Page 33 of Invasive Species
“Bit of paint here,” she murmurs.
When I finally dare to meet her eyes, they lock onto mine. The world narrows to this moment: cinnamon and the scent of paint, the press of her fingers on my cheek, the stuttering rhythm of our breathing.
I should step back, but… I don’t want to. This is it, the core of what she makes me feel, firing into fullness inside me. Just a few more moments, and I'll be able to isolate what it is. Roaring rushes in my ears, along with a crunch like the gravel in the yard.
Arra-bellah breaks the strange magnetism between us first, whipping her head round to stare up the track. She grabs my shoulders, yanking me down. I slam to my knees in front of her, surprised she would make me bow to her.
Then she hisses, “Someone's coming.”
ELEVEN
ARABELLA
Fucknuts,someone's bouncing a van down the track, the cheery colors of its side panels flashing between the budding hedgerows. It's the supermarket delivery, right on time.
A time I forgot to pass on to the aliens.
I hustle Gara further into the lean-to, backing him into the room I made and crowding after him. “It's the shop dropping off the food. Can you contact the other aliens quietly and tell them to stay out of the way?”
“I can try to attract Nevare's attention, but they'll hear the vehicle and hopefully stay out of sight.”
“Hopefully?”
His lips twist. “There is a chance they'll think it's a threat to you. An invasion.”
I chew my lip, thinking. But then I become hyper aware of… Gara. My breasts press against his chiseled chest, arms tangled with his, thighs radiating heat where we join. Each of his exhales brushes my cheeks, bathing me in his zingy scent like freshly squeezed lemon.
“Arra-bellah?” he practically growls my name, and it doessomething very, very primal to me, making my heart pound even harder.
“Gara.”
“The human delivering the materials is trying to get in the house.”
I spin around, brushing my hips against his. Gara lets out a low hiss like he needs to relieve pressure or he'll burst, but I can't focus on him right now. He's right, the delivery driver stands by the front door, ringing the doorbell with a frown on his face and scratching his salt-and-pepper hair.
But then Gara groans, and my attention snaps to him. At how he’s panting.
“You okay?”
He glares at me like this is all my fault. “Focus.”
“I am focusing.”
“Not on the right thing.” He glances over my shoulder, indicating the delivery driver.
“Depends on your perspective.” Because we are absolutely having a moment. At least, I think we are. All I can see is Gara’s gorgeous eyes, lined with lime green scales paling to pastel as I watch. Like he's warming up. If this was a Planet of the Pirate Prince story, he’d totally swallow and then press closer to me and say?—
“We need to obtain the materials from the human without alerting him to my crewmate’s existence.”
Right. Yeah. “Sorry, dude. Get rid of the delivery driver. On it.”
Springing to my feet, I approach the house. “Hi! How are we doing on this sunny day?”
The burly man grunts, already heading for the back of the van. “Didn’t expect you to come out of the shed. You Ms Arabella Jones?”
“Yep, that’s me,” I chirp, too loud, too bright. Keep itnormal. Keep him talking. “Bet you don’t get many deliveries out here.”
He snorts, unlocking the rear doors. “Not if I can help it.” A pause. “Took a detour for a bacon bap. Not much call for farm drops.”
