Her Alien Savior (10 page)

Get your mind off of that. Now. This is pointless.

He turned the burner on the stove. Nothing happened. Nothing except a hissing sound. Maybe this was normal? Maybe stoves hissed so that those cooking would know it was on. But where was the heat? He touched the silver circles. Nothing. He hovered his hand over the four circular areas. No heat. Odd. Maybe it didn’t work.

He’d go ask her. Or should he?

A loud bumping knock from down the hall, in the direction of her room answered that. Worried she may be hurt, he sprinted the few yards and pushed the door open with his forearm.

Sacred Writings in stone and blood!

She was naked, leaning over a chair that had fallen. She jumped up, fallen chair forgotten. What he couldn’t forget was the sight that had greeted him. A firm, round ass, curvy, full parted just enough to see a glimpse of—

She screamed. “What are you doing?”

“I heard a noise.” He turned his head away, kept his gaze down. “I wasn’t sure you were unhurt. It seemed loud from the kitchen.

“You can look now.”

Was she inviting him? To—

He turned her way. Oh, she was covered.
That’s what she meant.

Marissa wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“I don’t know. Not familiar. Maybe it is the coffee?”

“No, it smells like gas. Is the burner—” She took off for the kitchen, wrapped in a sheet that trailed behind her.

He ran after her, not sure why she thought the kitchen would smell like gas. He’d been by the gas station, this smell was nothing like that.

“What the hell happened here?” Her hand was over her mouth, the sheet slipping on one side.

“I made coffee.” He looked at the Mr. Coffee. The problem was the white coffee had overflowed the cup and was surrounding the coffee-maker in an ivory pool.

“Oh my God. The burner. “She turned the knob on the stove. “Why was this on?” She scanned the counters. “There isn’t even any food out.”

“I was going to make you breakfast.” He could feel the anxiety building in him. He was such a failure at this mission. Stupid, nonsensical mission. And just as quickly, his pulse escalated, and his wings pushed up against his shoulder blades.

“What is up with the coffee machine? What’s this white crap?” She opened a drawer and took out a towel, popped open the lid on Mr. Coffee and peered inside. “You put creamer in here? Tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I didn’t. I put Coffee Mate.” He grabbed another towel and began the process of sopping up the white liquid, as quickly as he could, hoping to erase all residue evidence of his failings. Give him a weapon, and he would rule, but this domesticated, human stuff—failure. He shoved the towel into the white mess.

“You—” she gave him a strange look. Like maybe he’d lost it. “You put creamer in there. Coffee Mate. Creamer.” As if she was talking to a baby.

He wanted to hope she wasn’t saying that what he put in there wasn’t coffee. But he knew that was exactly what she was saying.
Exactly.

“What were you thinking? Are you okay? Do you know how to make coffee?” She tossed the first towel in the sink and grabbed another.

This one he could answer truthfully. “No, I don’t.”

She paused her wiping, looked up at him, green eyes wide, mouth in an O. “You’ve never made coffee? Ever?”

He put his finger under her chin to close her mouth. “No.” He was getting angry. Angry at himself for messing everything up. Angry at Kal for sending him here. Angry at this girl for—

What was he angry with her for? Angry that he couldn’t control his pulse around her. That’s what. And that was just for starters. He angled himself away from her, in case the wings erupted enough to be noticeable under his shirt. Damn, she’d call the police if that happened. Then he’d be in a heap of trouble.

“Something weird is going on here.” She backed up, put her hand close to a wooden square with several knife handles spiking out like sentries.

“Weird how?” He backed up, anything to keep her from thinking he was dangerous. Anything to keep her from reaching for a weapon. He’d have to kill her. That would make his mission a failure.

No, that’s not what bothered him. He couldn’t imagine those green eyes not lit up, not on fire.

“Your skin. It—” She rubbed her eyes. “I think I’m seeing things. Your skin was just—I swear, it looked like it was a glowing, shimmering orange color.”

He forced a laugh. Hoping it came out authentic. “Orange? I think you had too much last night.”

Her giggle was sheepish, so was the look on her face. Still, a cute little laugh. She walked to the counter on the other side of the kitchen and sat at an extra tall barstool, put her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. “It’s been a day—week—life.”

“Are you okay?” Great. Just great. Now he’d gone off and asked her to bring him into her life. He’d start to care and—

Who are you kidding, you already care.
Damn that conscience, or whatever that was. But it was right. He did care about her. How could he have come to care about a woman that he’d known for only 24 hours? He looked at the kitchen clock, a silver square without numbers on it, with hands that were shaped like elongated triangles. No, less than twenty-four hours. In two hours it would be twenty-four hours since he first entered
Two West Two
.

She shook her head, still in her hands. “Nah, I’m not that okay, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out.”

He took a step closer, hoping to console her, anything to make her feel better, but the towel slipped with the headshake. And then slipped lower, exposing creamy skin and the edge of one rosy nipple.

If he told her about it, then she’d think he was a pervert for looking. At the same time, he didn’t want to take his eyes off her body. He turned away, focused on the greenery outside the kitchen window, but couldn’t get the image out of his mind. She’d probably think he was cold for not acknowledging her distress, but—

Curses. He couldn’t just let her sit there in pain and not comfort her. He turned her way and without casting a single glance below her neck, he put his hands on her bare shoulders. Her skin gleamed in the morning sunlight, her flesh warm to his hand.

Goosebumps rose beneath his fingertips. Still sitting, she rose her eyes to his, her lower lip trapped between her teeth.

Finn traced the curve of her lip with this thumb, releasing it from her teeth. Her eyes left his, travelling down his chest, then lower. In the pants, the same reaction tugged at him, reminding him how much he wanted her.

She raised a brow, then looked him in the eye again. Her chest was unmoving, like she was holding her breath.

Chapter 21

Marissa

She couldn’t believe where her thinking was going. She could, but then no, she really couldn’t. She found herself wanting to be give into all the naughtiness she’d always dreamed of yielding to but never had. Her life had always been so PG-13, and now she wanted to elevate it to triple X, completely bypassing anything in between. She wanted to unbuckle his pants and see him, feel him. Even taste him.

His thumb was still on her lip, she lowered her head and took it in her mouth, sucking on it. He moaned. His chest swelled with a deep breath. Marissa put a hand on his stomach, then raised it toward his chest.

With a sweeping move he picked her up under her arms and placed her on the countertop. The sheet dropped with the motion. He sucked a breath just as the sheet fell.

Marissa didn’t care she was naked, didn’t care that she was probably a hungover-looking mess. None of that mattered.

His eyes were focused on her breasts. Her nipples peaked, hardened under his glance, wanting to be touched. Her breathing shallowed, and still the man did nothing but stare at her.

“Finn.” His name was almost a whisper on her lips, she couldn’t manage much more than that. “Don’t just stare at me. Please. Can you—” What was she thinking? Was she really going to ask him to touch her?

He took a foot in each hand, raised her feet and put her heels on the counter. The undertaking spread her legs. Cool air passed over her heated dampness, the sensation another form of foreplay. He stared between her legs, his tongue moistening his lips. It was innocent, but so suggestive, Marissa put her hands behind his head and fought the urge to give it the tiniest pull forward. Lord, she wanted this man so much. Wanted to feel him on her, around her,
in
her
.

Finn traced his fingers from her heel, up her calf, under her knee, around and on the inside of her thigh, his movements slow, deliberate, gentle. Deep within, Marissa’s muscles flexed in response. His fingers stopped at her folds, pressed down then drew her open.

At the burst of coolness on her inner folds and wet center, a gasp ripped from her lungs and her head flew back, tapping the cabinet behind her.

Finn lowered his head, his breath warm on the same areas that had just cooled. She held her breath, waiting, wanting knowing, and yet knowing nothing at all.

Chapter 22

Finn

Her face was flushed, her hands applied the tiniest pressure behind his head, pressing him closer to the place he wanted to be. Her skin was cool, goose bumps on her flesh as he traced the contours of her legs, thighs, until finally reaching her dark rose folds. He touched the fleshiness, enjoying the way she contracted under his touch, he spread her open, juices evident at her entrance.

He breathed her in, savoring the scent of her, the essence of this human female, this woman. He bent his head closer, and closer, going slow, giving her a chance to push him away, the whole time absorbing her scent and wondering if her taste matched it.

When she didn’t push him away and driven to distraction by his shaft pulsing a primal beat, he lowered his head, touching the tip of his tongue to the tiny button he’d exposed. Beneath his fingertips, her flesh quivered, her legs opening wider.

Wondering what would please her, he covered her clit with his mouth, sucking gently, basing his rhythm and pressure on her reactions.

He released her clit and ran his tongue downward, allowing it to slip inside the slightest bit on the return journey.

“I can’t believe this.” Her voice was sex-rough, a tortured whisper.

He raised his head, her essence on his tongue. “Shall I stop?”

“Oh, god no. It’s just, this isn’t who I am. Is it?” She ran her fingers over her face, through her hair. “I barely know you.”

“I feel like I’ve always known you. And yet—”

“I know. I know.” Her breathing was rapid, hasty. “It’s the same for me. But still—”

Wracked by confusion, still tasting her, Finn came to a decision that his throbbing member protested against. The Asazi part of his brain ceased to exist. It was his lust and his emotions that ruled now. And then suddenly, something defeated the Asazi part that wasn’t working and even defeated the lust that threatened to overtake him. He shifted away, put his hands on her knees, closed her legs, helped her off the counter.

Asazi curses and damnation! This was hard, walking away from her, from her scent, taste, feel. He battled to control his lust.

A gentle kiss on his mind, he placed his lips on hers. Her mouth parted, his tongue acted on its own volition, entering, exploring, reaching, doing all the things it wanted to do below.

He cupped her breast, his thumb twirling the pearlized hardened button, rolling it between his thumb and finger, amazed at the instant response. Her breast swelled within his palm. Her chest rising and falling at a rapid rate.

He took a half step back, retrieved her sheet and reluctantly wrapped it around her. “You go get dressed, I’ll clean the kitchen up, and we’ll go to breakfast. My treat. What else do you have to do? You have two days off. May as well enjoy one of them. Who knows, I may be able to help you solve a problem or two.”

Her laugh was wry, but she stood and headed down the hall, sheet bunched in her fist, covering all of the parts he’d love to see in greater detail—explore, taste, savor.

Chapter 23

Marissa

What was wrong with her? Marissa closed the door to her bedroom, leaned against it, knees weak. She could taste her flavor on his mouth. She licked her lips, the desire to be with him refusing to subside.

She didn’t need to be going to breakfast with him. She needed to be—

Needed to be what? It wasn’t like she could do what she normally did. Her life trajectory had suddenly tangented into a whole new direction.
Yeah, a direction that sucks. No job, no nothing.
Her father would be very disappointed in her, that she was losing
Two West Two
.

As if you didn’t want to leave it for the last few years. As if you weren’t tired of the restaurant business.
Okay, that was true. She was tired of it. She wanted to quit and sell it a few years ago. And when she told Dad about it, he said, ‘Sell it. Get out of there. Go be happy.’

Her response to her father—
she felt an obligation to the community to keep it around. That it was the oldest restaurant in the area, and she couldn’t just sell it, what if the new owners didn’t care as much.

And her father had replied, ‘That’s not your problem. Your customers are busy making themselves happy. You should do the same.”

Yet some screwed up sense of obligation kept her there. For years. She wadded and threw the sheet on the bed, disgusted with herself. But there was this part of her, a secret part, which wanted to rejoice. She now could walk away from
Two West Two
, and not feel guilty. She did her best, and circumstances outside of her control had put an end to this chapter of her life, an end to
Two West Two.
An end to obligation.

Responsible, duty-bound Marissa could relax, and look into pursuing the things in life she’d wanted, but still she felt like she was being bad.
What the hell is wrong with me?