Page 44 of Naughty List Delivery
“Decades?” His voice is still rough from the medical procedures, but there’s strength returning to it, along with that familiar hint of mischief that makes my pulse skip despite everything we’ve been through. His enhanced body temperature is rising as his metabolism returns to normal, radiating alienheat that cuts through the medical bay’s processed chill. “Is that a promise or a threat, sweetheart?”
“Both,” I say firmly, but I can’t keep the smile out of my voice. The fear that’s been wrapped around my chest like durasteel cables is finally loosening, replaced by something warmer and infinitely more dangerous now that I know he’s going to survive.
The medical team finishes their assessments and files out, the lead physician pausing only to note that his enhanced healing has exceeded all projections. We’re alone now in the recovery bay with its soft lighting and the quiet hum of healing technology. Through the viewport, I can see Mother’s medical ship maintaining steady course toward the nearest STI facility, but we’re no longer racing against time and failing physiology.
“The regeneration matrix shows full integration,” I read from the medical display, mostly to hear good news spoken aloud. “All critical systems stable. Enhanced healing factor operating at ninety-two percent efficiency and climbing.”
“Ninety-two percent,” Ober repeats thoughtfully, shifting carefully on the medical table as he tests his mobility. His movements are fluid again, controlled, the deadly grace returning as his body repairs itself. I can see the exact moment when he realizes the crisis has passed, that he’s genuinely out of danger. His scent shifts too—less of the sharp metallic edge of pain and trauma, more of that wild spice and engine oil combination that makes my hindbrain purr with recognition. “Getting stronger by the hour.”
“Don’t push it,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it. Just relief and growing awareness that we’re alone, he’s recovering, and the adrenaline of crisis is slowly transforming into something entirely different.
When I lean forward to check the readings on his chest monitor, I catch his familiar scent beneath the antiseptic—wild alien spice and engine oil and something fundamentallyFelaxian that makes my hindbrain purr with recognition. His alien warmth draws me closer, my body instinctively seeking the heat that means safety, home, everything I’d convinced myself I could live without.
The proximity is dangerous. This close, I can see the way his pupils dilate slightly as he watches me move, can feel the subtle vibration in his chest that isn’t quite a purr but suggests his Felaxian biology is becoming very aware of my nearness. His enhanced body heat seeps through the thin medical gown, and I realize with a flutter of panic that he’s not wearing anything beneath it.
“So,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that makes my skin tingle with awareness despite the medical setting. “Nurse Noomi. I have to say, I could get used to this level of personal attention.”
“I’m not a nurse,” I point out, but my hands linger as I pretend to adjust his blankets, fingertips brushing against the warm alien skin of his shoulder. His enhanced body heat seeps through my fingers, traveling up my arm like liquid fire. The contact sends a jolt through me that has nothing to do with static and everything to do with eighteen hours of thinking I might never touch him again. “I’m a courier who’s been terrified for eighteen hours that my partner was going to die before I could tell him—”
“Tell me what?” His amber eyes lock on mine with predatory focus that has nothing to do with hunting and everything to do with the way he’s always been able to read exactly what I’m thinking. His pupils dilate further, and I catch the subtle shift in his scent that means his alien biology is responding to my proximity. There’s something darker beneath the wild spice now, something that makes my breath catch.
“That I kept it,” I whisper, my hand going automatically to my throat where his grandmother’s crystal pendant hangs beneath my courier jacket. “Your Christmas gift. I never got rid of it. Evenwhen I hated what we’d become together, I couldn’t let go of what we could have been.”
Something flickers in his expression—surprise, hope, recognition that the woman sitting beside his medical table is finally ready to stop running from everything that scares her most. His tail, which I’d almost forgotten about during the medical crisis, moves restlessly against the medical table with subtle sounds that speak to growing awareness. The tip flicks in that particular way that means he’s thinking thoughts that would make me blush if I could read his mind.
“Show me,” he says quietly, his voice rougher now.
I pull the chain from beneath my jacket, and the crystal catches the medical bay’s soft lighting like captured starlight. Three years of hiding it, three years of lying to myself about what it meant.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, but his eyes are on my face, not the pendant. The way he’s looking at me makes my skin flush with heat. “Mine.”
The single word sends a thrill through me that reaches everywhere. His hand comes up to trace the crystal where it rests against my throat, fingers warm against my skin. The touch is light, but there’s nothing gentle about the possessive way his fingertips linger against my pulse point.
“I’m done running,” I whisper, and my voice comes out breathier when his thumb strokes across the hollow of my throat. “From you. From this.”
The communication panel chirps with an incoming transmission, and PIP’s cheerful voice fills the medical bay: “Noomi! Wonderful news—”
“Not now, PIP,” I say quickly, hitting the privacy lock that dims the comm panel. My attention is completely focused on the way Ober’s breathing has changed, the way his alien heat seems to be reaching for me despite the medical equipment betweenus. His tail has moved to wrap around my wrist, the touch casual but unmistakably possessive. The scaled appendage is surprisingly warm, and I can feel the subtle flex of muscles beneath the surface as it tightens just enough to make me very aware of its presence.
“Actually,” Ober interrupts, his voice carrying that predatory tone that means he’s done with pretense, “I think there might be areas they missed during the examination. Areas that need my personal physician’s immediate attention.”
Heat floods my cheeks as I catch the intent in his amber eyes. “Ober Kraine, you are absolutely shameless.”
“I’m a patient with very specific needs,” he replies, his tail sliding up my arm with deliberate intent. “And you’re the only one qualified to treat them.” His voice drops to that register that makes my insides clench. “The question is, are you brave enough to handle a patient like me?”
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him, but I’m already moving closer to the medical table, drawn by the challenge in his voice and the heat radiating from his skin.
“Strip,” he says simply, watching me with those predatory amber eyes. “I want to see what’s mine.”
The command sends liquid fire straight through me. “Here? Now?”
“Especially here. Especially now.” His tail tightens around my wrist, not painful but unmistakably controlling. “I’ve waited three years to see you again. I’m not waiting another second.”
His tail guides my hand to rest against his chest, where I can feel his twin hearts racing and the alien heat radiating through his skin. The medical gown does nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal, and there’s a tremor in his chest that has nothing to do with injury.
“Touch me,” he commands softly, his amber eyes locked on mine. “I need to feel your hands on me. Need to know this is real.”
My hand slides down his chest, feeling the way his breathing quickens under my touch. The medical gown has gaps where the fastenings don’t quite close, and my fingertips brush against warm alien skin that feels like silk over steel. When I trace the edge of his bandages, he makes a sound that’s purely predatory.
