C1 1

Harper Barrett, Sector 437, MedRec Transport Station: Zenith, Latiri Star Cluster

Dark hair. Intense green eyes. The man who’d been watching me from the other side of the bar for the last few minutes looked like every woman’s wet dream.

Except he wasn’t a man. He was an alien.

And this wasn’t a bar in downtown Los Angeles, where I grew up. This was Transport Station: Zenith, and every alien warrior in the room was at least six-six, battle hardened and freakishly strong. And those were the small ones.

At five-ten I’d always felt tall. Too tall. Too blonde. Too pretty. Too female to be taken seriously. Men saw me, my blonde hair and D-cups, and assumed I was an idiot. But this alien? He looked mesmerized as he made his way over to me. He didn’t stop at the usual “polite” distance. No, he moved in close. Too close.

“I have never seen hair this color,” he said, his hand coming up to brush a wayward lock behind my ear. “It is very beautiful.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, glancing up at him through my lashes like the proverbial flirt. His teasing almost touch hadn’t even made contact with my skin, but my heart leapt into my throat anyway.

This was insane. This guy was insane. Insanely hot. He was covered head to toe in some kind of black armor I had never seen before. Definitely not Coalition issue. And the silver band on his arm wasn’t familiar either. No officer or ranking insignia. No marker indicating he was part of the Coalition in any way. I knew every race in the Coalition Fleet, had dragged their injured off the battlefield to transport pads, healed them with ReGen wands, held their hands if they were dying. But this guy? He was different, and every cell in my body went on high alert.

But the way the other warriors in the room avoided him? The way they watched him almost warily? Like he was a caged tiger? No, not a tiger. A snake. Dangerous. Venomous. I’d seen most of these warriors edgy, ready for battle. And that’s how they were acting around him.

Fascinating. 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 shrugged. Sure, I’d showered and even changed into a fresh uniform, but none of my team had gone to medical to get our bumps and bruises taken care of. As usual, we’d made it back, washed the grime of death away and headed straight for the bar. We were used to losing people, but losing Henry was extra hard. He’d been a practical joker, the comedian and prankster who’d gotten away with murder and made life on this remote station almost fun. Every human on the station had heard of his death by now. Heard, and was heading here to drown their sorrows. In a couple hours, this place would be packed.

Maybe I should have another shot of whiskey. The raucous singing and toasting would go on for hours. I sighed and rubbed my temples. I could feel the headache coming on already.

Sexy alien’s eyes narrowed when he saw my hand—the one he wasn’t holding—dark green bandage still in place. “You are hurt.”

He switched his grip to the injured one, and I felt small in his hold. The touch was personal, intimate, and made me seem somehow precious. Fussed over. And I found myself hungry for that connection. He was taking liberties, keeping my hand in his as if I belonged to him. He unwound the narrow bandage.

“It’s nothing. Really.” A small cut on my palm from a piece of ripped metal. I’d had worse while working. Much worse.

He turned my hand palm up, cupped it in one of his and his fingers brushed gently over the gash. It had stopped bleeding before I transported back to Zenith. A scratch. I welcomed the stinging pain. Sometimes, pain was the only way I knew I was still alive. I’d taken a few extra minutes after we transported back, made sure Henry’s body got to the morgue and joined my team.

Over hunk’s shoulder, I saw our second-in-command, Rovo, watching me. He was with the others, but the look he was giving us gave me pause. He shifted his worried eyes—totally normal expression for Rovo where I was concerned—from me and glared at my companion’s back. Hottie must have noticed my distraction and glanced Rovo’s way. Their gazes locked for a split second, some kind of alpha male thing going on I didn’t understand. But I wasn’t worried. I was safe. My entire team was here, sitting along the wall, watching my back, talking trash and unwinding from that shithole, desolate planet we’d just come from.

Fighting over dead planets. While it seemed ridiculous, it made sense. No one wanted a Hive base in this solar system. Hell, this galaxy. So, the Coalition troops fought over dirt. Position. To keep the Hive away.

Space? Earth? Some things didn’t change, not when it came to good versus evil. War.

He turned back around, Rovo forgotten. He still held my hand. This was so not what I’d expected when I’d made my trip to the bar for a drink. I was supposed to be back with my teammates on the other side of the room, but no. I hadn’t moved since he’d invaded my personal space. I hadn’t wanted to. Even the cheesy one-liner didn’t sway me.

This guy? Holy shit. I wanted to do whatever he wanted. Whatever he said. Right now.

Why? Because I had no doubt he was good. Very, very good. And while I was out here in Sector 437, also known as of the outer quadrant of nowhere, my vagina was becoming as dried up as a Trion desert from neglect. A little male attention felt good.

Especially from one who looked like him. Who stared at me as if he wanted to gobble me right up. Or toss me over his shoulder and lay me down on the nearest horizontal surface—or maybe he’d go for vertical. A wall would do for a quick fix. Hot and hard and rough. A little dangerous? Maybe.

But then, that’s what I craved. Something with an edge. Something to make me quiver and gasp and need. I didn’t want to think right now.

I wanted to feel.