit of making unilateral decisions. I don't know why he'd, you know, ask me or anything, but part of me feels like he should. “Care to elaborate?”

Pink bangs float forward as he tilts his head down. “I have reached a conclusion, Agmoiria.”

Again with the Agmoiria. Whatever. Maybe it's a culture thing or something, and he's not allowed to say my given name. It could happen. Mentioning it again is just quibbling and a giant waste of time.

The way he's looking at me takes precedence. M'anu is...warm. The kind of warm that tells me he's settled his stubborn self on some kind of choice (him announcing it is superfluous, really). The kind of warm that reminds me a little of the almost-seduction on the bridge, but more meaningful in nature. “Would that conclusion have anything to do with us?”