Cold Fusion

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An Excerpt From: COLD FUSION

Copyright © NATHALIE GRAY, 2007

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

"Stay where you are, hombre."

He froze, let his hands hang by his sides. Water darkened his pant legs up to his knees.

To keep from falling over, Carmela leaned her hand on one of the crystalline clusters while she kept the muzzle of her gun steady on her target. But he seemed more interested with the rock by her side than the weapon trained on him. She looked down-very quickly-and noticed how the crystals pulsed with a radiant amber light, blazing gold at its core when the rest of the boulder was tar black. Strange. As though it responded to her in some way.

He straightened. "Trying to backtrack to the ship was a good idea, human. It almost worked."

She tipped her chin at him.

But he was gorgeous!

Seven feet of smooth, smoky-blue-skinned, silver-haired, muscular Yithian wasn´t helping her keep her legendary focus, that was for damn sure. As Kim had said when she´d first seen him, the guy had a decadent, cruel mouth. And if he´d generated hours of solitary pleasure when he lay in her stasis tank, the real thing, awake and oh-so obviously ready for a good round just about made her want to chew his clothes off. But he was a Hunter. A not-so-small complication.

Still, all that delectable male Yithian.

"You will not shoot me," he said, his surprisingly gentle voice startled her out of her visual disrobing.

"Entertain me, Yithian. Why shouldn´t I shoot you?"

He had a little half-smirk thing that made Carmela want to kiss him...and smack his ass. Or both. "I am more valuable to you alive than dead."

"Who said I´d aim to kill?"

The smirk crystallized at the edges then slid off his delicious-looking lips. "You play a dangerous game."

"Carmela de Monsalve does not play games."

"Perhaps you do not realize what you have brought on yourself, Carmela de Monsalve," he replied, pinching the zipper on his collar and unhurriedly pulling it down.

His pearly gaze on her, he zipped his top apart, let it slide back from his shoulders and fall to the ground. Tattoos covered his entire front, from collarbones to waist, shoulders to wrists. One for each successful hunt. Thick, intricate black ink work crawled, snaked, wrapped over his chiseled torso and underlined the glorious set of muscles, the perfect symmetry of his form, the narrow waist.

He pointed to a spot near his left nipple. "This is where I will place the symbol of your Hunt. A fine prey you were."

"And it´s where I´ll shoot if you ever call me that again."

He raised an eyebrow. "There is no shame in it, Carmela de Monsalve. I am a Yithian Hunter."

As though this should explain everything!

Heat radiated up from her hand, which still grasped the crystalline cluster, spread upward through her arm and shoulder, warmed her chest. She looked down, hurriedly took her hand away.

The Yithian seemed very interested-and shocked-by the glowing rock at her side and kept glancing back and forth at it then at her. What was he looking for?

"What will you do now, Carmela de Monsalve?"

Her exact thought. What was she going to do with the hunky alien?

"First," she said, narrowing her gaze at him and cocking her head, "we´re not letting things turn into a corrida. So get down on your knees and cross your hands over your head."

Her several years as a bodyguard revisited seamlessly, as though she hadn´t quit the demanding job three years before when she´d taken Kim´s lucrative offer instead.

"No."

She shot right between his feet, which blistered the ground and sent a couple of rock chips to fly off.

"Oh I forgot the magic word. Now."

Instead he took a step forward, which had her staring hard at his crotch and the way his dark gray pants molded his form, and not caring if it ruined her cool-gal attitude. He was hard! Jesus, the size of him. Unless he was packing a gun in there, a spectacular lump hung along his inner thigh, strained the fabric and made her palms tingle. She wanted a taste of this fine male bad enough to ask. But she was not dying to, the one thing that would happen should she let her guard down for a second. Unless the Yithian Hunter wouldn´t kill her right away.

A frisson tightened the skin on her shoulders. By her side, the crystalline formation glowed dazzling white before dimming to a pulsating deep crimson. She stepped away from it, strangely feeling as though this thing were giving her away. With a quick shake of her head, she took a deep breath.

And this was when Carmela de Monsalve, for the first time in her life, lost control of a situation.

A series of sharp mental pulses surged over her defenses, flooded her mind with images of lust and carnal abandon, of the Yithian sinking his face between her thighs and licking her, of his fingers invading her, demanding, claiming and so skilled.

She heard herself ahhing as she arched back. The first ripple hadn´t reached her belly when she felt a heavy weight violently tackling her down. She rolled, desperately trying to kick her way out of the tangle of limbs while fighting against the brain-numbing vision. In their struggle, they reached the body of water she´d heard earlier, slid down the embankment and splashed in the first few inches of it, fought for supremacy with their hands and legs, trying to find a fault in the other´s skills. Icy-cold water filtered into her clothes, numbed her feet. When he grappled her the way a wrestler would with his head and arms smacking into her middle, Carmela hoomphed loudly, knocked the back of her heels against something and lurched back, her fall aided by two hundred fifty plus pounds of Yithian right on top of her. Displaying incredible force, he grabbed a hold of her inner thigh and flipped her facing down.

Like a manacle of flesh, his hand clamped over the back of her neck as he settled on top of her prone body, using his greater bulk and length to pin her beneath him. A hard mass pressed at the juncture of her legs, right below her butt. And she knew it wasn´t a gun. Despite putting all her strength into it, he was inexorably forcing her face toward the water. Her chin was already dipping below the surface. She panted hard.

"So I ask again, Carmela de Monsalve," he said, his quick breaths causing strands of dark silver hair to spill down on her face. He smelled of peppery mint. "What will you do now?"