Tempt Me Eternally (6 page)

Damn him. What would Macy do in this situation? What would a real AIR agent do?

An AIR agent would already have cut off his balls, used them as earrings, and danced around his lifeless form. She could do no less. Maybe. Fine, she wouldn't be going near his balls, but she could definitely fight harder.

“I guess your fate was sealed, too.” Aleaha lifted her head and bit him, using the only weapon she had at the moment: her teeth. They sank into his
chin. The taste of sugar teased her tongue just as she remembered she feared contamination. Sugar? Mmm, as good as his scent. Heady, like aged wine. Clearly addictive, because she already craved another helping. Who cared about possible contamination, really? After all, Jaxon didn't think the Rakans were infected. So . . . Dinner, come to mama.

Breean ripped free with a howl. Golden blood trickled from the tiny punctures and onto her collarbone as he glared down at her. Angry as he was, the moonlight paid him nothing but tribute, washing over him with loving strokes. Had she truly just tried to eat him? Did that mean she was a cannibal like . . . no, no. Absolutely not. She didn't want to feast on anyone else.

“You bit me,” he snarled. “Are you infected?”

“With what?”

“A disease. Any disease.”

“No. Are you?”
Please say no.

That soothed him, but only somewhat. “No. But what if you are, and you don't know it?”

“I'm telling you I'm healthy.”

“Still. You should not have bitten me. Bloodshed is forbidden.”

Forbidden? “But you made the agents bleed.”

“Not me.”

“If those responsible were under your charge, it might as well have been you.”

A muscle ticked below his left eye.

“Just let me go, okay,” she said, doing her best to sound strong and assured this time rather than
frantic. She (might have) sounded breathless. “Otherwise, I
will
bite you again.” A lie, but he couldn't know that. No way did she want to lose herself to that chomping urge again.

“Do not ever,
ever
draw my blood. Do you understand? You'll not like the consequences, I swear it.”

Don't apologize
.
Don't weaken
. “Well, get off me and save us both. I can't breathe.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now you are just being silly. You're talking. Therefore, you can breathe.”

Smart bastard. “You have no right to hold me like this.”

“As the victor of this battle, I have every right.” Another of those slow, wicked grins tugged at the corners of his beautiful golden lips, and her heart skipped another beat. “Oh, the things I'm going to do to you. And I know what you're thinking. Is he open to suggestions? The answer is yes.”

Gorgeous and a mind reader. But she said, “Liar. I've suggested you get off me about a thousand times.” How she'd love to cut that grin off him. And maybe his clothes.
Stop thinking like that, you slut!

“No. You commanded.” He anchored her wrists to the ground with one hand and sifted the length of her still-pale hair through his fingers with the other. “I think I will like the dark strands better. Why do you hide them?”

No way she'd answer that and incriminate herself further.
Think, Aleaha
. To escape him, she needed a weapon. Besides her teeth. She'd tried to sheathe her pyre-guns at her waist while running through
the trees, but the unusual velocity of her motions had made her clumsy, and she'd dropped them. But she'd also had a knife, a knife Breean had taken and secured to his back . . .

Her eyes widened. Yes. Yes! Keeping it had been very stupid of him because now she could steal it back.

“My guess?” he continued, oblivious to her plans. “You don't want anyone to know your true identity.”

“Wow, detective. I'm so glad you're on the case.” She hoped her sarcasm hid both her chagrin that he'd already figured her out and her excitement that this battle between them could very well be over in minutes. All she had to do was convince him to free her hands. “For the record,
this
is my identity.”

“Once again, you lie.
Alien
.”

“I'm human, damn it!” Macy was human, so Aleaha was, too. That's how it had to be.

“You want to be, are trying to act like it, but you're not. AIR had to know.”

A fear she harbored, no matter how much she relaxed. “Go to hell.”

“Perhaps I'm already there.” His gaze lowered to her mouth. “Soft,” he said. “What's your real name, alien? Something that fits your real face, I'm sure.”

“I
am
human. And I already told you my name.” Shivering, trying to ignore the white-hot pulses hammering at every point of contact, she said, “Release my hands. Please.”

“So you can hit me again? I think not.”

“So I can
feeeel
you.” She didn't have to force the words out; they wisped out of her mouth of their own accord.

He didn't pause to ask what had changed her mind; she was instantly freed. Her hands slid to his back, as if she meant to grab him and pull him closer. His nostrils flared at that first tentative, seemingly willing touch, and he braced himself on his elbows, pressing deeper into her body.

Automatically her knees fell open, welcoming him. She couldn't stop them. That honey scent . . . His hips surged forward, his erection sliding over her clothed but already moist folds. She gasped, unable to stifle the satisfied sound. And in that suspended moment, she almost forgot her true purpose.

“That's the way, Macy.”

“Don't call me that. Call me—” The moment the words hit her ears, she sucked in a breath. Why would she want him to call her by her real name, especially when she'd refused to tell him what it was? She was Macy now, and she had to remain Macy, even with lovers. Not that she would become this guy's lover.

“Call you what, then?”

“Ale— Macy.” Damn it! She'd almost told him. Again. What kind of moron was she?

A perverted moron at that, since she found the man responsible for the fall of her friends so damned sensual, erotic, and wholly masculine. A drug that overshadowed any hint of inhibition. Just looking at him, she wanted to drown in sensation.
For the sake of the others, don't lose focus
.

“Do you like it soft or do you like it rough, Ale— Macy?” he purred.

Why not both?
Knife. Get the knife
. “I—I don't know. Why don't you find out?” Inch by inch, she trekked her trembling fingers down his sides, not stopping until she reached the coarse material of the holster. Almost there . . . almost . . . Her palm found smooth material and hard muscle, but no weaponlike bulge.

“What's your real name? Tell me. Please.”

Would he never give up?

“I promise not to tell,” he murmured. “You have my word. But how can I kiss you properly if I don't know what to call you? Please.”

She didn't want him to leave her yet. Not until she had the knife. And she feared he would indeed walk away if she refused yet again. That was the only reason she was giving in, damn it! “Aleaha,” she found herself saying. She didn't trust him, but part of her did want him to know, which was why she didn't simply lie. “Happy now?” Where the hell was the knife?

“Aleaha.” He closed his eyes for a moment, as though he savored the reverberation. “Much better. And now that we've got that settled . . . are you looking for this, Aleaha?” In a movement so swift she saw only the remnants of his spirit, he palmed a blade from his boot and waved the gleaming silver tip over her nose. “I moved it during our chase. Just in case. Over the past two years, I have learned to plan ahead.”

With a yelp, she shrank deeper into the cold ground. Ice-covered rocks stabbed into her bared back where her jacket and T-shirt were torn. “If
you cut me, I'll . . .” She'd what? Bleed all over him and ruin his clean clothes. Like he didn't know that already. She was screwed.

“I told you, there will be no bloodletting. Besides, I like the passion and concern you've shown for your friends,” he said, tossing the blade out of reach. Then he baffled her by bending and sniffing her neck, his nose brushing the sensitive skin there, the thundering pulse. “I won't punish you for that.”

Another shiver rushed her.
Concentrate
. Without the knife, there was no reason to remain in this position. No
intelligent
reason. “Let me up and I'll negotiate for the agents' freedom,” she said, recalling his earlier attempt at bartering. “Just like you wanted.”

“The time for that is over.” The inflection in his voice was dark, carnal, and animalistic. His gaze lowered to her lips. “Now I believe I promised you a kiss.”

“Don't you dare kiss me.” The words were automatic, but there was no heat behind them. Passion, like fear, was not a good thing for her. Yet a part of her wanted him to take her mouth anyway. Take everything she had to give and demand more, forcing her to feel, to need, to crave. Finally. As she'd dreamed of for so long.

“Don't cut you, don't kiss you. Anything else I shouldn't do?” She started to tick off an entire list, but he added, “Never mind. I'm through with this conversation.” And then his lips were meshed with hers, his hot tongue probing for entrance.

She flattened her palms against his chest and shoved. He didn't budge. In fact, he grabbed hold of
her wrists and repinned them over her head, smashing her breasts into his chest—mmm, good, so good—at the same time cupping her nape and forcing her jaw up, preventing her lips from moving away.

“Open,” he commanded against her mouth.

She shook her head, even though denying him was one of the most difficult things she'd ever done.

“Open.” He applied a hard pressure with his chin, creating the smallest of gaps.

Still she resisted. She'd lose control, and he'd find himself kissing a stranger, maybe even another man. He'd become enraged, disgusted, and she wouldn't be able to blame him.

Determined, he changed tactics. The pressure gentled, and he pulled back slightly. Soft, so softly, he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips. “Open. Please. You'll like what I do. I swear.”

Don't give in,
her mind beseeched, even as she recalled all the nights she'd lain in bed, aching so badly she'd wanted to die, wishing intimacy weren't so dangerous for her. Wishing a lover could please her without discovering her secrets. She'd been down that road a few times, and she couldn't allow herself to take it ever again.

The first time, she'd been regarded as a freak. The second attempt had ended in a fight for her life. The third—and final—attempt had started rocky but had ended successfully. Or so she'd thought, until she was chased down and nearly locked up.

Breean has seen you in action, so he already knows what you can do
.

But he's a monster
.

So are you
.

I am not!

The internal debate ended with an,
Mmm, he smells better with every second that passes, like cinnamon and honey, wildflowers and sex.
Down-and-dirty, nothing-held-back sex. The kind she'd always fantasized about having while she touched herself, alone, always alone, finger dancing over her clitoris.

She must have unintentionally obeyed him and opened her mouth because suddenly his tongue was pushing past her teeth, stroking, thrusting, twining. Every nerve ending in her body leapt to instant life. Liquid heat flooded the apex of her thighs, and she trembled.

“Sweet,” he praised. “So sweet.”

Make him stop,
she thought, dazed, even as she wound her legs around his waist and locked her ankles, arching her back. His erection rubbed the new center of her world, and she gasped, lost to sensation. As feared, she felt her appearance change, expanding from average height to a bit taller, a little more rounded.

Shockingly, he didn't seem to mind. Seemed to like it, actually, as he hissed in a breath. “Again.”

She did, unable to help herself. She arched, appearance changing to someone shorter, rounder. They moaned simultaneously, then his tongue was back inside her mouth, hotter now, harder, and he was sucking her the way he might suck on a woman's clit, laving and savoring every drop of moisture. Their teeth
banged together as he drew her closer. Her still-hard nipples pressed into his chest, abrading deliciously.

“M-my shirt.” She wanted to tell him to rip it the rest of the way off her, but was having trouble forming the words. She ached, oh, she ached, and that ache demanded all of her attention. A touch, a glide.
Something
. Except, she felt the hair on her head shorten, her legs lengthen, and something harden between her legs—and it wasn't Breean.

There wasn't time even to gasp in horror. Because of her sudden spike of fear, the male form was quickly replaced. This time her hair grew and the color of her skin went from tanned to pale, her body from lean to lush. In a snap, however, she changed yet again. Female, still, but longer, slimmer. She clutched at Breean, relieved, needy. He hadn't erupted when she'd sprouted a penis. He hadn't even stopped kissing her.

“I knew I'd like the dark hair.” His tight clamp eased on her nape and his fingers slid to the front, stopping at her voice box, fanning over her pulse, then dipping to her breast. He kneaded the soft curve.

With his acceptance came a flood of uncontrollable, undiluted desire. And holy hell, did she have pent-up desire. That touch, so tender, so innocent, wasn't enough.

More,
she thought. “I need . . . I need . . .”

“Me.” He jerked the material up, revealing her navel, her bra—which he moved, too—and then her breasts. Her stomach quivered as he studied her. Cold air beat around them, but she felt only heat. Only need. “Pretty,” he said, sounding as if he were in
some sort of trance. “Like berries. Pink, ripe. Mine.”