Not Fade Away: Interstellar Rescue Series Book 4

by Donna S. Frelick

  “Okay, Old Man, I may smell like an ‘effing buffalo,’ but it’s only temporary. I’m going.” He shook his head and turned away. He didn’t look at Charlie again, either.

  Charlie let him go. For now.

  Twenty minutes later the cornbread was done to golden perfection, the stew had been ladled into bowls and set on the table, and Rafe was clean and smelling like his usual delicious, spicy self. Rafe drew his father’s wheelchair close in to the table, tied a napkin under Del’s chin and left him to it. (Happy sat at the old man’s side to pick up any dribbles.) Then he found his chair next to Charlie, and they tucked in.

  “So those words your dad said earlier,” Charlie said. “They meant, um, ‘effing buffalo?’ Are they Indian words?”

  Del didn’t look up from his plate. Whatever he’d said was lost to him.

  Rafe chewed his mouthful of cornbread thoroughly and took a gulp of beer before he said anything. “Well, yeah. But don’t ask me what tribe. Even when he had all his brain cells, he would mix stuff up.”

  “I could look it up on the computer if I had any idea how to spell it,” she said. Though she didn’t suppose she’d be able to find the curse words. For some reason, people tended to leave those out of the databases.

  There it was, that panicked look again on Rafe’s face. Why?

  “Who knows?” he said. “And why is it important anyhow? He could be making all of it up.”

  Del shot a look at his son. “Not.”

  There was something going on here that Charlie just couldn’t get a grip on. Rafe wasn’t the first guardian she’d come across who’d kept secrets to protect his or her charge. But why did she feel like if she punched hard enough she’d put a fist right through a carefully constructed façade into a big, black hole?

  “It’s okay,” she said in what she hoped was a conciliatory tone. “I’m just curious.” She turned to Del. “You’re such an unusual guy, Del. Don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

  The old man snorted. “Huh! I’ll bet!”

  Rafe’s spoon halted halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing bad,” she said, sitting up straighter in her chair. “In fact, nothing but good. But how about we discuss it later?”

  He got what she was trying to tell him—later, when Del was out of earshot. He nodded and popped the spoonful of stew in his mouth.

  “Oh, my God!” he moaned.

  “What?” she squeaked in alarm.

  “I thought the cornbread was good, but this . . . this is—” Rafe stopped, at a loss for words.

  “Fucking great!” Del finished for him. The old man’s grip was a little shaky, but he was managing to shovel the food in his mouth at a prodigious rate.

  Rafe laughed. “Yeah, fucking great!”

  Happy woofed and was rewarded with a glob of goodness startled out of Del’s spoon.

  Charlie couldn’t let that go, so she banished the dog to the great room. But she was warmed deep down that the two men at the table had so enjoyed her gift of the heart.

  The few tentative snowflakes coming down at dinnertime had thickened into a determined fall of white by the time Rafe had the Old Man in bed for the night. He found Charlie standing by the window near the woodstove, watching the snow stick to her car with a worried frown on her face.

  He stepped up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “Pretty, isn’t it.”

  “Yes, but not what I was thinking.” She turned her face up to his. “I should go before it gets bad on the roads.”

  In his time with Rescue, Rafe had driven wheeled vehicles and hovercraft, six-seater shuttles and one-seater hoppers, in all kinds of weather over all kinds of terrain. The thought of being intimidated by a couple of centimeters of snow on a perfectly good road was baffling.

  But, most of all, he didn’t want her to leave. Being near her had already heated his blood and set his thoughts on only one thing.

  “The storm will have passed by morning. It’ll be safer on the roads then.” He ran one knuckle down her cheek. “Why don’t you stay, Charlie.”

  She wanted to. He could see it in the heat that turned her eyes to brilliant sapphire as she looked up at him. But there was hesitation there, too, and doubt. As if she didn’t trust him. Or herself.

  He turned her to face him and held her close, hip to hip, heart to heart. He nuzzled the side of her neck and inhaled; her subtle floral scent and the warmth of her skin made his head spin. Her arms slipped around his, her body pressing closer to his from chest to thigh, and gods! he was on fire, hard and aching and wanting only to be inside her.

  He heard her sigh, and under his lips, her pulse jumped. “Rafe.” Her voice was no more than a breathy murmur.

  His blood was running hot in his veins, sending searing heat to his groin. But there was something in her voice that made him stop and lift his head to search her face.

  He had to be sure. “I want you, Charlie. Maybe more than I’ve wanted anything in my life. But if you don’t want me—”

  She put a finger against his mouth, stopping the stream of words. “You don’t have to convince me. I’ve made up my mind.”

  He bent to kiss her, his tongue slipping past her lips to plunder the hot treasure of her willing mouth. She tasted wild and sweet, like the snow straight down from the sky, but she was warm, so warm. He wanted to drown in that warmth, in that kiss, lost forever in the garden of her scent and the sudden urgency of her desire.

  He broke off the kiss and buried his hands in her auburn curls. Her gaze met his, and what he saw reflected what he felt—hunger and need and a kind of fierce, aching tenderness he’d never experienced before. His heart stuttered in his chest. Then the corners of her mouth turned up, encouraging him, and any hesitation vanished.

  “The Old Man’s asleep. We won’t wake him,” he said. “Let me make love to you.”

  Charlie was trembling so hard she thought Rafe must feel it, and since the room was warm, she knew it must be anticipation that was making her shake. Some small part of her still held out, arguing that she should say no. Oh, but she wanted this so much. His kiss had ignited a fire in her that couldn’t be contained. If she stopped this now, she might burn for him forever. The only way to survive was to let the flames consume her.

  She whispered, “Yes,” then there was no time for second thoughts. Rafe swept her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her straight through the great room—Happy lifted his head to note their passing, but quickly subsided—and down the little hallway into a dimly lit bedroom. He laid her on the bed and followed her down, his comfortable weight pressing her into the downy soft quilt.

  She slipped her hands under his shirt to his back. She needed to touch his skin, and she ran her fingertips lightly from his narrow hips up to his broad shoulders and down again, loving the feel of his muscles and his heat and the rumbling in his chest as he responded to her touch.

  He kissed her again, his mouth assaulting hers to take what he wanted, his tongue plunging deep, then withdrawing to tease her. She ached to think his lovemaking would follow the same pattern, and she arched up into him, wanting the feel of him between her legs. He shifted and she got what she wanted as he rolled his hard length over her mound. She gasped, breaking off the kiss, as fire shot from her core up through her breasts.

  “Clothes,” she managed to say.

  His raised up to look at her. “I can’t wait to see you.” He backed off the bed and began to strip, revealing first his ripped upper body, marred here and there by unusual scars, then his long, muscular legs. His sexy boxer-briefs did nothing to hide his enormous erection; Charlie scrambled out of her own clothes so she could concentrate on that big reveal.

  And she wasn’t disappointed. His thick, heavy shaft was crowned with a broad flaring tip and arced obscenely toward his navel. Charlie tried not to stare.

  The bedroom, too, was warm, but still she shivered. In growing excitement. In barely controlled need. For him.

  As he
approached the bed, she asked the awkward question. “Do you have protection?”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile. “I—” He opened a drawer in the table next to the bed and took out an elaborately decorated jar. He showed it to her with a little grin. Letters on the side proclaimed, “Always Come Prepared.”

  He unscrewed the top, scooped up a small dollop of the creamy gel inside and began to slather it on. Swallowing against a throat gone suddenly dry, unable to speak, Charlie watched as he carefully covered his purplish crown and stroked down the length of his shaft until his cock glistened.

  “Oh, my God,” she moaned. “What is that?” Besides the sexiest thing I have ever seen? She snatched the jar off the table and read: Protectant gel. Spermicidal. Anti-viral. Anti-bacterial. Anti-fungal. Stimulation level—mild. Unflavored. Her mouth watered at the idea of . . . flavors.

  But her nurse’s instincts set off an alarm. She’d never seen—or heard of—anything like this. Where had it come from?

  “Phong’s Pharmacy again? You don’t really expect me to believe these claims—” Though she wanted to. She really, really wanted to.

  He took the jar out of her hand and put it away. “It is possible to think too much.” He knelt on the bed and pushed her gently back against the pillows. “Trust me. Don’t think, Charlie. Just feel.”

  He rubbed his fingertips together and brought them to her breasts, massaging the warm gel into the tips until they pebbled, plucking at them until bolts of electric fire streaked deep into her core. Her breasts grew heavy and warm, tingling and aching for attention.

  “Jesus,” she breathed. Was that the effect of the gel? Was he feeling that all along the length of his cock? How could he stand it?

  As if he knew what she was thinking, he stroked down his shaft again, cupping and squeezing the tip. God, it made her want to touch him, to taste him. She reached for him, but he shifted and she captured only the smooth skin of his hip.

  “Not yet, beautiful,” he said, his voice like gravel in his throat. “I’m just getting started, so we’ll both have to be patient.”

  He slid down her body and settled between her legs. “I love that you’re bare here,” he murmured as he pushed against her thighs to open her wide. “So smooth. So hot.” He stroked and petted with his thumbs, coating her with the gel he’d stripped from his shaft, and, God! the heat ignited and spread from her core to her belly, to her breasts and back again.

  She arched under him. “Rafe!” She didn’t know if she would last long enough for him to get inside her.

  He stopped his sweet torture at last and covered her with his body. He bent to kiss her, and she was lost again in his taste, in the tangle of their tongues. He moved, and she could feel the spike of his erection, hard and insistent, pressing against her belly. Her hands drifted over the skin of his back and down over his hips. She pulled him into her, wanting more.

  She was throbbing, aching everywhere, and Charlie didn’t know, or care, whether it was the magic gel or just this man that was making her crazy with need. The high walls she had built around her most intimate self were crumbling; any second she would give in and every barrier would be breached. And she wanted it. God, how she wanted it.

  “Now, Rafe,” she moaned. “Please.”

  “No, baby. Not yet.” He moved down her body to her breasts, skimming them with his fingertips. His tongue flicked over the tip of one breast, then he drew it into his hot mouth and sucked hard. Sweet sensation shot from the sensitive nipple straight to her core, making her pulse with molten need. He did the same with the other nipple, sucking at the stinging, taut peak and releasing a flood of liquid desire between her thighs.

  But Rafe still wasn’t done. He moved lower.

  Charlie breathed in little keening gasps. “Rafe, I can’t . . . I won’t last.” His tongue parted her most intimate folds, and she gasped. Oh, that feels so damn good.

  “You aren’t meant to last.” He had withdrawn his tongue, but his thumb still circled her clit, stoking the fire. His eyes had gone dark as he watched the effect his petting had on her. “I want you to let go. Come for me, Charlie. Let me taste you as you come.”

  Oh, God! Her hips lifted off the bed, needing his mouth again. He met her with a little groan of delight, his tongue finding her sensitive nub in a swirl of delicious heat. He licked and suckled, devouring her until the burn flared from her swollen clit into her aching womb. She moaned his name, wanting him so desperately, and yet not wanting him to stop what he was doing with that talented tongue. Until, all at once, there was no controlling her body’s reaction to him. She cried out and gripped the sheets as the wave overtook her, hot pulses of pleasure sweeping through her from the center of an explosion at her core. Oh, God, he was killing her, the pleasure so intense she curled inward, muscles clenching, vision blanking.

  He lifted his head after a moment, eyes glittering with steely fire, and stalked his way up her body. He kissed her, hard, his tongue sweeping through her mouth, hot and sweet.

  But she was throbbing, empty. Shaky with need, she gripped his cock and stroked. The feel of him in her hand made her ache.

  He breathed out a curse. “Oh, yeah. I’m so ready for you.” He positioned his broad head at her entrance and pushed slowly. He was large, but he was still slick with the gel, and she was wet with wanting him, and she felt only deep pleasure at his slow, filling thrust. Her flesh heated in response to the stimulant right away, and as he began to move, she moaned. The tiny muscles of her channel clutched at him in welcome, and the smoldering embers at her core burst into flame again. With every stroke the fire grew hotter, higher, flaring outward to consume her whole body.

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him in deeper. He groaned and shifted, thrusting with long, hard strokes. She encouraged him with little whispers in his ear. Things she’d never said to anyone before. Things that shocked even her.

  Then the orgasm detonated and roared through her, and she arched under him, every muscle contracting. He moved with her, and her pleasure rolled on and on in wave after wave as he slid in and out of her. For an endless time she didn’t exist outside of that nexus of passion. She wasn’t capable of coherent thought. As he had commanded, she could only feel—his body inside hers; her body responding to his. Fire—searing, nearly unbearable—flashed through her again, and she screamed his name. She arched into him, greedy for his heat deep inside her.

  At last she became aware that his thrusts were coming faster and harder. He had lost control of his need, and he was coming. Driving deep, deeper, a low guttural groan ripping out of his throat as the climax took him. An answering thrill rippled through her channel as he came, a warm echo of the pleasure he’d given her.

  Charlie held him close for long moments afterward, her heart thumping hard in her chest, as his muscles relaxed and his weight settled down over her body. It seemed as if he was drifting away. She felt raw, close to tears, as naked and vulnerable as a sea creature tumbling in the surf without its shell, though she couldn’t have said why. She was an adult, wasn’t she? An adult was allowed to have sex, and she was entitled to her pleasure. But a voice deep down whispered that this had been more than sex, and she had risked more than her pleasure by allowing Rafe into her arms.

  Rafe raised up and rolled to her side, regarding her from one elbow. He leaned in and kissed her, his lips soft and warm, then retreated again, one hand resting on her belly.

  “I’ve never been in love, Charlie. I don’t know anything about it,” he said, his hooded gaze seeking hers. “I only know I’ve never felt anything like what I feel for you. It has to be you, Charlie. You do something to me I can’t explain.”

  She shifted to look into his face. For the first time since she’d met him he seemed vulnerable, unsure. In her life, she’d learned more about “love” than she’d ever wanted to know. And he was right; it could be terrifying, tearing you off your moorings and setting you adrift on a sea of bewildering emotion.

  Did
she love him? The thought made her heart thrash against her ribs. With fear, yes. But with hope, too. Maybe love didn’t always have to destroy you. Maybe, if she was very, very lucky, love with Rafe wouldn’t have to be like it was with Sonny.

  She found her voice at last. “Whatever it is, you do the same thing to me,” she said. “It scares me a little.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “I would never hurt you. You can trust me on that.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “And we don’t have to rush things. We have time. All the time in the world.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In the dark, silent belly of the night, Rafe left Charlie sleeping in his warm bed and padded out to the great room. Happy lifted his head and greeted him with a thump of the tail, then rose to sniff at him as he added another log or two to the woodstove. Rafe considered letting the dog out, but Happy seemed content to curl up again on the rug next to the stove.

  Rafe peeked through the window to see a world transformed by cottony drifts of snow. It was still coming down in a thick white wash, falling on top of the twelve centimeters or so already on the ground. The wind rattled the window panes, blowing the snow in furious eddies. A good night to spend in bed with his woman.

  His woman. Rafe’s heart squeezed in his chest at the thought of it. And another part of his anatomy came to life, as if they hadn’t had each other—twice—just hours before. With another look around the room, he went back to bed.

  She turned to meet him as he slid between the sheets. “Everything okay?”

  “Just putting more wood on the fire.” Rafe’s lips sought hers again, hungry for her taste, and she welcomed him into her warm mouth, her velvet tongue sliding over and around his. He rolled with her onto his back until she straddled him completely, her sex pressed against the base of his cock, slowly grinding, grinding.

  “How can I want you again so soon?” she said, nibbling at his ear.

  He cupped the globes of her lush, heavy breasts in both hands. “I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you.” He toyed with her nipples until they peaked under his fingertips. Her breath came in short, warm gasps in his ear and her sex slid, silky and hot, over his shaft as she moved against him.