Hunting Kat (4 page)

He leaned in until he hovered a whisper away from her cheek. “Am I going to suffer bodily damage?”

His voice did naughty things to her. Kaitlyn swallowed past the catch in her throat. She needed to find some of the metal usually strapped to her spine and reinforce it, or she might melt right there, in the curve of his arms. Tilting her head to one side, she let her hair fall in a curtain between them. “Maybe.”

She felt his smile against her hair. Just when she thought the tension would kill her, he backed away—not far enough to open up the bracket he’d formed, but he’d given her space.

She sucked in air as if she’d been held underwater. Then she took another long sip from her glass. Things fuzzed into a pleasant blur after another minute or two. Good scotch took the edge off a girl.

“Before I risk excruciating pain, do I get a name? I’ll want to tell my medic where the damage came from.” His words came out light, but held a stronger note than curiosity.

“Kaitlyn…” she stuttered as he gently brushed her hair away from her face, his fingertip running along her cheek. She kept her eyes fastened on her glass of scotch. “Kaitlyn Darah.”

“Kaitlyn.” He more than said her name, it was as if he tasted it, savoring the way the word formed in his mouth. “I’m Chris Rygard. Or just Rygard.”

Now there was something she could focus on. “Lieutenant Rygard.” She jerked her chin towards the epaulettes on his shoulders. “Commissioned officer.”

He didn’t get arrogant the way most officers did, only nodded. A fact, nothing more and nothing less. She liked him better for it.

As if she needed more reasons to like him.

“I’d rather you leave off the rank.” He raised one eyebrow as he held out his drink to her.

Hers proved empty again. Fancy that.

She risked lifting her head and instantly regretted it, her face passing too close to his mouth. Needing fortification, maybe to restart her pulse, she reached for the proffered glass. Instead of passing it to her, he held it closer until the complex aroma of the scotch filled her nose. Hesitantly, Kaitlyn rested her fingertips over the back of his hand as she took a sip. Electricity zinged all the way up her arm.

She wanted more, wanted to rub against him and feel skin against skin, purring the whole time. Confused, she took a hefty gulp, the scotch burning down her throat and into her lungs. Better the burn than to make the mistake of purring again.

“How long have you been a merc?”

She blinked at the question, absently running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as her mind tried to catch up.

Rygard chuckled. “Do it again, sweetness, and I can think of a lot of things I could do to your lower lip.”

“Only the lower one?” Now where had those words come from? Didn’t matter, she’d finally delivered a good comeback.

He only grinned, his focus on her mouth.

Kaitlyn cleared her throat, biting the lip in question. Suddenly, her mind filled with thoughts of what it would be like if he kissed her. Which would be a train wreck. It’d been a long time since she’d kissed and she probably sucked at it, abysmally.

And wasn’t that a buzzkill? Still, she rallied, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She didn’t take the opportunity to widen the space between them.

“A few years.” There, she’d finally managed to answer one of his questions with something other than a maybe or a stuttering mess.

“A few years is a long time for a merc.” He said it as if it was fact.

She shook her head. “My captain’s been a merc a couple of decades. I’ve got plenty of time to be me.”

“That so?” He tilted his head to one side. Damn, even if she ducked he would see her blushing now. “And what are you?”

Loaded question and he didn’t even know it.

“A lot of things.” She should have gotten defensive. Normally she shut down, usually walked away. Instead, she sat there feeling giddy, with a smile tugging at her lips and a suspiciously bubbly sensation in her gut. Like she’d turned eighteen all over again.

She was enjoying herself.

Skuld would never let her forget it.

Fascinated, Rygard continued to watch her. Beautiful Kaitlyn Darah presented so many shades of contrast, he didn’t know where to begin. He only knew he wasn’t going to leave the bar without her.

Sleek and black, her merc’s uniform fit her luscious curves like a second skin, her movement not impaired in any way. He’d seen the fluid speed she possessed when she’d plowed her way through the bar brawl. The harnesses she wore across her shoulders and thigh were high quality. The combat knives he could see matched the kind his unit used. He bet she had boot knives too and maybe a couple of hidden blades. Gear of such quality spoke of a successful mercenary.

Seasoned, profitable mercenaries capable of wreaking the kind of damage he’d seen, just to get to a glass of scotch, did not sit tucked up on a bar stool blushing like schoolgirls. But here she perched, sleek as a cat and cute as a kitten.

“Where are you staying?” He wanted to be able to find her, needed to know if she wanted him to.

Her cheeks flamed and her chin dropped at the question, a few locks of dark hair falling across her face. She stuttered again over the name of the hotel, an expensive place and a damned sight better than the tight quarters he shared with DeSarto.

“And you’re on station alone?” Hard to fathom, but then, hard to believe she was even real. So different from the worn, garish women floating around the bar.

She shrugged, her lips twisting into a wry grin, reminding him she was a down-to-earth mercenary despite the sweet face. “I piled up too much unused R and R. My captain left me here with direct orders to have a little fun.”

She might not have realized she’d given him the opening but he seized it. “I think I can help you with that fun.”

Those big blue eyes blinked at him. Her lips parted, but no words came out as he caught her speechless, again. He almost groaned. His cock had been straining in his pants for what seemed like forever. Damn but he wanted her, and he didn’t want lightly—not with the scars he had in his memory.

“Last call.” Syn cleared their empty glasses. “You two want another round before I close up?”

Little Kaitlyn nodded and the bartender poured her another scotch. He had to give it to her. She’d drunk enough to put a man twice her size under the table and yet her hands remained steady. The only speech impediment she suffered was in reaction to his teasing. And hell, but he could entertain himself with that all night.

As Syn poured him his glass, Rygard held out his wristband to settle the tab. The bartender leaned over the counter and spoke in a low voice for Rygard’s ears only. “You hurt this girl, I will kill you.”

Rygard didn’t laugh at the other man. Patently obvious from her earlier performance, Kaitlyn could handle herself. But when she smiled…like Syn, he would have ripped any man to shreds who took that light away.

If he lucked out, he’d see a different kind of pleasure take over those delicate features. Soon.

Please, for the love of God, soon.

He might not survive being this turned on otherwise.

Kaitlyn figured she might not survive the next five minutes.

Her heart wasn’t going to make it. It kicked into overdrive at the bar, stopped a couple of times in the lift when Rygard leaned in even closer and currently threatened to pound through her chest.

Rygard. In her room.

Alone.

Well, not alone. She stood there, trying to pull her courage together. Not a panic attack, not the debilitating memories of her capture and torture. No. This felt more like being caught in a swarm of fluttering birds, scattering in every direction and tugging her with them.

And damn it, a hard-core merc like her didn’t flutter. She’d been through hell and back again the past three years. With her enhanced reflexes and strength, she could probably take him if she felt threatened. Probably.

The soldier in question sat on the corner of the bed and gave her a lazy, confident smile. “Come here, Kaitlyn.”

He held out his hand.

She melted, drawn toward him without the slightest clue of what to do next. Threatened was the last thing she felt. Anticipation sang through every nerve in her body. His scent spiced the air with arousal, but he sat relaxed and gentle as took her hand. He tugged her closer until she stood between his knees.

“Hi.” Stupid thing to say. She bit her lip to keep from blurting any more inane commentary.

He chuckled, but it didn’t feel like he laughed at her. “Hi there.”

Relaxing, she explored the chest harness fitted over his uniform. He wore it in a configuration she’d never seen before and the distraction helped steady her. After a moment of letting her play, he ran his hands lightly over the backs of her thighs.

His touch seared through her uniform and across her skin. She trembled, nightmares hovering at the edge of her memory. Hands could abruptly turn cruel, inflicting pain and…damage.

She sucked in air, looking up from his chest to his face, his mouth and brows relaxed in an expression so clear and different from that of her torturer. Desire crashed through her and she froze, caught between the now and then. Gentle pressure on her lower back coaxed her closer, until their lips hesitated only a breath apart.

And he waited for her to come to him.

Her heart expanded until she couldn’t breathe, thought she’d suffocate if he didn’t kiss her. This was her chance to erase those memories, replace them with what should be. She made her decision and closed the distance.

His lips pressed warm and firm against hers. The kiss started soft, until he opened his mouth and she opened to match him. He explored, tasted, with sweeping strokes of his tongue. When he released her she almost whimpered, nipping at his lower lip, licking the little bites. He growled, sucking at her lower lip before claiming another deep kiss.

Could the man get any sexier?

Her cat rose to the forefront, growling in return as she slid her hands along his shoulders, feeling muscles ripple under the service uniform. Letting her cat out to play, she reveled in his touch, stretching and arching into his embrace. And damn, but he could do things with those hands. He massaged and stroked, finding erogenous zones she didn’t even know about along the backs of her legs, her sides, the curve of her back. She drowned, moments from surrendering all coherent thought.

A solid click echoed in the silence. Gasping, she jerked in his arms.

“Easy,” Rygard soothed her, his hands slow as they slipped the thigh harness down her leg. He kept her anchored with his gaze while he undid her torso strap and slipped it over her shoulders.

Her mouth went dry. She’d never undressed in front of a man, not voluntarily. The remembered sound of cloth ripping filled her ears, of chains rattling moments before they dug cold into her fevered flesh. If he undid her uniform she wasn’t sure she could keep from clawing him, defending herself from the rapist who’d died already.

But Rygard waited for her.

Hands trembling, she reached out and unfastened his harness. He helped her slide it off. Burying one hand in her hair, he cradled her head and coaxed another kiss, and then another. His hands roamed over her as before, easing her back into a comfort zone and teasing her through the fabric until she pressed into him again.

“Please.” She didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted next, had never tried. This had already gone light years further than the single kiss she’d shared with Katzer.

“What do you want, sweetness?” He nuzzled her shoulder, a hand cupping her breast.

She couldn’t give him her neck, not yet. She ducked to one side and nipped at the corner of his mouth, teasing until his lips returned to hers. Instead of struggling for words, she growled, tugging at his uniform.

His fingers pressed against the front seal to hers, slowly unfastening it to expose her throat and the rise of her chest. Her pulse raced as she waited for his touch on her skin.

The door chimed loudly in the silence of the room, accompanied by an obnoxious round of knocking.

She leaped back, muttering a string of curses.

Still seated on the corner of the bed, he raised his eyebrows in amused surprise. She gave even odds as to whether his amusement came from her sudden position a yard away or because most of what she’d said described the anatomically impossible, unless one was a heavily modified hermaphrodite.

“Identification,” she snarled the audible to activate the room’s comm link as she strode toward the entrance.

“Messenger. Requires retinal scan for delivery.”

“What the fuck?” She palmed the door open, aware of Rygard behind her. He stayed out of sight, covering her, however casual his posture. Warmth spread through her chest and a smile tickled the corners of her mouth. A man strong enough to cover her six, how hot was that? Very.

A messenger boy stood there, scrawny and skittish. The scent of rancid soda, body odor and good coffee clung to his jumper. Well, she knew where he’d picked up the package and who had sent it to her. It wouldn’t have a sender ident.

She took the retinal scanner from him and underwent the required imprint. Once it beeped an affirmative, the kid handed over his parcel and scuttled off down the hallway. She palmed the door closed and hit the privacy indicator. It’d have to be a stationwide emergency to get the door open again. She turned to put the box on the little counter by the entryway.

“What’s the delivery?” Resting one hand on her hip, Rygard used the other to brush her hair off one shoulder. She held still, giving him the opening. He pressed a kiss against her neck, sending shivers across her skin.

“Not worried about it.” She leaned against him, very aware of how comfortably she fit against him.

The hand at her hip squeezed. “It’s marked for immediate attention. Whoever sent it spent the cred.”

He made a good point.

She started to open the package, but he began trailing a string of kisses down her neck, alternating nibbles and light suction. Okay, giving him her neck felt good. He had eased his grip on her hip and massaged instead. His groin pressed into her ass, the hard ridge of his erection settling against her.

“I thought I was supposed to open this.” Her voice sounded husky.

“Mmm. And I’ll focus on the package I want to unwrap.”

“Oh.” And she melted, right there, under the heat of his hands and lips.

Abruptly, he stopped, swatting her behind as he stepped away. “Open your package, sweetness.”

She bit back a snarl, rubbing the mild sting. No one had ever spanked her and come away unmarked. But his lazy grin returned as he waited for her, and the temper faded into a different kind of heat. Well, maybe she’d mark him, in a way he’d enjoy.

She narrowed her eyes in a mock glare before turning her attention to the delivery. Removing the wrapping revealed a puzzle box. Fantastic. She planned to fill Boggle’s hideaway with dry ice to chill the little perv off. It took two tries, and some muttered cursing before she figured out the barely discernable icons.

Inside she found a sleek little jamming unit and a palm-sized comp. At her touch, the screen of the comp came alive, text and images scrolling. The data represented a background check on one Lieutenant Christopher Rygard and a single line message.
He’s clean. Turn on the jamming unit for the rest of the night.

Aw. Boggle was good people after all.

Then another realization sank in. Shit. He’d been tapped into surveillance on the station, confirming that sensors were installed inside her room. Privacy must not exist, even in a luxury establishment like this one. Although Boggle provided the means to gain some, it meant he’d been watching earlier…and she’d taken a shower.

He wouldn’t. Would he?
Better for his health if she didn’t ask.

“Whatcha got there?” Rygard returned, his fingertips tickling along her side.

Deactivating the comp, she waved the jamming unit. “Present from a new friend. He knows I like my privacy.”

Giving a low whistle, he took the jamming unit from her, turning the sophisticated device over for inspection before handing it back. “Sweet piece of tech.”

She looked upward and said to the ceiling, “Thanks.”

Then she activated the jammer.

Walking into the bedroom, she placed it on the nightstand and turned to face Rygard. He’d followed her, up close and extremely personal.

He brushed her cheek with his knuckles, his voice gruff as he spoke, “Now where were we?”

“Somewhere,” she whispered against his lips when he leaned in close, “over there.”

She felt his smile against hers more than saw it. “Okay. Why don’t we go back over there, then?”

But he didn’t turn. In a smooth move, he bent and wrapped his arms around her thighs, hoisting her effortlessly. She let out a yelp, clutching at those broad shoulders, struggling to keep her claws retracted. He caught her mouth again in a long, fantastic kiss, tasting of scotch and toffee. And he kept kissing her, as if he could stand there forever.

She came up for air, focusing enough to gasp. “I’m…I’m too heavy for you to keep holding me like this.”

And she was. After the change to her genetic code, she tended toward more lean muscle mass than normal human females. She had to be close to twenty pounds heavier than another girl of the same size.

He only chuckled again, the sound rich with sensuality. He turned and tossed her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing.

New experience, and incredibly hot.

She rose up on her knees to meet him as he stepped to the side of the bed. When he kissed her, burying one hand in her hair, she drank from him. His other hand ran the length of her torso and back, leaving a trail of fire along her side until she desperately wanted the feel of his touch on her skin. She barely noticed when he unsealed the seam to her uniform.

He cupped one breast, uttering a sound of appreciation at the sight of the ruby-red silk while he pulled the fabric aside. She called out as the moist heat of his mouth closed over her nipple, as excited by the sight of his mouth on her as the feel. He sucked and it was as if he scorched a line from her nipple to the wetness between her thighs, tugging her closer and closer to something just out of reach.

She wove her fingers in his hair, encouraging him as best she could. She nibbled at his ear and kissed the strong cords of his neck. When his teeth grazed her, she jerked, setting her own teeth into his flesh.

Not enough to break skin, but he gasped. “Don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She licked the spot and then set her teeth into his shoulder, feeling every muscle in his chest flex against her in response. His hands grasped her upper arms then, shoving her hard enough to put her on her back, but not enough to scare her. He buried his face between her breasts, licking and sucking until she squirmed under the delicious weight of him between her legs.

He kissed his way down her belly, and panic returned. Her head cleared as his hands grasped her bare ass and she reached down to clasp either side of his head before he passed below her waist.

“What?” When he looked up, it was with gentle concern, rather than the impatience or irritation she expected.

Gritting her teeth, she forced the words. “I…I have scars.”

Four parallel marks ran across a black panther tattoo on her left hip. It had been her futile attempt to slow the virus from traveling through her bloodstream, remapping her genetic code from human to a blend of human and feline. Because she’d inflicted them to tissue before the virus mutated the cells, the marks remained. Any damage she’d taken after the mutation always healed without scarring.

But the scars and the tattoo represented tangible evidence of the past, reality rather than some nightmare. She trembled under Rygard’s fingertips, her soul bleeding at the compassion in his gaze.

He stood, and she thought he would leave. Instead, he shrugged out of the top half of his uniform, exposing an expanse of bronzed skin. “C’mere.”

He pulled her to stand with him, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Taking one of her hands, he pressed it against his chest. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the smooth ridges of scar tissue.

“You’re the first to see these up close.” His voice rough with emotion. “I have scars too.”

She bit her lip. She ought to tell him about her past, about the virus. Not contagious, but he should know he wasn’t sleeping with a human. “I’m not—”

“Shh.” He silenced her with a kiss.

When he set her free, she hesitated, caught between the need to tell him and the caution she’d practiced for years. He sighed, pressing her shoulders until she sat down.

“Where are your pajamas? You should put those on.”

She blinked. What had she done wrong? Of course she’d done something…

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” He bent to kiss her again and she could smell his arousal. He still wanted her, but tried to give her an out.

But she didn’t want out.

When he ended the kiss, she pressed her lips against his jaw, trailed them down his neck. As she reached the juncture between his neck and shoulder, she set her teeth against his skin hard enough to draw another gasp. He took her hands in his, pressed them to the bare skin along his sides. All of this was new, nothing like the innocent experiments of her school days and nothing like the nightmare of her torture.