Parallel Seduction (32 page)

Wide-eyed, he gaped at her, then with a nod, gently slipped one finger inside of her, sliding it back and forth, feeling the dampness, the warmth that he'd caused. She closed her own hand over his, felt his movement within her, caressing the back of his hand as he stroked her.

She panted, arching into the pillows of the sofa, and after a moment he retracted his finger, trailing it—and a path of wetness—along her thigh. He said nothing for many long moments, and then slowly rose to his feet, walking away from her and toward the kitchen.

It was interesting watching his gait, how poised, measured, proud it was—so incredibly graceful in such a large, bulky creature. She suspected that he perceived his Antousian body quite differently; he despised his genetic heritage, so of course he reviled this form, and couldn't see the beauty in it.

He braced both hands along the kitchen counter, shaking his head from side to side in seeming disbelief. She studied his backside, the powerful musculature that rippled along his entire naked body. He reminded her of some Greek warrior, captured in stone: monumental and fearsome, but the very essence of raw beauty. When long moments spun out, her heart began to hammer. Was she pushing too hard with him, and too fast? Working too pointedly to make him accept himself—and her love for him?

But after another moment, he surprised her by throwing his head back and releasing a wonderful, deep, rumbling laugh. And then he turned to face her.

"You love me. You honestly love everything about me." There was wonder in his large alien eyes, amazement, as he studied her from across the room. She could read everything in his expressions, no matter the form.

She wrinkled her nose, beaming back at him. "Of course."

He smiled gloriously, and then with a slight whoop and holler, rushed her, Changing before he'd even reached where she sat naked and watching. Practically landing atop her, he swept her into his arms there on the sofa, rolling her beneath him. "If my ugly cuss of an Antousian self turns you on"—he laughed some more, beaming—"then you really
must
think I'm an okay guy."

She gazed up into his eyes, stroking his black hair. "An okay guy? Is that how you'd put it?"

"Wouldn't you?"

She blew on his lips softly, trying to tickle him. Maybe even to soothe his war-ravaged soul. "I'd say handsome, gorgeous, beautiful. Everything I have ever wanted—in any man—for all my adult life."

He ran a thumb over her lower lip, studying her face. The light dusting of freckles, the lovely gray eyes—eyes that were able to focus on him now, giving them so much more power over his heart. Inside, he felt as if something that had grown tough and cold—so many years ago—had finally begun to thaw. His bare body atop hers, he felt his cock respond, twitching and thickening a bit more. So much foreplay, and now there was only one damned thing he wanted—to take Hope Harper, and not with reflexive cuffs binding his body.

Freely, that was how he wanted her—freely with his heart and mind and soul.

"Hope." He nuzzled her collarbone. "I'm gonna stand up, and we're going to make love."

"Stand up?" Her gray eyes widened curiously.

He gave her a smug grin. "I'm of the opinion that you like doing it against walls." She flushed instantly. "And since that was our first time in another life of ours—and this is our real first time, the one that truly counts—I kinda figure that it's my lady's pleasure. Walls it shall be."

She swallowed visibly. "I'd do it with you against any wall you can think of."

Scott rose off of her, working to determine the best setting for this interlude of theirs. Outside the large penthouse windows the night was dark, but a slight swirling of snow could be seen, illuminated by their interior lights. This living room didn't offer the right wall, he decided, or enough privacy, given the large plate-glass windows, so he strode toward the master bedroom.

Ah! Here, indeed,
he thought, noticing the short distance from wall to opulent bed. It was like every dream and vision he'd had of that cheap, tawdry motel room in their other timeline, only shined up, made perfect. That this reality was so much more right than their original one gave him immense hope for their future.

With a light, teasing whistle, he called to her in the next room. "Hey, baby doll, come and get it." Folding both arms across his chest, he leaned against the wall, assuming his sultriest, most seductive look.

"You sound like a dinner bell." She laughed, appearing in the doorway.

"If I'm your meat.…" He touched his erection and gave it a meaningful tug. "Then you're my gravy."

"Food and sex do not go together that way." She swatted at him, and he swung her up into his arms; she wrapped her strong, lithe legs about him, and just like that, he had her pinned against the wall.

"I thought you'd find it sexy." He nibbled at her ear.

"If it were strawberries and champagne.…"

"I'm a vegetarian anyway. It was supposed to be a human joke."

She pressed her face in close to his, and he could feel the heated arousal in her whole body. With one hand she clutched him across his back. "Later, when we're lying in bed, rubbing oil over each other's bodies, and napping and wishing we never had to sleep … you can feed me anything you want then."

"That an invitation, sweetheart?"

"You bet it is."

With a deep, contented sigh of pleasure, he drove his hardened cock up inside of her, sliding easily into the waiting grasp of her warmth. She was the lightest woman he'd ever made love to, so easy to suspend between the wall and his own frantic body. As they drove hard together, he slammed his forearm into the wall over and over, and half prayed that none of the other guests would complain.

Hope arched her petite body, holding fast to Scott's shoulders, but it wasn't like she needed to in order to keep a grip on him. He had a firm, strong hold on her, and with every thrust of his muscular body he drove a little bit deeper inside of her. Tightening her legs around his hips, she squeezed against his cock, and in return he howled softly in pleasure.

She pushed her face against his, breathing hard, and his own huffing breaths filled her ears. "Don't ever stop doing this to me," she murmured, and this finally undid the man completely. With a reverberating growl he drove into her, not working to be gentle, but taking everything they both wanted. She reached climax right as he came within her.

For several moments they clung together, breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes. As she felt him grow softer inside of her, the trickling wetness of his warmth roll down her leg, he became gentle all over again.

With a delicate, careful turn, he carried her toward the bed, her legs still wrapped about him. He eased her down onto the comforter, and together they curled up beside each other, just gazing into the other's eyes.

"You are the most amazing woman I've ever known," he told her softly, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

"Well, maybe you haven't known that many women," she teased, and he grew serious.

"I've been trying to find you for years, Hope. You wouldn't believe how long and how hard I kept on looking—I just never understood what I was really doing. I can see now that a part of me knew you were on the horizon, and I think I got impatient."

"You had a lot of sex with a lot of women," she agreed in understanding.

"I kept looking for you," he amended. Then, curling her up against his own body, molding them together, he whispered, "And I thank All in heaven that I don't have to look anywhere else ever again. We're together, and nobody's ever going to drive us apart."

Hope closed her eyes, still thankful that there was such a marked change when she opened and closed them, not near-blackness all the time.

"Yes, sweetheart." She snuggled up against him, and had to agree.

They'd found each other from across the universe, and no one—not a human or alien—would drive them apart, not ever again.

 

Thank you for purchasing Parallel Seduction. Keep reading to get more info on Deidre's books!

THE PARALLEL SERIES:

 

Next: Parallel Fire (A Novella)

Soldier Anna Draekus firmly believes in business before pleasure. But when an accident leaves her stranded with superior Nevin Daniels, keeping her hands to herself proves to be her biggest challenge yet.

 

Parallel Desire (Book Four)

Scott Dillon is desperately trying to outrun the pain of losing his wife and unborn child. But the past is catching up fast, and the woman who's loved him from afar might be the only one who can keep him from being lost forever.

 

Parallel Attraction (Book One)

Finding a mate is the last thing on Jared Bennett's mind. But the exiled alien king can't deny the primal desire to claim Kelsey Wells as his own, even as a war rages around them.

 

Parallel Heat (Book Two)

Lieutenant Thea Haven was meant to be queen, but her would-be king chose another. While still reeling from the loss, she meets a man that promises to cure her heartbreak – but at what cost?

 

 

GODS OF MIDNIGHT SERIES (Immortal Spartan Warriors):

 

Red Fire (Book One)

Red Kiss (Book Two)

Red Demon (Book Three)

Red Mortal (Book Four)

 

Red Blooded: A Gods of Midnight Novella

“Red Angel,” short story in the On the Hunt anthology

 

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!

A Future

N
o one was coming.
The thought sounded hollow and round, like one of the crudest bullets in the humans' arsenal. There wasn't a soul who could help his wife, no one at all.

Vainly he searched the battlefield for a healer, but they'd been tapped dry by the day's carnage; to the very last man and woman they were spent. The medics were knee-deep in loss and bloodshed, unable to hike the long distance to the wind-battered tent where Hope lay dying as she labored in vain to deliver their baby girl. Human or hybrid, the doctors couldn't say for sure what their child would be, yet Scott Dillon knew one fact for certain: Precious Leisa would be
theirs
. It was the only thing he needed to know about their daughter, born of love in a time of hardship and turmoil—born to them against all odds, including Hope's fragile health.

He could picture the tufts of light blonde hair atop Leisa's head, silvery gold, just like Hope's, and he could already feel her nestling close beneath his chin on cold nights like this one. In a cruel world made so much crueler by the years of endless fighting, their tiny child would smell of innocence. And perfection … of a love that defied battle lines as well as the lines that separated species.

Yes, by All, she would be theirs.

But only if he could get someone—hell, anyone—to deliver their baby girl on the night of this Armageddon.

With the night-vision goggles fixed over his eyes, he scanned the perimeter of the battlefield but still found no one who could help. He'd hiked more than an hour, beyond the defenses of the day's skirmish and onto the next plateau. Blood, bodies, death. There wasn't a soldier he recognized who might help them, just devastating loss in every direction.

Falling to his knees, he lifted his hands in supplication. "Lord of All, please save my wife … our baby girl. Help them, I beg of you." Bowing his head, he reached with every particle of his being, every molecule of his essence and lifelong faith in the One who governed their destinies.

Help them. Take me, but spare them, please!

A rustling of wind caused him to adjust his night-vision goggles and glance up toward the tree line along the ridge. There, kneeling and bent over a fallen soldier, he glimpsed Rory Devlin, one of their strongest and best healers. How he'd missed the man before, he had no idea, but like a gift from above, Rory glowed bright green with energy through his goggles. Without another breath or thought, Scott took off running, sprinting with all his might toward that one gifted healer gleaming out of the darkness, the answer to his prayer.

Time. Just give me one more breath of it
, he begged, stretching his shaking legs as long as they would go.

B
y the time they reached
her, almost another hour had passed. An hour of heartrending, unstoppable moments that Scott Dillon counted off with every endless step. An hour of hiking and dragging their drained bodies over rough terrain, forcing themselves onward. Sighting Rory on the ridge had been a miracle, and for the first time in his quest, he'd allowed himself to truly believe that Hope and Leisa might have a fighting chance for survival.

Arriving back at their shabby encampment, he led the way into their battered tent, but none of his worst imaginings could have prepared him for what he saw: the love of his life, still and motionless. Rory followed quickly on his heels, gasping in shock, but Scott could only stare in mute horror, unable to process the unholy image before him.

"Hope," he whispered, falling to her side. "Sweetheart … love." Only then did he see the swelling bruise along her neck, the purpling outline of fingers around the pale and delicate column of her throat.

Her lovely gray eyes were closed, one hand crumpled across her forehead, the other cupping her full belly in a protective gesture.

"Gods in heaven!" Rory hissed behind him, but Scott could only laugh. Insane—hideous, wrong—but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Rory grasped his shoulder. "Dillon—"

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed, pressing his face against Hope's. She'd wake up; hell, of course she would. It was some kind of sick joke. What else could it be?

Nuzzling her, he whispered, "Sweetheart, knock it off. What're you trying to do to me, huh? Stop this right now!"

Rory tugged at his elbow, but Scott shook him off like he would a rabid dog. "Get the hell outta here!"

"Let me lay hands on her," Rory tried lamely, but Scott's tears blinded him senseless.

"Get out!" Scott screamed, and Rory backed out of the tent, leaving him alone with Hope.

Burying his face against hers, he kept murmuring to her, reaching for their bond. Anything just to wake her up.

"So it comes to this," a chilling voice spoke into the quiet.

Scott jerked his head sideways and saw a giant of a human in the far corner of the tent, sneering, the scent of Hope's death all over him.

For a long, distended moment Scott kept his face against Hope's cool one, time playing out, playing him for the ultimate fool. Until he lunged upward, slamming to his feet and to his fighting senses.

Without a thought or any rational process, he lunged toward the human stranger, both hands about the giant's throat as he tackled him to the ground, all awareness dimming. Struggling, he had the much larger man pinned beneath him almost instantaneously.

Scott sucked at the air all about him, gasping. "How could you … fucking … do—"

His opponent cut him off. "You know how!"

The stranger's human stench was unmistakable as he writhed within Scott's grasp, gurgling and laughing up into his face as they grappled, fought. His enemy had the weight and size advantage, but Scott had the advantage of hatred and fury, pinning the bastard beneath him, both hands stifling breath from the man's throat. Just as this enemy had stolen life from Hope's body.

The human actually half smiled up at him, smirking even as his life was being choked away. As if he knew a secret—as if he knew
why
. Why he'd killed Scott's wife and unborn baby.

And something about that sneer unlocked the berserker within Scott Dillon, caused him to delve deep within his nature as an Antousian shifter, taker of life and being. With one last glance toward Hope, her body lifeless—Leisa lifeless within her, too—Scott waged war upon the human. Probing deep within the stranger, into the marrow of his being, he determined to kill.
To take
. To murder, as his soul mate had been murdered at this dark man's hand.

Scott Dillon became everything he'd always sworn he would never be—something clicked inside him, something driven and dark. He would leave his own mortal body and take possession of his enemy's, thereby snuffing out the oilier man. He would abandon himself so he could choke out every bit of identity that the killer had ever known. He'd always reviled this about his kind, this ability to harvest another living being's body, forcing that person into oblivion. But blinded by grief and fury, it seemed right somehow. It seemed the only possible ending to the life-and-death battle that he waged against the human who writhed beneath him.

"You'll pay." Scott clenched his hands about the human's throat, eyeing him hard with his gazing ability. Searching him totally with his Antousian gift of stealing everything. A life, a body, an identity. Images invaded Scott's mind, flashes of a dusty road, a military installation, a corporate-looking office, a bar. A slashing staccato of mental photographs that he couldn't string together, not when his rational mind had deserted him so completely.

"Why would you kill them?" Scott demanded, tightening his grasp around the man's throat.

The human slugged at Scott's chest weakly, his eyes shutting, but said nothing.

This killer would pay, totally.

"You are ours," Scott hissed into the darkness of the tent. "You belong to Hope Dillon. Leisa Dillon. And me." He was crazed, unaware of his wife's lifeless body, of anything that smacked of goodness. He didn't give a hell's virgin for his soul, not then. Not for eternity. "You are
mine
,
"
he swore.

And I am yours,
he thought, feeling his own body blend with that of the murderous human's.
We are one.