Stranded with the Cyborg (Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance Book 1) Page 12

  “Since Lamis-Odg vowed to avenge Urgak’s death. Since they issued a contract on all AOP, Xenian, and Terran diplomatic personnel.”

  A problem, but not his. Brook shook his head. “Send someone else. I have months of R & R owed to me, and I plan to use some of it on Darius 4,” he lied. After being with Pia, his cock shriveled at the idea of sex with an android.

  How ironic that he’d evoked a similar response in Penelope. His cyber modifications had repulsed her. He’d forgiven her for her momentary panic and for thinking he was Lamis-Odg, but her revulsion as she’d stared at his cyberlimb had etched on his memory. Another irony: he could erase the image from his microcomputer if he chose, but his human brain would never forget.

  Carter pressed his lips together, swiveled in his chair to unlock a compartment. He plunked a beige object about the size of an old Terran dime onto his desk. “Maybe this will change your mind.”

  Brock curled his lip. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a cybernetic computer chip.”

  “Like my implant?”

  Carter nodded. “Like that, although the programming is different and it’s not as advanced as the microcomputer in your corpus callosum.”

  “And you’re showing me that, why?”

  “Because a member of the extraction team spotted this in the sand where Urgak’s body had been.”

  Oh, shit. Bad. This was bad. “Urgak was a cyborg?”

  “So it appears.”

  “Lamis-Odg has cybernetic technology.”

  Carter nodded.

  “Motherfucker.” No wonder Urgak hadn’t blown himself up with the shuttle in a suicide bombing. The technology contained in his head was too important for Lamis-Odg to lose. It also explained how the terrorist had been able to activate the self-destruct program with such advanced encryption.

  “I’ve heard the ambassador has been very persuasive. The Xenians are coming around and will likely join the AOP. After everything that has happened, we have to play it safe and assume Lamis-Odg may…react.” Carter folded his hands on his desk. “Do this last mission, and then you can take as much R & R as you want.”

  “All right.” He would do it for Pia because bringing Xenia into the AOP had been important to her. She’d risked her life to meet with the emperor.

  He turned to leave.

  “Brock?”

  He peered over his shoulder.

  “You can thank me later,” Carter said.

  * * * *

  Penelope strolled down the palace corridor, wishing she could feel more satisfaction, more elation. The emperor had signed the treaty making Xenia the seventy-fifth sovereign planet to join the AOP. That terrorists had almost established a base of operations on their planet had given a boost to her negotiation efforts by showing the Xenians that their self-imposed detachment from alien affairs had left them vulnerable to manipulation.

  They, along with most of the galaxy, had watched Urgak’s transmission of her near execution. The diplomatic corps had wanted to send another ambassador, but the emperor had insisted they would only meet with Penelope and would wait until she could travel. Her injuries—a ruptured eardrum, a concussion, broken ribs, multiple contusions and cuts—had been minor, nothing at all like what Brock had sustained. The medical facility had kept her only overnight, but she had delayed coming to Xenia until all traces of her injuries had healed and she could make the best first impression possible. Besides, they had missed the Summit anyway. However, not only would Xenia attend the next one—the planet would host it.

  Mission complete, Penelope would head home to Terra, even though the emperor had invited her to stay for a while.

  The planet was beautiful, with azure flowers blooming everywhere, a sky that blushed pink during the day and then darkened to plum at night. She appreciated that the trees grew squat and that water flowed in Xenia’s many rivers. Beside the flora, fauna abounded; feathered deerlike creatures teemed in the fields, small cats sang like songbirds, and fish with legs scampered between land and stream.

  The emperor’s invitation had been generous, and perhaps she should have accepted it to further cement her diplomatic efforts, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold together the tatters of her emotions. Her bruised body had mended; her heart had not.

  She ached for Brock with a longing that made every breath painful. She’d hurt him too deeply for him to ever love her, but she wished she could speak to him one more time to convey how sorry she was, and to tell him how she really felt.

  She had no way to locate him. He’d never shared the name of the organization he worked for. She’d broken down and asked her mother if she had a way to contact him, but she didn’t—although Mikala had informed her another agent would arrive on Xenia to escort her home just in case. Wiser after the horrors she’d been through, Penelope didn’t argue. She vowed to cause no trouble, to obey everything her new bodyguard told her to do. She had to remain alive to achieve her diplomatic goals.

  She wished she cared more about them. She should be filled with jubilation at what she’d achieved on Xenia; instead she lugged around a despairing heaviness.

  Penelope rounded a corner relieved to see the arched doors of the west drawing room where she was to meet her bodyguard. The few times she’d ventured off unescorted, she’d gotten lost in the labyrinthine palace, and someone had had to rescue her and lead her to where she was supposed to be.

  She and her new bodyguard were scheduled to depart Xenia later this afternoon. A charter would transport them to the Interplanetary Shuttle Port for a short refueling layover before continuing on to Terra. Once home, she planned to take emotional refuge in her apartment. She’d already put in for an indeterminate leave of absence.

  Pausing outside the intricately carved double doors, she fortified herself with a deep breath, forced a smile, and pushed inside.

  A man stood silhouetted at the window overlooking the courtyard, the set of his wide shoulders sending a jolt of familiarity through her stomach. He spun around. Brock’s eyes widened with shock before his face darkened into such a fierce glower, she staggered. Absence had not made his heart grow fonder.

  CARTER WAS A dead man.

  Brock didn’t know what rocked him more: seeing Pia or that Carter, that son of a bitch, had lied to him. Flat out lied to his face. Deliberately sent him to rendezvous with Pia.

  “You’ll thank me later.”

  Thank him? Kill him.

  Pia fell against the door as if she was afraid of him, and Brock’s heart spasmed. How was he going to get through this knowing he repulsed her?

  Do your job.

  He didn’t have to talk to her, touch her, or look at her. The goals of his assignment were better served if he focused on everything but her. Assess the crowds, watch the people who interacted with her, identify the ingress and egress of buildings, and scrutinize innocent-appearing materiel that could be explosive.

  “I’ll try to do my job with a minimum of interaction,” he said, keeping his tone level, flat. “I wouldn’t have come here at all, except I was tricked.”

  Pia’s face crumpled. “You hate me that much?”

  “I could never hate you, Pia.” He loved her too much. He’d die for her.

  Her eyes filled with tears. “Then why? Because of the horrible things I said? I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it. The explosion, being stranded on a dangerous planet—I panicked. But only for a minute. I never believed you worked for Lamis-Odg.”

  “I know that.” He averted his gaze before the pull of her tear-filled eyes fooled him into believing he might have a chance. Pia was kind, tenderhearted. She couldn’t help that he repulsed her, and she would feel bad about it. The worst thing he could do would be to mistake remorse and pity for caring.

  “We could have died on DeltaNu9084. You risked your life to save me,” she said.

  His lip curled with a bitter smile. “I’m a cyborg. I’m not so easy to kill.”

  He strode to a table and feigned an
interest in the sculpture on top of it. “We’re scheduled to depart at 15:00. If you’re packed and ready, we might be able to move up the launch.” The sooner he deposited her on Terra, the sooner he could take Carter apart with his bare hands.

  “I love you, Brock.”

  Either he was going insane or his cyberhearing was malfunctioning. He tried to disassemble and reassemble her words into something logical, but came up blank. He clenched his fists. “What did you say?”

  Pia straightened, took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes. “I love you.”

  He swallowed. “You saw my hand.”

  “If you don’t love me, then that’s okay, but I didn’t want to part again without telling you—”

  “I love you.” The words were torn out of him.

  Beginning as a simple curve, Pia’s smile widened until her whole face glowed. “Then why are you standing all the way—”

  He appeared in front of her in an instant to smother her words with his hungry mouth. She clung to him as if she would never let go, and Brock kissed her knowing he never would. Wherever she went—he would be there. Wherever he went, he would insist she follow. He didn’t know how he’d manage his dangerous assignments—because he would never put her in harm’s way—but he would make it work. He’d resign his commission if he had to.

  Fuck Cy-Ops. But Carter, that sneaky bastard, could live.

  Pia’s soft body fitted to his harder form. Brock cupped her derriere and hauled her tighter against him. He plundered her mouth. The sweet taste and smell of her exploded in his brain. She moaned and nibbled at his lower lip, sucked at his tongue.

  He came up for air. “Marry me,” he said.

  She sucked in a breath.

  A shaft of residual fear stopped his respiration. “You don’t want to?”

  She pounded his chest with her fist. “Of course I want to! The answer is yes. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  He sealed the engagement with another long kiss that left them both gasping and him as hard as that stupid stone she’d lugged all around DeltaNu9084—that he’d hauled around since he’d carried her bag. “Did you give the geode to the emperor?” he asked, assessing the narrow, uncomfortable divan. Scarcely better than a tree.

  “Yes, he loved it. Because they’ve been such isolationists, the geode was the first gift the Xenians had ever received.” She lowered her eyelids and peered at him through her lashes. “I could ask the emperor to marry us. He’s head of his state, and now that Xenia is an official member of the AOP, our marriage would be legal on seventy-five planets.”

  She’d be tied to him seventy-five times over. A hundred more ways might be enough. “Let’s do it!” Grabbing her hand, he pulled her from the room into the corridor.

  “Now?” she squeaked. “We can’t barge in! There are protocols. I have to request an audience.”

  Brock laughed, happiness warming him from the inside out. Imagination, perhaps, but his nanocytes seemed to vibrate. “No, not now.” He tapped her nose. “Where are your quarters?”

  “In the east wing, next to the flower garden.”

  He headed left down the wide hall, urging her along. “After I have my wicked way with you, we’ll submit a request to the emperor.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “They invited me to stay another week. Xenia is quite beautiful. It would be a nice place for a honeymoon.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “To your quarters.”

  She halted, pointed back the way they’d come. “The east wing is that way.”

  “You have no sense of direction, do you?”

  “I’ve been here a week.” She planted her hands on her hips, traces of the old stubborn Pia rising. “You just got here. Do you think you know your way around better than I do?”

  Before his arrival, he’d uploaded a palace schematic.

  Time was of the essence. He had to have her now. They could wander around at leisure later. “Tell you, what,” he said. “You follow me, and if I’m right, then you can—” He leaned close and in a low voice offered a salacious suggestion.

  “What if I’m right?”

  “Then—” He whispered in her other ear.

  “That’s the same thing!” she exclaimed, but her lips twitched. She thumped his chest. “Prepare to pay up, buddy! I hope you don’t get us too lost.”

  * * * *

  Brock led them right to her door.

  “Okay, you’ve earned the right to gloat,” Penelope said.

  “I’ve earned more than that.” His lips twitched.

  He didn’t smirk for long but pushed her inside and fastened his mouth to hers. Pia’s feet left the ground, and her legs dangled as Brock lifted her up and kiss-walked to the huge canopied bed. They fell on top of it, limbs in a tangle. He curled his hands in her hair, stroking, igniting tiny fires everywhere he touched.

  He kissed her lips, her eyes, her jaw, her neck, and tugged aside her tunic to trace her collarbone.

  She slipped her hands under his shirt and splayed her palms over his chest. So broad. So hard. His clothing was an impediment, so she tugged at the hem.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and shucked out of his pants. Boots hit the floor with a thud. As she wiggled out of her tunic, he tossed her shoes across the room and then pulled her slacks off. He tore her filmy undergarments trying to get them off her, but his hands gentled as he roamed them over her body.

  His biceps bunched, his abdomen rippled, and his broad chest, roughened by hair heated her palms. Their mouths clung in a lingering taste before he dipped his head to lave her nipple. Sweet pulls of hunger tugged at her womb, growing stronger when he stroked her clit. He dipped into her pussy and entered her, probing deep but gently. Desire spiraled, taking her higher and higher. Penelope arched her neck and combed her fingertips down his spine.

  In the recesses of her memory, she still marveled that he’d survived unscarred after the fire, but she shoved it away and focused on the overload of sensation, on the feel of him, so solid, so real. His cock, long and hard, prodded her thigh. She closed her hand around his girth, enjoying how he leapt against her palm. She stroked his shaft and smoothed her thumb across the head.

  Smiling, she shoved at his shoulders. “Never let it be said I don’t pay my debts.”

  He allowed her to push him onto his back. Penelope kissed him before pulling away to sweep her long hair over his chest to his groin and up again. She rubbed her head against his cock, and he gasped. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned.

  HER HAIR FLOWED like liquid silk. Brock wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the torture. He’d needed to be inside her, but he forced himself to savor the moment because, if recent events had taught him anything—every second counted. Time was not meant to be rushed or squandered.

  Her hair tickled his balls as Pia peered up at him, a teasing grin on her face. Then she lowered her head and drew his erection into her wet mouth.

  “If I’m right you can suck my cock,” he’d whispered to her in the corridor, knowing full well it wasn’t a fair contest. Besides the fact she had piss-poor direction, the coordinates to her quarters were programmed into his cyberbrain. He couldn’t get lost if he tried.

  “If you’re right, you can still suck my cock,” he’d murmured in her other ear.

  Fuck, if Pia wasn’t a good sport. Fuck, if she wasn’t good.

  Not that she hadn’t done a fine job on DeltaNu9084, but there was a reason why after leaving their ape ancestry behind, humans no longer fucked in the treetops. It was hard to concentrate when you had to worry about falling.

  Not that he could concentrate on much with Pia’s mouth stoking the heat. His nanocytes spun. She loved him. Claw hand, cyberprostethics, computer brain. Him. He’d never thought he’d have a chance with any woman, let alone with Pia.

  She cupped his balls, and, tightening her lips around his cock, sucked hard. He felt the tug as a sizzle that snapped and crackle
d its way through his body. Damned if she wasn’t trying to fry his circuits.

  Now or never.

  Brock wrenched away.

  “I wasn’t done,” she complained.

  “I almost was,” he said and rolled her over. Spreading her legs, he covered her sex with his mouth and lapped at her clit and pussy.

  She groaned. “This is okay, too.”

  Brock chuckled. It didn’t take long before he had her panting and thrusting her hips against his face. Scooting upward, he guided his cock to her channel and pushed inside.

  His hips swiveled as he plunged deep and hard. He feared he might be too rough, at first, but her moans of pleasure, the way she locked her heels against his ass encouraged him.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. His lids threatened to squeeze shut, but he forced them open so he could watch her come. Her eyes widened; a second later, the walls of her pussy fluttered before convulsing around his cock. Her face contorted.

  Brock groaned. Stars exploded behind his eyes. His body shook and shuddered as he pumped ribbons of cum deep into her channel.

  * * * *

  Pia cuddled up close to him, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her leg wedged between his thighs. Sleep tugged at his eyelids, but he refused to succumb, unwilling to miss a nanosecond.

  She sighed, a contented murmur that resonated within him. He toyed with the strands of her hair. So soft. So silky. So fucking amazing trailing across his dick. The memory threatened to make him hard again.

  Penelope hugged him. “You never did tell me what Pia stood for.”

  Well, that halted the arousal in process.

  He would never admit to her that Pia stood for Pain in the Ass. He’d take that secret to the grave. “Sure I did,” he lied with a little shrug of his shoulder. “Your initials. P. I. A.” With his finger, he drew them on her skin.

  “Why don’t I believe you?” She rose up on an elbow and narrowed her eyes.

  Because she was stubborn, tenacious, and too smart for Brock’s own good.

  Her expression grew solemn. “I couldn’t believe it when I entered the receiving room, and there you were. I thought I’d never see you again. And then you acted like you didn’t want to be there.”