Page 12 of Mated to the Grumpy Alien

I stare at her sleeping form. “You think?”

“Indeed. Both times she has passed out and slept for a significant period of time. So perhaps her nervous system is more sensitive than yours.”

“But that’s it?” I ask. “She’s just overly sensitive?”

On a Persæn, pressure to the lynditsh nerve would cause them to black out for five minutes, tops.

“Yes. Given her rising body temperature, I estimate she will wake up in approximately–”

Before Cyg finishes the sentence, one smooth arm stretches out from under the covers twisting above her head. She makes a little snuffling noise, then pulls back under the covers and burrows deeper.

“See?” Cyg says in my ear. “She stirs already.”

Yeah, but I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when she wakes up properly. When she speaks to me again. Obviously, I made a mistake the last time. I moved too fast. I’d been too overwhelmed by my desire and by her proximity. I won’t make the same mistake twice.

I take a step back, just to be sure.

I must make more noise than I intend to because the burrowing stops. She stills completely, then sits bolt upright in bed. I keep the lights up this time, so her gaze finds me instantly. And she does not look happy to see me.

“You again,” she practically growls the words at me.

Not exactly the reception I was hoping for.

Of course, if I’m honest with myself, the reception I was hoping for was her throwing back the blankets and begging me to join her.

Yeah, I know. There’s a big difference between hope and expectation.

I hold up my hands in the universal gesture of surrender. “Are you feeling better?” I ask.

Clutching the blanket to her chest, she narrows her gaze. “Better than what? Better than when I was about to be burned at the stake? Better than when I woke up, naked, in a strange bed, only to be…” She trails off, seeming unable to find the correct word to describe what happened between us earlier.

I nearly grin at how flustered she looks.

“You know. Whatever,” she finishes with a huff.

Yes. I do know. But if she keeps talking about that, and I keep thinking about it, I’ll be hard as a battle ax again. And that’s what got us into this trouble in the first place.

I take another casual step backwards. Not wanting to seem like I’m retreating, but not wanting to be close enough to her to smell her if she becomes aroused again. Not that I’ll ever get the scent of her out of my head. Or the taste of her. Or the feel of her silky skin.

I have to clear my throat before speaking. “You must be hungry.” I gesture to the table I set up near the fire. The spiced tea that I made her has probably gone cold, but the berries are fresh and sweet. The bread, warm from the fire.

She looks from the table by the fire to me and then back again.

Her face is so easy to read, her expression is so clear, I can almost hear her thoughts. She is hungry. Starving probably. But she is for some reason reluctant to leave the bed and cross the room to the fire.

“I could bring the food to you.”

I would feed it to her by hand if that’s what she wanted.

Her gaze returns to mine. “No, thank you.” She holds out a hand to stop me. “You stay right over there, mister.”

“But you must be hungry. Cyg–” I cut myself off before referencing Cyg directly. I’m not sure what kind of technology her world has. When I first arrived here, the people in the village heard Cyg’s disembodied voice and believed he was a ghost. Since I don’t want a repeat of that, I skirt the issue. “I suspect you wandered quite some time before finding the village at the base of my mountain.”

“Your mountain?”

I gesture to indicate the room. “Yes. Obviously. My mountain.”

“You own the mountain, do you? I suppose that’s why you think it’s okay to just capture women, bring them to your lair and just do whatever to them when they wake up.”