Page 23 of Aliens Love Curves

"...human cargo requires special handling..."

We freeze, barely breathing, straining to hear more.

"...medical supplies ready in hangar six..."

"...Mertok wants no evidence..."

The red emergency lighting casts strange shadows in the confined space, making Stryker's pink skin appear almost luminescent. My hand finds Stryker's arm in the dim light, squeezing. His tail wraps around my waist instinctively, pullingme closer. The gesture feels protective, possessive, the contact sending electricity through my body even through my flight suit, and something else that makes my pulse quicken.

"Casey," he breathes, my name a rough whisper in the darkness. In the red emergency lighting, his silver eyes seem to glow, pupils dilated as he looks down at me.

I'm suddenly acutely aware of every point of contact between us – my hand on his arm, his tail around my waist, our bodies close in the cramped simulator. The air feels charged, electric.

He raises a hand to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. I lean into the touch without thinking, drawn by some force I can't – or won't – resist.

I should move away. Should focus on the voices we just heard, the implications of "human cargo." But my body has other ideas, leaning into his warmth, my hands sliding up his chest of their own accord.

"This is dangerous," I whisper, even as my fingers trace the strong line of his jaw.

"Everything about you is dangerous," he replies, one hand cupping my face while the other pulls me closer. His tail tightens around my waist possessively.

The air between us feels charged, electric. My heart pounds so loud I'm sure he must hear it. When his thumb brushes across my lower lip, I can't suppress a small gasp.

"We shouldn't," I whisper, even as I tilt my face up toward his.

"I know," he agrees, but he's leaning down, his breath mingling with mine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his face inches from mine. "Tell me this isn't worth the risk.

Instead of answering, I rise on my tiptoes, eliminating the last distance between us. The first brush of his lips against mineis gentle, questioning. Then something breaks loose in both of us.

His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. I respond with equal fervour, my fingers tangling in his hair as his arms tighten around me. He tastes like starlight and danger, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me whimper.

Stryker growls low in his throat at the sound, backing me against the simulator wall. His tail unwraps from my waist only to slide lower, pulling my hips against his. The kiss deepens, becomes desperate, months of suppressed desire exploding in a moment of shared madness.

My flight suit suddenly feels too tight, too restrictive. One of Stryker's hands finds its way under the fabric at my neck, his touch burning against my bare skin. I arch into him, wanting more, needing—

The voices fade, replaced by the sound of my thundering heart. Stryker's lips leave mine but our hot rapid breathing still mingles, and I want – oh, how I want—

The lights blast back on without warning, the sudden brightness like a bucket of cold water. We spring apart, breathing hard, momentarily blinding us, just as the simulator door slides open with a hydraulic hiss.

Stryker looks thoroughly dishevelled, his hair mussed where my fingers ran through it, his eyes wild. I probably don't look any more composed – my lips feel swollen, and my flight suit is definitely askew.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the reality of what just happened sinking in. That wasn't just a kiss – it was a declaration, a point of no return.

"Casey," he starts, his voice still rough with desire, "I—"

Reality crashes back. The mission. The voices. Human cargo.

"Hangar six," I cut him off, though my voice trembles. "We need to investigate. The voices..."

"I know." Stryker's voice is still rough, his pupils dilated. "Right," he agrees, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it. Tonight. We'll investigate tonight."

As we exit the simulator, trying to maintain professional distance, every nerve in my body screams to pull him back, my skin still tingles where he touched me and my mind races with darker thoughts—to finish what we started when the mission is over. But the mission has to come first. Human lives could be at stake.Human cargo. Medical supplies. What exactly is Harlan Mertok hiding behind his charming smile and gentle touches?

The answer, I suspect, will test not only our skills as enforcers but also this growing thing between Stryker and me – this dangerous, wonderful, impossible attraction that threatens to complicate everything.

As we head back to the apartment in silence, the feeling remains. My lips tingle with the memory of Stryker's kiss. I touch them gently, remembering the feel of him so close to me, the taste, the way his tail pulled me closer...