“I am not playing,” Ar’ar murmured tightly, his soft rumble-purr fading enough for Summer to catch her breath, for her head to clear a little.
“We have a responsibility to our clan, Summer, and it is long past time we were mate-bound.” He caught her chin to brush another light kiss against her mouth, his amber eyes burning as he let her go. “I promise, tonight, when we return to our enclosure, to our bed, we will both find pleasure . . .”
Summer pushed her hair away from her flushed face with a shaking hand and took a moment to steady herself against the balcony wall. The suns had nearly set, the Brothers turning the sky magnificent shades of pink and orange and golden yellow.
Ar’ar must have turned up the heat on that rumble-purr of his somehow because she sure didn’t remember having this much trouble controlling herself last time he’d tried to seduce her.
She turned her burning face toward the evening breeze, grateful that Ar’ar had left her alone in Jenna’s quarters; thankful he was allowing her these few spare minutes to compose herself here in the twilight.
And Ar’ar was as eager for it as he’d made her. He seemed just as out of sorts as she felt when he left so he probably needed time to cool off as much as she did.
Unfortunately, he’d had it together enough to leave the guards outside the door.
Credit where credit was due: he was absolutely smoking hot. ’Course her problem with Ar’ar had never been his body, and if her experience with Ke’lar was any indication of typical g’hir male prowess, Ar’ar was going to see to it she had a long night—many long nights—of amazing sex ahead of her.
Man, and you know your life is fucked up when that’s a bad thing . . .
She didn’t love Ar’ar, probably never could, but she sensed somewhere in that muscled chest he had a true and loving heart. In another life—before Emma—she, like Jenna, might have found some happiness here. Maybe not with Ar’ar but with—
Summer gripped the balcony railing. Ke’lar, like Dean, had run out on her just when she’d needed him most.
Emma was only three, so very, very little, and her early memories would be hazy.
And if I never get back to Earth—
Summer put her palm to her forehead, trying to think, trying to draw on a bit more of Paw-Paw’s heritage, summon just one more crazy-like-a-fox plan.
The little blaster was still in her pack but she wouldn’t stand a chance against four warriors. Even if she killed them—and she didn’t think she could—she wouldn’t get far.
Jenna’s quarters were only three floors up but there were no decorative carvings within reach to aid her escape. The old tie-the-bed-sheets-together thing wouldn’t work; the next balcony was about thirty feet down and desperate didn’t mean fucking suicidal.
Ar’ar wasn’t going let her out of his sight unguarded again—that was for sure. Having seen how gorgeous Jenna’s half-human half-g’hir daughter was, the deep longing in his amber eyes was undeniable. She didn’t have to be told how determined Ar’ar was now to have a baby of his—their—own.
Her eyes stung.
Dear God, Emma’s going to forget me. Will anyone ever even show her pictures of me—of her and me together? Will she ever know how much her momma loved her?
Half of Brittle Bridge thought Jenna McNally was dead and rotting in the woods, the other half thought she’d just met some guy and took off, leaving her and Pap’s half-packed house to rot.
Was that what people back home would think about her too? What would people say to Emma? What would her daughter believe as she grew up without a mother?
Summer swallowed hard, looking out over the alien landscape, out to the vast green forests into which Ke’lar had vanished.
Will she think I just took off and forgot about her? Left for some man or fell to drinking and drugs? Will she hate me?
Or will my baby spend her whole life thinking I’m dead even if nobody knows it for sure?
And who would take care of Emma, who would raise her? Dean sure as hell would do a crappy job of parenting—if he even took it on. Summer doubted very much that he would.
After all, he wasn’t—had never been—the responsible type.
Dean’s momma, Marthe, loved Emma, always sending her little things, dresses she’d sewn for the child herself, toys and ribbons for her hair. Despite her heartache, Summer smiled faintly, remembering how Emma hated having anything in her hair. Summer could scarcely get her to keep the ribbons in long enough to take a picture to email to Marthe.
Summer’s smile faded. Marthe was struggling with a list of health problems a mile long. She might love her granddaughter but she might not have the strength—or the time—to raise her.
Uncle Lester was kindly to them, her and Emma both, always had been, but he’d never married and had no kids of his own. She could hardly see him jumping up to raise a grandniece, either.
He just walked away! Ke’lar just left me with Ar’ar and left Emma alone!