MoonRush (17 page)

And that was not okay.

Mia took out her scanner and peered at the readout once more. These findings couldn’t be accurate. They just couldn’t.

Activity in different areas of the brain combined with certain specific wavelengths were an excellent indicator of the emotions or mental states the subject was experiencing. Mia had found over the length of her studies and experiments that men were typically at a four out of ten on the sexual scale. That was their baseline.

This guy had measured a five. She double-checked the scanner, making sure it was working correctly. Mia would have guessed he would measure in at least at an eight, and that was being generous. Apparently sex was not the only thing this one had on the brain. And the rest of the scan threw Mia off as well. He scored much higher on the cognitive side than their brief conversation would have indicated. More intelligent and far less interested in sex than she ever would have imagined. Being brutally honest with herself, Mia acknowledged that she was fascinated.

She reviewed the t
wo main reasons why this was not acceptable. One, she was too smart to fall for the obvious appeal of a player. Okay, possibly not a player, but whatever. Two, she could not,
would
not, allow anything to get in the way of what she was here to accomplish. She knew firsthand what people were capable of once they realized what she had in her possession. Mia was not going to willingly put herself in a compromis
ing
situation on her own. No matter how charming, how tanned, how…out
-
and
-
out hot the candidate might be.

And this one was all three
—
and then some. It had been a long time since Mia had seen a smile that had that kind of effect on her. And were those lighter streaks in his hair from the sun, or a really good stylist? Mia risked a glance back at the flyboy. Oh, look at that. Shocking. He was already working on someone
who
was probably much more his speed. Blonde, tatted up, enormous fake breasts. The trifecta of tramp.

Mia immediately chastised herself for that last one. The girl plainly had issues
that
she was trying to work through, and sour grapes were not Mia’s style.

But, really? He had moved on
that
fast? It had taken him all of two seconds to start chatting up another woman. If you’re going to work your way through a bar, at least give some sort of pause between attempts, if only in the name of common decency.

At least he had branded himself, bizarre scan or no. Before, it could have been possible that something was there. Now she knew he was just a tiny blip on her radar. Scanner. Whatever. She was an intelligent, accomplished, reasonably balanced woman.
She felt
no need to be swayed from her goals by some slick bad boy. Especially one as clueless and clearly undereducated as this specimen.

Maybe she needed to rethink the whole “reasonably balanced” assumption. Some therapy might not be a bad idea. Mia made a note to herself on her wrist tablet to check into some real live shrinks once she got back to Earth. Not just research this time around.

What was it they said? Something about the cobbler’s kids having the worst shoes? She might not spend a ton of time in self-reflection, but Mia wasn’t the kind of person to shy away from uncomfortable truths, especially about herself. Expediency was the name of the game. You did what you had to do.

Almost of their own volition, her eyes made their way back to the player. Maybe it was the biceps. He did have very nice biceps.

Her wrist tablet dinged with a new message. Her ship would be done refueling in ten minutes. Time to get her head back in the game. She had a job to do.

And sh
e was more than ready to do it.

* * *

Cleo watched from across the lounge as Buton studied the tablet with the mammoth document in front of him with what looked like an old-fashioned magnifying glass. She wondered where he had managed to find it. It seemed so out of place here, where everything strove to be as high
tech as possible.

But, then again, that was Buton. Cleo felt a smile kiss her face as she thought of how Buton had saved the Rogues’ collective butts at the Viking site in Greenland. Jarod had insisted that the volcanic activity was drawing to a close. And like lemmings to the cliff
,
Cleo and the rest had followed him. It was only Buton’s quick thinking and patent-pending insta-heat shielding that saved them from going down with the lava. And that was just one of dozens of such quiet acts of heroism.

Her smile faded
,
though
,
as she looked out into the vast expanse of stars. Buton was good, but could he
really
save them if something went horribly wrong out there? No matter
his cleverness,
the vacuum of space was a tough opponent.

Thoughts like that weren’t going to settle Buton’s stomach
,
though
,
so she strolled over to his table and tossed down the vial of motion-sickness pills. The medicine rattled in its container as it landed in his lap.

“That should help,” Cleo murmured as she plopped down next to Buton in an empty chair. The chair flowed to match her shape, making Cleo want to jump back out of it again. She fought for a moment before she achieved some kind of uneasy truce with the way-too-accommodating piece of furniture.

“Many thanks to you,” Buton replied, taking the medication as
he
nodded to her. She held his gaze for a moment before discomfort caused her to look elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the distant globe of the Earth, the large swath of blue Atlantic Ocean staring right back at her. That was her home
—w
hat lay beneath that bright blue strip. Her life and her love hid beneath those waters. A sharp pang struck her, robbing her breath, leaving her blinking back sudden tears.

“I’m sorry I did not have the opportunity to know Charles.” Buton’s voice was but a whisper
,
yet
it
held such power.

“What?” Cleo brushed away her distress along with the unformed tears.

“He must have been an incredible man for you to have loved him so.”

Cleo forced a snicker. “He was just a good lay that turned out to have a good job for a marine biologist.”

Once more, Buton surprised her. “Your continued presence with the Rogues seems to belie that sentiment.” His face was kind, compassionate. He wasn’t pushing or intruding, just…observing.

However
,
those observations were uncomfortable. She fumbled for a response, and when none was forthcoming, she
rose
up from the table.

“Speaking of which, I’d better make sure Jarod isn’t trying to buy the station or something.”

She tried to make her stroll away from the table appear casual,
and
then she realized Buton had gone back to his studies. For a guy who struggled to say what his favorite color was, given the innumerable shades within the color spectrum, Buton could shelve emotions pretty damn quickly.

Unlike Cleo
,
whose stomach still churned with thoughts of
Chuck
. Her gaze drifted once to the sparkling ocean, then back to Buton. Perhaps this trip would provide some distance
from her very earthbound concerns.

* * *

Jarod stifled a yawn. What was wrong with him?  He had shaken off his encounter with the Asian chick and gotten his mojo back. Two laughs, one wink, and even a drink sent over to him. Then he had hit the freakin’ jackpot. Jarod was sitting next to one of the most stunning blondes he had met in his life. He resisted the urge to slap himself in the face.

This girl had curves in all the right places, and the curves were all
dangerous
. Her skin was a combination of molecular tanning and glowing tats. Jarod imagined she had an interesting piercing or two hidden away. Oh, and to top it all off, it was pretty clear
that
the girl had daddy issues. All in all, it was looking like the nearest to a sure thing Jarod could ever hope to ask for.

They had glided through the initial steps of the let’s-get-naked dance with no real missteps. The leaning forward. The thighs that brushed together
ever so softly. The laugh that ended with her hand on his arm. They were a casual sex match made in heaven.

And yet…

Jarod just wasn’t feeling it. Sure
,
he put in a valiant effort to appear interested in what the blonde was chattering on about. He knew
that
if he could just stay focused for five more minutes…hell, five seconds…he’d have more visual and physical entertainment than he knew what to do with for the next hour and a half.

But wouldn’t you know it? That Asian chick had somehow managed to park herself right in his line
of vision
. Well, okay, he had picked his seat. But he wouldn’t have picked it if she had just left the casino, like a good little man-hater should. Instead
,
she was right here, messing with his game.

Game. Blonde. Right.

She had been saying something, hadn’t she? Something about a layover and getting a room? Finding ways to keep each other entertained? Dammit.

Her voice tuned back in
.
“Hello? Mr. Always-Ready-For-An-Adventure?”

“Sorry
.
Y
ou were saying?” Jarod tried not to make it sound lame.

It sounded lame. Clearly.

“If that’s the length of your attention span, I’ll take my chances with one of the
’
49ers.” She stormed off, her very round, very pert posterior mocking him as she left. And the comparison to a
’
49er? That was just harsh. Even if that’s exactly what he was trying to become, there was no call for that kind of talk.

A voice called over his shoulder. “Real smooth
.
” Jarod would know that tone of condescension anywhere. Cleo. “Now I can see why you’re such a lad
ie
s
’
man.”

Jarod tried to sound casual and relaxed. “Hey. I’m working on my long game.”

“Long game? You do remember that we’re leaving in just over an hour?”

“Oh, see, right there is your problem. You have totally underestimated my skills. My long game lasts a grand total of fifteen minutes. Plenty of time left.” Jarod smirked at her.

Cleo snorted. “Fifteen minutes? You might not want to advertise that little fact before you close the deal.”

“Wait. That’s not…” Jarod saw Cleo’s smile widen and forced himself to settle back in his chair. He waved his hand in her general direction. “Beat it, Cleo. You’re messing with my mojo.”