Correction, someone. These were living humanoid creatures. They were not things. They were people…kind of.
If she had known, Elle would never have agreed to this.
She moved along the glass, watching as his eyes followed her. At least there were still signs of life in those depths. She wished she could say something, communicate, find a way to judge his thoughts and his intent. Did he mean them harm? Was he seeking asylum? Why did his ship leave without him?
She wanted to tell him she was sorry.
Elle glanced along the white hall, listening for others. There was no one. The cameras were pointed inward at the alien, and they could not see where she stood along the edge of the glass. She placed her hand against the barrier, spreading her fingers as she gazed into his eyes. Alien facial expressions could not be expected to mimic human ones. His smiles might not mean happy. His frowns might mean joy. His black hair might be sensitive to the touch like tiny tentacles. He could have four separate hearts located in his limbs.
Well, okay, she knew that he had two hearts, the main organ and what looked to be an accessory organ located in the general vicinity of his chest. The scientists had scanned him while he was passed out upon intake and Elle had sneaked a look at the data.
Her eyes traveled lower to his stomach. The scans had not shown everything. He’d started to wake up, and they’d moved him into containment. There was no telling how human this alien really was.
Okay, seriously, am I mentally undressing the extraterrestrial?
The thought was supposed to be self-scolding, but it had the opposite effect. It made her more curious to see what he looked like naked. She had not been there when they’d changed him, and she couldn’t exactly ask Dr. Hanklen if the large alien came fully intact. With her luck, they’d get the idea to test out the full extent of his compatibilities with one of the two females in the facility—the rage-filled Dr. Petals or Elle. She doubted they’d send Dr. Petals in to seduce him. The woman had a permanent expression like she’d just ate a sour pickle.
As much as she mentally condemned herself, her body had a completely different reaction. It was interested in playing out this line of fantasy. What would happen if they threw her into the prison with him, vulnerable except for her own strength? Or tied her down so she couldn’t fight Mr. Blue’s advances? Would his looks be lusty? Would they be curious?
Her eyes went to his blue hands. They were large, five-fingered, but with dark nails. How would they look against her skin?
Elle’s breathing deepened, and she became acutely aware of her breasts as she leaned into the glass. She had seen his strength as he threw Larson like he didn’t weight nearly two hundred pounds. She needed to get out of the facility. It was clear she’d been cooped up too long if she was fantasizing about the alien.
There was something unexplained about him that called to her. Maybe it was his eyes, the soulful dark gaze that seemed so lost and sad. She knew what it was like to feel alone. Her adoptive parents had been awesome. They loved her and gave her a good home, but she wasn’t like them. There was still a part of her that wondered what life would have been like if her birth parents lived.
Her father was a hardworking man. Her mother was a homemaker who liked hosting dinner parties and fundraisers. Elle had another kind of drive. As an angsty teenager she’d found boxing, of all things. Somehow punching released all the pent-up emotions she carried inside. Then she found kickboxing. Then martial arts. Then survivalist training, which is what her somewhat boyfriend at the time called preparing for the end of times. She had thought it was Jimmy’s ridiculous conspiracy theory hobby until he bought her a fake ID package for her birthday—well, her “new” birthday—complete with a birth certificate, social security card, and licenses. After that, she tried to avoid him and he technically broke up with her when he found a woman with a bug out shelter and apocalypse supplies. He’d been very sorry.
Then the Milano Foundation found her, and for some reason, she found herself telling them her name was Ellen Sharp, instead of her real name Elenore Rollins. Strangely, under both her real and fake identifications, everyone shortened her name to Elle. Except for some of the mercenaries she worked with. They called her Sharp. She had to give it to Jimmy. Whoever made the fake ID was good. It stood up to scrutiny.
Only, what amused her at first ended up isolating her. No one she worked with knew about the real her. They thought she was Ellen, a woman with no family, the perfect employee because she had no ties to distract her. In many ways, she felt like an alien among the others in the facility.
Her eyes again strayed down the alien’s body.
She took a deep breath.
Fuck. She needed to get out of this stupid facility. Cabin fever was driving her to insanity.
Just as she was about to pull away and hide in her quarters, the alien moved.
She gasped, holding her breath as he stood. She glanced around, wondering if anyone was at the monitors to see what was happening. She kept her hand on the glass, not moving as she watched him step toward her.
His movements were slow, and her lungs began to burn as she waited to see what he would do. She forced herself to breathe. Those piercing eyes held hers and she couldn’t look away, couldn’t yell for help…not that she would.
“Hi,” she tried to speak, but her lips barely moved and no sound came out.
He stopped before her, towering over her five-foot-five height.
The glass had become warm from the heat of her hand. The alien tilted his head slightly forward. The backs of his fingers swept up against the glass and rested near where her breasts had been. She found herself mesmerized, leaning forward, wondering what he would do.
Could he read her thoughts? Had he known what she’d been thinking about?
The idea should have caused embarrassment, but instead she found her body reacting favorably.
She wanted him. For as wrong, crazy, and ill-advised as that realization was, she wanted him.
Elle pressed harder against the glass, squishing her breasts in her need to be closer to him. She wanted to see what he would do. She wanted to know if he wanted her. Would they even be compatible? She wanted to find out.
“Do something,” she whispered, her lips barely moving.
