WarriorsWoman (10 page)

After a few hours of recharging sleep, Lorcan slipped out of bed. Adding wood to the dwindling fire kept him busy for a couple of seconds before he tugged on his jeans and buttoned a thick, tartan-plaid flannel shirt over his bare chest. Leaving off his armor felt strange, but good. He carried his boots and crossed the room without a sound. Nigel followed close on his heels.

Lorcan eased the door open and slipped through after the cat.

Before he’d pulled it shut, Batzorg whispered, “Then ride me, little one.”

Don’t look, don’t look, no…
Lorcan’s eyes refused to obey, locking on Minka’s slender silhouette gracefully undulating atop Batzorg’s hips.

His retinas were etched with the carnal image and his cheekbones burned as he headed for the kitchen. Yeah, he would’ve done the same thing—twice if she’d been willing.

Grateful to keep busy, he focused on his new plan for the dough that he’d started yesterday. He fired up the stove, set the temperature to warm, and left the oven door ajar. Nigel tucked his limbs under his furry body and settled close to the oven, looking remarkably like a loaf of black rye on the tile floor.

Under the cat’s watchful eyes, Lorcan filled the kettle, set it on a back burner, and turned up the flame. A few minutes later, he turned off the oven and checked the temperature. Seventy-five degrees—perfect.

Nigel stretched and craned to supervise Lorcan setting two packages of sausage in a pan of hot water. While he checked the progress of the roast he’d set out to thaw yesterday, the cat lost interest and curled back into a ball.

One amber eye opened as Lorcan buttered a pair of cake pans and got busy on the filling for the dough. After tossing together chopped walnuts, brown sugar, cinnamon, mace, salt, raisins and a splash of corn syrup, he set the mixture aside to dig out aluminum foil. He tore off a rectangle, and laid it on the cool counter. Then he turned out the dough and kneaded the puffy mass into a silky ball, not quite as soft or sleek or warm as Minka’s ass, but for bread it was damn nice.

He whistled
Heavy Metal Hero
as he used the heel of his hand to flatten the ball into a tidy rectangle just short of the foil edges. With quick, sure spatula passes, he spread the filling evenly over the brioche rectangle and put the sticky bowl in the sink to soak. Using the underlying foil, he eased the mass of filled dough into a tidy log.

Leaving the rolled brioche dough to rest, he cubed a cup of butter, dug out a sauce pan, poured in a cup of sugar, added a half a cup of water, and simmered the mixture over a low flame. While the pan heated, he swirled the liquid until the sugar was completely dissolved. He paused to turn up the heat then added the butter one cube at a time and stirred slowly.

As the syrup boiled and colored he sped up the stirring, swirling the pan at the same time until the drops from the spoon were golden brown and thick. He worked fast while the syrup was still warm and pliable, pouring half of the hot sugar mix into each cake pan. After a few more minutes of cooling in the chilly kitchen, he added fat slices of the sticky, filled dough atop the syrup base. When the pans were full he set them in the warmed oven to rise for the next hour.

After poking around in the kitchen drawers, he found a vinyl red-checked cloth and covered the worn table. He added a fallen branch and a few pine cones circled fat red candles to make a decent centerpiece. Then he set two places with paper napkins, utensils, plates and cereal-sized bowls. The dinnerware was restaurant white, plain, thick and serviceable—a lot like him.

After a critical survey of his arrangements, he decided the table would do. There were plenty of other tasks waiting. Everything needed to be as clean and as perfect as possible for Minka.

He lost count of the times he’d refilled and heated water in the big kettle, washing, rinsing and drying until everything in the kitchen sparkled, including the window over the sink. Now that glass was clear he had a view of a pristine snow-covered forest and a sentry trail. Sometimes he caught sight of Vilmos trudging past on his rounds.

The next time the mech headed by, Lorcan filled a thermos with hot chocolate—Vilmos’ favorite—and hurried out to meet him. Before the back door shut, Nigel scooted through the gap and Lorcan gathered the cat in his free arm, crossed to Vilmos, and offered him the thermos.

“Thanks.” Vilmos stopped and poured a cup. After a few swallows, he sighed. “Wonderful, I appreciate it.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

Vilmos nodded. “However, I would burn the milk.”

“True.” Lorcan laughed.

“I made a shelter for Nigel.” Vilmos waved shyly toward a pile of fresh-cut boughs layered into a cat-sized lean-to on the sheltered southwest corner of the cabin.

Lorcan studied the neatly shoveled path leading the cat shelter. “What for?”

“Privacy. Set him down and see if he approves.”

The cat took his time exploring before he finally disappeared inside Vilmos’ improvised cat outhouse. Lorcan didn’t say a word about the litter box he’d set up in the carport.

The mind link opened, but Batzorg didn’t initiate a dialogue.

After a few seconds, Vilmos said, “She is a remarkable woman is she not?”

Lorcan had no trouble following his change of subject. “Sure is.”

A snort of agreement came from Batzorg.
Minka is even more amazing than I imagined.

When he and Vilmos both remained quiet, the triad leader continued.
Minka is free to decide when and who she wants to make love with. You are both free to court her, but I will not tolerate any form of coercion.

Of course not
, Vilmos agreed.

Lorcan added a heartfelt,
Thank you for sharing
.

Do not thank me. Minka decides, not me.
His tone said they should be damn thankful he wasn’t the one calling the shots.
Then he added,
You would both do well to remember Minka is destined to become one of the founders. While I cannot recall her husband’s name, she marries one of the men who formed the original colony of survivors. There can never be anything lasting between her and the triad.

I’m willing to settle for anything she’ll give me
, Lorcan tossed back.

Vilmos joined in,
I expect nothing from Minka
,
but I still dream.

The triad leader reminded Lorcan to take second watch before he ended the mental communication as unceremoniously as he’d opened it.

Cool, I’m going to do everything I can to seduce her.
Aloud, Lorcan said,
“I need to get back to the kitchen, since I’m relieving you in a couple of hours.”

By the time Minka came in everything was as clean as Lorcan could manage. Fragrant sticky buns were cooling, he’d brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and a hearty sausage casserole was ready to come out of the oven.

Nigel wove an affectionate figure eight around his ankles.

“Good morning.” She sniffed delicately. “Do I smell real coffee, heavenly pastry, and something rich, meaty and delicious?”

“I hope so or else I’ve wasted lots of time.” Lorcan winked and filled a mug for her. “Sorry, I can’t offer you cream, but there’s milk and sugar.”

“Black is actually perfect.” Minka reached for the coffee.

“Let me.” He set the mug on the kitchen’s small table and held out one of two ladder-back chairs. When she sat, he scooted her closer to the table, brushing a kiss on the tender spot under her right ear.

She shivered and a pretty pink blush colored her cheeks. “Thanks, big guy.”

Her use of his special nickname patched some more of the holes in his hope.

“You’re welcome.” He removed the casserole from oven and set the still-bubbling pan on a cooling rack, inverted one batch of sticky buns on a plate, then retrieved the bowl of pears he’d prepped earlier. After setting down the pears and pastry, he took both plates and dished up two generous helpings of the spicy casserole.

Plainly disgusted by the lack of sausage casserole for him, Nigel strolled over to Minka, rubbed her leg, and accepted a head scratch as due compensation.

Minka left to wash her hands and returned. When he stood to help seat her, she waved away his assistance. “Stay, I’m fine.”

She leaned over and scooped pear slices into both their bowls before sitting. Once she’d settled her napkin on her lap, she broke off a sticky bun and took a bite. Her eyes almost closed with pleasure and she made small noises of joy as she chewed and swallowed. “Oh my God, that is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Glad you like it.” A crooked grin stretched his mouth and he made a mental note to try to top the buns with tonight’s dessert. A chocolate bombe was his current choice, but he had eight hours of patrol to finalize his menu.

He made quick work of his share of the food, eating with the determined efficiency learned on missions when fuel was vital and meals subject to frequent, violent interruptions. A swipe of the paper napkin cleaned away any crumbs before he swallowed a slug of cooled coffee. He scooted his chair clear of the table, stood, and picked up Minka’s mug. “Let me heat it up.”

Two seconds later, he was back with a fresh, hot cup of the dark brew.

“Thank you.” Minka’s silver eyes tangled with his and locked.

From the corner of his vision he spotted a crumb by the edge of her plump mouth. He leaned in and licked it away. “Pastry flake.”

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

“More crumbs?” he teased, as his tongue traced the outline of her perfect lips.

Her pink tongue emerged and tested the rim of her teasing smile. “No.”

He captured her sassy mouth. His Minka tasted like sticky buns, coffee and something sweet and wild and uniquely her—totally intoxicating.

Yesterday he’d lightly predicted they would all fall in love with her, but he’d never dreamed his words would prove true quite so fast.

Chapter Six

Lorcan’s firm lips molded against Minka’s, demanding her surrender. She eased her mouth for him and his tongue slid in as smooth as sin. The man smelled wonderful and tasted better. Coffee, sausage casserole and sweet pear flavors swirled with his own dark, spicy maleness. She softened more and he plunged deeper with a blatant carnal intent that scorched her clear to her curled toes.

She burrowed nearer and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He placed a kiss on her nose, gently unwound her limbs, set her on her feet, and steadied her as he stood. “Time for Nigel to pay Vilmos a visit.”

He scooped up the cat. “Come on, buddy. I see a pine bough shelter with your name on it.”

After the rocky first meeting of the three mechs, she’d been charmed, delighted and turned-on more than she’d ever been in her life. A goofy-looking smile probably stretched her lips right this second, because her mouth still buzzed from the power of Lorcan’s kiss.

The mechs were spoiling her, and she loved it. A tough warrior, a tender scientist, and a great chef made a lethal seduction team. All of them looked like sex gods and stared at her as if her ordinary self was more irresistible than a bowl of hot, buttered, salty popcorn.

Her personal chef came back before her smile faded. He stomped his feet on the steps, entered and the door latched behind him with an audible snick. The look he aimed at her would’ve melted an iceberg. There was no chance she would stay cool and calm, especially not when she already sizzled with arousal.

With stunning strength, he lifted her and sat both of them carefully on the wooden chair. He arranged her with her thighs spread wide and dangling over the steely cords of his powerful legs. The damp vee of her sex pressed his massive hard-on. With her heart pounding a sexy backbeat of desire, she rubbed her slit against the heated shaft under the rough denim and his strong hands slipped inside her stretchy pants.

Since she’d washed her long johns and left them to dry in the bathroom, she was bare beneath her clothes. She reacted to his touch as if he’d flipped her on-switch to a higher setting. Her breasts swelled, her nipples grew stiffer, and her sex soaked the crotch of her pants.

A creak of protest from the chair reminded her how heavy mechs were. “Is this safe?”

“Safe in what way?” Lorcan’s talented fingers slowed.

“Uh, the chair. Will it hold both of us?”

He shrugged and returned to working her ass muscles into buttery bliss. “I think so. You and I together weigh less than Batzorg and he sat right here and drank a cup of coffee earlier. If it breaks, I’ll cushion your fall, promise.”

“I don’t want you hurt.” She felt a strange fierce protectiveness for him, actually for all three of the super-strong mechs. They guarded her, but were criminally careless about their own safety.

He captured her chin. “Mechs are tough. Don’t worry about me, hot stuff.”

Despite her concerns, his easy confidence was so sexy she relaxed on his lap and he returned to massaging her bare butt, until her muscles were as smooth and light as a wash of color.

As he continued to caress her ass, achy need built, tightening in her breasts and deep in her belly. She flushed, remembering Batzorg’s lovemaking a few scant hours ago. His hard cock had roused her and they’d made love until she was completely spent from an amazing climax. Afterward, he’d tenderly cleaned her sex, tucked her into the warm bed, and left her with a passionate kiss and a promise to see her soon. She’d drifted back to sleep and drowsed until the intoxicating aroma of real coffee and great food woke her.

How can I be this excited again so soon?

Yet here she was sucking Lorcan’s tongue like hard candy and rocking against his thick, steel rod of an erection that promised her total satisfaction.

He broke their kiss long enough to tug her tweedy oatmeal sweater over her head.

“I shouldn’t…” The words came out too breathy to convince herself, let alone him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He palmed one of her breasts.

Instinct arched her into his hand and pulled a groan of sheer erotic need from her lips. “No.”

Lifting her to her feet, he steadied her between his thighs and skimmed her pants down her legs. At his gentle pat on her ass, she stepped out of the puddle of fabric and kicked it aside. Both of his hands cupped her ass, pulling her closer and his head bent to tease first one nipple and the other with nibbling kisses. “You taste so sweet.”