Pure Desire [Pure 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (25 page)

“Noor said you were very intelligent.”

“What else did Noor say about me?” He wanted to change the topic for the moment while he tried to digest the outlandish things she told him.

“He warned me you were a, ah…he called you a sweet talker. I assume that is some term he acquired in Texas.”

Channing wrinkled his nose. “Did Noor tell you to stay away from me?”

“In fact, yes, he did. He called you dangerous, not physically but emotionally, although he didn’t have time to elaborate. I’m not quite sure what he meant.”

He waved his hand with indifference. “Don’t believe anything Noor said. He lies,” Channing said, curling his lips slightly in amusement.

“My nephew has been called a lot of things, but liar is not one name anyone has called him.”

“Then just don’t listen to Noor.” Channing grinned.

“I’m glad to see you are doing better after what you went through,” Pulura called over her shoulder as she walked over to the panel in the wall and moved her hand back and forth over the display to activate it.

Channing watched as the wall opened and a cabinet slid out. There was a piece of square glass that stood upright, a crisscross of lines in different colors running through it, and a flat typewriter attached. He had never seen anything like it before and decided it was a thingamajig, an unscientific name he and Allura used as youths when they didn’t know how else to describe something.

“The last thing I remember is being shot and laying on the ground in unbelievable pain. My chest felt like it exploded, and there was so much blood. Nobody could have survived that type of wound. How did I get here and how long have I been in this facility?”

“Noor brought you in four days ago.”

Channing made a low whistle. He sat up, tried to swing his legs over the side of the bed, and remembered nothing except space was beneath him. He curled his long legs beneath him and sat Indian style. He watched her. “Come again? Did you say four days?” he said unbelievingly.

Pulura checked his vitals and, satisfied with the results, she activated the suspension on the bed and lowered it to the floor. She said, “Your organs were severely damaged, so we put you in a coma while we waited for organ regeneration, which takes twenty-four hours. We considered putting in artificial transplants, but were uncertain about your chemical makeup. We were concerned how your body would react to the foreign objects, and we didn’t want to risk refutation. The condition can be managed, but it would require a longer recovery period, if it occurred.”

“Sunshine, English please.”

“We took samples of the damaged tissues, grew you fresh organs, and then replaced everything and put you back together. Internally, you may have a few organs rearranged, but we have found Earthlings anatomy isn’t designed for maximum performance. You are just like brand new, better. The physicians who operated on you are some of the finest in the galaxy. Noor wouldn’t accept anything less and insisted the universe’s renowned specialist, Dr. Connally, perform the operation. Mind you, Dr. Connally just doesn’t come out for anyone. Noor was quite persuasive. You must mean a lot to him.”

“He did it for Allura.” Channing focused on the gentle sway of hips and outline of full breasts beneath the form fitting one-piece outfit she wore. And he thought the saloon girls wearing corsets, netted stockings, and showing cleavage were provocative. It amused him that he felt more than a twinge of arousal at a fully dressed woman.

He could relate to eyeing a beautiful woman. All the other nonsense she talked about was way over his head and too farfetched for him to think about now.

When Pulura stepped up to the bed within reaching distance, he captured her chin and caressed the dewy flesh with his thumb. Her skin was as smooth-textured and satiny to the touch. He outlined her lips, slowly dragging his finger over the plumpness, and savored the warm moistness. She was real. The most vivid dream could not do justice to the feel of her.

“It’s eerie, but I believe you are genuine,” he said quietly and continued to study her features with an eye of an artist. He tried to detect one blemish or nuance that revealed she was a figment of imagination. Nothing.

She laid her hand over his, and heat seeped into his body. She moved closer, and he was able to catch a whiff of her fragrance that reminded him of a breeze of violets. Patting his hand affectionately, she said, “I know what I have told you has overwhelmed you. If I were you, attempting to dissect or reason through the details would be the last thing on my mind. For now, focus on the fact that you are alive and safe.”

Out of everything, what she just said made the most sense.

“You know what I need right now? A rare steak, potatoes, sweet beets, and plenty of honey buttered biscuits. And, oh, a shot of whiskey or two help clear my head.”

“Noor said you were demanding. Is that food?” Her smile was generous.

“Please,” he said softly.

When she started talking into the air—a voice filtered from nowhere responded—he lapsed back into believing he wasn’t on a planet called Magnus with a gorgeous woman attending him. Instead, he must be in his room, three sheets to the wind, drunk and euphoric from overindulgence of whiskey and opium.

It was a damned decent dream. Too bad Pulura wasn’t authentic. Come morning when he awakened, the raven-haired, emerald-eyed creature, the prettiest female he’d ever seen, would be history. His sudden thought was ludicrous, and sadly, he was going to miss her.

Pulura finished ordering his food before she faced Channing again. “I see doubt has resurfaced.”

“I would be lying if I said no.”

“Maybe after you have eaten and had time to ponder matters, you will feel better and be able to accept the truth.” She frowned. “I feel a bit contrite that perhaps I shouldn’t have given you too much information so fast, but fed you small morsels first to help you analyze matters.” Pulura tapped her fingertip against her cheek. She glanced at Channing. “I could do memory elimination, if that would help, if I have made a blunder.”

“Sunshine, I can speculate about what that means. If I have a say so, my vote is no.”

“There is also a technique called memory implantation that would help you accept—oh!”

He could waddle around in dismay or settle the morass of thoughts clouding his mind by scientific validation. His validation. Channing kissed her, effectively silencing any more of what he called ridiculous remedies for his dream state. He withdrew slightly and took a breath as he stared into liquid pools of sea green. He ran his fingers through her hair. “God, you are sweet, and the most beautiful woman I know,” he whispered.

Pulura blushed. She diverted her eyes to stare at his wide shoulders.

He lifted her chin and brushed his lips over the very real very alive flesh for another taste. Then he released her, saw her expression, and said, “Do not tell me you are shy about a kiss?” Pulura blushed more, all rosy cheeked. “How refreshingly adorable you are.”

“I shouldn’t have let you do that.”

Channing’s eyebrows rose. “Why? Are you married?” he asked casually, knowing that an affirmative reply didn’t necessarily eliminate the idea of pursuing her. In his current mindset, all aroused and feeling randy, a pack of ravenous wolves wouldn’t have been a deterrent. Something about being on death’s door made a man reconsider the important things in life. Perhaps, the saying “life is short” suddenly took a new meaning.

“I’m a widow.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He wasn’t in the least, but under the circumstances, he felt it was the courteous thing to say. His mother would be proud, for all her consistent tutelage on the proper behavior of gentlemen wasn’t wasted on him. None withstanding, the notion that he now had free range to get the lovely in bed infused a fresh wanting to surface.

Consumed in the lush, wondrous feel of her mouth, Channing slanted his head for better access and lost himself in the delicious sweetness that filled his mouth when Pulura slipped her tongue between his lips. He groaned, deepened the connection, and orchestrated the feverish whipping of tongues into a wicked tango until forced to surface for air. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Pulura.

Channing’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “If I’m dreaming…don’t wake me.” He winked at Pulura.

* * * *

This was insane. Never in her wildest imagination had Pulura lost control and acted promiscuous enough to allow a complete stranger to kiss her. She had tossed caution aside and with no hesitation, no regrets, succumbed to the extremely handsome allure Channing possessed. In actuality, she secretly looked forward to her next intimate encounter with the shamelessly charming Channing Deverill.

There was something about him. Perhaps, after the proper and intensely boring men she dated after her husband’s tragic premature death, the strikingly handsome Channing elicited more than a general interest, and that was surprising. Roguish tendencies never appealed to her. Growing up with her brother Xander, who practiced indiscriminate democracy with women, she could recognize a skilled womanizer at first sighting. Normally, she would run for cover. Knowing this, she remained grossly lured by Channing’s sexual appeal, to the point that she labeled him hypnotic.

Or maybe she suffered from what her sister-in-law, Lana, politely referred to as sexual frustration. Struck with an inexplicable surge of desire, Pulura experienced a rush of heat in examining his chiseled physic, kissable lips, and sultry brown eyes, which made promises she reasoned he could unequivocally back up. He was devilishly delectable.

In hindsight, allowing the kiss was terrible. Too late. Her judgment was incorrigible, and there was nothing she could do about it now. And as habit, she refused to fret over the minor lapse that probably had sealed her fate. Channing’s expression said it all—a kiss was not enough.

“I’m not easy,” she blurted. Why she felt it necessary to say that was beyond her. Immaturely, she made more out of what happened and foolishly wished she kept her mouth shut.

Channing lifted an eyebrow. “The thought never crossed my mind.”

“I, ah, just wanted to make that clear.” Pulura studied the floor.

The left corner of Channing’s mouth curled. Amusement flashed in his eyes. “You, we, were impulsive. I don’t think its cause for embarrassment. Are you uncomfortable? I apologize profusely if you are, Pulura, but with everything whirling inside my head, I needed to decompress and slip back into my comfort zone.” He grinned brashly. “Kissing a beautiful woman does that for me.”

“So you make it a habit of kissing strangers?”

“Do you?”

“I asked first.”

“Well, not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“Sometimes.” He hesitated. “Occasionally, I bypass foreplay.”

Xander warned her about men like Channing Deverill. Yet, she hadn’t taken flight. Perhaps she was feeling an uncontrollable desire to “walk on the wild side,” as Lana suggested. She was a novice, and the art of flirtation unfamiliar. It seemed silly to test the waters with a connoisseur like Channing.

“Not this time?”

Channing smiled wolfishly. “Sunshine, someone as exquisite as you will require thorough loving. I hope that sounds sufficient?” he said, low and husky.

Pulura cheeks flamed. Goodness, he had to be half her age or younger. What was she doing?

As if he read her thoughts, Channing said, “How old are you?”

She gave him a beguiling smile. “Do you have a specific requirement?”

“Actually, I’m quite liberal. ‘Old enough’ is acceptable. However, I’m trying to figure out if Noor or any other of your family members will take exception if we were to have an interlude.”

“I’m not a virgin and don’t need anyone’s permission to be with you.”

“Does that mean Noor won’t come after me?”

“I’m afraid Noor is the least of your worries. Though I’m past the age of consent, my brother Xander is overly protective. If you want, I could dispense with the formalities and inform him you want to have relations with me. Xander will balk…so will my nephews, but they will respect my wishes.” She did hesitate. “Mind you, to a certain extent.”

“I will need to watch my back.” Channing said, blasé and clearly unconcerned. Male arrogance showed on his face, an expression she was all too familiar with, having an overbearing brother and four nephews who were hell-bent on saving her from another disastrous relationship. Her first husband had been cruel, unkind, and involved with underhanded dealings that cost him his life. She didn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.

She just felt Channing was different. “Well, your meal should be here shortly. Do you require assistance or can you manage alone?”

“I’m considering lying to keep your company.”

“You needn’t do that. You simply have to ask.”

“Will you always be this tolerant of my wishes?”

Pulura smiled. “We shall see.”

“You are damned straight I will.”

Channing crocked his finger and beckoned her closer. Pulura went willingly. He said, “I’m starting to feel like I’m daydreaming again. I think I need another dose of reality.”

Pulura wrapped her arms around his neck and eased her body against Channing. “You are a horrible liar. I believe you just want to kiss me again. I don’t mind.”