Taking Liberty (19 page)

“Here,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let me put that somewhere for you.”

She shifted the bag behind her. “No.”

“Don't worry. I won't steal it.” His lips curled in a half smile.

Very funny.
“Um…there are a few things in here I'll need later.”

“Really?”

Mara realized there'd be no deflecting his curiosity this time. With a sigh, she hauled the satchel forward and unzipped it. She hooked a finger around the object settled on top and pulled it out.

Dash's jaw went slack. “That what I think it is?”

She lifted the handcuffs and eyed them. Giving her finger a little twirl, she nodded. “Yep, believe so.”

 

The breath expelled from Dash's lungs in a whoosh. “
Sweet goddess
.”

Wariness stole across Mara's face. He groaned, battling the urge to bite his cursed quick tongue. Did she worry he'd ridicule her desires? Mentally head-slapping himself for his lack of gentlemanly tact, he strode to Mara and cupped her chin. His thumb brushed beneath the little dip in her bottom lip, tempting him, but first he needed to ease her mind.

“Don't fear shocking me. It's impossible. Besides, whatever you have in mind, I'm more than game.” He punctuated the fact by sliding his mouth over hers. With some work, he coaxed her tongue into play.

“Delicious,” he whispered, nibbling along the sweet curve of her lips. His mouth lowered, discovered her neck's graceful slope. Her breathing sped up. Ah, he'd found a sensitive spot. Murmuring in appreciation, he suckled her there, laving her skin. His hands glided along her shoulders. He brushed the sides of her breasts and she slumped into him. The handcuffs clattered to the hardwood floor, their metallic ring jostling them from their sensual reverie.

“Damn it.” Mara ducked and scrabbled for the handcuffs.

He hunkered next to her. Looking to halt the frantic motion of her hands, he cupped her chin again, tilting it until she revealed the vexation in her eyes. “Don't worry, it's just a floor. Far worse punishment has been thrown its way.” He gave her a teasing grin. “Though your handcuffs win top prize as the most interesting.”

The flush in her cheeks deepened. “You must think I'm a clumsy oaf.”

“No, I think you're beautiful…” his fingers traveled down her neck and grazed the delicate ridge of her collarbone, “…sexy…” he stroked the vee between her breasts, watching them rise and fall with the sharp intake of her breath, “…and far too overdressed.”

He reached for the leather bustier's center hook. She jumped and her elbow went flying into his chin. Grunting, he thudded onto his ass.

“Oh gods,” Mara groaned, leaning over him. “I'm worse than clumsy—I'm a menace.”

He shook his head, trying to clear the spinning stars. “Not at all.”

Well, maybe a little. To be on the safe side, they should probably stick to the missionary position. Much as he loved the sight of a woman riding him, he didn't need her falling off and breaking her neck.

Pushing to his feet, he smiled and extended a hand. “Come, I'll show you the rest of the house.”

After the briefest hesitation, she tucked her hand in his. The kitchen received a cursory walkthrough. She oohed and ahhed over the original Lia Mavrick watercolors and Stellic bronzes scattered between the various guestrooms. Outside the den, she stopped and ran her fingers over the nubby texture of the vessel holding a freeform arrangement of wild grasses.

“Is this a Rucca pod?”

He smiled at the wonderment in her voice. Here he possessed a houseful of priceless art and antiques, and a nut husk thrilled her most. Females were such strange, delightful creatures. “I picked it up during my last trip to Frittona.” Along with a square cut, ten-carat ruby that fetched a handsome finder's fee.

“I've never seen one so big.” She stooped and surveyed the pod. Her skirt lifted, granting him a mouth-watering peep show.

Dash's jaw dropped.
Sweet goddess, she
is
wearing pink panties.

Mara glanced over her shoulder. He forced his attention from her curvaceous rear, but apparently not fast enough. Giving the hem of her skirt a firm tug, she scrambled to her feet. “Where next?”

Delirious with the need to peel those pink panties off, he led her into the master bedroom. He followed her stare to the massive canopy bed centered in the room.

“Perfect,” she blurted.

Couldn't have said it better.
Fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, he stepped towards her. She swiveled on her heel and strode to the bed, plunking her bag near her feet. Her handcuffs reappeared and circled the nearest pine post with a decisive click.

Dash's lust exploded. Impatient with his shirt, he yanked. Hard. The buttons popped free and bounced along the wood floor with a
plink-plink-plink
. Mara turned, her wide-eyed stare tracking the rolling path of the buttons.

Dropping his ripped shirt, he advanced, kicking off his dress shoes before unbuttoning his trousers with shaking fingers. He was too far gone, too primed, to take things slow. Three weeks without sex—what the hell had he been thinking?

“Dash?”

The uncertainty wobbling her voice knifed through his single-minded focus…slightly. He forced a strained grin. “Perhaps you'd best remove your own clothing.”

She blinked before releasing a slow breath. “Okay.”

Her hand snaked towards the miniskirt's waistband. The sex-starved beast in him snapped its leash. Plowing his hands through Mara's hair, he claimed her mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss.

The taste of her inflamed his senses. He untangled one hand from her hair and cupped her breast, growling in frustration when his fingers met leather rather than soft skin. She gasped and tumbled sideways, taking him with her. They knocked into the post, rattling the handcuffs. Before he regained his balance, she grabbed his wrist and secured it inside the dangling cuff. Not the way he'd expected things to roll, but it might prove interesting.

Leaving him slumped on the bed, she ducked to the floor. He watched her wiggling rear end and groaned. “
Sher
'
tian
, you're killing me.”

She fumbled through her bag before returning to him. The hem of her miniskirt rasped against his thighs and he reached for her with his free hand. Ignoring him, she climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap. Lust hazed his vision. He lowered his head towards her breasts, fully intent on ripping her bustier open with his teeth if need be.

Cold metal locked around his neck with an ominous clank. The sound—along with the chill biting into his flesh—managed to edge past the fog clouding his brain. Disoriented, he glanced down. Purple lights flashed across the base of the bizarre collar encircling his neck.

Mara pushed off his lap and he frowned up at her.

“What is this?”

A strange expression crossed her face—one bordering on pity. He didn't like it at all. “Mara?”

“I'm sorry…truly. Please, just don't make any sudden—”

Agitated, he lurched at her. An electrical shock zinged his neck. “
Son of a bitch
,” he roared, jerking back.

Mara winced before finishing her sentence. “—movements.”

A prehensile tail has its advantages…

 

Satin Spar

© 2009 Kim Knox

 

Scar's marbled skin and stunted tail aren't all that make her stand out. Her Caraniae DNA has a strange effect on the male of the species, which makes her career as a pilot perfect. The less interaction she has with people—with men—the better. She won't risk her wayward pheromones bonding her forever to one man.

 

Then there's her boss's new bodyguard, Anthony Tyler. The pure-human is tight-lipped about his sketchy past. He also seems determined to work her prehensile tail off.

 

Once imprisoned and drummed out of the Corps for conduct unbecoming, Tyler is intrigued with his ship's unheard-of, human-Caraniae hybrid. He spent his career fighting her kind, but when a message from home throws Scar into a tailspin, he finds himself drawn to help her in any way he can. Even if it means risking life and limb to help her sweat out her anger.

 

Their sparring session turns into something else. Something wildly sexual. Something so wrong as to be suicidal—if Scar's father discovers she's bonded with anyone other than the husband he's forcing her to marry…

Warning: This book contains violence, nekkid wrestling and hot, alien-human naughtiness.

 

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Satin Spar:

“What do you want me to do?”

She smiled that wicked Caraniae smile. Her strong thighs gripped him and before he knew exactly how, he was on his back. Surprise had worked his grip free and now she pinned
his
arms to the cool sand. “You disobeyed orders. How?”

“That's not what I thought you'd ask.”

She smirked. “Satisfy my curiosity first.”

Time for the sanitised truth, the woman was half-Caraniae after all. “There was a suspected nest. We went in.” The Corps had ordered an atrocity at Vistern Ridge. With the end of the war, they'd buried that order and his career. Tyler pushed back the memories; they were a part of his old life. “I refused to authorise the clean up.”

“And that's a euphemism for…?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “It's not open for discussion.”

Scar leaned forward, pressing deliciously along his erection. Her mouth hovered over his, her lips almost touching. Just a simple tilt of his head would— “Want to discuss it now?”

“Why are you pressing this?”

“What? This?” And she shifted her hips in a slow slide that had him involuntarily thrusting up to meet her. “So…why are you here, Tyler?”

She was still asking him questions. Why the hell was she still asking him questions? “Scar…?”

“Rochester told you who my stepfather is, didn't he?”

Tyler held down a curse. Sparring with her would've seemed natural. Throwing her on her back and offering her whatever she wanted…yes, didn't he look obvious now? “He mentioned it in passing.”

Scar's expression was unreadable as she sat up. The friction made him wince. His erection mocked him. “And you just thought you'd drop by, say hello, curry favour?” She wiggled and he sucked in a breath. “Offer me this?”

“
That
wasn't planned.”

Her mouth twisted and there was a hardness to her eyes, hiding…what? He wanted to label it nerves, but that would be crazy.

“An unexpected bonus?”

“Scar…”

She leapt up with an unnatural agility and offered her hand. “Let me try not to kill you.”

Tyler grabbed her hand and she pulled him effortlessly to his feet. “Suddenly this is not a good idea.”

“Really?”

Tyler shucked off his jacket and threw it beyond the edge of the arena. His fingers moved to his shirt and stopped. What was he doing? A fight felt more real, more immediate to him when air brushed his skin. But now, that would be so
very
wrong. He kicked off his boots and pulled at his socks instead. His toes curled into the warming sand.

“Finished?” Scar lifted an eyebrow. “Can we fight now?”

“Impatient for me to beat you?”

She burst forward, but he stopped her attempt to grab him, blocking her with a palm-strike. Dropping, she tried to strike him. Another block. She swung around and struck out again. She was quick, fast and strong. It was fun to play with her—

“You're grinning. Think this is funny?” She growled and his balls tightened.

He staggered at the kick to his shin. She leapt, crashing him to the sand, and ripped at his shirt. She nipped at his neck with her teeth and Tyler's vision blurred. Blood raced south. Her scent burned through him and he tugged at her undershirt, the thin cotton tearing across her back.

“Ah, so that's what you want to play.” Her lips brushed against his throat, searing the words into his skin.

His hands slid down her spine and found her tail curling tight around his right wrist. It squeezed hard. “Scar…” He couldn't help the low, warning snarl. “This is not playing fair.”

She lifted her head and grinned at him. “I want to fight, not fuck, Tyler.”

She whipped free of him, standing back, her body loose and ready to attack him again. Tyler rolled to his feet and tried to keep his eyes off her small, firm and now very
exposed
breasts. Fire flickered under his skin and the only thought that consumed him was his need to get her shorts off. Some insane voice in the back of his head screamed that she had to be naked. And so should he.

“Shall we make this interesting?”

Her green eyes narrowed as she edged around him, matching his movements. “Interesting, how?”

“You take a fall, you lose clothing.”

Scar stared down at her body. She looked back up at him from under her lashes, her eyebrow lifting. “I only have these. You have trousers
and
underwear. What say we make it even first?”

Tyler paused, to give the illusion that he was reluctant. But that small voice wanted his fingers to fly. His mouth pursed. “Fine.” And his trousers pooled at his feet. He threw them and both of their shredded shirts out of the arena. “Happy?”

Her smile was wicked. “When you're on your back, I will be.”

His cock twitched. Her scent drifted above the sterile odour of the filtered air and the dryness of the sand, something sweet and intoxicating. His chest tightened. He wanted her—

Scar's foot connected with his knee and he grunted. Muscle instinct took over and he grabbed her arm, yanking her forward and kicking out her legs. She thumped into the sand, face down. Tyler straddled her thighs. “One for me, I think,” he murmured. His fingers slid down her spine, easing over her ribs until he reached her hips. He hooked a finger into her shorts and twanged them.