“We didn’t know about it. It was a rare defect they only discovered afterward when they performed the autopsy.” She took a deep breath to prevent getting choked up. She usually did that when she remembered Bradley and avoided discussing the grim details. A change in subject was needed to avoid tears. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I’ll get out of the kitchen and let you fix your meal. Trey said you needed cast-iron skillets and he put one on the stove for you to use. There are more under that cabinet there.” She pointed. “Make yourself at home.”
He nodded. “Are you leaving now?”
She inwardly flinched, realizing he didn’t understand the situation. “Actually, about that…” She took a breath. “I’m not moving into the main house with my father. He’d drive me nuts and trust me when I tell you that you’re better off here than living with him. He’s kind of a jerk sometimes and tends to be super controlling. I am staying here. You’ll hardly see me and I keep a pretty busy schedule.” She pulled air into her lungs. “It’s a big house and we’ll make it work. It will almost be as if I’m not here.”
He gawked at her. “I’m to live with you?” A frown dipped his lips.
“I’m really sorry that this isn’t what you expected but no one asked me before your living arrangements were made. My father had no right to offer you my house but I’m willing to share it with you. There’s a spare house key hanging from a peg on the right side of the front door. Take it and use it.”
His chin lifted and his shoulders braced back enough to puff out that massive chest of his. “I understand. I’m here to learn about humans and to adjust to being around them. This will be a good experience to share a house with one. You’ve taught me a lot in such a short time and I look forward to learning more. Thank you.”
She had to give him a lot of credit for taking the news better than she expected. “Good. I’ll leave you to cook your meal now. I’m going to return to the family room and get shit-face drunk. You’ll discover that I do that after I have a blowout with my dad. He drives me to drink.”
She spun and walked away before he could question her further. All that talk about her husband left her feeling sad and vulnerable. Intense pain squeezed her heart as she walked into the family room, sat at the bar and poured another drink.
The shit part was that her father had been right about Bradley but she couldn’t ever admit that aloud because her dad would never allow her to forget it. He’d rub it in and use it as an example in every argument they had. That would be so often that it wasn’t funny. She downed another shot, closed her eyes and hissed from the burn of the booze sliding down into her belly.
Brawn watched Becca leave the kitchen and sighed. He knew what shit-faced drunk meant. She planned to drink to excess, get completely inebriated and he hoped his new house mate wasn’t one of those humans who did it often. He hated the smell of alcohol and he’d seen movies of drunk people enough to wish to avoid them.
This was not going the way he had thought it would. Not at all. He’d been promised a secluded home, privacy, yet instead he lived with a human woman. Worse, he found her attractive. The memory of her bent over the bed he’d sleep in later would stick with him for a while. She had a curved, lush body, very unlike Species women. She appeared supple, fragile and would probably scream if he ever unleashed his desire on her.
Her hand had been small and very soft when he’d held it after their introduction. The idea of having her touch him with them made his c**k twitch. Of course the thought of pinning her under him only made it worse. He’d probably crush her under his weight or accidentally break her somehow.
He softly growled as he moved around the kitchen to familiarize himself with it. He pulled out a few steaks, heated the skillet and found a plate, then got the tongs to turn his steaks as he seared them.
He sat at the island eating while thoughts of Becca Oberto plagued him. She was a complication he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. He could ask her father to allow him to live in the bigger house near the road. It would simplify things but that would be cowardly. He lifted his gaze to the fridge, studying the photos that were stuck on it—Becca with different humans. She smiled in all of them and appeared happy. It was a confusing contradiction if she had turned to drinking a lot of alcohol. He wasn’t too sure of his human facts but it implied she had serious issues. Her mate dying would do it.
He finished his dinner, cleaned up the mess and washed his dishes. He heard music when he turned off the water and dried his hands. It was too early to go to bed and his room didn’t have a television. He’d need to ask for one, he missed his cable channels already and regretted volunteering to take the mission for his people.
Someone needed to work with the human task force though. A Species female would have been perfect for the job but he hadn’t wanted to expose any of them to human males. Everything he’d learned so far about them made him believe they’d harass her. It was a man’s world outside the NSO gates, or so he’d been told. Females were to be protected at all costs. The idea of allowing one to go into danger made his entire body stiffen. He’d tough it out and would deal with whatever came his way. Better him than one of the females.
He worried about Becca as he put his foot on the bottom step to return to his room. She wasn’t a big female and a memory of a movie he’d watched made him turn back. She could drink enough to become violently ill and he wanted to check on her health.
He followed the rock music and paused in the archway to the family room. Becca sat at the bar with a bottle and a tiny glass in front of her. She seemed to sense him and turned her head. The wide grin she gave him and her overly bright, blue eyes assured him that she’d drunk too much. She waved him over, her movements clumsy.
“Hello, handsome. Wanna drink?”
Her voice slurred a little and it shocked him that she’d called him that. “My name is Brawn. I don’t know of any Species who chose to be called that.”
A giggle made her shoulders shake and she snorted softly. “I know your name. You’re good-looking but you know that, right?”
She found him attractive. That fact left him speechless.
She patted the seat next to her. “Wanna drink? It doesn’t burn going down anymore.”
He inched into the room. “I don’t drink alcohol but thank you for the offer. How many have you had?”
“I don’t know.” She nearly slipped off the chair as she adjusted on the seat. “Not enough. I’m still conscious.”
“Drinking alcohol inebriates you, slows your response time and makes logic difficult to practice.”
She laughed. “You are so cute.”
His eyebrows lifted. No one had ever called him that before. Ferocious, a bastard and other choice names but never something that implied that definition. Worry ate at him more over her mental state.
“Perhaps you should go to bed and sleep. I’ve heard a saying that things always look better in the morning.”
“It’s early.” She patted the barstool next to her. “Come over here. I won’t bite.”
“Aren’t you afraid I will?” He couldn’t resist opening his mouth and showing her his canines, curious why she didn’t seem to fear him. Human women always did.
“Nope.” She patted the barstool again. “Come closer.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re kind of blurry.” She giggled. “I don’t drink often but when I do, wow boy, do I do it right.”
He’d never heard that phrasing before and approached her cautiously. It was a bad idea, he should go to his room, but worry kept him there. She needed someone to look out for her. Her mate wasn’t around anymore to do it and her father wasn’t living inside her home. It was up to him to make certain she didn’t have any misadventures in her defenseless state.
He sat on the barstool, too close to her in his estimation—and hoped she didn’t throw up the way he’d seen women do in movies. “I don’t understand why you would purposely do this to your body.”
“You mean the calories?” She glanced down. “I could lose some weight. I sit on my butt too much at work but it’s not as though I have to impress anyone anymore.”
“Calories?”
“You know, because I’m a little overweight.”
He studied her body. “You’re very small. You can’t weigh much.”
“I’m a hundred-and-sixty pounds.” She laughed then clasped a hand over her mouth and giggled before lowering it. “I usually lie.” She leaned closer to him. “I say I weigh twenty pounds less than I really do.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Lie?” She reached out and pressed her palm to his chest. “It’s what women do. We lie about our weight, our age and our sexual history.”
Confusion gripped him again and he tried to ignore the warmth of her hand soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. “Why would you do that?”
“You want to know about humans? They lie. We’re sneaky bastards or bitches sometimes. If our mouths are moving, well, expect some bullshit. It’s just human nature. In my case, I hate admitting that I’ve only slept with two men. It sounds pathetic and I lie about my age because I’m coming up on the big three-o. Thirty. That’s a bad thing to women. As for the weight, we wear stuff, trying to hide the flab.”
“Flab?”
“You know, those extra little unsightly bulges.”
He glanced down her body, paused on her br**sts and frowned. His gaze lifted. “There is nothing unsightly about you.”
Her free hand reached for his and he allowed her to move it to her side. She pressed it against her waist. “Squeeze.”
He gently did as she bid, amazed at how soft she felt through her clothes and the give in her skin. She smiled at him.
“Feel that? Love handles. I’ve got them.”
He opened his hand and released her. “You feel nice.”
“It doesn’t look so hot.” She patted his chest. “You’re so nice. I hope the guys on my dad’s team don’t rub off on you. Men can be real lying jerks but you’re different.”
“I’m honest.”
Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips—her pink tongue darted out to wet the lower one and her hand slid a little lower to press over his heart. “Stay that way.”
“I don’t like deceit.”
“Me neither.” She inhaled deeply, leaned back, removed her hand and faced the bar. “But it’s necessary.”
“I don’t understand. You have secrets you need to protect?”
She wrapped her hand around the glass, lifted it and took a sip. A grimace twisted her features and she put it down. “The burn is gone but it tastes like shit.”
He inhaled, the vile smell of alcohol there, but nothing to indicate it would taste of excrement. “Don’t drink it.”
“It helps.” She stared at the bar. “Sometimes I want to forget stuff and when I’m hurting it helps numb me.”
Worry gripped him. “You need medical attention?” He sniffed again, leaned a little closer and tried to get an in-depth take on her scent. She smelled of strawberries, oatmeal and laundry detergent but he didn’t pick up any trace of illness.
She turned her head and smiled. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t have the chemical smell of humans who take medications. It sweats out of the pores. You’re ill?”
“No. I just had horrible taste in men and my father drives me nuts. I think my grandfather left me the guesthouse because he knew I’d never talk to my dad otherwise. We don’t get along.”
“Is having a parent challenging?”
She released her drink and turned to face him. “You have no idea! He drives me nuts.” She put her hand on his thigh near his knee and he glanced down to see it curved over his jeans. “He’s such a dick sometimes, so controlling and judgmental. I always had to be perfect or he lectured me about it. He’s not, but I’m supposed to be.”
His gaze lifted. “Are humans always so into touching people when they talk?”
She looked down, laughed and squeezed his leg. “Sorry.” She lifted her hand and peered up at his face. “Your eyes are really amazing. Did I tell you that? I think they are so beautiful. Can you see colors and everything?”
“Yes. My vision is perfect.”
“My dad thinks you’re mixed with a lion or a panther. Do you have a tail?”
It shocked him that she’d ask. His lips parted but nothing came out.
“It’s okay if you have one. I’d still think you were hot.”
“My skin is warmer than yours naturally but I don’t have a tail.”
That set her off into giggles. He liked the sound and the way dimples appeared in her cheeks. She licked her lips again. “You are so funny. Do you dance?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you do.” She openly stared at his chest, taking him in, and sighed. “Off-limits. It figures. I’ve got really shitty luck. Did I mention that?”
“Would you like to dance?” The alcohol had affected her logic since she wasn’t making much sense. “You asked if I can and I enjoy it.”
“I don’t have any dollar bills.” That set her off into a fit of laughter and she nearly slid off her barstool.
He reached out and gently wrapped a hand around her waist to make certain she didn’t lose her balance. “Dance with me.” He stood and gently eased her to her feet. She swayed on unsteady, bare feet, her shoes on the floor under her barstool, which he hadn’t noticed until that second. “The slow motion might lure you to sleep. I won’t allow you to fall.”
“Starving.”
“I’ll get out of the kitchen and let you fix your meal. Trey said you needed cast-iron skillets and he put one on the stove for you to use. There are more under that cabinet there.” She pointed. “Make yourself at home.”
He nodded. “Are you leaving now?”
She inwardly flinched, realizing he didn’t understand the situation. “Actually, about that…” She took a breath. “I’m not moving into the main house with my father. He’d drive me nuts and trust me when I tell you that you’re better off here than living with him. He’s kind of a jerk sometimes and tends to be super controlling. I am staying here. You’ll hardly see me and I keep a pretty busy schedule.” She pulled air into her lungs. “It’s a big house and we’ll make it work. It will almost be as if I’m not here.”
He gawked at her. “I’m to live with you?” A frown dipped his lips.
“I’m really sorry that this isn’t what you expected but no one asked me before your living arrangements were made. My father had no right to offer you my house but I’m willing to share it with you. There’s a spare house key hanging from a peg on the right side of the front door. Take it and use it.”
His chin lifted and his shoulders braced back enough to puff out that massive chest of his. “I understand. I’m here to learn about humans and to adjust to being around them. This will be a good experience to share a house with one. You’ve taught me a lot in such a short time and I look forward to learning more. Thank you.”
She had to give him a lot of credit for taking the news better than she expected. “Good. I’ll leave you to cook your meal now. I’m going to return to the family room and get shit-face drunk. You’ll discover that I do that after I have a blowout with my dad. He drives me to drink.”
She spun and walked away before he could question her further. All that talk about her husband left her feeling sad and vulnerable. Intense pain squeezed her heart as she walked into the family room, sat at the bar and poured another drink.
The shit part was that her father had been right about Bradley but she couldn’t ever admit that aloud because her dad would never allow her to forget it. He’d rub it in and use it as an example in every argument they had. That would be so often that it wasn’t funny. She downed another shot, closed her eyes and hissed from the burn of the booze sliding down into her belly.
Brawn watched Becca leave the kitchen and sighed. He knew what shit-faced drunk meant. She planned to drink to excess, get completely inebriated and he hoped his new house mate wasn’t one of those humans who did it often. He hated the smell of alcohol and he’d seen movies of drunk people enough to wish to avoid them.
This was not going the way he had thought it would. Not at all. He’d been promised a secluded home, privacy, yet instead he lived with a human woman. Worse, he found her attractive. The memory of her bent over the bed he’d sleep in later would stick with him for a while. She had a curved, lush body, very unlike Species women. She appeared supple, fragile and would probably scream if he ever unleashed his desire on her.
Her hand had been small and very soft when he’d held it after their introduction. The idea of having her touch him with them made his c**k twitch. Of course the thought of pinning her under him only made it worse. He’d probably crush her under his weight or accidentally break her somehow.
He softly growled as he moved around the kitchen to familiarize himself with it. He pulled out a few steaks, heated the skillet and found a plate, then got the tongs to turn his steaks as he seared them.
He sat at the island eating while thoughts of Becca Oberto plagued him. She was a complication he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. He could ask her father to allow him to live in the bigger house near the road. It would simplify things but that would be cowardly. He lifted his gaze to the fridge, studying the photos that were stuck on it—Becca with different humans. She smiled in all of them and appeared happy. It was a confusing contradiction if she had turned to drinking a lot of alcohol. He wasn’t too sure of his human facts but it implied she had serious issues. Her mate dying would do it.
He finished his dinner, cleaned up the mess and washed his dishes. He heard music when he turned off the water and dried his hands. It was too early to go to bed and his room didn’t have a television. He’d need to ask for one, he missed his cable channels already and regretted volunteering to take the mission for his people.
Someone needed to work with the human task force though. A Species female would have been perfect for the job but he hadn’t wanted to expose any of them to human males. Everything he’d learned so far about them made him believe they’d harass her. It was a man’s world outside the NSO gates, or so he’d been told. Females were to be protected at all costs. The idea of allowing one to go into danger made his entire body stiffen. He’d tough it out and would deal with whatever came his way. Better him than one of the females.
He worried about Becca as he put his foot on the bottom step to return to his room. She wasn’t a big female and a memory of a movie he’d watched made him turn back. She could drink enough to become violently ill and he wanted to check on her health.
He followed the rock music and paused in the archway to the family room. Becca sat at the bar with a bottle and a tiny glass in front of her. She seemed to sense him and turned her head. The wide grin she gave him and her overly bright, blue eyes assured him that she’d drunk too much. She waved him over, her movements clumsy.
“Hello, handsome. Wanna drink?”
Her voice slurred a little and it shocked him that she’d called him that. “My name is Brawn. I don’t know of any Species who chose to be called that.”
A giggle made her shoulders shake and she snorted softly. “I know your name. You’re good-looking but you know that, right?”
She found him attractive. That fact left him speechless.
She patted the seat next to her. “Wanna drink? It doesn’t burn going down anymore.”
He inched into the room. “I don’t drink alcohol but thank you for the offer. How many have you had?”
“I don’t know.” She nearly slipped off the chair as she adjusted on the seat. “Not enough. I’m still conscious.”
“Drinking alcohol inebriates you, slows your response time and makes logic difficult to practice.”
She laughed. “You are so cute.”
His eyebrows lifted. No one had ever called him that before. Ferocious, a bastard and other choice names but never something that implied that definition. Worry ate at him more over her mental state.
“Perhaps you should go to bed and sleep. I’ve heard a saying that things always look better in the morning.”
“It’s early.” She patted the barstool next to her. “Come over here. I won’t bite.”
“Aren’t you afraid I will?” He couldn’t resist opening his mouth and showing her his canines, curious why she didn’t seem to fear him. Human women always did.
“Nope.” She patted the barstool again. “Come closer.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re kind of blurry.” She giggled. “I don’t drink often but when I do, wow boy, do I do it right.”
He’d never heard that phrasing before and approached her cautiously. It was a bad idea, he should go to his room, but worry kept him there. She needed someone to look out for her. Her mate wasn’t around anymore to do it and her father wasn’t living inside her home. It was up to him to make certain she didn’t have any misadventures in her defenseless state.
He sat on the barstool, too close to her in his estimation—and hoped she didn’t throw up the way he’d seen women do in movies. “I don’t understand why you would purposely do this to your body.”
“You mean the calories?” She glanced down. “I could lose some weight. I sit on my butt too much at work but it’s not as though I have to impress anyone anymore.”
“Calories?”
“You know, because I’m a little overweight.”
He studied her body. “You’re very small. You can’t weigh much.”
“I’m a hundred-and-sixty pounds.” She laughed then clasped a hand over her mouth and giggled before lowering it. “I usually lie.” She leaned closer to him. “I say I weigh twenty pounds less than I really do.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Lie?” She reached out and pressed her palm to his chest. “It’s what women do. We lie about our weight, our age and our sexual history.”
Confusion gripped him again and he tried to ignore the warmth of her hand soaking through the thin cotton of his shirt. “Why would you do that?”
“You want to know about humans? They lie. We’re sneaky bastards or bitches sometimes. If our mouths are moving, well, expect some bullshit. It’s just human nature. In my case, I hate admitting that I’ve only slept with two men. It sounds pathetic and I lie about my age because I’m coming up on the big three-o. Thirty. That’s a bad thing to women. As for the weight, we wear stuff, trying to hide the flab.”
“Flab?”
“You know, those extra little unsightly bulges.”
He glanced down her body, paused on her br**sts and frowned. His gaze lifted. “There is nothing unsightly about you.”
Her free hand reached for his and he allowed her to move it to her side. She pressed it against her waist. “Squeeze.”
He gently did as she bid, amazed at how soft she felt through her clothes and the give in her skin. She smiled at him.
“Feel that? Love handles. I’ve got them.”
He opened his hand and released her. “You feel nice.”
“It doesn’t look so hot.” She patted his chest. “You’re so nice. I hope the guys on my dad’s team don’t rub off on you. Men can be real lying jerks but you’re different.”
“I’m honest.”
Her eyes narrowed and she licked her lips—her pink tongue darted out to wet the lower one and her hand slid a little lower to press over his heart. “Stay that way.”
“I don’t like deceit.”
“Me neither.” She inhaled deeply, leaned back, removed her hand and faced the bar. “But it’s necessary.”
“I don’t understand. You have secrets you need to protect?”
She wrapped her hand around the glass, lifted it and took a sip. A grimace twisted her features and she put it down. “The burn is gone but it tastes like shit.”
He inhaled, the vile smell of alcohol there, but nothing to indicate it would taste of excrement. “Don’t drink it.”
“It helps.” She stared at the bar. “Sometimes I want to forget stuff and when I’m hurting it helps numb me.”
Worry gripped him. “You need medical attention?” He sniffed again, leaned a little closer and tried to get an in-depth take on her scent. She smelled of strawberries, oatmeal and laundry detergent but he didn’t pick up any trace of illness.
She turned her head and smiled. “What are you doing?”
“You don’t have the chemical smell of humans who take medications. It sweats out of the pores. You’re ill?”
“No. I just had horrible taste in men and my father drives me nuts. I think my grandfather left me the guesthouse because he knew I’d never talk to my dad otherwise. We don’t get along.”
“Is having a parent challenging?”
She released her drink and turned to face him. “You have no idea! He drives me nuts.” She put her hand on his thigh near his knee and he glanced down to see it curved over his jeans. “He’s such a dick sometimes, so controlling and judgmental. I always had to be perfect or he lectured me about it. He’s not, but I’m supposed to be.”
His gaze lifted. “Are humans always so into touching people when they talk?”
She looked down, laughed and squeezed his leg. “Sorry.” She lifted her hand and peered up at his face. “Your eyes are really amazing. Did I tell you that? I think they are so beautiful. Can you see colors and everything?”
“Yes. My vision is perfect.”
“My dad thinks you’re mixed with a lion or a panther. Do you have a tail?”
It shocked him that she’d ask. His lips parted but nothing came out.
“It’s okay if you have one. I’d still think you were hot.”
“My skin is warmer than yours naturally but I don’t have a tail.”
That set her off into giggles. He liked the sound and the way dimples appeared in her cheeks. She licked her lips again. “You are so funny. Do you dance?”
“Yes.”
“I bet you do.” She openly stared at his chest, taking him in, and sighed. “Off-limits. It figures. I’ve got really shitty luck. Did I mention that?”
“Would you like to dance?” The alcohol had affected her logic since she wasn’t making much sense. “You asked if I can and I enjoy it.”
“I don’t have any dollar bills.” That set her off into a fit of laughter and she nearly slid off her barstool.
He reached out and gently wrapped a hand around her waist to make certain she didn’t lose her balance. “Dance with me.” He stood and gently eased her to her feet. She swayed on unsteady, bare feet, her shoes on the floor under her barstool, which he hadn’t noticed until that second. “The slow motion might lure you to sleep. I won’t allow you to fall.”
