I should have been terrified or shocked or something. Anything but this gut-deep reaction to seeing the evidence of the horrors he’d survived. Knowing he was brutally strong, massive, a warrior, a fighter, a merciless enemy to anyone who would dare oppose him made me so hot I was having trouble getting air into my lungs. I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. This alien soldier made me feel safe and cherished and protected.
It was his words, the ruthless vehemence of them that had me believing him even though he was well over a foot taller and at least one hundred fifty pounds heavier. He wasn’t Jeff Randall. He wasn’t even human. He’d said he was honorable. Sure, there were honorable Earth guys, but what man would outright state he was honorable unless he was a duke from Regency England? No one did that.
He wasn’t being prideful. He wasn’t even joking. He was dead serious. His word was everything to him, and that meant my gut and my mind were in agreement. I was safe with Warlord Bahre.
That was reassuring because Jeff was out there somewhere. Even with a restraining order and proof of his actions, there wasn’t much the police could do about him. He hadn’t approached me since I’d left Chicago, but I’d seen him once or twice. Across the grocery store parking lot. At the library. Public places where there were witnesses that he wasn’t doing anything to me.
Except intimidation. Except reminding me he’d followed me to Florida and could get to me anywhere, anytime he wanted. It was just a matter of when.
He was playing a game of cat and mouse, and I was slowly being toyed with. Continually feeling vulnerable and afraid.
I hadn’t felt truly safe in so long I’d nearly forgotten what it was like to simply want. But my body hadn’t forgotten. No. The traitorous bitch was turned on and wanted a nice big helping of the alien beast. Over me. Under me. Behind me. That would be round one. Then we could start again.
I was losing my damn mind. Wouldn’t Ellen be proud? I’d just met him. He’d done every single stalker-y thing. Professing I belonged to him. Following me home. Watching me.
Yet I felt… cherished. Especially after I saw all his scars. I was vulnerable to him, but the look in his eyes, the way he asked if I was afraid of his old wounds made me realize I wasn’t the only vulnerable one here.
It wasn’t like he had a choice. He hadn’t chosen me. His beast had. Well, maybe he hadn’t had much of a choice either. Based on what I’d seen of Wulf and Olivia from the reality show, it was biological. Something the Atlan had zero control over.
It was intense but hot as hell. I was just stunned Bahre wanted me.
Me.
He looked at me like he wanted to hug me close and gobble me up, despite the fact that I was a disaster. My hair was already mussed from my shower and then the rain. In fact, I was an absolute mess. Wet silk made me cold. God, my hard nipples were puckered and on display.
No wonder Bahre looked at me like he wanted to pounce. And yet he hadn’t. Not one hint of inappropriate activity was going on in this house—if I didn’t count the Atlan cock thoughts that had set up permanent residence in my imagination since the second I’d seen him. I tried to be good, but everything I was thinking was bad, bad, bad.
I threw Bahre’s shirt in the dryer and turned it on. That done, I went to my walk-in closet and put on dry pajamas and my silky turquoise kimono. I finished tying the sash; then I pulled a thin blanket from the linen closet and took it to him on the couch. Bahre had done exactly as I had requested and taken a seat in the center of the sectional. If I’d been any thicker in the hips, there wouldn’t have been enough room for me to squeeze beside him. I stood before him, and he realized his error and moved over… about four inches. I raised an eyebrow and tried not to grin at his behavior. I had a chair by the window where I could sit, but it was completely decorative and terribly uncomfortable. Taking that spot would have been a direct insult to Bahre, proving I had been untruthful when I’d said I wasn’t afraid of him.
Maybe I should just give him the blanket and go to bed. That was what a good girl would do. A sensible woman. Perhaps Ellen was feeding me telepathic thoughts of jumping the guy. Maybe my pussy was lonely. Hell, maybe all of me was lonely. And tired of being afraid. Looking at Bahre made me remember I was afraid of Jeff Randall, and Bahre was definitely not Jeff.
Making up my mind—or maybe my libido had done it for me—I sat on the couch next to Bahre, our legs touching. I handed the blanket to him, expecting him to wrap it around his bare torso. Instead he opened the blanket and made sure I was completely covered first.
“You are nervous because of me,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. I was. I wasn’t skittish because I was being mean. It was instinctive, like his beast wanting me.
“It is better than you being afraid.”
I turned my head and looked up at him. “I told you, I’m not afraid of you. I’m… I’m wary of men.”
He frowned, then glared. “You have a man? A human?”
Was he… jealous? “Me? No. I mean, not now. I’m single.”
“I wish to know why you are wary. I will know the name of the one who hurt you, and I shall kill him.”
My mouth fell open at his
