His Earth Maiden AE

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “The women will be lifelike in size,” Rick insisted.

  “I’m not diverting the power from the corridor lights,” Viktor denied. “You’ll just have to imagine your female company like the rest of us.”

  “It’s like I don’t even know you,” Rick said in mock horror.

  “I can live with that,” Viktor answered, his teasing tone giving away the fact they were joking around. “I like breathing more than I like you.”

  “What are you playing with anyway?” Rick asked.

  Jackson turned into the dining cabin to find the two men were alone. Viktor had Raisa’s black bag on the table and had pulled out its contents, which was mainly some kind of portable mechanical device.

  “Something I found in the hall,” Viktor answered. He slapped at Rick’s hand as the pilot tried to touch the metal device. “You wouldn’t understand it.”

  “What are you doing?” Raisa gasped as she hurried toward the unit.

  Viktor tried to shield it with is body, as if protecting what he’d found. “I’m just looking to see if there are any parts we can scavenge to fix the—”

  “Ah!” Raisa inhaled sharply. “Parts?” She slapped at Viktor’s hands several times. “You will not touch my molecular gastro-spectrometer!”

  “Is that what this is?” Viktor sounded more awed than scared. “I’ve heard about these but have never actually seen one.”

  “Hey, Jackson, who’s the dirty star beam?” Rick asked quietly as he sidled up next to him.

  “No,” Jackson stated in warning.

  “But—” the pilot tried again.

  “No,” Jackson repeated.

  “Does it work?” Viktor asked Raisa.

  “Yes—no. I was on Torgan trying to get a part to fix it,” she said. “Normally, yes, it works great.”

  “Figures.” Rick gave a small laugh. “Everything on this ship is broken.”

  “That’s a shame.” Viktor frowned. “Hey, maybe we can rig it with something and get it going again? I’d love to see it in action.”

  “I tried. I can get it to run through the first process, but when it starts with the second it becomes unstable, and then the detector can’t read the final outputs. I narrowed it down to the…” Raisa and Viktor began talking in some kind of hybrid scientist-mechanic’s language. The words were understandable on their own, but strung together they made very little sense.

  “I wouldn’t mind getting a little dirty myself,” Rick whispered, nudging Jackson with his elbow. “If you know what I’m sayin’.”

  “No,” Jackson stated flatly. He found it best not to encourage Rick down his mischievous paths.

  “Fourier transform ion cyclotron resonance…” Raisa explained to Viktor, her voice enthusiastic, as if she talked about the most fascinating thing in all the galaxies.

  “Ah, that’s too bad,” Rick said. Jackson arched a brow in question.

  “…single mass analyzer…”

  “Can’t be easy to see Viktor sweep in and steal your girl,” continued Rick. “If I were you, I’d be embarrassed.”

  Jackson tensed. The two did seem to be getting along very well.

  “…fragmenting molecules…”

  “Maybe we should give them some privacy.” Rick tapped Jackson’s arm. “It’s kind of like watching a first date, isn’t it? They’re really cute together, don’t you think?”

  Jackson inhaled sharply.

  “…used for protein identification—”

  “I thought you wanted to wash up,” Jackson interrupted.

  Rick snickered behind his hand, and Jackson realized the man had been goading him into a reaction. Blasted stars, it had worked too. Rick’s words had wormed their way into his head.

  “Oh, I, ah…” Raisa looked down at her clothes and then at Viktor. “He’s right, I’m a mess.”

  “No more so than the rest of us.” Viktor frowned at Jackson when Raisa moved to go to the food simulator. He mouthed, “What are you doing?”

  Jackson didn’t have an answer.

  “How old is this thing?” Raisa asked, touching their food simulator, trying to move it so she could look behind it. The unit had been bolted down. “I haven’t seen this model in a long time.”

  “We might be in need of a few upgrades,” Jackson muttered.

  “Don’t you have some VR monsters to fight?” Rick asked Jackson, as if dismissing him from the room.

  “Can’t,” Viktor inserted. “VR systems are down. They take too much power.”

  “That explains so much,” Rick chuckled. It was no secret that Jackson spent an unusual amount of time in virtual reality training. He used to exercise with Dev, but since his friend had married, he’d been fighting solo. Though, could he call it sparring if he programmed more alien foes than was physically possible to defend himself against? Sometimes he didn’t even put up a fight, and he let the computer-generated warriors beat on him. The ship medic always healed him afterward, so it’s not like anyone knew how bad it could be.

  She ignored the two men and turned to Jackson apologetically. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I meant to say, this is one of the best models put out. They’re heavy, but they work much longer than their lightweight counterparts. My advice would be to keep it as long as you can.”

  Viktor instantly moved forward, slipping his hand on top of the unit. “Are you a food simulator connoisseur?”

  “Something like that,” Raisa said. “I’m an Intergalactic Culinary Specialist.”

  “You cook?” Rick asked with interest. “Because I have to tell you, simulated food lives up to its name. It pretends to be edible.”

  Raisa gave a tight smile. “I’m the one who deconstructs foods and creates the parameters that make food simulation possible.”

  Rick arched a brow.

  “I make the recipes,” Raisa simplified, her tone a little flat.

  “Is that so?” Rick tried to lean in front of Viktor to block the man from the exchange. “So tell me, why can’t these things,” he banged the top of the unit, “make a decent piece of chocolate?”

  Viktor pushed Rick out of his way to rejoin the conversation.

  “I heard it was because the Lithorian monks have a monopoly on chocolate making, and they threatened the simulator people,” Viktor said. “It’s because it’s the food of the gods and they use it to lure people to their way of life.”

  “I’ve not heard of monks outright threatening anyone, but they have been putting political pressure on the company not to use Lithorian chocolate in their experiments. It still happens because it’s the best chocolate in the universes. But no one can get it right. It’s not from lack of trying. It’s the one recipe none of us can figure out how to program. Every specialist I know is trying to conquer that beast. One of my colleagues came close, but it was not well received at a chocolate-tasting festival, and it had some adverse effects on a few alien species. Since then, Simulator Corp has been hesitant to release another version. It’ll be a huge payday for whoever figures it out.”

  “Huge payday? How’s this work again?” Rick placed his hand on the unit.

  Jackson didn’t move as he watched the two men make fools of themselves. He had no claim on the woman and she could talk to whoever she chose. That didn’t mean he enjoyed Rick and Viktor fighting for her attention.

  “She is injured,” Jackson stated. “You should let her rest.”

  Raisa looked annoyed by his statement. “Yeah, apparently I’m as delicate as I am dirty.” She turned to the food simulator.

  Rick grinned, as if he couldn’t contain himself. He started to respond but Viktor slapped his hand over the man’s mouth and shook his head in denial.

  Raisa didn’t appear to notice as she pushed several buttons on the food simulator. She waited a few moments before pulling out a large bowl of steaming liquid. The smell of flowers filled the room. She eyed Jackson. “I’ll need a cloth to wash with…and privacy.”

  “You can use my quarters,” Ric
k offered. “I don’t mind.”

  “I was thinking more the room I woke up in,” she said, her eyes widening slightly as if to convey some kind of secret message to Jackson, only to add, “if it’s not a problem.”

  “It’s fine.” Jackson lifted his hand to the side and gestured for her to walk before him from the room. She did, and he hovered his hand behind her back as if to protect her even as he needlessly guided her.

  “Let me know if you need me to help wash your back.” Rick grinned more at Jackson than Raisa. He knew he was getting under Jackson’s skin.

  Raisa chuckled, and he heard her mutter, “That man is a handful of trouble.”

  “You have no idea,” Jackson answered. Lights blinked in the corridor, a constant reminder of the tin can of a broken ship they were currently flying in. The sooner they were out of Torgan airspace the better. If some unsavory characters—or the Federation Military—decided to attack, they wouldn’t have the power to evade capture or defend themselves. It wasn’t an ideal situation for space pirates to be in.

  “It’s obvious you don’t like him,” Raisa said. “Did something happen between the two of you? Or is it just a personality clash?”

  “Who said I didn’t like him?” Jackson stopped walking. The soft lights illuminated her face in small bursts, drawing his eyes to her mouth. It had been a long while since he’d been with a woman. All the females on the ship were spoken for. The places they’d landed as of late provided little opportunity. On Qurilixen, the population of shifters was predominately male, so no luck there. On Torgan, they were all thieves and outlaws, again no luck. On the last three fueling docks, the only woman he was physically compatible with had been a lykan, and she had more hair than grugs during their winter season. He and Dev had fought grugs in the VR, and Jackson had no desire to be reminded of the howling, slashing beasts while in someone’s bed.

  “Jackson?”

  He realized he’d not heard what she had said. “I was thinking of battle and not listening. I apologize.”

  “Uh, okay.” She gave him a quizzical look. “That’s surprisingly honest of you.”

  “Who said I didn’t like Rick?” he asked, prompting her to resume where he’d drifted off. He really needed to stop thinking about sex when talking to her. He had more self-control, and self-respect, than that.

  “It was rather obvious by the way you looked at him. If I had to guess, you want to throw him off the ship,” she said. “He annoys you, at the very least.”

  That is because the charming spacehole was flirting with you, he thought.

  “Rick is family,” Jackson stated so there could be no mistaking what his loyalties were. “He is like my brother, and I love him like a brother. I would give my life to protect any member of this crew.”

  Raisa hugged her bowl closer to her stomach and took a step back. “I apologize. I spoke out of turn.”

  Jackson didn’t know why everything that came out of his mouth toward her sounded gruff. He wanted to say nice things, be charming and friendly. He wanted to tell her how pretty she looked, even with the dirt on her face. Or how he liked the way her animated voice lifted and dropped with enthusiasm when she spoke of scientific stuff. Or how light she was to carry in his arms. How he was sorry he’d brought her onto a broken ship. How he wanted to kiss her. How he wanted to brush the hair from her cheek. How he wanted…her.

  He wanted her.

  “Your dirty face…” He hesitated. That wasn’t coming out right. What was it Rick would say to women he liked? That man somehow seemed to have luck with the ladies.

  “Saddle up, sweet cheeks, big Rick is ready to take you for a torpedo ride.”

  Okay, maybe charming wasn’t the right word to use to describe Rick.

  “Without washing, you…” Again, he hesitated. Blasted space balls. What in the fiery depths of Bravon was wrong with him?

  “Come to Rickie, baby cakes, I got everything you need right here.”

  “Come to…” No. He could not say that to her. How the hell did any of those lines work?

  “I’ve heard about people having a condition where they’re extremely bothered by, or even fearful of, dirt and germs, to the point they scrub themselves raw and can’t think rationally,” she said. “Until you, I never met anyone who had it though.”

  Jackson grimaced. “I’m a trained soldier. I’m not afraid of dirt.”

  He wanted to say he wasn’t afraid of anything, but that wasn’t true. He was afraid of losing his crewmates. They were the only family he had.

  “Okay, if you say so.” Her voice lifted in a way that said she didn’t believe him but wasn’t about to argue the point.

  “You’re pretty, just like that,” he said.

  “Are you…?” She arched a brow. “You know what, never mind. It’s not important. How about you show me where I can clean up?”

  Jackson nodded, deciding it was best if he didn’t say anything else.

  8

  “You’re pretty…”

  Raisa shook her head as she remembered his words. Not so much what he said but the difficulty the words seemed to bring him. Poor Jackson. Being a soldier had clearly taken its toll on him.

  Raisa had seen such injuries before—one too many blows to the head without prompt medical treatment caused the wits to slow. It was too bad. He seemed like a nice guy. Clearly, he was the ship muscle, evident by his incredible build. And he was handsome. Well, that really didn’t have anything to do with anything. She supposed a person didn’t need wits to fight, not really, not when he had brute strength on his side.

  She did her best to wash with a cloth and bowl without getting too much water on the decontaminator floor. Even so, it felt good to be clean. Bending over still hurt, but the healing bruise over her ribs was doing what it was meant to.

  “I found clothes,” Jackson said from the other side of the decontaminator door. She liked the sound of his deep voice. “You look to be about Violette’s size.”

  His words were calm and confident, as they had been when they first spoke, not stuttering and strange like they’d been when walking back from the dining hall. Maybe she’d misjudged, and her first impression was correct. He wasn’t dimwitted, only an extreme germaphobe.

  “Who else is on this ship?” she asked, keeping the conversation going.

  “Viktor’s brother Lucien is our communications man.”

  “They’re Dere, aren’t they? It looks like they have yet to go through their chrysalis.” The opaque complexion and red tinted eyes gave it away.

  “I don’t believe they will. They’re half human.” Jackson’s voice seemed to come from the direction of the bed. “Lochlann is our captain. His wife, Alexis, is our intelligence officer. These are their quarters. Dev and his wife Violette are security officers. She sometimes helps to pilot the ship. That’s everyone. We’re a small crew.”

  “And you?”

  “I am also a security officer.”

  “Why so much security? Are you transporting something important?” She wondered what kind of cargo they could be carrying to warrant so much protection.

  “How did you begin formulating recipes?” Jackson avoided answering.

  Raisa tried to open the door wide enough to peek through, but it didn’t stop as she pressed the button. It opened completely, revealing her naked body to Jackson.

  The wet cloth floated in the bowl and wouldn’t be big enough to cover much anyway. He sat on the corner of the bed, facing her. She gasped, looking for a way to cover up. Her foot bumped the bowl of dirty water, sloshing a little onto the decontaminator floor. She tried to cover her breasts with her hands, not that she was necessarily modest, but there was something powerful happening between them that caused her to tremble.

  Cooler air hit her damp skin, and she shivered. Jackson didn’t turn away as he stared at her. His breathing audibly deepened. His lips parted, and his eyes narrowed as they swept over her form.

  She opened her mouth to speak but he stood, cut
ting off her words before they could even make it past her throat. His eyes lifted and met hers. He came toward her like a heat-seeking missile toward a star.

  “I…” He stopped before her. She shivered anew.

  Jackson lifted his hand to her face, as if testing her reaction to his touch. The warmth of his fingers was a stark contrast to the chill. Her breathing deepened. She lifted a hand away from her chest and placed it on his. His fingers moved down her cheek to her neck, where his palm flattened against her shoulder. The movement was torturous and slow. She knew she should stop and consider her situation, but logic had no place in how she was feeling. Every nerve seemed to spark beneath her skin, enticing her toward him like a magnet to metal.

  Missiles to stars? Magnets to metal? When did she begin thinking like a bad poet?

  Once she touched Jackson, she couldn’t pull away. Her head tilted back and he took the invitation to skim his hand down her chest to cup a breast. She inhaled softly as his palm hit the aching tip. With each breath, her nipple rubbed his calloused hand, sending pleasure over her. His other hand touched her stomach, lightly running over where the healing bruise had formed. It created a shell of sorts around her nerves, and she couldn’t feel that touch as deeply. Her lips remained parted and she waited for him to kiss her. She wanted the hand on her stomach to move lower, to where her thighs guarded her sex.

  “I’ve had my shots. I can’t get pregnant,” was all she could think to say when he didn’t move his body closer.

  He seemed to be struggling with an inner turmoil. Finally, he moaned, “Me, too,” followed by a desperate sound as he captured his mouth with hers.

  His kiss was both passionate and gentle. Her back hit the doorframe of the decontaminator. The sharp edge pressed into her skin, but she didn’t want his lips to stop.

  Her hands were trapped between her breasts and his chest. His hands slid down her damp sides to her hips, only to pull her forward against his arousal. The full length of him was unmistakably hard.

  Without seeming to use much effort, he cupped her ass and lifted her off the ground to better angle her hips to his. This drew her center up along his shaft. The hot feel of his erection through his clothes rubbed against her in a way that was all too pleasurable. She wriggled her arms free and wrapped them around his neck to help support her weight. His hips rocked forward, as if he could already feel himself inside her. She reached between them, cupping his arousal.