moment for the shivers to subside and his meaning to sink in. "What?" She shrank back from him, grabbing the quilt from under her and clutching it to her chest until her fingers ached. Repulsed horror replaced the throb and ache in her body. No way could he be suggesting what she thought. Images of being kept in a cage and bred like a dog flashed in her mind. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed audible dry gulps. "What do you mean?"
Cultural differences. Please let this only be a misunderstanding of cultural differences. Something she and Julia would laugh about in a few years.
The tightening in her chest reminded her she wouldn't make a good breeder for a race that killed weak babies. Assuming his meaning was what she thought it was.
"My breeder," he insisted.
"Listen, you perverted red-eyed freak." His chest rumbled again and he leaned into her. She cringed back, but couldn't keep quiet. Not about something like this. Not after the week she'd had. "I'm not some animal you can breed."
"My breeder," he repeated.
"If you call me that one more time, I will kick you in the nuts." Even if his nuts were as tough as his skin, she bet if she kicked hard enough, it would still hurt. Though it would probably be the last thing she did, before he killed her.
His hands spanned her waist and gripped briefly before moving down to gently trace her hipbones.
Dread slithered down her spine. "I--what're you doing?" she squeaked. What was it with him and his fascination with her hipbones?
Her body went into sensual orbit. On top of being called a breeder, it almost brought her to tears. Why did her stupid body react to him like this?
"You little warrior."
Natalie blinked. What did he mean by that? "You think I'm brave?" she asked, her voice sounding teary and pathetic, not at all like a warrior's.
"Very brave. Hit me with twig," he said, his voice so low and gravelly she could barely make out the words.
"It was a club--" She stopped herself. What was the point in arguing? She had to get him out of her tent and out of the cave long enough that she could make it to the hidden entrance. Because snow or no snow, she wasn't waiting around to be turned into some kind of breeding machine for these aliens.
"Twig," he said.
For a moment, she didn't understand what he meant. Then she realized he was still obsessed on her clobbering him.
"Well, that twig took you down," she said with smug satisfaction.
"Not," he insisted.
"But you were unconscious for hours." Her muscles contracted in memory of moving his heavy body around.
"Was not."
"What do you mean? You weren't unconscious?" Macho alien. Did warriors not admit to being unconscious, like they didn't admit to being cold? Or had he played her for a fool longer than she'd first realized?
"I was never unconscious." The puzzled way he said that really made her wish she dared hit him again.
"And you let me struggle with your body, trying to get you on the transport and tied up against the wall." Indignant, she tried to shove his hands away from her. It was like trying to move a rock.
"Moved to help you."
He said it in such a reasonable tone of voice, for him, that she lifted her hand to hit his shoulder before she thought better of it and clenched her fist on her thigh instead. "Oooh, I can clobber you again."
"Rather fuck."
She drew back at his crude words and pressed her hand over her hammering heart. Gently, he took her fist in his hand and opened her fingers one by one. His rough copper toned hands made hers appear very pale and extremely fragile. Even kneeling in front of her, he dwarfed her.
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Fuck Natlia," he repeated.
Natalie gasped, her hammering heart jumping up to double speed. Her chest that'd been steadily constricting, clamped down on her lungs. "No." She pushed his shoulders back but couldn't budge him.
"Yes.
Cultural differences. Please let this only be a misunderstanding of cultural differences. Something she and Julia would laugh about in a few years.
The tightening in her chest reminded her she wouldn't make a good breeder for a race that killed weak babies. Assuming his meaning was what she thought it was.
"My breeder," he insisted.
"Listen, you perverted red-eyed freak." His chest rumbled again and he leaned into her. She cringed back, but couldn't keep quiet. Not about something like this. Not after the week she'd had. "I'm not some animal you can breed."
"My breeder," he repeated.
"If you call me that one more time, I will kick you in the nuts." Even if his nuts were as tough as his skin, she bet if she kicked hard enough, it would still hurt. Though it would probably be the last thing she did, before he killed her.
His hands spanned her waist and gripped briefly before moving down to gently trace her hipbones.
Dread slithered down her spine. "I--what're you doing?" she squeaked. What was it with him and his fascination with her hipbones?
Her body went into sensual orbit. On top of being called a breeder, it almost brought her to tears. Why did her stupid body react to him like this?
"You little warrior."
Natalie blinked. What did he mean by that? "You think I'm brave?" she asked, her voice sounding teary and pathetic, not at all like a warrior's.
"Very brave. Hit me with twig," he said, his voice so low and gravelly she could barely make out the words.
"It was a club--" She stopped herself. What was the point in arguing? She had to get him out of her tent and out of the cave long enough that she could make it to the hidden entrance. Because snow or no snow, she wasn't waiting around to be turned into some kind of breeding machine for these aliens.
"Twig," he said.
For a moment, she didn't understand what he meant. Then she realized he was still obsessed on her clobbering him.
"Well, that twig took you down," she said with smug satisfaction.
"Not," he insisted.
"But you were unconscious for hours." Her muscles contracted in memory of moving his heavy body around.
"Was not."
"What do you mean? You weren't unconscious?" Macho alien. Did warriors not admit to being unconscious, like they didn't admit to being cold? Or had he played her for a fool longer than she'd first realized?
"I was never unconscious." The puzzled way he said that really made her wish she dared hit him again.
"And you let me struggle with your body, trying to get you on the transport and tied up against the wall." Indignant, she tried to shove his hands away from her. It was like trying to move a rock.
"Moved to help you."
He said it in such a reasonable tone of voice, for him, that she lifted her hand to hit his shoulder before she thought better of it and clenched her fist on her thigh instead. "Oooh, I can clobber you again."
"Rather fuck."
She drew back at his crude words and pressed her hand over her hammering heart. Gently, he took her fist in his hand and opened her fingers one by one. His rough copper toned hands made hers appear very pale and extremely fragile. Even kneeling in front of her, he dwarfed her.
"Don't talk to me like that."
"Fuck Natlia," he repeated.
Natalie gasped, her hammering heart jumping up to double speed. Her chest that'd been steadily constricting, clamped down on her lungs. "No." She pushed his shoulders back but couldn't budge him.
"Yes.
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