Lunar Heat: 1 (The Heat Series) Read online

  The breeze carried his tantalizing male scent to her nostrils, and his gold flight suit molded to his wide shoulders and reflected the glow of sunlight. His wet blond hair, cut military short, slicked back and emphasized his chiseled cheekbones. A chest wider than her ocean suggested the guy was in shape, possibly dangerous. No, definitely dangerous.

  She shivered.

  “You’re cold.” His gaze noted the goose bumps on her skin. All of her exposed skin.

  Suddenly, having bought such a skimpy swimsuit on her last shopping trip to Bali seemed like a bad idea. With her shoulders bared and her cleavage and flat stomach exposed, plus the low slung bottom that formed the tiniest of triangles over the essentials, she felt as if she was offering too much of herself.

  Stepping back felt like retreat. But she didn’t care. Needing a moment to regroup, Shara moved farther into her boat, opened a locker, and tossed him a towel. Grabbing a robe, she thrust her arms into the sleeves and tugged the belt tight.

  Plucking two bottles of ice water from the cooler, she kept one, untwisted the cap of the second, and offered it to her guest, who had yet to make use of the towel. “I’m Shara Weston.”

  “Cade Archer.”

  Cade held her glance and introduced himself as if he’d never heard of her or the scandal. That raised her impression of him a notch. However, he might just be in too much pain for her name and face to register—or he’d grown up under a crater in the lunar tunnels. Otherwise he’d undoubtedly have connected her with the celebrity whose face had frequently been plastered across vidscreens during her scandalous heyday.

  “Thanks for . . . saving my life.” Cade accepted the water bottle without letting his eyes drop to the open V-neck of her robe, or mentioning that she’d covered up, winning another point in his favor.

  “No problem.” She twisted off the bottle cap, took a healthy swig. “You a pilot?”

  “It’s one of my skills.” He downed his water in several long gulps, then neatly recapped the bottle with only one hand. She’d bet the man had lots of skills. Dangerous skills.

  Stalling to get her nerves back in control, she sipped more water. And summoned courage. She had every right to find out who and what he was. Yet when he focused his stare on her, questioning him wasn’t easy.

  Her acting skills might be rusty, but she was pleased she could still sound cool and casual when her heart was pounding. When he didn’t volunteer more information, she raised an eyebrow. “So exactly how did you end up here?”

  A muscle clenched along his jaw. A hint of something feral and painful came through in his flat tone. “I was shot down.”

  Not an accident? And somehow he’d survived when that crash should have broken every bone in his body.

  “Where’s your ship?”

  “A missile disintegrated my spacecraft.” Was it her imagination, or had she heard a soft growl beneath his polite tone? And why couldn’t she place his accent?

  Disintegrated? Was that why she hadn’t seen any burning metal falling into her ocean? Not that she was complaining. It had cost a fortune to convert the abandoned mining asteroid into a luxurious replica of a South Pacific paradise. The last thing she wanted was debris polluting her reefs and upsetting the delicate eco-system.

  She supposed there was only one reason he hadn’t disintegrated with his ship. “You ejected before your ship was hit.”

  His eyes sparkled with interest. “Safe guess or experience?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve read a lot of scripts.” She made note that he was sparse with the details, especially the back story, when other men might have spun out a tale to fascinate the ladies. She’d have to be direct.

  “I haven’t heard of a war breaking out. The Martian colonies have been quiet. The rebels on the Moon have finally made peace. Even the scientific colonists on Io and Europa have joined the Solar System’s Alliance.” She fisted her hands on her hips and raised her chin. “Where are you from? Who shot you down?”

  2

  “You’re asking for classified information.” Cade craned his neck to search the sky yet again, as if fearing something or someone was after him. But Shara’s artificial atmosphere blocked his view of outer space.

  Classified? Shara wondered if that meant he was Space Force. He certainly seemed alert, wary, and watchful and possessed the cocky demeanor of military pilots she’d met. Even his squared shoulders and straight spine fit the military mold. “Did you take off from a—”

  “That’s classified, too.” His tone sounded clipped, dangerous, menacing, but he delivered the words softly, almost with regret.

  “You’re just full of secrets.”

  “You have no idea.” Cade turned his intense eyes on her, his attention all the more interesting for his attempt to ignore the pain in his shoulder.

  Careful. He wielded his full intensity on her like a weapon.

  She capped her empty water bottle and tucked it into her trash. “You keep looking up. Expecting your wingman to rescue you?”

  “I’m alone.” Although she sensed a banked violence in him, he hadn’t directed it at her. Still, no matter how interesting his circumstances, she didn’t like the idea of having an uninvited stranger on Haven.

  Especially one so compelling. Especially when she had no idea why she wanted to brush her fingers over his shoulder to soothe him. Take care of him.

  But until a supply ship stopped by, she didn’t have much choice unless she left him in the middle of her ocean. “Let’s get you back to my house and take care of that shoulder.”

  He turned irritated sea-green eyes on her. “You haven’t been listening. I’m fine.”

  “I heard. You said that your shoulder’s fine.” All of him was fine. So fine that her pulse was racing.

  Shara moved to the bow of her boat, pulled up the anchor, and secured it on deck. Irritated by her reaction to him, her sarcasm got the better of her. “In fact, you’re so fine you’re in Olympic gold medal form, no doubt able to sprout wings and fly back to wherever you came from.”

  He let out a soft chuckle, then winced. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Your pupils are dilated. When the shock wears off, the pain will likely increase.” She started the motor, turned starboard, and set a course for her dock. When she noted his keen interest in a gorgeous stand of royal palms, she spoke with pride. “Haven used to be a Lamenium mining colony.”

  “Lamenium. I’ve heard of it.”

  “It’s a rare mineral used to fuel ships that fly to the other planets.”

  “This place sure doesn’t look like a mine.”

  “About a century ago, the ore gave out. The cone’s still there.” She pointed to the mostly treeless mountain on the far end of her island. “Since then the asteroid’s been sold and resold. Eventually I bought it and turned it into a water asteroid with a tiny island, about three hundred acres. I generate water, gravity, and atmosphere. With the sea life, flora, and fauna I’m almost self-sufficient.”

  “You own all of this?” Cade moved into the co-captain’s seat, careful to avoid jarring his arm.

  Why didn’t he know that? There wasn’t a newsvid in the Solar System that hadn’t run holovids of her asteroid. Grateful for her acting skills, she masked her concern with a smile of pride. “I bought Haven from a nervous seller. When the south end of the island rumbled and shot Lamenium ash into the sky, I convinced him to sell the asteroid to me.”

  Cade’s gaze scanned the southern peak and returned to rest on her, his eyes full of curiosity. “You aren’t worried the Lamenium will blow up?”

  “The Lamenium is dormant. It’s safe.”

  “And the salt in the sea? How did it get here?”

  Such an odd question. She glanced over her shoulder at him. With the wind ruffling and the sunlight glinting off his hair, he almost appeared the beach stud. The gold flight suit emphasized his sculpted body. But a tension in his eyes gave away that he was more.

  “The salt came with the water and
sea life I imported from the Pacific Ocean.”

  As she navigated through the reef and along the shoreline, she watched him peruse the scenery. His gaze took in every detail: the papaya, mango, and breadfruit trees, several varieties of coconut palms, and dense tropical plantings full of ferns, palmettos, and banana plants. Wild chickens, iguanas, and turtles roamed the island, but Haven housed nothing dangerous. Or it hadn’t until he’d arrived.

  He assessed his surroundings with more than a casual eye. “Would you consider selling your asteroid?”

  She shook her head. “This is my home. To me, it’s paradise. No press. No trick-or-treaters. No nosy neighbors.”

  “You live here all alone?” he bristled. With protectiveness? Or maybe he wanted to turn the asteroid into a luxury resort and resented that one woman should own so much?

  She hesitated, then nodded, seeing no point in lying when he’d see for himself soon enough.

  “Don’t you fear space pirates?”

  “Haven’t seen any.”

  “What if you have mechanical failures and your gravity goes out?”

  “There are back up systems.”

  His tone deepened. “And if you get sick or hurt or lonely?”

  “I have my vidlink.”

  “Vidlink?”

  “Sure, my device had to be adapted to the asteroid, but with a flick of my wrist, I can talk to friends on the interweb.” She thought his focus on her isolation odd and added, “I have a laser pistol to ward off danger.” And a vibrator, but she kept that fact to herself. In every important way, she could take care of herself. “I also have instructions on how to set your shoulder. Unfortunately for you, I don’t keep painkillers on hand.”

  “Why not?” For an extra beat, he studied her face with an enigmatic expression.

  “What I don’t have, I can’t ingest.” She kept her tone light, noting a wry but curious glint in his eyes as her thoughts veered to the thirty-year-old bottle of scotch she kept on her mantel. Many a night she’d taken that bottle down, played with the seal—but it had yet to be broken.

  She’d love a drink right now—to take the edge off a disconcerting day. The Chivas had been a present, one that tested her willpower, and the still sealed bottle proved she remained strong enough to resist temptation.

  The afternoon’s sun began to set in the west. Thunder clouds moved in. The breeze kicked up, and the sea responded by spewing whitecaps. In deference to her injured guest, she kept the boat speed slow and the bouncing to a minimum. However, by the time she’d entered her tranquil and protected cove on the lee side of the island to dock, Cade’s bronzed face had paled to a sickly white.

  After she secured the boat with a line at the bow and another at the stern, he carefully climbed onto her dock. He clenched his teeth against the pain, his breath coming in sharp grunts accentuated by a soft hiss. He staggered, and two deep lines of worry appeared between his eyes.

  Taking a quick step to his good side, she slipped an arm around his waist and tried not to recall how long it had been since she’d last touched another human being. His skin was warm, his physique beneath firm, his bulk heavy.

  “Think you can make it to the house?”

  His knees collapsed, and she took the brunt of his weight on her shoulder. Clenching her jaw, she focused on staying upright.

  “Sorry,” he muttered and stiffened his legs. With her arm around him, she could feel his every muscle tense.

  Shoving her shoulder into his armpit, she tightened her arm around his waist and half-carried, half-dragged him toward her house. The masculine scent of him filled her head, but he was so big, so heavy, that she told herself that the effort to support him was making her heartbeat race.

  There were no feelings for him behind her actions. She simply didn’t want him to die on her asteroid.

  “You can make it to the porch, can’t you?” she coaxed. “One step. That’s right. Now another.”

  Cade was a muscular, rugged man. She gripped him tightly, and her arms ached and her legs shook.

  “Stop.” He spoke with calm authority. “I’m too heavy for you.”

  “Soon,” she promised. “Soon we’ll stop.” Together they covered the last dozen yards until he shuffled to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps.

  “You’ve done enough.” He sucked in air through lips pursed with pain. “If I fall, I don’t want to take you down with me.” With a grunt, a groan, and a growl of pure pride, he propped his good arm on the railing.

  Shocked that he could show concern for her in his condition, she reached for him again. “Let me help.”

  “I’ll do it.” He gently shook her off.

  The stubborn, beautiful man dragged himself upward. First one painful step, then another. Those ten steps cost him. And when he reached her porch deck, his legs buckled.

  She lunged to catch him and barely eased him onto a chaise lounge before he passed out.

  Shara didn’t attempt to wake him. Hurrying into her home, she automatically wiped her sandy feet on a braided throw rug before treading across her wooden floors into the library. This was where she read scripts for A-list actors to help them decide whether to accept or turn down a proffered role. This was where she corresponded by vidlink. That connection and the occasional rocket ship’s deliveries kept her in touch with friends and clients.

  She waved her hand, and a holographic directory popped up from her vidlink. “Medical section. First-aid. Shoulder out of joint.”

  The machine clicked and displayed directions in a holographic visual display. “Print.”

  She retrieved the printout and then her first-aid kit from her bottom desk drawer. With a scowl, she stopped by the fireplace to pluck the Chivas from the mantel.

  She’d promised never to break the bottle’s seal.

  But did it count if the hooch wasn’t for her?

  Shara snatched a glass from her kitchen and returned to her front porch to find Cade once again conscious, but lying in the exact same position in which she’d left him. The sun had set, and she flipped on a light. He didn’t turn his head, but followed her movements with his eyes. His chest heaved, and his breath sounded raspy. His color remained wan. But his expression looked alert and wary. Watching her. Staring.

  Unnerved, she pulled up a chair beside him, opened the Chivas, poured three fingers into a glass. The rich golden color and the savory scent made her mouth water, but she ignored her burning yen for one quick sip.

  Instead, she lifted Cade’s head with one hand. His hair was silky, soft to the touch. She tipped the rim of the glass to his lips with the other. “Drink.”

  He sniffed. Took a gulp. And sputtered, his eyes astonished. “Are you trying to poison me?”

  She fought back a chuckle. How ironic that he didn’t like the taste of the scotch that she had to fight against downing. “Chivas will ease your pain.”

  “It’s meds?”

  “Sure.” He’d never heard of alcohol being used to dull the senses? She placed a hand on his forehead to check for fever, but at the sudden flare of heat in his eyes, she jerked back her hand as if burned.

  Really? That’s your reaction to a simple touch and eye contact?

  She had to calm down. Forcing her hand to steady, she held the glass to Cade’s mouth again. “Drink some more.”

  He sipped and swallowed, screwing up his eyes but downing the alcohol. She kept the glass to his lips until he’d drained it. When he lay back, he mumbled, his tone low and husky. “Mmm. That wassssn’t ssso baddd.”

  Wow. The alcohol must have made a beeline from his gut to his brain. She supposed it was too much to hope the booze would work that fast on his pain as well. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Goodd ’nuf to hold you.” His voice, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of interest through her. A ripple she was determined to ignore.

  So what if lately she’d been yearning for conversation—one that wasn’t by vidlink? So what if she missed chatting about her day during a walk or
over dinner with someone who cared? So what if she missed touching and being touched?

  Annoyed she wasn’t immune to his drunken allures, Shara sighed, needing a distraction from the totally hot, totally yummy, man on her lounge chair. Her fingers itched to check out his chest, to explore the texture of the blond hair, to examine the V of pure provocation where his collarbones met honed muscle.

  Cade hiccupped and then spoke slowly to enunciate each word with the excess care of the inebriated. “You like looking at me.”

  She did. She liked the feel of his firm skin over chiseled strength. She liked the smell of the salt in his hair. Those two things were enough to make her salivate.

  But even worse was her sudden desire for company.

  “I was trying to figure out if you’ve injured more than your arm.”

  “Liar.”

  Shara knew better than to argue with a drunk. Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her eyes and studied the print out.

  “Can you fix me?” he slurred.

  With a sigh, she focused on the instructions. The sooner the arm returned to the proper position in the shoulder socket, the sooner it would heal. She had to do this. The closest doctor was a long shuttle ride away.

  “Give me your hand.” She moved her chair back to the correct angle.

  Jaw thrust forward, Cade shook his head, his profile strong and rigid. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

  She didn’t argue. Leaning forward, she picked up his hand. He had the calloused fingers and roughened palm of a man who worked with his hands. Gently, she raised his arm.

  For a moment, he scrutinized her, as if looking into her soul. She thought he would jerk away. Then he let out a long slow breath and nodded.

  “Ready.”

  Following the directions, she placed her bare foot under his armpit, on his ribs.