Terran (Breeder) by Cara Bristol Page B

shored up her weakening anger. He’d spanked her—viciously—then disappeared without any explanation, and now he had the nerve to show up shitfaced?
    “Only six tankards of ale. Are you hungry? I have brought some meat pies.”
    Her rumbling stomach answered for her.
    “Come. Eat.” He gestured to the table.
    She slipped out of bed and donned one of his shirts because her shift, rendered a rag by Marlix’s hand, lay in a heap on the floor where he’d thrown it. She skirted around the pottery he’d broken and eased onto the bench. He scooted a meat pie wrapped in cloth across the table.
    She mumbled a grudging thank-you and unwrapped it. The pie was still warm. He plopped down on the bench opposite her and picked up his share.
    The savory pastry was delicious, but with Marlix so close and matters so unsettled, tension grew, and she had to force down every bite. Her misery lodged like a lump in her throat. He wasn’t a bad man, just a male who was used to receiving what he wanted because he desired it. He’d whaled the tar out of her behind with that horrible paddle—she’d inspected it after he’d left—but to be fair, she had seduced him and tricked him and tried to escape.
    He had no right to kidnap you.
    No. He did not.
    But—but…
    “I don’t hate you,” she said in a low voice.
    “You said you did.”
    “I didn’t mean it. I was mad.”
    “I was too. But I do not say things I do not mean when I am angry.”
    She twisted her mouth in disbelief.
    He shook his head. “I cannot afford the luxury of inconsistency. My word is law. If I said something I did not mean, my false words would be obeyed. Repercussions would occur that I did not intend.”
    “Oh,” she said. “Well, I’m sorry. I don’t have the power you have, so that has never been a problem for me.”
    “It is not a problem. It is the way it is.” He rose from the table and poured two glasses of water from a pitcher he’d taken and filled during his absence. He set a glass in front of her before downing half of his. “I did not like having to punish you.”
    “I thought Alphas got off on that,” she said and then regretted her words. He was attempting to be conciliatory by bringing dinner, pouring her water, and apologizing in his thick-headed Alpha way, and she had responded with sarcasm. “I didn’t mean that either. I apologize.”
    He drew his brows together. “There is much I don’t understand about you,” he said.
    He looked so perplexed, a smile tickled her mouth and another chink of ice melted away. Damn him. She needed to stay mad, remain on her toes, because however domestic their little interaction seemed, despite the prickles of awareness, they were not boyfriend and girlfriend reconciling after a spat. They were Parseon and Terran. Kidnapper and hostage.
    Kidnapper and hostage. Remember that!
    There would be no make-up sex. Thank goodness she’d gotten her period, so she wouldn’t be inclined to cave in. The man had the physique of legends: all hard-coiled muscle, a rakishly handsome face, and the strength of at least three men. He’d flung her over his shoulder and tossed her over his lap like she weighed no more than a kitten.
    She’d gone postal on his ass—had fought him with everything she had, and he’d borne her jabs as if they were gnat stings. The ease with which he had overpowered her caused her heart to sink in a horrible oh-shit kind of way, yet she’d been awed by his brawn too. And, though she hated to admit it, appreciative of his self-control. He’d been very pissed off, and she’d hit him—a perfect recipe for violence. He could have beaten the crap out of her—but he hadn’t. He’d punished her, but his hand had been guided by iron restraint. He was an aggressive, arrogant, autocratic asshole—all the A words. But he was also disciplined, controlled, and—why the fuck did her mind keep wandering there?—not bad in the sack.
    Their sexual encounter had been awkward at first, but