Savor Me Slowly (Alien Huntress 3)

“Or what?” When he offered an angry hiss in reply, she sighed and said, “I’m putting you to sleep, okay?” Anyone else she would have left down here, awake—why waste good drugs?—then she’d go upstairs alone and dispatch the enemy. Jaxon, however, she didn’t want to leave suffering.

Besides, weakened as he was, she suspected he still might be able to drag himself into hiding while she was distracted.

“I said I’d walk,” Jaxon said, determined. “I won’t fight you.”

“Your ankle is wrecked, and I can’t take the chance you’ll remain calm.” Just as determined as he was, she approached him. “I’ll get you out of here, don’t worry. And just think, when you wake up, your wee fairy Cathy might very well be at your side, kissing your brow, sprinkling you with her magic dust.”

He tensed, his broken body somehow the picture of absolute menace. “How do you know about Cathy? I haven’t seen her in months.”

One of her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she stopped in front of him. Only a whisper separated them. “I know a lot about you, and I know a lot about Cathy. You called her fairy, she called you agent.” Le’Ace had liked nothing about Cathy and almost everything about Jaxon. Brave, loyal, fearless. Rare qualities in a man, as she well knew. “When I take a job, I learn everything I can about everyone involved. What I don’t know is how you spent a year of your life with that girl. Five minutes in her presence and I wanted to slash my own wrists. Every word out of her mouth is a complaint. She’s condescending and frigid.”

The last sentence had barely left Le’Ace when she realized Jaxon had curled his black-and-blue fingers around her gloved wrist in an effort to prevent her from moving her arm, keeping the syringe a safe distance away. He shouldn’t have been able to move so quickly or without her knowledge. His touch shouldn’t have so entranced her, but it did.

He couldn’t know that the arm he held was mostly machine and he couldn’t have stopped it with a bulldozer. He couldn’t know she allowed the touch, unable to force herself to pull away.

“Let’s talk about this,” he said.

“No time.” Usually Le’Ace hated being touched and would only endure it when ordered for a job. Because when her boss commanded her to do something, she did it without hesitation. Always. The little chip in her brain allowed nothing less, the consequences for disobeying too severe.

Just thinking about the chip’s capabilities swept a wave of bitterness through her. I’m just a pawn. She hadn’t been ordered to let Jaxon handle her, but she was somehow more helpless than ever. There was warmth in his touch. Warmth and inexorable strength that seeped past her glove, the metal—all the way to her marrow. For a moment, she entertained the fantasy that he could defeat her demons and finally free her.

Wishful thinking only led to disappointment. That she knew well.

“You’re drifting again,” he muttered.

Shit! She never drifted when in the presence of another. Yet she had with him, several times. There was something calming about him, just like his file claimed. Her eyes narrowed on him. “If I’m worrying about you trying to hurt me or trying to escape me,” she found herself telling him, even though she’d told him they did not have time to discuss this, “I won’t be able to fight your captors to the best of my ability.”

“You’re not fighting them alone.”

Concern? For her? Totally unnecessary, a first, and absolutely surprising, but sweet. She frowned. “Believe me, it’s better this way.” She flexed the coils in her metal wrist, a silent command for release.

His fingers spread but he did not let go.

“You don’t want to drug me, Le’Ace.”

He said her name as if it were a prayer, and she shivered. Not again. Earlier he’d told her that she should unchain him and his voice had been mesmerizing. Like now. Some deep, hidden part of her had reacted, wanting to give the man whatever he asked for. Like now.

Again, she found herself asking the chip: is he alien?

Zero possibility. Only human chemistry detected.

What was he, then, that he could compel another’s actions with this voice? What was he, that he could heat her blood and entrance her body? “I may not want to, honey, but I’m going to.” Her free hand hung at her side, and she worked her fingers over one of the rings she wore, exposing the tiny needle under the enlarged diamond.

“I’m not letting go. I’ll stay here, like this, all night.”

“You don’t have to let me go,” she said. Act. Do it.

She didn’t.

She stared up at him. I need a tune-up; I’m slipping.

What would it be like to kiss him? The question flooded her unexpectedly, rising from the same hidden place affected by his voice. Desire swirled and mixed with her blood, infusing throughout her entire body.

This has to end, before you do something stupid. Forcing herself into action—fast, no pause—she lifted her arm and jabbed the ring into the thick vein fluttering at the base of his neck.

His eyes widened, and he hissed.

“I’m sorry,” she told him. “Just so you know, I don’t name my rings, either.”

“You…bitch.” His eyelids flapped closed, open, closed.

“The syringe contains the painkiller and antibiotic solution, nothing more. The ring has the sleeping aid.”

“Tricked me,” he accused, his voice all the more slurred.

“Saved you.”

His muscles were loosening, his lids now sealed shut. He fought the intoxicating slumber to the last, trying to hold on to her, tight, so tight, but finally he drifted off, chin falling to his collarbone, fingers disengaging, and arm falling to his side. Again, she was amazed by his fortitude.

Le’Ace gently eased him to the floor, careful of his broken bones. “I really am sorry.” So much strength. A shame to take it away, even for a little while. Sighing, she jabbed the syringe into his upper arm, emptied it, then tossed it aside.

She wanted to linger, to study him more fully. Truly, he was a puzzle, a sexy puzzle at that, and leaving a puzzle unsolved was abhorrent to her. Just a job, she reminded herself. Had to be that way. She was no good, tainted, and had more baggage than a world traveler. She was bad for men, because the longer she stayed with one, the greater chance there was of being forced to screw him over.

She’d been raised in a lab, had never had a boyfriend. Hell, had never wanted one. If she were ordered to kill him, or worse, if she were ordered to f**k someone else while dating him…