by Karen Kelley
“Okay,” Aasera said and pushed the button. “Here we go, yee haw!” She pushed the button, and the craft roared to life.
“You were in Texas way too long,” Sam told her.
“I’m just feeling alive for the first time in my life, and I like the way it feels. Want to see me do a double loop? I was the only interplanetary traveler that could pull off a double loop.”
“No,” they spoke in unison.
“You’re right. I don’t think this craft maneuvers as well as the old ones, but you can’t say anything against the time that it takes to get somewhere.”
What had happened to the stuffy Aasera he’d first met? Sam kind of missed her. Torcara had given her a string of young Nerakians to train for interplanetary traveling, and she was feeling like she probably had thirty years ago—God help them all.
“We’re here,” she said. “I can’t wait to see Lyraka. She’ll be so excited that Torcara wants to see her.”
Aasera pushed the button that would open the door. Sam almost dreaded getting out. Nick was really going to razz him about the clothes. Now that he’d been wearing them for a week, he sort of liked the way they felt.
They stepped out.
Nick burst through the doorway of the rooftop at the same time. “Thank God,” he said, sounding out of breath as he hurried toward them. “What the hell have you been doing? Man, I was worried. I thought they might have vaporized you or something!” He threw his arms around Sam in a bear-hug that knocked the breath out of Sam.
Kia and Lyraka were right behind him.
“Did you miss me?” Sam grinned as they stepped away from the craft.
“No!” he glowered. “Yes, dammit, I missed you. What the hell are you wearing? Looks like something out of Star Wars .”
“Mother, I was afraid for your safety.” Lyraka hurried forward but stopped just short of throwing her arms around Aasera. “I’m glad to see you well.” She bowed.
“And I you.” Aasera pulled her daughter into her arms.
Sam knew this was a long time coming.
Aasera hugged her close, then stepped back and looked at Lyraka but still held on to her hands. “You didn’t go with Mr. Beacon?”
She shook her head. “Not until I knew you were all right.”
“But you want to?”
Lyraka hesitated. “More than anything.”
Aasera nodded. “Then maybe that’s your purpose in life.”
Kia and Lara looked at each other and smiled.
“Lara, good to see you. Aasera.” Nick nodded toward them. “I think I’ve aged ten years since you left.”
“Sam was made advisor to the Elders,” Lara said.
Sam shrugged. “I guess I’m finally getting to discover new worlds.”
“Don’t say it,” Nick warned. “Don’t even tell me I’m going to get stuck with Talking Trudy for a partner.”
“Either that, or you can come to work for the Elders.”
“For the Elders?” Kia said.
“We’ve got to bring Nerak up to date.” Sam knew it would be a long shot, but it was worth a try. “There’s so much to teach them, so many things to introduce. We’d be opening a whole new world to them. Just think about the possibilities. We’d be introducing them to so many things.”
Nick shook his head. “I don’t know about this, partner. Moving is one thing, but going to another planet—that might be pushing the envelope just a little.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Working with Talking Trudy would be less taxing, I suppose.”
“What exactly would we be introducing them to?”
“Chocolate,” Lara spoke up.
“Yeah, food and stuff.” He nodded. “You always said you wanted a little bar on the beach. This is your chance. Maybe not a bar exactly—you wouldn’t want to serve alcohol. It’s a chance to be your own boss. Just like you’ve always wanted. You could even travel between both planets.”
Sam could see Nick was thinking it over. He figured it wouldn’t take him long to decide after appealing to his friend’s lifelong dream.
Nick glanced at Kia. She nodded her head. “I’d like to be able to live on Nerak part of the time.”
Sam smiled and hugged Lara close to him. He’d told her he could talk Nick into returning with them. Later, he would tell Nick what the Elders had specifically asked him to import—chocolate and real men.
The chocolate would be easy. He just wasn’t sure where they were going to get the men.
You’ll think of something , Lara’s thoughts came to him.
You think so?
I know so. You can do anything, Sam. You’re my hero.
He kind of liked the idea of being Lara’s hero. Yeah, life was good.
If you liked this book, you’ve got to try HelenKay Dimon’s HARD AS NAILS,
out this month from Brava.
Here’s an excerpt from “This Old House,” the first story in this three-novella anthology…
S he dragged his mouth down and scorched him with a deep, drugging kiss. A kiss that wiped out good intentions and common sense. One that overpowered him, causing every nerve ending to flare to life.
Gone was the gentle assault. Restless energy radiated off her. Her lower body cuddled and inflamed him. Fingers tunneled into his hair as her hot tongue rubbed against his. Hot and wet, body against body, and mouth against mouth.
“Damn, Aubrey. Yes.”
Air caught in his lungs, making breathing impossible. Every inhale breath hitched, every exhale breath caught and stuttered. When he finally broke off the kiss, he balanced his forehead against hers to hold on to the warm contact a few minutes longer.
“Better?” Her finger traced the outline of his jaw.
Damn, did she have to ask? “Magnificent.”
“You do know your way around a kitchen.”
“I’m pretty knowledgeable about every room of the house. Wait until you see what I can do with a shower stall.”
Her laugh vibrated against his cheek. “I guess we can consider the kiss a down payment on my bill.”
Her words hit him like a big bucket of icy water. If she wanted to kill the mood, she had succeeded.
He blew out a long, painful breath. “Aubrey, about that—”
“Maybe making these payments won’t be so hard after all.”
No way would he have her rolling over in bed tomorrow morning, looking up at him with those bottomless dark eyes, and accusing him of a new sin. Stealing was bad enough.
“Think of it more as a taste of things to come.” He forced his hands to drop to his sides. The rest of his body shouted to stay right where he was.
“What are you doing?” A cloudy haze hovered over her eyes, and those sleek arms stayed around his shoulders.
“Stopping.” He reached up and loosened her hold around his neck. Otherwise, she might choke him.
“Why in the hell are you doing that?”
Yep, haze gone. Anger firmly in place. He’d buried her desire all right. Scooped up the dirt and piled it on top.
Despite t
he strong pull he felt for this woman, the situation didn’t feel right. Sex for a house. Sex to get out of trouble. Neither of those worked for him. Not on those terms. Sex for sex. Wanting him for him—not for the name or his finances—was the deal. For some reason, accepting less no longer sat right with him.
This “being mature” thing sure was a bitch.
“We need to call a halt,” Cole said, as he separated their bodies the rest of the way.
“Are you a complete idiot?”
No mystery there. Yeah, he was. A master idiot. “I’m trying to be sensible.”
“You’re about to be killed.” She shoved hard against his chest with both palms.
“That’s not quite the reaction I was going for.” Where was the gratitude for treating her like a woman and not just a body? For giving her the benefit of the doubt despite all of her accusations?
“What game are you playing? Clue me in, so I know the rules.”
“No game, Aubrey. That’s the point. When we have sex—”
“You blew your chance on that one, stud.”
She didn’t have to sound so sure. “When we have sex—and we will, so stop shaking your head—it will be because we both want it. Not because you need something from me.”
She pulled back as if he’d slapped her. “What do you think I need?”
“Money. The house.”
Somehow those black eyes darkened even further. “That’s the kind of male nonsense guaranteed to get a plate smashed over your head.”
“It is?”
“You make it sound as if I proposed we trade sex for money.”
Uh-oh. Somewhere along the line he had lost the upper hand in the conversation. “Well, I thought…”
“You better deny it before you end up wearing those dishes,” she warned.
Red face and puffing cheeks. A damned angry expression for a woman supposedly seeking a quid pro quo.
Cole tried to regain lost ground. “Look, let’s back up a step.”
“You can back right out the door for all I care.” Her chest rose and fell in rapid counts.
“You mean you weren’t saying…?”
“I was kissing, you idiot.” The words shot out of her and into him like tiny knife wounds. “And you were what, Cole, dissecting my intentions?”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Deciding I had a motive other than putting my tongue in your mouth?”
He knew enough to keep his mouth shut this time. Didn’t help though. Her rage kept spiraling.
“I admit I’m new at the one-night stand thing, Cole, but I thought kissing meant kissing, not that cash needed to be exchanged.”
Something that tasted like regret boiled up from his stomach. He’d been so sure a second ago that she wanted something from him. At least that’s what he thought right up to the minute he started thinking something else.
He mentally composed a convincing apology. He refused to beg, but he could admit some responsibility for their misunderstanding. Cooking her something to eat would play a role. He’d need all of his skills for this one.
Sometimes it’s okay to do something JUST FOR HER.
Turn the page for a peek at
Katherine O’Neal’s latest,
in stores this month from Brava.
“Y ou won’t find what you’re looking for, I’m afraid.”
He jerked around, into the moonlight streaming through the window from which he’d entered.
And as he did, she saw him more clearly—a tall figure, clad all in black, the fitted material clinging to a body that was muscular and sleek. A specifically fashioned mask, also black, concealed the top of his face…hiding his nose and cheeks…sweeping over his head to cover his hair…the only feature visible a clean-shaven jaw and the faint gleam of dark eyes through the slits of his disguise. He stood poised and alert, his hands at his sides, ready to pounce. The effect was both masculine and feline, calling to mind images of the jungle cat to which he’d been so aptly compared.
All at once, he darted for the open window. But she was closer. Instinctively, she stepped in front of it, blocking his path, reaching behind her to pull it closed.
He stopped in his tracks.
“I have a gun,” she told him, her voice shaky.
She could see his head swivel as he quickly surveyed the room, looking for another escape. Two doors. One, behind him, led to the hallway, but it was closed. The other, the one connecting to her bedroom, was closer and open. He stared at it, then back at her. No doubt wondering if she would really shoot him if he made a dash for it.
Astonishingly, despite her advantage, she sensed no fear in him. His presence sparked and sizzled in the room, sucking the air from it so she could barely breathe. A raw, stalking presence, wholly male, predatory and sexual in nature, making her suddenly aware that she stood before him in nothing but a lace and chiffon nightgown. She could feel the vulnerability of her soft female flesh, of the swells and hollows of her body, in a way that made her feel it was he who held the upper hand.
For a moment—an eternity—he didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locked on her. She could feel the heat of that gaze as though his hand was passing itself over her. She tried again to swallow. Heightened by the danger, it seemed to her that every pore of her skin radiated and throbbed with her awareness of him.
And then, like lightning—so suddenly she had no time to react—he lunged across the room and wrenched the pistol from her hand.
For a moment, he just stood there, the weapon aimed at her. Her hand aching, Jules could feel the frightened rasp of her breath. With her imagination running wild again, she pictured him pulling the trigger, heard in her mind the roar of the gun’s retort.
The silence was deafening. Her nerves were raw.
But then—quickly, efficiently—he flipped open the barrel, let the bullets drop to the floor, and tossed the pistol aside. Jules felt a momentary relief. But it was short-lived. Unthreatened now, he skirted around her and started for the window from which he’d come.
In desperation, she sprang to block his exit, flinging herself back against the window, her arms spread wide to prevent his escape.
“Please, don’t go.”
He stopped at once, his instincts honed. She imagined him grabbing her and hauling her aside.
Instead, with a stealthy grace, he veered to his left and started for the open door that led to her bedroom and the terrace beyond. Realizing his intention, she ran after him.
“Wait!” she cried.
He wheeled on her threateningly, his hand raised. “Stand back,” he warned, speaking in Italian—a deep, whispery, dangerous growl.
Switching quickly to Italian, she told him, “I just want to speak with you. That’s why I lured you here.”
“ Lured me?” He glanced about warily, as if expecting a contingent of police to burst into the room.
“There’s no one here,” she rushed to assure him. “I don’t want you captured. I just—”
He wasn’t listening. She could feel his urgency to get away. He crossed the room, rounding the bed on his way to the French doors, the terrace, and freedom beyond.
Fueled by despair, Jules shot a
fter him and grabbed him by the arm. Beneath the black sweater, it felt like iron.
He jerked free with a strength that sent her tumbling back. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
Jules was past caring. All she knew was that she couldn’t let him walk out the door, and out of her life.
She grabbed onto him once again. This time he shoved her back onto the bed. “Don’t you care what happens to you?” he snarled.
“No,” she confessed. “I have nothing to lose.”
“You’re mad,” he rasped.
“Am I?” She stood slowly, careful not to cause alarm. “Perhaps. All I know is that fate has brought you to me.”
“Fate?”
“Destiny has sent you to me, Panther. You can’t run away now.”
“Can’t I?”
He turned to leave, but she gasped out, quickly, “I have a proposition for you.”
That stopped him. Slowly, he asked, “Now, what kind of proposition could a woman like you have for a man like me?”
Her eyes roamed the feral black-cloaked phantom before her. Unbidden, the first line of Byron’s “Don Juan” sprang to her lips: “I want a hero.”
“You want what ?”
She took a breath and spat out the words.
“I want you to kill my husband.”
And keep an eye out for Donna Kauffman’s
THE BLACK SHEEP AND THE ENGLISH ROSE,
coming next month from Brava…
“I only ask for one thing.”
Felicity arched a brow and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Which is?”
“Until the sapphire is in our hands, we operate as a team. No secret maneuvers, no hidden agendas.”
Her whole life was a hidden agenda. Well, half of it anyway. “And when we have the necklace? Then what?”
