Got Thrills? A Boxed Set (A McCray Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  Rob just stood there, shell-shocked. That was, by far, one of the worst experiences of his life. Worse than having a shark actually bite off your legs. This felt like his soul had been chewed up and spit out. He would never, ever approach a girl again as long as he lived.

  Then the blonde, who trailed behind the rest of the group, turned around and met Rob’s eyes. She gave him a small half smile and a wave.

  Oh, yeah. He would have to thank Uncle Jare.

  * * *

  Jarod chased the retreating figure of the Asian woman as she headed toward the casino bar. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they kept running into one another. This was fate all the way, baby.

  He watched her as she planted herself at the bar, waving down a bartender to order a drink. His observational skills would pay off here. He watched as she let her gaze drift toward the huge observatory window. Out in the cold vacuum of space, he could see a veritable traffic jam. Ship after ship poured out into space from good ol’ Mother Earth, and all of them were stopping here. There wasn’t even close to enough room to accommodate them all, so most found themselves in a never-ending holding pattern, looping around the station like moths to a hungry flame.

  What does that say about those of us who managed to make our way in? Jarod wondered for a brief moment before putting on his game face. He caught the woman’s eye and began speaking before the sour look on her face could turn into even tarter words. He’d been here before with her. He gestured to the growing mess outside the window. “Starting to look like O’Hare out there.” He motioned to the bartender. “We’ll take two of whatever the lady is having.” Now that the drinks were ordered, Jarod could get down to serious business. He angled his body toward the young woman and opened his mouth to speak.

  Before any actual words could come forth, the Asian looked him up and down once, quite thoroughly. She pulled a black device out of her purse. It looked like a small wand with a readout screen. Passing the wand around his head, she waited until there was a loud beep. A long moment passed while she peered at the tiny screen. Her expression changed to one of…surprise? Shock? Something.

  “Yeah, that wasn’t weird at all.” Jarod had no idea what had just happened, but he was willing to overlook some eccentricities on this woman’s behalf.

  She spoke, her words precise and sharp, each a tiny razor. “Do the names Tadema or Rauli mean anything to you?”

  Jarod had to admit, he had not seen that one coming. He leaned back, nonplussed. “Um…did they pitch in the World Series?” He grinned, looking to relocate his missing game. When in doubt, charm.

  The grin seemed to bounce right off the woman with zero effect. “They were prominent classical painters.” She cocked an eyebrow at Jarod, causing his blood pressure to skyrocket and plummet somehow all at once. “How about Marmor or Orzain?”

  Never had Jarod wished more that he had paid attention during his Art Appreciation 101 course in college. He floundered, stuttering. Jarod could feel himself going down in flames. Seriously, what was up with this chick? “Classical…style painters?” he proffered. He upped the wattage on his smile. More charm.

  Nothing. “Pioneering psychiatrists.” She looked down her lovely nose at Jarod, no easy task, as he was standing above her. “So, as you can see, we have absolutely nothing in common and no longer need to converse. She flowed with infinite grace from the seat next to Jarod to one several meters away.

  Jarod wasn’t sure which was worse. That he had just gotten turned down, hard? Or that the recipient of his attentions was so clearly unfazed by the entire encounter? He could at least get under women’s skin most of the time. He had flipped around worse turndowns than this just by irritating the woman and then letting the drink do the rest of the work. Irritated was one small step from turned on.

  But this girl might as well be staying out where the ships were hovering, for all the warmth he could generate in her. Jarod found himself intrigued. And completely baffled. He had no idea how to continue.

  He turned back to the bar to regroup. The barkeep sidled up to him, his face studiously blank. “Take it you’ll be having just one cinnamon-ginger-tini?”

  Jarod let out a long groan and pounded his head against the bar. “I’ll take a Scotch,” he muttered somewhere at the vicinity of his feet.

  Two hours to refuel? That was starting to feel like an eternity.

  * * *

  Mia played with her necklace while working on her ginger-tini. She had never been more grateful for her skin tone than she had been while talking to that insufferable hotshot. Mia had no desire to let him or anyone know just how much he had gotten to her. She had met his type before, of course—too many times to count. But this one? He had somehow managed to piss her off and intrigue her at the same time.

  And that was not okay.

  Mia took out her scanner and peered at the readout once more. These findings couldn’t be accurate. They just couldn’t.

  Activity in different areas of the brain combined with certain specific wavelengths were an excellent indicator of the emotions or mental states the subject was experiencing. Mia had found over the length of her studies and experiments that men were typically at a four out of ten on the sexual scale. That was their baseline.

  This guy had measured a five. She double-checked the scanner, making sure it was working correctly. Mia would have guessed he would measure in at least at an eight, and that was being generous. Apparently sex was not the only thing this one had on the brain. And the rest of the scan threw Mia off as well. He scored much higher on the cognitive side than their brief conversation would have indicated. More intelligent and far less interested in sex than she ever would have imagined. Being brutally honest with herself, Mia acknowledged that she was fascinated.

  She reviewed the two main reasons why this was not acceptable. One, she was too smart to fall for the obvious appeal of a player. Okay, possibly not a player, but whatever. Two, she could not, would not, allow anything to get in the way of what she was here to accomplish. She knew firsthand what people were capable of once they realized what she had in her possession. Mia was not going to willingly put herself in a compromising situation on her own. No matter how charming, how tanned, how…out-and-out hot the candidate might be.

  And this one was all three—and then some. It had been a long time since Mia had seen a smile that had that kind of effect on her. And were those lighter streaks in his hair from the sun, or a really good stylist? Mia risked a glance back at the flyboy. Oh, look at that. Shocking. He was already working on someone who was probably much more his speed. Blonde, tatted up, enormous fake breasts. The trifecta of tramp.

  Mia immediately chastised herself for that last one. The girl plainly had issues that she was trying to work through, and sour grapes were not Mia’s style.

  But, really? He had moved on that fast? It had taken him all of two seconds to start chatting up another woman. If you’re going to work your way through a bar, at least give some sort of pause between attempts, if only in the name of common decency.

  At least he had branded himself, bizarre scan or no. Before, it could have been possible that something was there. Now she knew he was just a tiny blip on her radar. Scanner. Whatever. She was an intelligent, accomplished, reasonably balanced woman. She felt no need to be swayed from her goals by some slick bad boy. Especially one as clueless and clearly undereducated as this specimen.

  Maybe she needed to rethink the whole “reasonably balanced” assumption. Some therapy might not be a bad idea. Mia made a note to herself on her wrist tablet to check into some real live shrinks once she got back to Earth. Not just research this time around.

  What was it they said? Something about the cobbler’s kids having the worst shoes? She might not spend a ton of time in self-reflection, but Mia wasn’t the kind of person to shy away from uncomfortable truths, especially about herself. Expediency was the name of the game. You did what you had to do.

  Almost of their own volition, her eyes ma
de their way back to the player. Maybe it was the biceps. He did have very nice biceps.

  Her wrist tablet dinged with a new message. Her ship would be done refueling in ten minutes. Time to get her head back in the game. She had a job to do.

  And she was more than ready to do it.

  * * *

  Cleo watched from across the lounge as Buton studied the tablet with the mammoth document in front of him with what looked like an old-fashioned magnifying glass. She wondered where he had managed to find it. It seemed so out of place here, where everything strove to be as high tech as possible.

  But, then again, that was Buton. Cleo felt a smile kiss her face as she thought of how Buton had saved the Rogues’ collective butts at the Viking site in Greenland. Jarod had insisted that the volcanic activity was drawing to a close. And like lemmings to the cliff, Cleo and the rest had followed him. It was only Buton’s quick thinking and patent-pending insta-heat shielding that saved them from going down with the lava. And that was just one of dozens of such quiet acts of heroism.

  Her smile faded, though, as she looked out into the vast expanse of stars. Buton was good, but could he really save them if something went horribly wrong out there? No matter his cleverness, the vacuum of space was a tough opponent.

  Thoughts like that weren’t going to settle Buton’s stomach, though, so she strolled over to his table and tossed down the vial of motion-sickness pills. The medicine rattled in its container as it landed in his lap.

  “That should help,” Cleo murmured as she plopped down next to Buton in an empty chair. The chair flowed to match her shape, making Cleo want to jump back out of it again. She fought for a moment before she achieved some kind of uneasy truce with the way-too-accommodating piece of furniture.

  “Many thanks to you,” Buton replied, taking the medication as he nodded to her. She held his gaze for a moment before discomfort caused her to look elsewhere. She found herself staring out at the distant globe of the Earth, the large swath of blue Atlantic Ocean staring right back at her. That was her home—what lay beneath that bright blue strip. Her life and her love hid beneath those waters. A sharp pang struck her, robbing her breath, leaving her blinking back sudden tears.

  “I’m sorry I did not have the opportunity to know Charles.” Buton’s voice was but a whisper, yet it held such power.

  “What?” Cleo brushed away her distress along with the unformed tears.

  “He must have been an incredible man for you to have loved him so.”

  Cleo forced a snicker. “He was just a good lay that turned out to have a good job for a marine biologist.”

  Once more, Buton surprised her. “Your continued presence with the Rogues seems to belie that sentiment.” His face was kind, compassionate. He wasn’t pushing or intruding, just…observing.

  However, those observations were uncomfortable. She fumbled for a response, and when none was forthcoming, she rose up from the table.

  “Speaking of which, I’d better make sure Jarod isn’t trying to buy the station or something.”

  She tried to make her stroll away from the table appear casual, and then she realized Buton had gone back to his studies. For a guy who struggled to say what his favorite color was, given the innumerable shades within the color spectrum, Buton could shelve emotions pretty damn quickly.

  Unlike Cleo, whose stomach still churned with thoughts of Chuck. Her gaze drifted once to the sparkling ocean, then back to Buton. Perhaps this trip would provide some distance from her very earthbound concerns.

  * * *

  Jarod stifled a yawn. What was wrong with him? He had shaken off his encounter with the Asian chick and gotten his mojo back. Two laughs, one wink, and even a drink sent over to him. Then he had hit the freakin’ jackpot. Jarod was sitting next to one of the most stunning blondes he had met in his life. He resisted the urge to slap himself in the face.

  This girl had curves in all the right places, and the curves were all dangerous. Her skin was a combination of molecular tanning and glowing tats. Jarod imagined she had an interesting piercing or two hidden away. Oh, and to top it all off, it was pretty clear that the girl had daddy issues. All in all, it was looking like the nearest to a sure thing Jarod could ever hope to ask for.

  They had glided through the initial steps of the let’s-get-naked dance with no real missteps. The leaning forward. The thighs that brushed together ever so softly. The laugh that ended with her hand on his arm. They were a casual sex match made in heaven.

  And yet…

  Jarod just wasn’t feeling it. Sure, he put in a valiant effort to appear interested in what the blonde was chattering on about. He knew that if he could just stay focused for five more minutes…hell, five seconds…he’d have more visual and physical entertainment than he knew what to do with for the next hour and a half.

  But wouldn’t you know it? That Asian chick had somehow managed to park herself right in his line of vision. Well, okay, he had picked his seat. But he wouldn’t have picked it if she had just left the casino, like a good little man-hater should. Instead, she was right here, messing with his game.

  Game. Blonde. Right.

  She had been saying something, hadn’t she? Something about a layover and getting a room? Finding ways to keep each other entertained? Dammit.

  Her voice tuned back in. “Hello? Mr. Always-Ready-For-An-Adventure?”

  “Sorry. You were saying?” Jarod tried not to make it sound lame.

  It sounded lame. Clearly.

  “If that’s the length of your attention span, I’ll take my chances with one of the ’49ers.” She stormed off, her very round, very pert posterior mocking him as she left. And the comparison to a ’49er? That was just harsh. Even if that’s exactly what he was trying to become, there was no call for that kind of talk.

  A voice called over his shoulder. “Real smooth.” Jarod would know that tone of condescension anywhere. Cleo. “Now I can see why you’re such a ladies’ man.”

  Jarod tried to sound casual and relaxed. “Hey. I’m working on my long game.”

  “Long game? You do remember that we’re leaving in just over an hour?”

  “Oh, see, right there is your problem. You have totally underestimated my skills. My long game lasts a grand total of fifteen minutes. Plenty of time left.” Jarod smirked at her.

  Cleo snorted. “Fifteen minutes? You might not want to advertise that little fact before you close the deal.”

  “Wait. That’s not…” Jarod saw Cleo’s smile widen and forced himself to settle back in his chair. He waved his hand in her general direction. “Beat it, Cleo. You’re messing with my mojo.”

  Jarod glanced over at one of the many cocktail waitresses hovering about. This one had wavy auburn hair that swirled around her face in a very sexy way. A bit too thin for his taste, but…Maybe he’d been barking up the wrong tree this entire time. With a bar that was open 24-7, one of these ladies had to be getting off soon. And speaking of…The waitress Jarod was watching gazed back at him and gave a coy little smile. Bingo.

  “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” Cleo commented.

  Jarod pivoted his head around to face Cleo with reluctance. “What?”

  “Well, you can’t have missed the fact that Rob’s getting…older, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. That’s what kids usually do.” Jarod went back to his perusal of the server. The girl kept sneaking peeks at Jarod from under her hair. He was practically a shoo-in here.

  “Jarod.” Cleo passed her hand back and forth in front of Jarod’s face, “C’mon. Focus.”

  Jarod heaved a deep sigh.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you are highly irritating.” Cleo pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. Jarod relented. “Fine. What?”

  He glanced back in the server’s direction. The girl was on the far side of the bar, close to the kitchen. He caught her eye once more. The waitress, distracted, bumped into something behind the counter. A strange beeping started. Pe
rhaps a countdown until they could be together? She looked around for the source, but he caught her eye again. She blushed. Jarod grinned. The game was afoot.

  Cleo snapped her fingers in his face. “Hello? Honestly! Having a conversation with you is like herding cats.”

  Jarod ignored her. Sometimes if he ignored Cleo long enough, Momma Bear would go away. Go back to her cave and practice her disapproving looks.

  “Sex,” she said.

  His head spun back around. “What?”

  Cleo put her hand on her hip. “I had to get your attention somehow, and how better than with your favorite subject?”

  “Really? You and me are going to talk about coitus?”

  Glaring, Cleo answered. “No. But we are going to talk about how you are setting a bad example for Rob.”

  “Not this again,” Jarod said, sighing and wondering where the tiger necklace chick had gone.

  “Yes, Jarod, we are going to have this conversation. You bedding every—”

  “And what?” Jarod asked. “You’re setting a better one by going in the opposite direction? Your track record since Chuck hasn’t exactly been—”

  An explosion at the far end of the bar ripped the words out of Jarod’s throat.

  CHAPTER 7

  Interstellar Space Station

  March 28, 2049

  1437 hours, Space Standard Time (SST)

  The bar was a dizzying mix of fire and blood for Cleo. The shape of the room had completely changed in mere seconds, and now groaning patrons were sprawled amongst the shattered remains of the establishment. Shouldn’t it be louder, though? With the exception of falling debris, it was far too quiet. Shouldn’t there be alarms going off, or at least a blanket of fire containment pellets showering down on top of them? The lack of any automated response added to her disorientation.

  Cleo shook her head to clear it as Jarod sprang to his feet. He was the first one up, as per usual. Which made her number two. Fire spewed from two locations, back toward the kitchen and on the other side of the long bar counter. Twisted metal and large beams had fallen from the industrial-looking ceiling. Décor or no, those beams looked heavy.