Ice Man

by Samantha Winston

  The question was, how the hell had she gotten from her bed to the feet of a sex god, with a dunk in the ocean in between? “Who are you?”

  “John Hawke. And who are you?”

  “Alex. Alex Kenyon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Alex Kenyon.” Reaching out, he cupped her chin in long, strong fingers, tilted her head up, and leaned in close. “Very, very nice.”

  Even as her inner Southern Belle squealed in offended shock, his mouth closed over hers in a warm, wet slide.

  Her heart, just beginning to slow its frantic beat after her brush with death, lunged back into a gallop. Automatically, she started to pull back in surprise, but his callused fingers tightened, holding her in place. His tongue stroked boldly between her lips as he kissed her with a rough, predatory hunger that made her nipples peak. She really should knock him on his backside for his gall, but God, it had been so long. And maybe he deserved a kiss for saving her life.

  Alex let her eyes close and kissed him back.

  Then a big, wet hand closed boldly over her breast. The big opportunist was groping her!

  “What are you doing?” She jerked back, outraged. “A kiss is one thing, but saving my life doesn’t entitle you to paw me.”

  That luscious mouth curled into a dark smile. “Look around, Dorothy. You’re not in Kansas anymore. This is the Goldfish Bowl, and I make my own rules.”

  He had a point about the Kansas thing. She’d already noticed it was broad daylight, which was pretty damn weird considering the moon had been shining just a minute ago.

  And then there was the beach. She lived in Atlanta, hundreds of miles from the ocean, so how had she got to the seashore?

  Frowning, she turned to look out to sea. And stared.

  She sure wasn’t in Georgia anymore. She wasn’t even in Miami, despite the stretch of pristine white sand underfoot and the clusters of big palm trees inland.

  For one thing, the horizon was far too close. It was almost as if they were an immense, round room--if a room could be ten or fifteen miles across. And the sky… Alex tilted her head back and stared upward. It had an odd, milky quality, painted in swirls of iridescence--not clouds, but patterns of moving light, something like the Aurora Borealis. She couldn’t see the sun at all, yet the light was as bright as noon. “Where are we?”

  Hawke rose to his considerable height. “Like I said, I call it the Goldfish Bowl.”

  “I can see why.” It felt odd lying at his feet, so she scrambled up too, noting absently that he didn’t offer her a hand. To her annoyance, her legs trembled. She stiffened them as he strode to a pile of equipment on the sand. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling we’re about to get a guest a lot less pleasant than you.” He crouched and started picking through the gear.

  “What kind of guest? And what makes you think that?”

  “It’s the pattern. They send me something, and then something worse shows up.” He lifted a pouched belt thing that reminded her of something solders wore and wrapped it around his narrow waist.

  She propped her fists on her hips and frowned at him. “What do you mean, worse?”

  “As in ‘kill it before it kills you’ worse.” He strapped a short, sheathed knife to his ankle. Tarzan evidently had access to Velcro.

  Then he picked up something she first took for a stick and some kind of belt. As he swung it across one shoulder, she got a better look. “Is that a sword?”

  “Yep.” He belted the thick leather strap diagonally across his torso. The sheathed sword it supported was easily three and a half feet long, not counting the two-handed hilt.

  He wasn’t Tarzan, he was Conan the Barbarian.

  Hawke turned toward her, settling the blade into place with a shrug of those Olympian shoulders. “When they took me, this weapon was an M-16, but by the time I arrived, it had morphed into this. Evidently the Bastards didn’t want me having access to firepower.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Could you please quit being mysterious and tell me what’s going on? Who are the Bastards?” She was getting thoroughly fed up. “And how did I get here?”

  He lifted his head suddenly and turned to stare off into the trees, his expression alert. “Same way I did, I’d imagine,” he said absently. “You were abducted by aliens. And I think you’re about to find out why I call them the Bastards.”

  Aliens? Good God, she was stranded with a lunatic. “Is this some kind of joke? Because it’s really not funny.”

  “Shut up.”

  Anger zapped her appreciation of his amazing butt as he turned his back on her. Nobody talked to a Kenyon that way. “Who do you think you are?”

  He closed a hand around the hilt of his sword and levered the big blade out of its scabbard. “I said shut up. Something’s coming.”

  Before she could tell him off, the bushes rattled.

  A roar split the air. She jumped.

  The thing burst from the trees in an explosion of scales and teeth. Alex screamed like a fire siren as it lunged right at Hawke, snapping massive jaws.

  “Get back!” he bellowed at her, and ran to meet the monster. Even as it tensed to spring, he swung his sword. The blade bit into scaly hide. The thing howled and reared, slashing at him with knifelike front claws.

  Hawke leaped back and circled. It turned with him, snapping.

  Good God, it had six legs!

  It scuttled on four of them while it tried to rake him with long, thin forearms, snapping and roaring like a nightmare cross between a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a scorpion. It was easily the size of a horse.

  Alex wanted to run. She wanted to help him. But she couldn’t do either, because she couldn’t move. Her body was completely frozen in place as he hacked and chopped at the monster that slashed and snapped at him.

  I’ve got to do something! It’s going to kill him!

  And we think you’ll love

  Virtual Murder

  2003 EPPIE Finalist (reedited)

  By Jennifer Macaire (aka Samantha Winston)

  Coming Soon from Loose Id

  The air was torrid. It was noon, and the sun blazed overhead. Rhonda's head nodded and she dozed off; the heat pounding through the canvas roof of the jeep sapped her energy.

  She woke with a jerk to the feel of sweat trickling down her neck, between her breasts, and tickling her skin. She plucked at her shirt, lifting her heavy hair off her neck and sighing in relief as the breeze touched her damp skin. In her virtual body, she felt as if her senses were magnified. Everything seemed brighter and stronger. She blinked and shook her head.

  “It'll be cooler by the sea.” Arthur nodded towards the blue expanse of water visible between two tall mountaintops. “We'll be there in half an hour.”

  All at once, no matter how she tried, she couldn't stay awake. She felt her eyelids getting heavy, and although she tried to speak, she couldn't. In an instant, Rhonda fell asleep and her mind slipped away. A minute later, her eyes reopened. She blinked and focused on the man next to her.

  His voice was deep and warm, and when he spoke, she had the impression they were alone together. She stole a glance at the man sitting so close to her. She could feel his hand brushing her thigh when he shifted gears, and she wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

  He was looking at her from the corner of his eye. She smiled to herself. The body she'd chosen was so ripe, so voluptuous, it was like a heavy fruit just begging to be picked. Her fingers trailed sensually down her chest, tracing the unfamiliar line of bony collarbone and the swell of exquisitely soft breasts. Her breathing quickened. It must be the heat that made her respond like this. It was overwhelming. The air was so hot she could feel it as a constant caress.

  She looked at the man again and noticed he was sweating. A bead of perspiration trickled down his temple, over his cheek, down his neck to disappear into his shirt. She wanted to lick it away. Could the feeling growing in her body be love? It felt as if her blood were getting thicker, as
if her limbs were too heavy for her. She wanted to lie down, stretch her arms above her head, arch her back, and spread her thighs wide open. A sharp pang in her belly made her moan softly. Was that love? She had never felt as completely real as in this virtual body. She felt her whole attention concentrated on one person, as if her personality suddenly distilled, and the drop of her that was left absorbed into the man right next to her.

  Her eyes slid once more in his direction. He was beautiful. His wavy chestnut hair was tousled from the wind, and his bright, hazel eyes were nearly the color of amber. He had a deep, even tan on his muscular arms, and his lashes were very long. She yearned to feel those arms around her and have his lashes tickle her hot skin. He was driving with an expression of fierce concentration on his angular face.

  The road twisted and climbed steeply. “What's your name?” she asked, her voice husky.

  The man smiled. “Arthur, ma'am.”

  She whispered his name, her tongue trying it out, letting it slip between her teeth. He glanced at her, and she felt the weight of his look like a hot touch. Amber eyes made his gaze burn. Was she falling in love with his wide shoulders and narrow hips? Was that why her legs longed to wrap themselves around his lithe waist and draw him into her? The thought was so evocative she felt her head spin. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back and opened her mouth wide, drawing in deep gulps of air. Oh God, this heat!

  “Are you all right?” Arthur asked her, concern in his deep voice.

  She opened her eyes and licked dry lips. “I never thought it would be so hot. I suppose I expected something more, well, lush.”

  “It's greener during the fall, when the rainy season comes. It's April now. We're heading into the dry season, and the heat leeches the moisture out of the air. Most folks don't know that these islands are truly desert islands, with little or no source of water. Take care when you shower. Wet yourself, turn off the water, lather your skin, and shampoo. Then turn the water back on to rinse. The same goes for brushing teeth and flushing toilets.” Arthur raised his voice so that the other tourists could hear him. “In this land of sun and fun, we never flush for number one,” he quoted. “I hope you all know what that means?”

  “I thought that this was a virtual trip, I mean, we can do as we like, can't we?” asked a woman, leaning forward.

  “We'd like everyone to enjoy themselves exactly as if they were truly traveling,” Arthur said with a hint of impatience. “If you thought you could do anything, I invite you to try jumping out of the jeep or off a cliff. Your experience will be quite the same as a real accident. You'll feel pain, and if your limbs break, you'll feel that too. Back in the institute, you'll wake up screaming with a whole team of psychiatrists ready to analyze your antisocial behavior.”

  “I understand.” The woman gave a weak attempt at laughter. “I didn't mean to insult your tour company. You're doing an excellent job.”

  Arthur looked into his rear-view mirror and flashed a charming smile. “I try my best. And that's why I want you all to have the best possible time. Tonight there's going to be a live band at the hotel; I hope you'll all feel rested enough to come and dance the night away. If I can give any advice, it will be to lie down as soon as you reach the hotel and nap for a couple hours. Then go for an evening swim at the beach. The water will be calm, and you'll feel refreshed. Afterwards take a quick shower, put on a light robe, and join us for dinner. It's an Italian buffet tonight.”

  Arthur pulled around a corner and arrived in front of a low, perfectly kept bungalow. Three men in white uniforms trotted out to collect the suitcases. He stepped out of the jeep and opened the door with a flourish. “Here we are, ladies!”

  * * * * *

  Steel drum music woke him out of a sound sleep. Arthur stretched, yawned, and glanced at his watch. Almost seven-he'd better get moving or he'd be late for dinner. He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face. His room was spacious, with a screen door leading outside to a thatch-roofed veranda where he had his breakfast. He loved to sip his coffee while watching the sun rise over the ocean. Tonight there was a gorgeous sunset, and the water was deep indigo with a bright, orange swath reflecting the setting sun.

  He shrugged out of his shorts and headed towards the bathroom for a quick shower. His head felt a bit muzzy, as it often did after an afternoon nap. He wondered if the computer programmer could correct this. He would have to speak to Digby about that.

  He opened the bathroom door and paused. The sound of his doorknob turning made him look back over his shoulder towards his room. No one ever came into his room, except room service in the morning. He grabbed a towel and held it around his hips as the door swung open, and a woman entered. He recognized her from the group he'd picked up that day. She'd washed her hair, and it hung in dark ringlets around her narrow face. Her skin was pale, faintly flushed, and her hands were trembling on the doorway. Her eyes were huge in her face, almost terrified.

  He opened his mouth, to speak, but she raised her finger to her lips. “Don't say anything. They're listening.”

  Her face was so pale, her eyes so troubled, that he was caught off balance. “I don't…”

  “Hush.” She walked towards him across the wooden floor, her bare feet making no sound. A lavender silk sarong swirled like cool water around her long legs. Behind her ear was an exotic scarlet hibiscus, the same color as her full lips. She smiled tremulously. Her lips moved. “Arthur,” she breathed.

  “I don't think…” He backed away from her but stopped when his legs hit the coffee table in front of his wicker couch. “You're not allowed in here,” he said weakly. Her hands were running up and down his bare chest; she hadn't stopped gazing into his eyes. There was something bewitching about her, something troubling. “Who are you?” he whispered, as his towel dropped to the floor.

  “Shhh,” she begged and laid her head on his shoulder. “Just hold me, please?”

  His arms encircled her slender shoulders. Her skin was smooth, satiny, and scented with tuberose. Her hair tickled his neck and chest. His arms tightened. Her body was vibrating, as if an electrical current were running through it. Arthur tried to gather his thoughts, formulate words, but his mouth was dry, and he found himself pulling the woman towards his wide, white bed. A heat of desire was building within him so strongly it was like fingers reaching into his skull. The fingers danced downwards towards the very center of his being and set him afire.

  This isn't right, he thought, as his breath grew ragged. You can't experience arousal on the Net. He felt as if his head were full of helium. Thoughts came and went, faster and faster as erotic images flashed through his mind. He was so stiff it was painful, and the only thing he wanted was release. He fell backwards onto his bed, harsh groans escaping his lips. Waves of electric, tingling pleasure paralyzed him, and he could only arch his back and shudder.

  “Oh… my… Lord…” he gasped and closed his eyes. A frantic pulsing began in his groin. Ecstasy, he was swirling through ecstasy. He rolled over, heaving his body over the woman and thrusting into her. Excitement such as he'd never known seemed to explode in him. His breathing grew faster, his heart pounded, and still a powerful frenzy of sexual stimulation overpowered him. He ejaculated and then hardened again, and it went on and on, never slaking the incredible hunger he felt for his partner. She was a sexual vampire, devouring his entire virtual being, and he was helpless to do anything but thrust and strain towards unattainable fulfillment. Towards ecstasy.

  I'm being eaten alive, was his last, incredulous thought.

 

 

 
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