Amorous Overnight (9 page)

She’d thought she was doing pretty well. She’d accepted that she could never return to the life she’d had before, that she was going to have to go new places and learn new ways of coping, and she’d actually begun to feel some sense of peace about it all.

Now she was tugging on aliens’ capes, calling them names and flipping them off. That wasn’t riding the dragon—that was poking it with a sharp stick and daring it to eat her.

Clearly it was time to pay Monica another visit and figure out what the hell was wrong with her, before she did something that got her into real trouble.

“I grow fonder of that little Terran every day,” Kellen said as they flared to the surface.

Shauss grinned. “She’s certainly amusing.”

“And unpredictable,” Hastion added with a frown.

Cecine couldn’t disagree with any of them. Shelley Bonham had always been a walking contradiction, terrified of them one moment and standing up to them the next, and though her fear appeared to have diminished, her contradictory tendencies had done anything but. It had taken most of his control not to chuckle out loud at the look on her face when she realized what she’d done.

It had taken the rest not to snatch her up off the floor and devour her. Peserin, but she’d turned into an unbelievably tempting little tidbit over the past few months, and her small show of aggression only increased his desire for a taste of her. Tysan’s treatments had made her plump, strenuous exercise kept her firm, and the fruits and vegetables she ate gave her a scent so ambrosial he could hardly resist taking a bite whenever she came near him, especially when she’d been feeding the twins from her breasts. She no longer produced milk, but the heat and perspiration from her exertions this morning had added a savory depth to her fragrance that made his stomach contract as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

And he was ravenous, though not for food. His encounters with his second hadn’t grown any less frustrating, and lately he availed himself of the ensign’s services less and less frequently. Almost in defiance of the relaxation exercises he performed with Shelley many evenings—concealed by an observation flare, of course—deprivation was already taking a toll on his patience. The sooner his tasty little Terran took her place in his bed, the better off they’d all be.

The field dissolved at the White House flare point in the cavernous Entrance Hall. Immediately, Secret Service agents swarmed across the pink and white marble floor tiles.

“Good morning, Minister,” the senior agent drawled.

Cecine tipped his head. “Wilson.”

“You know the drill, sir.”

“Indeed I do.”

Raising his arms out to the sides for their electronic weapons scan—which was a ridiculous formality since he could disable every Terran in the building with a single thought—Cecine stifled a sigh. Keeping Shelley in ignorance grew more challenging with each passing day. If she didn’t change her mind about accompanying them soon, he’d be forced to inform her of their mating before she was ready to hear it.

Peserin knew, he’d done his best to lure her to Garathan rather than force her. To put her at ease with them, he’d taken his meals with her and Hastion whenever possible, and “invited” Kellen and Shauss and their mates to dine at his table as well. Hosting two or three meals a day had turned out to be surprisingly relaxing, and Cecine actually looked forward to listening to the females chatter.

He’d also made a tour of duty on Garathan the most attractive option available to Shelley by shortening the mandatory length of service, increasing the salary and bonuses, and including childcare in the compensation package—all of which was necessary anyway since more than half the nursing staff they’d hired had backed out of their contracts after a few weeks of being trapped aboard the
Heptoral
. And when the Alliance representatives deliberated over her contract violations, he and the other high council members had said little, allowing them to order repayment of her bonuses and wages based on what she’d confessed during her interrogation. The debt, though meaningless to him, would make remaining on Earth more difficult for Shelley.

Meanwhile, he’d done everything he could to impede the Alien Affairs agents’ efforts to place her on Earth. Fortunately the Terran media had done most of that job for him. Within hours of being informed of the Narthani presence on Earth, news crews had descended like a wake of buzzards upon the only connection to the Narthani spies anyone had been able to track down—Shelley’s family. Press vehicles had clogged the street outside their Colorado Springs home for several weeks, and reporters were continuously shoving microphones at them, shouting questions and taking enough photographs to accompany several years’ worth of such sensational headlines as “Alien Outlaws, Terran In-laws!” and “My Grandbabies Are Aliens!”

On the day her parents and younger brother were escorted out of their home for questioning by federal agents, a pair of enterprising reporters had broken in and made copies of every photograph and video they could find. The video of her short wedding to Mark Bonham, which they’d titled “Narthani Nurse’s Nuptials”, went viral overnight, and thus Shelley, much to her chagrin, had become infamous as the Narthani Nurse.

Although that made relocating her more difficult, Alien Affairs agents had still managed to arrange three advantageous placements using falsified identification. She’d worn a short, dark wig for the photographs, and with the additional body fat she carried, even her own mother hadn’t been able to pick her out of a photo array. Cecine’s contacts on the surface had had to scramble to ensure she was recognized before the placements could be finalized.

And yet, despite all his efforts to finesse her, the exasperating little nurse remained adamant about returning to Earth.

“Minister…” Agent Wilson finally beckoned, “…this way, please.”

Cecine glanced around to verify all his party were free to accompany him, and as usual, Ensign Hastion met his gaze with the same impassive stare the Secret Service agents had perfected. It was a look he’d come to know all too well in the last four months, and one he was rapidly tiring of.

Deliberately setting aside his frustrations with his mates, he turned and followed the agent onto the red carpet adorning Cross Hall and then left to the Green Room, where a long conference table had been set up specifically for their use. He hadn’t prevaricated when he told Shelley he didn’t know when he’d return from the surface. He had several appointments scheduled one atop another, not the least of which was the GaraTer Alliance Summit convening in just moments, a crucial step toward reviving the interspecies mating program.

The greater portion of the morning was spent debating which country should host the new mate-recruitment compound. Although the council still favored the US for logistical reasons, they wouldn’t forget how quickly the Americans had turned on them, and the Scandinavian delegation had advanced a formidable argument for locating in one of their countries. If Cecine hadn’t already had more than his fill of frigid weather, he might have been tempted to accept their offer.

At noon they broke for luncheon and removed to the larger Blue Room, which he found much more restful. Not only was the color scheme pleasing to the eye, but it was a soothing oval shape and significantly less cluttered with paintings and tiny, fragile furniture. In fact, it was the only Terran room he’d ever felt remotely comfortable in. He’d have to remember to request it for future meetings.

“My staff has put together several sites for your consideration, Minister Cecine,” Ambassador Delvey informed him as leafy green salads were served. Unlike the more reticent President Landon, she was openly anxious to remove any barriers to their return.

Picking up a yeast roll from the small basket before him, he asked, “Is one of them Rayfield Memorial Hospital?”

She digested that in silence for a moment. “In Falls Church?”

“Is there another?” He spread butter on the roll without looking at her.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But that’s right in the heart of a populated area.”

“Yes, and quite close to the seat of your national government.” He glanced at President Landon, who was embroiled in conversation with the Norwegian ambassador. With the Garathani in their backyard, Landon and his successors would think twice before ordering another unprovoked air strike against them. “There’s also a home on an adjacent estate that would make us an ideal embassy.”

The ambassador frowned. “As I recall, that hospital is in poor condition.”

“Any existing facility would have to be remodeled to suit our needs. The Rayfield building has ten-foot ceilings in all diagnostic, administrative and hospitality areas and the adjacent property has fifteen-foot ceilings and eight-foot doors on the above-ground levels. Both could accommodate us with very little in the way of structural modifications.”

She gave a curt nod. “I’ll see that it’s added to the list.”

Cecine didn’t bother telling her Rayfield was the only site they’d consider. She would find out soon enough that his Terran representatives had already purchased both properties and renovations were well underway.

Hastion, who’d been standing guard behind him, leaned down to murmur, “Pardon me, sir, but Mikal reports that Director Thorpe is in the corridor. He claims to have urgent business with you.”

Suppressing a shudder at the ensign’s warm breath against his ear, he said, “Tell him I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Yes, sir.”

Pushing back his chair, he rose and shook out his robe. “Ambassador Delvey, please excuse me for a few moments.”

“Of course,” she assured him with a hard smile.

He bowed and then walked out into Cross Hall, with Hastion barely a pace behind him. Roland Thorpe, director of the Alien Affairs Department, rose from a spindly red couch Cecine wouldn’t have dared sit on.

“Sorry to interrupt your meal, Minister,” Thorpe said, holding out an electronic tablet, “but we’ve finally worked out a placement for Shelley Bonham.”

Cecine took it, noting that once again the director had managed not to shake his hand. “That’s very good news indeed.”

“It’s in rural Alaska and the rental house is a bit run-down, but beggars can’t be choosers. She’s too easily recognized in all the places she requested and every time we get a placement set up in one of them, someone recognizes her before we can even get her moved in. It’s been damn frustrating, if you want the truth,” he finished, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses and polishing them with a handkerchief.

“I can see where that would be trying,” Cecine agreed mildly, looking over the details of the placement. Mooseback, Alaska, population 924. The tiny house in the photograph looked as if it had been abandoned decades earlier. Shelley would count herself fortunate to be mated to them if she was likely to wind up in such a ramshackle dwelling.

“The salary isn’t much,” Thorpe continued, “but we’ll work on a better placement once the coverage of the Narthani spies dies down.”

Cecine handed the tablet back to him. “Excellent work, Director Thorpe. I’m sure Ms. Bonham will be thrilled to return to Earth. Why don’t you flare up to the ship now and give her the happy news.”

For once, Hastion’s impassive face gave way to surprise as his brows winged up.

“Never fear, Ensign, there’s no way she’ll agree to this placement.”

“If you say so, sir.”

His dubious look made Cecine’s jaw tighten. The irritation he felt was no doubt out of proportion to the offense, but it had been two weeks since he demanded sexual service and his mood was less than forgiving.

“You want me to go up to the ship?” Thorpe said, his dismay evident as he returned his glasses to the bridge of his nose and his handkerchief to his pocket.

“Certainly,” Cecine said curtly. “You’re here, after all, and my schedule today doesn’t allow me to go.”

The director glanced at his watch. “I don’t—”

“Ensign Mikal will accompany you to the flare point,” Cecine nodded toward the warrior standing guard outside the Blue Room, “and I’ll have Ms. Bonham waiting. You can be there and back in less than ten minutes.”

Mikal stepped up beside them, and after hesitating, Thorpe nodded, beads of nervous perspiration appearing on his narrow bald forehead. “All right, Minister. We may as well get her squared away before something else goes wrong.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“I just need to check in with my office first.”

Cecine tipped his head. “By all means.”

Without looking at Mikal, the director pulled out his cell phone and walked slowly toward the flare point.

“Ensign Holligan,”
Cecine sent.

“Holligan here, sir.”

“Director Thorpe of the Alien Affairs Department will be flaring up within the next few minutes. Arrange for him to meet with Shelley Bonham in Tactical One as soon as he arrives.”

“Aye, sir.”

When Mikal and Thorpe reached the flare point, Cecine turned back to his second, who once again regarded him with an aloof expression. He didn’t know whom he was more annoyed with, Hastion for remaining so distant or himself for being so annoyed by it. It felt as though he’d fallen prey to a manipulation—a tease—which was probably unfair. Strictly speaking, Hastion had upheld his end of their bargain by providing sexual service whenever it was required.