by Marie Harte
Romy laughed. “Go play with Jamie and leave me be. I need some rest before I dig into Port Chase and our self-proclaimed savior, Jonah Trotter.”
“‘Savior.’ Yeah, right. I’m telling you, Trotter stinks. The Barkins weren’t doing too badly in Port Chase. But Trotter’s numbers are too high for such a depressed area, and especially for only being there six months. No way he could have that kind of turnaround. Something’s wrong. I don’t understand why Dad still won’t look into it.”
“Me neither, so keep this between us, okay? Just let me do what I’m meant to and everything will turn out fine.”
“Quit with the predictions and meant-to crap. You’re freaking me out.”
Romy huffed. “Doesn’t take much.”
Roarke tried to smother another grin. “Go lie down. You look like death warmed over. Another three hours and we’ll dock in Waverly.”
Waverly, a nice town a few hours from Port Chase. “Good call. But make use of the time you have on board. Jamie’s looking pretty good, bro.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You know, it’s not too late to try making a gifted Otra. I’m game.” His brother had mated a human, and being half-human, Roarke didn’t need another Otra to help impregnate his wife. Still, a guy could hope.
Roarke scowled. “I’m human enough to enjoy my wife by myself, thanks.”
“You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.” He agilely avoided a blow to the stomach and laughed his way down the narrow hall to his berth. It really was too bad Roarke and Jamie adhered to the more mundane human customs of mating. One man, one woman.
His half-brother had inherited more of his human mother’s genes than their Otra father’s. Though Shea had only given birth to Roarke, all of the Talson men loved her beyond reason. The fact that she’d produced a son with psychei, which wasn’t at all common among those with mixed Otra blood, spoke of her own powerful energy. By some miracle, their father had found a true mate after the loss of his beloved first wife, Romy’s mother.
Once in his room, Romy lay down on his narrow bed and closed his eyes, contemplating his own future. Like his older brothers Val and Z, he’d always figured to find an Otra female when he entered The Testing—the time in a male Otra’s life when he readied to mate. Then another male, his eda, would join him. The pair would bond psychically and make love with the woman, clearing the path for Romy’s psychei and his seed so a true joining with his new mate could occur.
Z had been lucky to have Val as his eda. Val had found Quinn, another capable male to protect and facilitate the growth of his family. His brothers had been gifted with love and luck with their edas and their destined mates—their irius. Would that Romy could be so fortunate.
He’d had no dreams, no prognostications of his future. His powers often chased themselves inside him, making living normally a challenge. He used so much of his energy controlling his odd gifts that at times just breathing felt like a trial. Pyrokinesis, telepathy, telekinesis, the power of command, not to mention the rest… Wondrous abilities if taken separately, a nightmare if taken together.
Closing his eyes, he forced his talent to subside and eventually relaxed into a light slumber.
His hands slid over silky skin, the glide of water both cooling and welcoming. The extreme heat made him catch his breath, and he realized the outside temperature meant summer neared. Had he reached Port Chase already?
“No,” a husky female voice answered. His fingers again slid over her stomach, the bar of rose-scented soap in his hand trailing bubbles over a flat belly and lower, toward a smooth triangle of flesh devoid of hair.
Interested and aroused, he reached for the surprising treasure and heard the woman sigh when his fingers sought and found her warm sex. Her clitoris was plump, and as he fingered her, it grew fuller, harder. The moisture between her thighs mixed with the cool water, making her nipples bead. He realized he could see everything from her neck down.
The sight of her pebbled nipples and creamy breasts made them both groan.
“You like this?” he asked, thrusting a finger inside of her while he toyed with her breasts. But as he worked her, he realized his hands were smaller, cleaner, with short pink nails and two silver rings on his forefinger.
A woman’s hand?
“More,” she murmured.
He sensed she felt drugged on her lust and as pleasantly confused as he was. But when a gloriously naked woman requested more, an Otra didn’t disappoint.
He returned to her nipples and caressed the buds while he delved inside her warm, welcoming pussy with faster and deeper thrusts of his fingers. Another digit added firmer pressure on her clit. He wanted very badly to kiss her, to taste her exotic seduction and feel the silk of her parted lips.
The scent of need mingled with the tightening of his—her—body. She cried out, and water splashed over the sides of the tub. Her sex gripped his fingers—no, her fingers—and flooded him with bone-deep contentment as he pulsed… He blinked awake and groaned as he finished coming inside his trousers, making an absolute mess of himself.
Breathing hard, Romy stared at the ceiling inside the small, personal shuttle, wondering what the hell his spontaneous ejaculation meant. He’d come hard after touching a female, after watching her—or was that him?—touch herself.
Confused and out of breath, he tried to reason out this particular circumstance and found he had neither the energy nor the desire to make sense of a thrilling, extremely pleasurable wet dream.
After cleaning himself, he fell back asleep with the name Tara echoing through his mind.
Tara splashed water all over the floor the following morning, panting and staring unseeingly at the open shutters before her. A shadow obscured the sunlight filtering through the bathroom window then disappeared. Moments later, a knock sounded at her front door.
Her senses cleared, and with a rush of embarrassment, Tara realized she’d just brought herself to orgasm in front of an open window through which anyone might have seen her. Her face felt on fire, and she wanted to disappear. God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even wanted sex. What just happened? But the banging on her door wouldn’t let her ignore her visitor. Hastily rising, she closed the shutters over the window, threw on her robe, and dripped across the floor to the front door.
“Hold on a minute!” She tightened the belt of her robe, prayed nothing but clouds—and not a passing man—had blotted out the sunlight a few moments ago, and opened the door. The minute she saw Jonah Trotter’s appreciative stare, she knew she prayed in vain.
“Good morning,” he murmured, his black eyes skimming her frame with a thorough attention to detail. His full lips curled invitingly, and she couldn’t help noting the muscle and strength in his bearing. Today he wore blue slacks, a tailored yellow shirt, and platinum cuff links. Not a strand of his shiny, professionally-cut, thick black hair looked out of place.
Whereas she must have looked like a drowned rat. Life wasn’t fair.
The way he stared at her told her he’d definitely been the one watching her through the bathroom window. Her face grew hotter. Oh God, let me burst into spontaneous flame right now. This is so embarrassing.
“Can I help you?” She sounded rude, but she didn’t care. She’d never liked Trotter, and his stare felt like bugs creeping all over her. Despite his obvious appeal, she reacted to him on a primitive, deeper level. The malicious nature at his core bothered the hell out of her. She wanted nothing more than to put distance between them.
“Invite me in and we’ll…talk.” His deep voice echoed between them. The cadence and pitch sounded off, and she didn’t like the sly look on his face.
She frowned. “Tell me what you want or get the hell off my property.”
He stared at her in bemusement, but when he spoke again, it was in a decidedly softer voice. “I’m sorry. I was wondering if you’d seen a friend of mine. Sheila Farel? She missed an appointment this morning.”
Good for you Sheila. You finally listened. “You m
ean the woman who used to sew a few doors down? The one your wonder drugs thoroughly screwed over?”
Trotter’s easy expression darkened, and his handsome face grew sinister as he stepped closer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I run Talson Shipping, a completely legitimate enterprise, nothing more. What’s this about drugs?”
She huffed. “Yeah, right. Trotter, I’m not stupid. I may look like it for living here, but that’s my business. I want you and the bozos working for you to keep away from me and my property. Or the next time you step to my front door, I’ll use the Norton 57 my brother gave me for Christmas last year.” A very illegal gun, just mention of it was usually enough to scare away most intruders.
Trotter narrowed his gaze and took a prudent step back, whether at mention of the gun or her brother, she wasn’t sure. “Do tell Killer I send my regards.”
As if I’ll mention this bastard to my brother.
He tucked his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry to have upset you.” His gaze lingered on her breasts outlined by her now sodden robe, then slid down her legs. “I’d like nothing but to become better friends.”
“I have all the friends I need. Take off, Trotter, or the next time I won’t be so nice.”
He maintained a grin though his jaw tightened. “I’m leaving. But I’ll be back. And one of these days, we’ll talk about your lack of social graces. I’d be more than happy to help you polish them.”
She waited for it. He never left without pushing his agenda.
“And remember, if you’re ever in the market to sell, please consider Talson Shipping first. I’ll leave my card in your box.” Along with the other twenty he’d sent or dropped off.
She watched Trotter deposit the card then go, glad to see the back end of the jerk. Around sick and injured people, she felt centered, calm, controlled. She felt…nice. But around Trotter and his ilk, her inner bitch always had her way. Nothing pleasant or complimentary managed to pass her lips when in his presence.
Despite her nonsensical, self-appointed role as neighborhood savior, when not healing, she had no problem with thoughts of causing harm. I’m definitely no doctor. A small breeze lifted the hem of her robe and she shivered despite the humidity. After closing the door and locking it, she headed back to the bathroom for a towel to finish drying off. She still couldn’t believe she’d masturbated in full view of her open window, and she hadn’t realized she’d been doing it.
Romec appeared with a rodent in his mouth and grinned at her as he jumped onto the window ledge. He pawed the shutters apart then leaped outside with his prize. At least she had one less rodent to bother her.
She closed and locked the window and drew the shutters once more, bathing the room in darkness. Her gaze shifted to the tub still full of water. What on earth had happened to her in that tub? She hadn’t felt horny or tense this morning. So why had she played with herself like a pleasure toy? And why the hell did she feel as though a man had been running his hands over her body?
3
Shivering again, Tara unstopped the tub, dressed in her bedroom in shorts and a tank top, and began working.
Her day followed the same routine as all the others. And by the next morning she’d done her best to put Trotter out of her mind.
By lunchtime, her stomach rumbled enough to start a small war. She left the half painted canvas where it stood in her studio—the small second bedroom too small to house a bed—and fixed herself a sandwich with a promise not to skip breakfast tomorrow.
While eating, her thoughts again strayed to the strange incident from the previous morning. The bathtub notwithstanding, she had to think about what Trotter’s visit to her house really meant. He continued to purposefully expose himself with Sheila. He’d also wanted Sheila to grab her statue.
That piece of black OQ art meant the world to Tara. It had been left with her twenty-six years ago, when she’d been found abandoned in a deserted boat floating in Port Chase’s inner harbor.
For all that Sheila, Mannie, and Old Man Rodriguez speculated on the statue’s origins as alien, Tara knew it couldn’t be. She liked to think of it as a family heirloom. Otra or not, the piece made her think of her mother whenever she saw it. A human woman who had probably given Tara height and a slim yet athletic build.
Tara knew she had Otra coloring—black hair and eyes so dark brown they looked black. Her psychic ability to heal had made her question her origins a time or two, but her eyes had never turned silver, she’d never had bursts of energy the aliens supposedly had, nor the incredible beauty of their kind.
She supposed she had nice lips. If she hadn’t had overprotective Mannie for a brother, she might have experienced more than a few flings from the all-too-brief men in her life.
As if thoughts of Mannie conjured him, he strode without knocking through the back door she normally kept unlocked during the day.
“Hey, Tara, put that down. I brought you a real lunch.” Mannie stalked over to her kitchen counter, curiously graceful for being so damn big. At six-three, her brother was anything but small. His broad shoulders, muscular chest, and monster fists encouraged those who didn’t know him to be wary. Though not related by blood, they looked enough alike to be brother and sister. Both possessed dark hair and eyes and a similar bronze skin tone. Women flocked to Mannie like bees to honey. So it was no surprise when he started in about his latest failed relationship.
“I’m telling you, the woman’s been stalking me.” He looked hunted.
She couldn’t help laughing. “I told you this one was unstable. She asked you to marry her on your first date.”
Mannie frowned. “I thought she was joking. Come on, Tara. Put down that crap you’re eating. This salad’s much better for you. I brought steamed shrimp to go with it.”
“Shrimp? Quit flaunting your money.”
“Our money.” He shook his head. “Honey, you’ve got to leave this place. I have nightmares about you being robbed and attacked. At least use the security I installed for you.”
She groaned at the old argument. “One, you’ve made it clear that anyone stupid enough to mess with me will answer to you. Two, I do use the security system. But when the walls are as paper-thin as these, I don’t know what good it’ll do. Three, what’s there to steal?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the next fifteen thousand dollar painting you’re working on, T.A. Drake?”
She flushed with pleasure. “Can you believe the last one sold as much?”
“Yes, I can. You’re incredible. But you’re wasting it in this dump.”
Tossing a leaf of red lettuce at him, she scowled. “I told you before. I can’t leave, not yet. I have something to do here. I can’t explain it.”
He sighed. “You don’t have to.” He’d been the recipient of her incredible healing too many times to count. And Mannie had his own sense of intuition to guide him. “I worry about you, Tara. I can’t help it. You’re such an incredible woman. You heal by touch, paint crap that people pay big money to buy, and you’re my little sister.” Mannie shook his head. “You’re the touchy-feely psychic. So why do I have a bad feeling something’s going to happen to you?” He paused and his voice deepened. “In my dreams—”
Someone knocked on the door. Mannie’s eyes flashed, a disturbing hint of silver in his pupils. She’d never seen that before. What the hell was going on with her brother? Was it in any way tied to what had earlier happened to her?
“Mannie?”
“I’ll get it.” He rushed to the door and ripped it open.
From her position in the kitchen, she couldn’t see the person in front of Mannie, who blocked her view. But heat flashed through her body from head to toe. An odd flush, an awareness, told her to pay strict attention. As if her entire future hinged on this one visitor. Uneasy, she tried to see but couldn’t because of Mannie. She shifted and got a slightly better glance at a male visitor.
To her surprise, he stood at eye level with her brother. Not a small man then.
<
br /> “Hi. Can you tell me where to find Talson Shipping?” His deep, soothing voice intrigued her, and Tara joined her brother at the front door.
Standing next to Mannie, she couldn’t help staring, enthralled at the man meeting her brother’s glare. As tall and broad as Mannie, if not as heavily muscled, this stranger looked even better than Trotter.
Cropped, jet-black hair so dark it looked blue surrounded an arresting face. His eyes reminded her of Romec’s, slightly tilted at the ends and with an arrogant expression in them. Unlike her cat’s beautiful gray-green color, this man had dark eyes. Black eyes. Otra eyes.
Again the similarities to Trotter grabbed her. But this man also had laugh lines and smooth lips that quirked easily. His nose was patrician straight, his chin strong, as defined as his angular cheekbones.
To her shock, she felt a familiar tingle. The need to heal. Yet nothing in the man seemed unhealthy. Just the opposite, he fairly glowed with health and something more. An odd power that gave him a sense of infallibility.
He looked human enough. But she knew he was Otra. He seemed almost magnetic. She took a small step closer, but Mannie cleared his throat and deliberately shifted to block her way.
“Talson Shipping is next door,” Mannie said brusquely, apparently not liking the way the stranger’s gaze had gravitated to her face.
He had yet to blink. “Hello. I’m new to the area, just transferred into Port Chase for Talson Shipping.”
Hearing him mention the Talsons a second time made her want to groan. He was so handsome, so big and strong. He radiated sex in waves, enough to awaken even her slumbering libido. And he worked for the jerks next door.
Life was so unfair—her new daily mantra.
The more he stared at her, the faster her heart raced. An almost drugging sexual hunger seemed to fill her, and she had to work to shake off the erotic sensation. First the bathroom, now this? What the hell was wrong with her?
