Dark Taste of Rapture (Alien Huntress 6)

Yesterday, they’d been all about the awkward polite. As if they’d never kissed. Never pressed their bodies together, straining, rubbing, both of them ready to explode.

“Be honest,” Dallas whispered. “Are you imagining that red dress on your bedroom floor?”

He would not reply. Would not voice the words that would undermine his good intentions.

“Because I am,” his friend admitted miserably.

He f**king would not reply. Not his agreement, and not a warning. What good would warning another man away do him? None, that’s what. Hell, if anything, a warning would only make things worse for himself.

Dallas would expect him to act on his attraction. And if he didn’t, well, he’d open the door for Dallas to act on his.

“Don’t be mad, but I can’t seem to help myself. I want her.”

Okay, so the door was already open. “Why would I be mad?” The words escaped loud, gravelly, and pissed as hell, drawing stares and a few hushes. Better question: how would he stop himself from ripping his friend’s face off?

Noelle had called dibs on Dallas, which meant she was attracted to him. Wanted him in return. Would probably like being stripped by him, touched by him. Tasted by him.

If she hadn’t been already.

He whispered fiercely, “Have you two … ?”

“No,” Dallas answered, and he relaxed.

Dallas is your friend. Maybe Hector’s only friend. Dallas knew about his arms. Hector had finally broken down and revealed all. While working a case together, Dallas had used a few unexplainable abilities of his own, moving faster than the eye could track, controlling people with his voice, shit like that.

Apparently Dallas was part otherworlder.

I wish there were an explanation for me. Though he’d kept searching, he’d found nothing. But he’d wanted Dallas to know there were others out there, that he wasn’t alone with his differences, and Hector had never regretted sharing. They’d bonded over it, almost like brothers.

And you can’t kill your brother, he reminded himself.

“And you two haven’t?” Dallas asked.

“No.”

“And you’d be okay if I … ?”

No! “Yes.”

“Okay, good,” Dallas said in that quiet voice. “That’s good. I’m gonna go for it, then. Tonight. As long as you don’t care.”

“I … don’t.”

“Good, that’s good,” he repeated. “Bridesmaids can’t help themselves, either. The romance, you know. Practically puts a bull’s eye on their panties.”

Another forceful breath, in and out, careful, measured, followed by another. Hector tried to release his growing tension with every exhalation. Suddenly his hands burned, itched, and both sensations spread up, up, all the way to his shoulders, until he knew the skin beneath his jacket was glowing.

This was very, very bad.

He jumped to his feet. The pastor stuttered to silence, and every head in the room turned his way, including Noelle’s. He was careful to avoid her gaze as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shoved out of his row. Was that burning cloth he smelled? Despite the fact that he only ever wore fire-retardant clothing?

Without any kind of explanation, he stalked down the aisle and out of the chapel. Before he torched it and everyone in it to the ground.

Fifteen

WHO KNEW A WEDDING reception attended by stone-cold killers would prove to be the party of the century?

Noelle hid in a corner in back of the spacious ballroom, swathed in shadows, trying to take everything in. The walls were painted to look as if they’d been covered in pink lace. Glasses were clinking, conversations were raucous, and champagne and chocolate scented the air. Laughter abounded, as did the sucking sounds of a good kiss. A lot of people were getting down and dirty wherever they happened to be. A few down and dirtiers were even by the buffet table, rattling the dishes when gyrating hips met stone.

McKell had Ava on the dance floor, bumping and grinding and generally looking epileptic. So did everyone else on that floor, for that matter, moving to the hard, fast rock buzzing from strategically placed speakers. An elegant, twinkling teardrop chandelier winked over the seizers, highlighting their every blackmail-worthy nuance. She’d already done a little covert videoing from her cell, and planned to torture the agents for the rest of their lives.

“What are you doing over here all by your lonesome?” a male voice suddenly asked.

A flick of her gaze, and she realized Dallas had sidled up beside her. She’d have to pay better attention. Sensing a possible threat was necessary for her job, after all. Although Dallas didn’t look threatening today. In his pristine suit, with his dark hair slicked back, his dark complexion flawless, and his electric eyes bright, he was handsome in a fallen angel kind of way, half innocence, half wicked temptation.

And he’d said something to her, she recalled. “I’m two-fisting drinks with dignity,” she replied, toasting him with both of her nearly empty glasses. Her earlier buzz had already worn off, and she was looking for another.

His lips twitched, even as his gaze swept down the length of her, heating with desire.

Desire? Surely not. Not after the distant way he’d treated her lately.

“Darling,” he said, “I hate to break it to you, but you lost your dignity the moment you walked down that aisle. In my mind, I already had you stripped.”

So seductively uttered, so charmingly delivered, she found herself grinning with genuine amusement for the first time that day. “I do know how to rock a fantasy, don’t I?”

The desire, or whatever it was, cranked up a notch, turning those vivid eyes into a kaleidoscope of differing shades of blue. “Please tell me that’s not the only thing you rock.”

A chuckle bubbled from her. “Tsk, tsk. I almost think you’re flirting with me.”

“If you almost think then I’m not doing a good enough job.” His voice dropped a few octaves, going husky, layered with a needy rasp. “So, let me clear things up. I am flirting with you. Is it working?”

Her heart began to thud against her ribs. Not from arousal but from surprise and, well, quite frankly, unease. He was Hector’s friend. So if he was flirting with her this heavily, he didn’t think Hector would mind.

Hell, maybe Hector had even told him to go for it.

Her heart thudded harder, and she was disgusted with herself. Why did she care what Hector did, said? Or what he didn’t do, didn’t say?