Last Kiss Goodnight oa-1

by Gena Showalter

  He didn’t like that he had to wait to act, but patience was his best friend right now. He hadn’t quite recovered from the bombing, weakness still swimming through his veins, affecting his limbs. His grip wasn’t as strong as usual, and he doubted his footsteps would be steady.

  “I can feel your anger, Solo,” X said, sitting down on Solo’s shoulder, balancing his elbows on his upraised knees. “Why? The girl has done nothing wrong.”

  “Nothing wrong?” Dr. E snorted, pacing. “Maybe we’re thinking of different girls, because this one tried to poison him!”

  “Do not be ridiculous. She didn’t try to poison him.”

  “Prove it.”

  X remained silent, knowing there was no need to speak. Solo was well able to smell the essence of poison, and he had smelled nothing in the chocolate. So . . . why had she given it to him? Had she hoped to soften him or perhaps even to seduce him? Had she slept with any of the other imprisoned males, enjoying her power over them? Just the thought caused his nails to elongate and cut into his palms.

  He homed in on her, watched intently, and realized she was showing the female the same detached gentleness as she had shown the males. He relaxed, his nails shrinking to their normal size. No, she hadn’t slept with any of the males.

  She’d hoped to soften Solo, then. But why?

  Dr. E stomped a foot and growled, “If you aren’t on Solo’s team, you’re against it. She’s against it and needs to be eliminated. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Oh, that’s all? And yet, by lying in wait to destroy another, you will merely ambush your own life.”

  As Solo listened to the pair, he fought another wave of fury. Apparently he could think about harming Vika, but if anyone else so much as suggested it, he had major problems—even with a tiny male no one else could see or hear.

  X said, “Look deeper than the surface, Solo, the way you’ve always wanted people to do for you. Vika is not what she seems.”

  Dr. E wasn’t one to be ignored. “Wait. You’re trying to tell us that you don’t think she’s like every other female Solo has known? Please. They either bolt from him in fear, or throw him down and demand he unleash his big, bad beast. She bolted. Give her a few days, and she’ll do the other.”

  Yes, she had bolted, but she had also approached him afterward and offered him a gift.

  “Listen to her, whistling so loudly and off-key,” Dr. E continued, his tone dripping with disgust. “It’s obvious she enjoys her work.”

  “Perhaps she needs a distraction from so horrific a task,” X replied.

  “Yeah. Right.”

  Both possibilities had merit. Each time she had finished with an otherworlder, she had left a treat inside the cage. A pile of cookies for the Bree Lian, a rose for the Delensean, an extra blanket for the Morevv. A book for the Teran, and a tube of sunscreen for the Rakan. Kind gestures, sure. Something to assuage her guilt, maybe. Something to prevent the captives from rising up in revolt, definitely.

  She finished with the Cortaz and locked up. Gaze downcast, she approached Solo’s cage, stopped, raised her foot as if she meant to take another step, placed it back on the ground. A second later, she shook her head and closed the rest of the distance with strong, determined strides.

  “Don’t do it,” he said.

  Her arm trembled as she leapt up to press the button to sedate him.

  He was bigger than the others and didn’t expect to drop as quickly as they had—but he did. Between one heartbeat and the next, his arms and legs felt as heavy as boulders. His knees gave out, and his face hit the cage floor with a thud.

  • • •

  The high-pitched squeak of the cage door nearly sent Vika running. Somehow, she found the strength to climb inside the small enclosure. The newcomer’s chest was rising and falling steadily with his breaths, but his limbs were utterly still.

  Okay, then. She left him to gather her cleaning supplies, her attention snagged on the special sandalwood oil she’d brought. Always she carried it here, but never had she actually used it. Now . . . she thought it would blend nicely with the otherworlder’s natural peat smoke scent, and she couldn’t help herself. She added the liquid to the spray bottle and reentered the cage.

  I can do this. Really.

  She started at his feet, shocked by how adorable his toes were. Never before had she seen toenails that resembled the purest of diamonds, sparkling in the light—and if she didn’t hide them, she would never again see them. Jecis would remove them.

  Nibbling on her bottom lip, she left the cage only long enough to gather a handful of dirt and a little cup of water. She created a thick, dark paste and smeared it over each of his nails, hiding their beauty. When the mixture dried, she was happy to note it remained intact, none of it flaking away.

  Back to work. She toiled her way to his knees, spraying the enzyme wash and wiping with the rag, spraying and wiping, shocked all over again by the lack of hair on his legs. That shouldn’t have caused her heart to pick up speed, but it did. It was just . . . he was put together so well, all muscle and sinew.

  She’d bathed other males, of course she had, but there was something spectacular about this one. Something spectacular even despite the multiple patches of soot, each one hiding a wound of some sort. Bruises and scabs she was very carful not to injure further. Poor thing. What had been done to him?

  Her cheeks heated the moment she reached his thighs, and she decided not to clean under the loincloth. She was curious, she wouldn’t lie about that, but even the thought of looking at that part of him, even to do her job, was wrong. So she moved her attention to his very muscular, utterly drool-worthy stomach, and sweet mercy, he had to be smuggling iron bars under his skin—iron bars that were twitching, she noticed with a frown, as though they were coming to life. She—

  Watched as a bruise on his ribs faded, there one moment, gone the next, and the twitching mystery was momentarily set aside. How could an injury vanish that quickly? She traced the rag over the area, but the skin remained bronzed, healthy.

  Amazing. Her gaze swept over him, and she realized several other bruises had faded, too. He was healing right before her eyes. What a wonderful, miraculous gift—one she would have paid a fortune to have.

  Vika cleaned his arms and hands and then his chest, and the twitching increased. An allergic reaction to the drugs, perhaps? Concerned, she flattened her hand over his heart. The beat was strong, if fast. No, no allergic reaction. Had to be a characteristic of his race, then.

  As she leaned over him to scrub his neck, her chest brushed against his and she lost her breath.

  She straightened with a jolt, thoughts tumbling through her mind.

  You should have seen him before the circus got hold of him, her mother had once said about her father. He used to take my breath away.

  The loss of breath was a sign of attraction. One Vika had never experienced before. Why here? Why now? Why this male . . . who was as soft as velvet yet as hard as rock, and as warm as a winter blanket.

  Well, that answered that, she supposed.

  Her attention slid to his face. His surprisingly lovely face. Long, thick lashes cast shadows over cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He had a proud nose she wanted to touch . . . shouldn’t touch . . . couldn’t help but touch. Her fingers tingled.

  His lips were surely a work of art. They were lush and the same color as the roses her mother used to pick every morning and keep in their trailer. A tradition Vika had missed every day since her passing.

  What would it be like to belong to a man like this one? Did he protect the things he loved, or did he hurt them? What was he like in his other life, the one before enslavement?

  Her fingers migrated to his lips. Lips as soft as they appeared. No, softer. Like little pillows.

  For the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to kiss a man.

  You can find out. . . .

  The question sprang from a hidden place inside her, drifted through her
mind, the most insidious of temptations. What would a single kiss hurt? He would never know, and she would never again have to wonder what it would be like.

  A quick look around proved that all of the otherworlders were sleeping and none of the performers or workers were hanging around. There would never be a more perfect time.

  Inch by inch, she leaned down. Finally, she was there, hovering just over his mouth.

  You shouldn’t do this.

  A moment of reasoning, springing from a place she knew very well. Self-preservation.

  One she ignored.

  She pressed her lips against his.

  He offered no reaction, yet still the sweetness of the act astonished her. An intoxicating blend of emotions racing through her, she lifted her head, looked around. They were still alone. His eyes were still closed, his breathing still even. Again she lowered her mouth. This time, she applied more pressure, and oh, she liked this feeling so much better. He was there, she could feel him, and could savor the intensified scent of him.

  I wonder if he tastes as wonderful as he smells.

  Another irresistible temptation. Her tongue swept out of its own accord and traced the center of his mouth. At the moment of contact, a moan escaped her. He tasted even better, and that should have been impossible, but here, now, nothing was impossible.

  No wonder people enjoyed doing this. There was a communion of bodies, a complete loss of worry. The world and its troubles simply ceased to matter.

  More, she thought, and her belly quivered.

  Yes. More. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth, careful, so careful not to hurt him. Another moan slipped from her—just as his eyelids flipped open and his gaze locked on her.

  Seven

  Let his left hand be under my head, and his right hand embrace me.

  —SONG OF SOLOMON 2:6

  W ELL, HIS CURIOSITY WAS certainly assuaged, wasn’t it? Solo thought.

  She’d kissed him, confused him, overwhelmed him. Stunned him. Because she’d done it of her own free will. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t demanded it. She’d simply given. A gentle meeting of lips, followed by the sweetest little nibble.

  His body had been immobile—was still immobile—but his mind had been working just fine both then and now. The entire time, in fact. He’d been highly attuned to her every action, her every breath. Her every caress.

  He’d known the moment she spread mud over his toenails. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out what she was doing, and why, and when the answers had slid into place, he had reeled. She’d hoped to protect him.

  Then she had begun cleaning him. While she’d been gentle but businesslike with the other males, she had been sweet and affectionate with Solo, lingering, doctoring—arousing. From the first, his blood had heated to a fever pitch.

  His muscles had knotted as he’d tried everything within his power to move, to grab her—not to toss her away and escape, but to pull her closer. To strip her and take her, here and now.

  And when she’d kissed him . . . a growl of need had razed the inside of his throat.

  His desperation for her had finally given him the strength to open his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she mumbled, and scrambled from his cage. After shutting and locking the door, she ran from the area and never looked back.

  Solo wanted to shout and demand she return, but he couldn’t work his mouth. His absolute, utter helplessness enraged him.

  He needed to hold Vika in his arms and return her kiss properly. It was the sweetest he’d ever had. And he had enjoyed it immensely. She had treated his mouth as if it were a treasure, and she an explorer. She had been gentle, and oh, so tender. She had lifted her head, then once again fit her lips over his, and the second time, she had tasted him. Had moaned, as though she’d adored everything she’d discovered.

  “Solo,” Dr. E said, drawing him from his thoughts. “We’re basically alone. Shouldn’t you be planning your escape and the murder of everyone here?”

  Escape. Yes, that was all that mattered. No warrior worth the kind of paycheck Solo received would have gotten lost during a time like this. And over so innocent a kiss, of all things.

  But . . .

  Why had she done it?

  “You will save Vika and take her with you,” X announced.

  “Wrong! You will kill Vika, as you threatened,” Dr. E replied. “But feel free to bring her better parts with you.”

  A pulse of anger sprang from deep in his chest. He ran his tongue along his teeth. Good. Movement. “Both of you do me a solid and zip your lips.” Words. His jaw now worked.

  He tried to roll his neck from one side to the other—success. He rotated his shoulders. That took a bit more effort, but still he managed it. The drugs were wearing off, then.

  A deep breath in . . . out . . . and he was able to force himself into a sitting position. He surveyed the cages. All of the captives were sleeping soundly.

  Beyond them and the equipment he’d already noticed, he could see a big red tent with multiple smaller white tents lined up along the sides. There were no trees to use as cover on the off chance he was spotted and chased, which meant there would be no limbs to use as daggers on the off chance he failed to find a weapon before leaving this clearing. That wasn’t a big deal. His hands were weapon enough.

  His ears twitched, and he picked up a bickering conversation about . . . sixty yards away, was his guess.

  “I’m telling you, he’s big and red and as ugly as sin,” a male voice he didn’t recognize said. “He’s got to be the devil himself.”

  “And I’m telling you, we work for the devil himself.”

  The two cackled with humor.

  “You gotta get a peek at him.”

  “Vika’s probably there.”

  “So?”

  “So, she’ll make us fetch and carry sooner rather than later, and we won’t be able to say no to Jecis’s precious daughter,” was the sneered reply, “or we’ll end up disappearing in Matas’s magic act.”

  Relief cascaded through Solo, a warm waterfall he didn’t understand but wasn’t going to question. Vika was Jecis’s daughter, not his lover.

  “If you can stare into the creature’s eyes, you can withstand Matas.”

  A pause. The sound of spitting. “Fine. But only ’cause I don’t believe anything can be as ugly as you described.”

  Two sets of pounding footsteps.

  Solo knew the men were coming to check him out. Annnd . . . sure enough. About thirty seconds later, two stocky men with rotund bellies and swarthy skin stormed into the circle of cages and spun to search for the new guy. The one on the left spotted Solo, and his eyes grew wide. He stumbled backward, only to catch himself and shake his head.

  “I’ll be. You was right, Leonard.”

  “Yeah, but you gotta get a closer look to really appreciate the ugly.”

  The pair stalked to just in front of him, allowing Solo to study the fourth and fifth people who would fall under his coming attack. Both had yellow teeth, and the man on the right was even missing a few. Tobacco filled their mouths.

  “It’s hideous, ain’t it?” one said, and Solo realized his skin had once again taken on a crimson cast.

  At any other time, in any other situation, he would have erupted. Here, right now, he had to control his temper.

  The other spit a stream of black. “We should take pictures, you know. Prove we tangoed with a beast. Women’ll be so excited by our bravery, they’ll drop their panties and beg us to show our beasts.”

  “You ain’t never gonna tango with a creature like that.”

  “Oh, yeah? Watch me.” The speaker grabbed a few of the rocks that had been tossed at Vika and launched them at Solo.

  Some slapped against his chest, some against his legs, but each one provided a slight sting, reminding him of all the times he’d walked outside for recess, the humiliation, the anger. Humiliation and anger even now rising to the surface. And if
he experienced all of this, what had the much smaller Vika experienced?

  His narrowed gaze strayed to the sleeping Mec and Cortaz. They had hurt her. They would pay.

  “I think you’re ticking it off,” the other said with a laugh.

  The word it echoed in Solo’s mind, and his nails elongated into sharp-tipped claws.

  “Calm down,” X commanded.

  “Get madder,” Dr. E retorted.

  The two men clomped off, murmuring about finding a camera. Every word was quieter than the last, until Solo could no longer discern their voices. He wanted to shake the cage until the bars popped loose. He wanted to try something, anything, but he still wasn’t at full strength, and until he was, he was too vulnerable and couldn’t afford to put his plan on the fast track.

  Shouldn’t have to wait too much longer, though. He would be stronger and ready to go by sunset, at the very least, but he would wait until everyone else was in bed. Then . . .

  Yeah. Then.

  • • •

  A few hours later, the captives awoke. Most sat up with a jolt. Some eased up and stretched. All muttered and complained about Vika.

  As though summoned by the complaints, she reappeared, wearing a new T-shirt and jeans. The top was pink, lacy, and the pants sparkly. She looked as though she’d just come from a nightclub after dancing for hours with the man of her dreams.

  Solo’s hands fisted, a hot surge of irritation blasting through him.

  She’d touched him, kissed him. He didn’t want her dancing with another man.

  Stupid of him, yes. Did he care? No.

  The tobacco-spitting men—who had never returned with a camera—trailed behind her, both carrying buckets and leering at her. When she stopped and faced them, their expressions cleared. She pointed to the ground, a queen with her subjects, expecting absolute and immediate obedience.

  She got it. They placed the new buckets where she wanted and picked up the old ones. She busied herself with what was inside, but the pair remained where they were for several long moments, watching her, leering all over again now that her back was to them, elbowing each other with masculine intent.