Fugitive (15 page)

   But did she want to talk with him right now? After all, she'd just seen him out on the sand, completely naked, fully aroused, and playing with his dick! She'd watched him jacking off, for heaven's sake—and he knew it! It would be embarrassing to talk with him now. Then she found herself wishing that she hadn't been watching him from a distance—that she'd been closer to him, as naked as he was himself, so she could have at least touched him. The ache deep inside her increased as she pictured herself on her knees in the sand, his cock at point-blank range, watching as it shot her right in the face, his cum dripping down onto her tits, then coming closer to rub his dick in his own cream, to spread it all over her body…

   These thoughts—which, if she'd only known it, were similar to those Manx had been having—sent another gush of her own fluids running down between her legs. Then it hit her: That was the smell he liked! It wasn't just her own, natural scent—one that could be altered by perfumes and such; he could actually smell her sexual arousal—had gotten himself off while breathing it in!
Oh, my God…

   Suddenly, it was too much. "Tell Manx he can talk to me face-to-face from now on," she said decisively. "But right now, I'm going to bed!"

   With that, Drusilla marched purposefully into her bedroom, but as soon as her nightgown-clad body hit the sheets, she felt an overwhelming need to strip naked and tell Dwell to let Manx in and have his wicked way with her. That cock of his looked like the answer to every woman's dream—and the rest of him might have been created from her own fantasies. The symbol he'd drawn in the sand hadn't been an invita tion to dinner, either; it meant just exactly what she'd thought it meant in the first place: The man wants t
o fuck me.

   Drusilla tried to stop it, but those words kept repeating like a catchy tune stuck in her head. She sought relief the way she had done the night before, but though teasing her nipples and clitoris brought her to climax, she still could not get Manx out of her mind. She wanted to feel him plunging deeply inside her, filling her with ecstasy. Her fingers itched to tangle themselves in his hair—to pull him down hard and then drown in his kisses, his love, his
essence…

   But, Drusilla told herself reasonably, no man was ever as good as her own imagination could make him. She'd been attracted to men before, and had expected great things, but men were never that perfect. They never said the right words, never did the right things, or even smelled the right way.

   "I expect too much," she muttered, punching her pillow in frustration—but then she remembered Dave. She hadn't expected much of him at all. Perhaps she'd given up on being choosy before he came along— which might explain why she'd been dating a homo sexual without realizing it. He was a nice man, but she hadn't been all that taken with him; he was more of an escort, or an occasional dinner companion, rather than someone to fall in love with. If he'd said he only wanted to be friends, it wouldn't have bothered her at all. If only he'd been honest. If only she hadn't felt quite so used…

   One thing she could be certain of with respect to Manx, he might want to use her, but not for the same reasons because he
definitely
seemed to like women.

***

"What did she say?" Manx asked the computer.

   "You will have to speak with her yourself," Dwell replied.

   "That's what you're telling me, or what she told you to tell me?" Manx asked, but, deciding it didn't matter, went on: "Never mind that, what's she doing now?"

   "She is lying down on her bed."

   Manx grinned. "Doing what?"

   "She is not asleep."

   "Imagine that," Manx muttered sardonically. "I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep either." Manx chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. Without her scent, he'd lost his erection, but he knew one whiff of her would bring it right back. "Don't suppose you'd let me in, would you?"

   "I was given orders not to let
anyone
in."

   "Including me?"

   "Especially you."

   Manx flopped down on a lounge chair. "I went too far and scared her, didn't I?

   "Perhaps."

   "You're a big help," Manx grumbled. "Any other suggestions?"

   The computer hesitated a long moment. "Would it be difficult for you to speak with her directly from now on?"

   "It might be if you won't let me in and she doesn't come out," Manx argued. "Might never come out now."

   Dwell considered this problem. "She would leave the house if there was a fire."

   "I'm sure she would," Manx agreed. "But don't start one."

   "That goes against my programming," the computer said, clearly affronted.

   "I'm not surprised."

   "You could knock on the door," Dwell suggested. "It is what anyone else would do."

   It sounded far too simple to Manx, and not very promising. Drusilla might let him in, but it was just as likely that she might open the door only to slam it in his face. Or she might sic Klog on him.

   "Try it," Dwell suggested. "She is not yet asleep."

   It was, of course, what Manx should have done from the very beginning. Unfortunately, he'd made so many blunders already that where she once might have opened her door with a smile and welcomed him inside, it was just as likely that she would whip out her pistol and blast him.

***

"Oh, I don't believe it!" Drusilla exclaimed, throwing the sheets aside as she heard the firm knock at the door. "Dwell! Who is it?"

   "Friendly species," Dwell intoned. "Interaction advised."

   "You mean Lester, or one of the other Baradans?" Drusilla asked. "Now?"

   "Interaction advised."

   For some reason, Dwell was being deliberately evasive, but if he was hoping she wouldn't notice, he'd missed the mark.

   Drusilla snatched up her robe and was pulling it on as she emerged from the bedroom. Peering through the window, she didn't see anyone at the door. "Are you sure there's someone out there?"

   "Interaction advised."

   "Oh, quit playing the archaic computer and tell me who's out there!" Drusilla snapped. She'd been in the middle of a lovely fantasy involving Manx and whipped cream when she'd been disturbed, and she wasn't very happy about it. "Is it someone you know?"

   "Affirmative."

"Dwell,"
she said warningly. "Cut that out and talk to me!"

   Dwell didn't reply, but Drusilla heard the door unlocking and rushed forward to stop it from opening. But then curiosity got the better of her. "One little peek…"

   But there was no one there. She stepped out onto the

patio as her eyes swept the surrounding area. The moon was now directly overhead, and she could see quite well. Venturing further from the door, she listened closely.

   "Lester?" she said quietly. Then she realized that if it had been Lester, she would have heard his truck coming long before he arrived. It could only be… "Manx?"

***

Manx stepped out of the shadow of a nearby tree when she called his name. He'd knocked as Dwell had suggested but thought it unlikely that she would open the door if he was standing there. He hoped he was wrong. Hoped she would have let him in; hoped she'd been lying in her bed thinking about doing that very thing.

   He began purring and smiled as he saw her take another step closer.

   "Manx?" she said again. "Are you out there?"

   Before he could reply, Manx heard a growl as another shadow streaked out from the trees and with a flash of sharp teeth and a snarl, launched itself at Drusilla.

   Manx had his knife in his hand and was already running toward her as the wildcat pounced and sank its claws into the soft flesh of her shoulder.

   The blade flashed in the moonlight as Drusilla screamed in agony and terror. The cat's mouth opened wide for a killing bite and Manx heard the fabric ripping as blood began flowing down her side.

   Manx stabbed at the twisting, snarling beast, but the blade hit bone and turned before it could reach a vital organ. The wildcat had gone for what it deemed the weaker prey, but now it released Drusilla and turned on Manx, raking its claws across his bare chest. Doing his best to ignore the pain, Manx struck again, this time slipping past bone and flesh to reach the heart of the beast. Killed instantly, it fell in a bloody heap at Manx's feet.

***

The pain that flooded through Drusilla's side robbed her of speech and for a moment she stared blankly at Manx, at the blood running down his chest, and at the fire in his eyes, before it all faded to black.

Chapter 10

MANX GATHERED DRUSILLA UP IN HIS ARMS AND HEADED FOR the door.

   "Dwell!" he shouted. "Turn on the lights! She's hurt!"

   "What did you do to her?" Dwell demanded.

   "Nothing! There's a big cat out here; it attacked her."

   "There are no dangerous animals living on this planet," Dwell said firmly. "There isn't anything dangerous on the entire world of Barada Seven. I have been programmed with that information. It is irrefutable."

   "I don't belong here either," Manx rebutted, carrying Drusilla over the threshold, "but that doesn't mean I don't exist. Shut the door in case there are any more of them out there. Zef told me that Drusilla had been warned about some dangerous creature with fangs and claws." He smiled grimly, adding, "She thought he was talking about me."

   "You are not dangerous," Dwell insisted.

   "I am if I need to be," Manx said evenly. Lying Drusilla gently on the kitchen table, he called for Klog. The droid appeared promptly, hovering at Manx's side. "Get the medical kit," he said tersely, "and something to use for bandages."

   Klog beeped in acknowledgment and floated off. Manx snatched up a towel and soaked it in cold water before applying it to her forehead. Even unconscious, she was beautiful.

***

The cold towel on Drusilla's face had the desired effect, and her eyelids began to flutter as she came to her senses.

   "This is what happens when a man starts thinking with his dick instead of his head," Manx was muttering to himself as he began ripping her gown away to expose the wounds. "Luring her outside in the middle of the night…"

   Despite her discomfort, Drusilla couldn't help but feel a twinge of amusement. She toyed with the idea of remaining silent just to hear what else he would say, but decided it might be best to put him out of his misery. However, upon opening her eyes to take a peek, Drusilla was met with the startling vision of Manx up close. His eyes were the color of emeralds with luminescent vertical pupils, and his eyebrows slanted upward toward his temples. His cheeks were smooth— not the slightest trace of stubble—and his long, black hair was swept behind ears that curved upward to a point. If angry, his fierce, feline countenance would have sent even the most determined foe into headlong flight, but his full, sensuous lips promised delights beyond her wildest imaginings.

   "I'm okay," Drusilla murmured, finding her voice at last. "It was seeing you all covered in blood that made me faint. Did you kill it?"

   "Yes," Manx replied, his brisk tone drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. "I wish I'd killed it before this. Zef told me you'd been warned about an animal that had attacked someone. You should have listened to Lester and gotten out of here."

   "I thought he meant you," she said. "It wasn't until a little while ago that I realized it couldn't have been you."

   "Because I'm such a nice, friendly fellow who would never hurt anyone?" The wide grin accompanying this remark revealed fangs which could have been deadly, but now only served to intensify his appeal.

   "No, because you'd been here too long," Drusilla replied, unable to suppress a smile. "I mean, Zef seems to know you pretty well, and so do Dwell and Klog. You had to have been living around here for a long time to have made friends with all of them, and Lester talked like that cat only turned up recently."

   "Oh," said Manx, clearly disappointed. He stared at her—her beautiful green eyes were twinkling up at him despite the gravity of her condition—and for a moment there, he completely forgot what he was doing.

   "Ouch!" Drusilla exclaimed as Manx inadvertently touched a sore spot.

   "You aren't hurt as badly as I thought you'd be," he said, tearing his eyes away from her entrancing face. "Some of these claw marks are deep, but nothing the medical kit can't fix."

   "What about you?" she asked. "You're a bloody mess."

   "Most of the blood isn't mine," he assured her. "Wish I could say the same for you. That thing clawed all the way down your side with its hind feet."

   "No nooky tonight, then."

   "Nooky?"

   Drusilla could almost hear his smile when he spoke, and it warmed the cockles of her heart.
Oh, yes, he's perfect…
"What you were, um, wanting from me," she replied. Frowning slightly, she added, "At least I
think
that was what you wanted."

   Manx took a deep breath. "Sorry about that. I couldn't help myself. You…
do
something to me."

   "No need to apologize," Drusilla said. "You do some
thing
to me too."

   "I noticed that," he said with a wry smile. "My name is Manx."

   "Nice to meet you, Manx," Drusilla replied. "I'm Drusilla—which I'm sure Zef has already told you." Sighing wistfully, she added, "Sure wish you'd been standing at the door when I got there."

   "Stupid of me, wasn't it?"

   "Asinine, actually," she corrected him. "Totally
asinine."

   "Never heard that one," he said conversationally as he wiped the blood from her shoulder and began holding pressure at the site of one of the deeper wounds. "You can explain it to me later."

   Klog arrived with the medical kit and a ripped-up sheet and beeped twice.

   "Thanks, Klog," Manx said. "Get some ice to put on this, will you?—or, better yet, just spray her off." Manx grabbed another dish towel and tucked it underneath Drusilla's torn side. Klog beeped questioningly. "Cold water," Manx replied. "Cold as you've got."