Free Alien, Mine by Sandra Harris

closed behind them and she turned to him, and swallowed.
    Any chance you could put on a shirt?
    “You are uncomfortable wearing it?”
    What? Oh.
    “No, General, but with all due respect, I don’t think anyone’s going to mistake me for anything other than what I am.” She placed the medal on his desk.
    His steady regard held her for a long while.
    “Thank you for your consideration,” she said, “I am very grateful for your care.”
    He seemed to ease, relax a trifle, then said, “You are more than welcome, Sandrea. I wonder, would you care-”
    “General Mhartak?” Lieutenant Graegen’s voice emitted from the audio system.
    His mouth clamped together and a muscle flexed in his jaw.
    “Yes, Lieutenant, what is it?”
    “Could I speak to you for a moment regarding that report you requested?”
    What had Eugen been going to ask? Would I care to . . . what?
    Sandrea sat on the end of her bed turning her comb over and over in her hands. Her stomach grumbled at something she’d eaten at dinner.
    He’d seemed so serious.
    Her door chimes rang. She sighed at the unsolved puzzle, placed the comb on the small table, and walked to the door.
    “Eugen!”
    He gazed down at her with solemn eyes.
    “May I come in?”
    She stood aside for him. “What can I do for you?”
    His gaze landed on the comb and remained fixed. He placed the tip of one finger on it.
    “You . . . like the comb?”
    “I do, very much. Do I have you to thank?”
    He shrugged. “It seemed the very least I could do.” He paused for a long moment then swung suddenly towards her. His intense, green gaze caught her, held her.
    Warm pressure massaged her fingers.
    When did he take my hands in his?
    One of his hands reached up and threaded a tress of her hair through his thumb and forefinger. The muscles of his throat worked.
    “Do I . . . trespass?” he asked.
    Warmth from his closeness washed over her. The fresh, woodsy, cedar and citrus scent of him wrapped around her senses.
    Did he what?
    “Oh. Ah, no, Eugen.”
    He smiled. A hand drifted down her back, landed on her waist.
    Is it getting hot in here?
    He leaned closer, applied slight pressure to her back. She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest. With lush joy her palms and fingers absorbed the heat radiating through his shirt. Sensual tingles tripped down her arms.
    “Do I trespass?”
    His nostrils flared and his broad chest expanded.
    “You do not.”
    He released her hair and cupped long fingers along her chin. His thumb smoothed a gentle caress over her cheek. Her skin traced his touch with greedy, heightened awareness.
    “I would be honoured if you would consider me your . . . friend.” His deep voice entranced her senses. “Someone to turn to, to rely upon, to help you adjust.”
    Her body begged to lean into his. She denied it.
    Don’t read too much into this.
    She’d been a good distraction from work, remember? This might just be how Angrigan friends relate to each other.
    “Thank you, I appreciate that.”
    The wind of his long sigh brushed her neck.
    “Very well.” He took another huge breath and closed his eyes.
    She gazed at the wild beauty of his face.
    Have I jumped off the deep end?
    Her breasts ached for those big hands to cradle them again, for his mouth to explore their sensitive contours with wet, sucking caresses. How could she display apparent sanity after experiencing several mind-breaking events and then, given half a chance, want to tear the clothes off an alien she’d taken a fancy to?
    Maybe she was mad. Maybe the only way she could survive out here was to entertain a kind of mad sanity.
    His lids lifted, the message in his eyes warm, and then he smiled. Her heart did a crazy jig about her chest.
    “I apologize for interrupting,” he said.
    “I wasn’t doing anything.”
    “No?” The hand cupping her jaw moved and he traced a long finger down her nose.
    “No. You didn’t interrupt, the pleasure is mine.”
    He gazed into her eyes and her