Stop it. Lusting after an unconscious man was not her style. Hell, lusting after any man was not her style. This one just got under her skin somehow. Like a tick. But that wasn’t fair, either. And it was a lie.
Falden got to her like sunshine on bare skin or the bliss of slipping into a warm bath. Heat. Comfort. Pleasure. He made her want to forget anything and everything but him. Which was stupid because she’d known him all of a few hours.
Hurrying to his side, she opened the small silver cylinder to find the paste was a mixture that looked like a liquid prism, reflecting a rainbow of colors and sparkling like diamonds. It was odorless. “Maju paste. Focus, Isa. Focus.” Dipping her fingers into the jar, she scooped a small amount onto her fingertips and rubbed it around the wound, avoiding the center. Shocked, she watched as the flesh slowly began to knit together.
“Wow.”
One application and the wound was already smaller than it had been before. Her fingers tingled, the sensation amazing. She rubbed the little bit she had left all over her hands and went back for more. Dipping into the jar again, she took out a more generous portion and rubbed it all over his shoulder area, then leaned back to watch the wound knit together a bit more.
“Holy shit. This stuff is worth a fortune.” And since he’d already promised to replace what she used, she rubbed more on him, and if some made its way onto her forearms, she wasn’t going to complain. The tingling sensation made her feel good. Great, actually. Which beat the heck out of scared and exhausted. The skin around his wound also looked healthier, taking on a brighter sheen than before. Maybe he was tingling, too. With a smile, she absently rubbed some on her cheeks. Her lips. Her neck.
God, this stuff was amazing.
A few seconds later she looked back down at Falden and gasped.
“Your markings.” They were changing. Lighting up from the inside. The white crystalline swirl she’d noticed earlier on his temple was different from the markings covering his back, shoulders, arms and neck. Everywhere she spread on the paste, the strange swirls in his skin now glowed with an inner pearlescent blue fire.
Eager to see more, she coated his back and shoulders, his arms. His neck. When she ran out of skin, she gently lifted his head and turned his face to the opposite side, coating him there as well. And when that was done? The wound was nearly closed so she placed a large sticky bandage over it and rolled him, using every ounce of strength and putting both her back and her legs into it, until he flopped over onto his back. Seemed it didn’t matter where she rubbed the paste, it worked. His wound had been closing more with each application to his face and neck. She assumed the rest of his skin could absorb it as well.
What if he had internal injuries? What if digging around in his shoulder had made it worse? What if losing all that blood was going to cause him some kind of brain damage? Or damage to his organs? Oxygen deprivation was serious.
Did these aliens even breathe oxygen? Did it matter? He was still unconscious. If he were healed, wouldn’t he be awake? At least talking to her? Blinking? Something?
Instead his bare chest was laid out like a feast for her senses. His breathing was rapid. Shallow. As if he were still in pain. She lifted one arm. Dropped it to the bed. It fell like a lead weight.
“Why do you have to be so freaking hot?” He was an alien. He was keeping secrets. Lying to her, lying to the entire planet. And yet he was still unconscious. Despite all the maju paste and the water he’d drunk, he had not healed all the way. He wasn’t sleeping. At least not any kind of sleep she’d ever seen before. She recognized knocked out cold when she saw it.
What if he needed more help to heal? She couldn’t exactly pour the water down his throat, but she could rub more paste on his skin. It had to soak in, right?
“Right.” It was a flimsy excuse and she knew it, but she was also scared. Much as she hated to admit it, she didn’t want him to die here, in her bed. She didn’t want him to die at all. And if he was healed, shouldn’t he have woken up by now? She’d been staring at him for a solid ten minutes by now. How long did this stuff take to work?
“More paste, Falden. And if you don’t wake up soon, I’m taking you to the hospital. I don’t care what you said.”
Decision made, she took her time, using a generous portion of the paste, spreading it all over his chest and abdomen. Feeling very dangerous, she even dipped her hands under the waist of his pants—not far, just far enough to get to some new skin without being naughty.
Of course, her mind was wandering down naughty lane and had set up camp as her hands traced every curve and hollow, every hot muscle on his body. As she rubbed this alien goo all over him and made him glow.
When there was no bare skin left to cover and he still had not regained consciousness, she took off his shoes and socks, undid his belt, and gently pulled his pants down his legs and off. Dropping them to the floor, she wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at the black silk boxers covering him.
“Relieved. Right?”
Keep telling yourself that, girlfriend.
“Oh, shut up.” Isabella was more than accustomed to arguing with herself, so she told the naughty side of herself to go away as she rubbed his legs and feet with the paste. She also told that same naughty woman to stop being so giddy over the discovery that this particular alien did, indeed, appear to have all the necessary parts. “Damn. You’re huge everywhere.”
And he slept.
“Well, that’s all you're going to get.” There was no way—no freaking way—she was taking off the rest of his clothes. Not happening.
Rubbing the excess into her aching shoulders, she walked to the shelf and put the empty jar of paste back on top, next to the maju water. Too bad I used what was left. That paste feels incredible. Like tiny kisses all over my shoulders. Delicious.
She was exhausted. More than exhausted. She was worried, tired, stressed and had a bona fide alien in her sanctuary. An alien who had been shot, was now glowing from head to toe and would not wake up.
“Shit.” She looked at the clock. It was well past midnight.
Should she try to wake him? Take him to the hospital? She honestly wasn’t sure what to do.
Buying some time, she took a few minutes in the restroom to remove her wig and makeup, brush her teeth and take care of necessities, then walked back out to check on him one more time before she allowed herself some much needed sleep. He was still out cold. He glowed. But his color was better. His breathing was steady, not shallow. He looked younger, less intense. Less like a warrior and more like someone she could laugh with. Someone who didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.
She slipped out of the dress that now felt like a scratchy, demon-derived torture device, every ounce of lace making her skin itch. Putting on a pair of boy shorts and a T-shirt, she walked over to a drawer and opened it to pull out a very human pair of handcuffs. She wanted his body. She didn’t think he was a threat. But sleeping in here with an alien, no matter how hot, was not something she was prepared to do. There was dangerous, and then there was too dangerous.
Leaving Falden to wake while she slept like a log was not an option. And she didn’t want him waking up, taking her stuff and disappearing, either. If she lost him, and her contact didn’t believe her when she told him she didn’t know anything about the shoot-out that had happened tonight, she’d be right back to square one.
And with the information she had about the black market—and potentially, a lead on who had taken Torrin—she refused to bang her head bloody against the brick wall of Caldorian security when she had a commander at her mercy. Falden was going to take her onto that base. He was going to get her to Dagan, the Caldorian king. He just didn’t know it yet.
Isabella walked to the side of her bed, lifted one of Falden’s heavy arms and handcuffed him to the brass headboard. Not exactly perfect, but at least he wouldn’t disappear on her. Satisfied, she climbed onto the opposite side of the bed and used a blanket to cover them bot
h.
She’d done what he asked. He was here, not in a hospital. He didn’t appear to be dying. And she was beyond exhausted.
“Don’t die while I’m asleep, okay?”
He didn’t answer, but then she hadn’t expected him to. She should have gone to sleep instantly. Instead her mind raced with questions. What kind of guy ordered her food without asking, then took a bullet for her? Ordered whiskey, which she hated, then choked when he drank it? Bragged about his expensive clothing, his watch, his car, and didn’t know how to drive? And what was an L warrior? What was a nymen? Was that something to do with the way his body glowed? Were all aliens luminescent? Was that why his skin was glowing? Did all Caldorians’ skin glow like that? Was it just because of the paste? Would he still be glowing when it wore off? And how long would that take?
She looked at her hands and forearms. The paste was gone. Completely absorbed. Her skin didn’t glow. She didn’t feel any side effects. Warm. Not as tired. But that was about it. No cool glowing. Nothing special. So why had Falden told her not to get any on her skin?
She wanted to glow. How freaking cool was that?
“So disappointing.”
And that sword? Furon? Storm Caller? The sword glowed, too. And deflected bullets. Did it really call storms? Like he was one of the comic book’s X-Men? If he did something to the weather with that sword, would his eyes turn white like Storm’s did in the movies?
And how had he known her real name? He knew she didn’t really wear glasses. If he knew she was lying, why had he agreed to meet her?
Questions. So many questions.
Eventually she slept and dreamed of glowing swirls and hot kisses. Of him.
And bullets. Screaming.
Blood.
Chapter Six
Falden woke to Isabella whimpering like she was hurt. Or afraid.
The slight sound pulled him fully conscious within seconds, every warrior’s instinct he had on high alert.
There was no intruder, no threat. Only the small, warm female curled against him like there was no better place for her to be. And the thin metal band she’d used to secure his hand to the bed? A human police handcuff.
He should have been angry. Annoyed at the very least. Instead, amusement nearly forced his lips into a long-forgotten smile.
The thin metal was no more than string to his Lumerian strength. After a full night of rest plus maju water, he was at full power. The device around his wrist would snap if he so much as twisted a bit.
With her warm body pressed to his, her head on his shoulder and her hand resting over his heart, he had no desire to move. None. Beneath her fingers he saw a bright blue glow. The marking over his heart was lit with opalescent fire. Every muscle tensed.
Eyes widening, he fought the urge to snap the puny handcuff and wrap Isabella in his arms as every protective, primal instinct he had rushed to the fore. Fierce, powerful need slammed through him. While he’d been unconscious, Isabella had lit his markings. Claimed him, whether she knew it or not. She hadn’t just used the maju paste on his wound; she’d gone exploring. Removed most of his human clothing and rubbed paste over damn near every inch of his skin. Lit him up like a firecracker. He was ancient; he had a lot of markings.
He blew out a slow, metered breath, careful not to wake her while he considered his options. He was a Lumerian Knight. A warrior without equal. A king’s assassin. Spy. A survivor from a planet destroyed long ago. Leader of his people. Hunter and hunted.
He’d known when he’d accepted the responsibility of hiding and protecting a Lumerian queen and her unborn twins, Sevron and Torrin, that any chance he had of ever finding a woman to share his life, his burdens would be impossible. They’d barely escaped with their lives, and as he’d watched Lumeria burn, his dreams of ever being claimed by a worthy female had turned to ash.
Looking at the handcuff once more, he made a decision. If the puny metal restraint made Isabella feel safe, he would accommodate her. For now. Perhaps if she felt more in control, she would be willing to speak the truth to him. He very much wanted to know her truth. Her taste. Everything. He wanted to know everything.
Still asleep, Isabella snuggled closer. Edged her feminine leg possessively over his much larger one.
His gaze softened. This female was dangerous in more ways than one. For two thousand years he’d thought of nothing but his duty. Made sacrifices and hard decisions that no man or woman should ever have to make in order to keep his people safe. Never, in all that time, had he wavered. Yet, looking down at the small human woman who fit perfectly against him, who claimed him even in sleep, he was torn.
He wanted Isabella Serrano as he’d never wanted anything before. Yearned to make her his. Yet, how could he trust her? One look around her shell corporation/hideout told him that she was dangerous and getting more and more involved in the intergalactic black market. She was also somehow connected to Sevron. He needed her to tell him the truth. He needed her trust. All of it.
The first light of dawn glowed around the edges of black-out panels hanging over the main room windows as Isabella drifted in the zone between sleeping and wakefulness. At some point during the night, she must have rolled off her couch and landed on the coffee table, she thought grumpily, because she was straddling it. There was no soft give of a pillow under her cheek, either. Damned table was rock-hard yet oddly comfortable at the same time. And moving up and down in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Weird.
Wiggling slightly to find a more comfortable position, Isabella froze when one very large hand came to rest on her hip, repositioning her, holding her in place. Sleep was suddenly a distant memory.
Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she debated what to do. Her alien hostage was finally awake, judging by the huge hand that not only remained on her but had begun lightly exploring. If she stayed where she was, straddling him, she might want to do something crazy, like start rubbing against the very large, hard shaft she could feel beneath her. Or explore his very masculine chest. Shoulders. Abs.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. Thirty-six hours he’d been out. She’d slept, paced, eaten some food, rubbed more paste on him, paced some more and fallen asleep.
A day and a half of stress, worry and…well, worry. Not that he was hers to worry about, but still.
A small groan escaped her before she could hold it back. She was a hot-blooded woman after all. She’d had sex before. Been in relationships, even tried casual hookups a few times. Somehow, she knew this would be different. He was a true alpha male. Demanding. Possessive. He’d want to rule over her in bed.
Shivering at the errant thought, she was shocked at the heat spreading through her body, wild and free. Her breath hitched up a notch, nipples hardening into tight peaks. Her traitorous body pulsed with an all-consuming need for Falden. She wanted. Needed him to fill her. No. No. No. Get a grip. That is not going to happen. He lied to you. Set you up. He’s a black market…something. And he glows. And he’s drop-dead gorgeous. A super-hot, fantasy-inspiring kind of hot, but that’s still no excuse for jumping his bones. He might come across as a white Knight, but he’s the bad guy. Or one of them, anyway.
Besides, she continued with the internal counseling, even if he wasn’t the bad guy, she was still mad as hell that he’d wrecked her deal the night before. Pretended to be her contact, John Doe. Almost got her killed. He had set her back to square one with the black market dealers after months of work trying to earn their trust.
She snorted in derision. No. That wasn’t fair. What was she saying? He’d been shot, for real, trying to protect her. So, okay, score one big, huge point in his favor. Still, as far as she was concerned, the whole situation could’ve been avoided. The backtracking and groveling she was going to have to do with her buyer was Falden’s fault. Months of work wasted. Time lost. All. His. Fault.
With less reluctance than she would ever admit, she silently slid off him and to the side, careful not to damage any of his male parts. Opening her eyes, she was gre
eted by a huge, hard male chest full of glowing, opalescent blue whirls and swirls. She gasped. They were still so beautiful. Lifting one finger to his chest, she slowly traced one particularly large swirl from the tip of his shoulder to where it ended below his flat male nipple, fascinated.
She’d done that, she thought. She’d lit him up. Her. She figured they’d have gone back to their normal color by now, like the white crystalline swirl on his temple. But not these. They blazed with the same inner fire from the night before. Something inside her softened. Melted. Caught fire. Desire raged through her, drumming, throbbing in her core. Her eyes drifted closed as her head arched back, the tips of her breasts grazing his chest. She needed more. Needed him inside her.
The low, masculine growl of approval jerked her back to reality. Heart hammering in her chest, she met his gaze. His icy blue eyes were full of heat as they stared down at her, trapping her in a timeless dance. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think.
Slowly his mouth moved toward hers, giving her time to choose. Turn away. Say something. Tell him to get lost. Leave her alone. She did none of those things. Her lips parted of their own volition, the tip of her tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips. An invitation. An offering. She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted him. Wanted his lips on hers. His body pressed against hers, his shaft buried deep inside her.
Tilting her head to one side, her eyes closed without conscious thought. She wanted his mouth on her. At last, after waiting what seemed like forever, his lips, featherlight, touched hers.
She groaned in pleasure, wanting more, needing more, but he held steady. She knew what he was doing. If she wanted the kiss to deepen, she would have to go to him. No guessing. No misunderstandings. No mistakes. She also knew, somehow understood, that once she gave her consent, he was going to take charge. He was an alpha male. The choice would be hers and hers alone, but once made, he would take control. Quivering with need and anticipation, she shifted a scant inch closer, her lips pressing fully into his. Slightly open. Inviting.
Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster (Lumerian Knights Book 3) Page 9
