Her Rogue Mates. Grace Goodwin
But I tried not to show my reaction, or the way my pussy was already hot and aching, my breasts heavy, my pulse pounding. Sheesh. You’d think I hadn’t had sex in…forever. Wait. No. I hadn’t had sex in forever, and this guy with his massive shoulders and intense stare was making my body demand I fix that.
Like now.
The bartender was a large Atlan female, about six feet tall with breasts the size of melons and stunning dark auburn hair. She was gorgeous. And looking at this guy like she wanted to lick him all over.
Unfortunately, that was a desire I shared.
He smiled at her as she handed him a drink. Her hand lingered on the glass, her fingertips brushing over his in blatant invitation.
I wanted to claw her eyes out.
Shit. I shook my head and turned back to my drink, determined to behave myself. If he wanted the bartender, I didn’t blame him. If I were into females, I’d do her, too.
This guy had trouble written across his forehead in capital letters. And probably a few more words as well. Bad boy. Sexy. Eye candy. Rebel. Man whore. Yeah. Probably a total man whore. He’d probably already slept with half the women on the station.
Been there. Done that. My ex back on Earth had been the cheating kind. Once was enough, thank you very much.
“Why do you frown at me?” he asked, the dark timbre of his voice settling into my bones. A shiver raced over my skin, his voice like a physical caress. My nipples pebbled into hard points, and I had to struggle to breathe normally. Dangerous? Hah! I needed to work on my risk assessment skills. Expand my vocabulary. Dangerous wasn’t even close.
“I thought only guys from Earth had horrible pick-up lines,” I replied.
“Pick-up lines?”
“Never seen blonde hair? Really? That’s the best you can do?”
“I speak the truth.” He slowly lowered his head, his dark hair falling rakishly over his forehead.
Did I mention he reminded me of Joe Manganiello? The hottie hunk from True Blood? While I assumed this guy wasn’t a vampire and had zero intention of biting me, he was working the dark, brooding hero bit. I lifted my glass of what passed for a lager out here in space and indicated a couple of warriors from Prillon Prime who were on the other side of the room. One was brown with amber eyes and dark, rust colored hair. But the other? Golden like a lion. Definitely blond. They were hot, but they didn’t make me forget to breathe. Not like this guy was doing. “What do you call that?” I pointed to the fairer warrior.
He crowded closer, dismissing the Prillons with a flicker of movement in his eyes. “They look burned, scorched by the sun. Their skin is thick and ugly.” He lifted his hand to the end of my hair where my now ragged ponytail had let loose several rebellious strands. “You are pure light. Soft. Fragile.”
I scoffed at that. If he only knew. I was twenty-seven, not seventeen. And I’d been an ER nurse for three years in a busy city hospital before spending almost two years stationed on Transport Station: Zenith being sent off to do battlefield triage and emergency medical service for the Coalition. I was a paramedic in space—which still blew my mind if I really stopped to think about it for too long. But pure? Fragile? Hardly. I tried not to roll my eyes as I turned away from him.
I wasn’t pure, but I still had a heart. And after dragging my friend, Henry, out from under a pile of Hive Scouts, looking into what had once been warm brown eyes filled with humor—now dead and cold—that organ was hurting. I really needed more than a beer. Henry Swanson had been born in London. British. From the 22nd SAS. Badass military veteran. Funny accent. Hell of a poker player. Two days ago he’d been smoking cigars, kicking my commander’s ass in a game.
Five hours ago, I’d pulled his corpse out from under a stack of dead enemies.
At least he’d taken five of those Hive bastards with him.
Yeah, I needed more than one drink to dull the ache.
Glancing up at the Atlan bartender, I lifted my chin. “Can I get a shot of whiskey, please?”
Her gaze softened, and I realized she really was beautiful. “Sure, honey. Jack, Johnnie, Jim or Glen?”
“Glen.”
“Bad out there today?” While her job kept her at the transport station, she knew what we did, the horrors we saw. The lingering emotions.
“Yes.”
She nodded and slid a shot glass full of synthesized whiskey toward me. The S-Gen—the matter generator that provided all our clothing, food and other incidentals that came from various planets in the Coalition—on the transport station had been programmed with Jim Beam, Johnnie Walker, Jack Daniels and Glenlivet, as well as a selection of vodkas, gin, beer, wine and every other type of alcohol imaginable from Earth. Drinks I’d never heard of from other planets, too. After puking my guts out in college on tequila, I steered clear of hard liquor most days.
Today was not most days. I just wanted to forget for a while. At least until I was called out on a clean-up mission again.
My mystery alien hottie watched me as I threw back the shot, closed my eyes in bliss as the alcohol burned its way down my throat, and gently placed the shot glass back on the bar like a revered friend.
“You want another one?” the bartender asked.
“No, thanks. We’re second wave.” We weren’t first out, not right now, but we were backup for the next emergency. Which meant I couldn’t drown myself in whiskey and pass out in my bed like I wanted to. I fiddled with the band around my wrist, my link to the alert system and the rest of my team. A darker green than my medical uniform, the center of it held a lighted band that communicated orders, coordinates, whatever we might need wherever we were on the ground. But right now, the colored band was a light, airy blue. Baby blue, cotton candy blue. It changed based on status. Red was first call, blue second, and black meant we were considered dormant, off duty. We called it dead time, and it was both rare and valuable.
There were only three emergency medical teams on Zenith, and we were all very, very busy.
“What is second wave?” He stared, like he was putting together a puzzle. Undeterred, he leaned forward when I ignored him, almost as if he was going to…
“Did you just sniff me?” I blurted, leaning back. Our gazes locked, and I felt like a deer in the headlights. I should get up and run, run, run. So why did I freeze in place, almost eager to see what he would do next? I felt like I was dancing with a cobra, and the risk was intoxicating.
“I don’t usually need to talk with a female to entice her into my bed.” His eyes were pale green, a few shades lighter than mine; my mother always said I had emerald eyes. But his were intense, almost mesmerizing and completely focused on me.
“Yeah, you might be better off with less talking.”
He grinned as if I amused him, and his gaze roved over my face, to my lips, then my hair, which he stroked. Involuntarily, I tilted my head into the heated touch. His hand was so big, reminding me of our size difference. I was tall but he was a head taller, if not more. And he was big. No doubt, everywhere. His hand slid down, over my shoulder and lower, to my hand, which he lifted between us. “You are from Earth.”
“Yes,” I confirmed, although his remark hadn’t really been a question. “Never seen an earthling before?” The question dripped sarcasm, but if anything, his smile widened.
“Only one.” He didn’t elaborate and I didn’t ask. I didn’t care who he knew or didn’t know. Not. My. Business. Besides, if it was a woman, I’d just want to claw her eyes out as well, which was just stupid. What he did and who he did it with was none of my business. Better to leave that one alone.
“Why do I smell blood?” He sniffed again, his brows drew together and any bit of playfulness was gone.
I