TalsonsMatch Read online

  Talson’s Match

  Marie Harte

  Book four in the Talson Temptations series.

  Romec Talson is the last of his brothers to find a mate, and he’s in no hurry. So it’s a relief to check on the strange progress of one of the family’s shipping terminals on Earth, away from the manipulations of his happily mated siblings. The last thing he expects to encounter at Port Chase is the sexy woman of his dreams. A supposed human glaring at him with dark eyes—Otra, alien eyes. And then there are her accusations that Talson Shipping is running an illegal drug trade.

  Tara Drake has no idea why the stranger at her door makes her hot and bothered, but if he works for the Talsons, she wants no part of him. Unfortunately, her body has a will of its own. Learning she’s not human is just the beginning of the surprises coming her way. Because love has no rhyme or reason in the face of fate, Tara must make a choice to accept her destiny or deny herself true happiness.

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Talson’s Match

  ISBN 9781419935558

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Talson’s Match Copyright © 2011 Marie Harte

  Edited by Grace Bradley

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication July 2011

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

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  Talson’s Match

  Marie Harte

  Chapter One

  Port Chase, Earth 2112

  “Oh for God’s sake,” Tara Drake sputtered as she stared across the way into the neighboring yard. “That’s every night this week! Jonah Trotter, you have to be the horniest man alive.”

  She stared through her open window outside, through the oppressive heat, into the setting glare of Port Chase’s surprisingly beautiful sunset over a run-down, dirty section of the city. Once the reigning queen among southern Florida’s great communities, Port Chase had steadily declined as age, drugs and vice crept through its people like a wasting disease.

  Fanning the collar of her thin cotton t-shirt against her sweaty chest, Tara couldn’t help staring at Jonah Trotter as he stood outside one of the large warehouses. An Otra—a species of alien who’d landed on the planet hundreds of years ago—Trotter had the trademark black hair, olive-toned skin and dark eyes that flared to silver on occasion. Rumor had it the Otra were psychic, that they had differing abilities, which she found intriguing.

  She’d never seen an ugly Otra, and Trotter was no exception. Yet the contrast of the handsome man in his designer clothes, backed against a scum-laden wall in the shipyard while Sheila, a local prostitute he routinely bullied, went down on him both fascinated and repulsed her. How could a man so beautiful be so vile inside?

  She couldn’t help hearing his animalistic groans and grunts of encouragement, despite the fact so much distance lay between her house and the shipyard. She had a feeling Trotter somehow enhanced the sound, so she couldn’t help but hear him.

  “That’s it, Sheila, suck it harder. Yeah, baby, that’s a good whore. Take me balls-deep. Shit, yeah,” he gasped and began instructing all over again.

  You’d think he’d just shut up and enjoy it. She snorted with laughter, wondering when Trotter would stop these evening amusements. From what she’d noted, he had the stamina to go several times a night, seven days a week, and he showed no signs of slowing.

  It promised to be a long, long summer.

  Jonah Trotter ran Port Chase’s shipyard, and since the Talsons had taken over the dilapidated shipping service nearly six months ago, the area had only seemed to grow worse. More crime, more drugs, less order. Talson Shipping sat far enough from her home that she had some semblance of privacy. But lately, Tara could hear more and more commotion from her noisy neighbors. And when she peeked out her windows, she’d actually seen men moving furtively in the dark, exchanges of money and drugs right before her startled eyes.

  The woman on her knees between Trotter’s feet moaned loudly and brought Tara’s attention back to the amorous couple. She watched, curious to see how tonight would end.

  “Ah, the pull out,” she murmured, as he whipped his cock from the woman’s mouth and came over her face.

  Disgusting, but Trotter seemed to get off on it. The prostitute acted as if she loved it, no doubt earning her another gram of Majesty, Port Chase’s latest drug du jour.

  Glancing around at her meager belongings, Tara wondered why she just couldn’t make herself leave and join her brother uptown. No matter how many times she’d tried boarding up the place and moving out, something within her wouldn’t allow her to go.

  Too much hurt, probably. A magnet for pain, Tara had never been able to avoid it. The negative energy seemed to attract her, stirring the psychic power within her to heal. For years she’d been secretly curing lesser ills, making excuses to prolong physical contact until she could heal her unsuspecting patients. Lately, she’d been experimenting on plants and small animals. Lo and behold, she now had the greenest grass in lower Port Chase, as well as the healthiest tomcat in town.

  Chuckling at the thought, she met the nearby meow with a bowl of buttermilk.

  “Come on, Romec. It’s time to drink your dinner. Payment for that third rat you brought down today.”

  The black cat stared at her with gray-green eyes, an almost human expression of arrogance on his face. He purred under her hand and rubbed against her palm, then sauntered to his bowl and lapped at the milk.

  Romec, like the rest of the block, had adopted Tara the first day she’d moved into the neighborhood. The area hadn’t always been so rundown. Before Talson Shipping had moved next door, the prior tenant, the Barkins, had kept the area fairly busy in trade. Cargo from the alien planets Werfal 7 and Werfal 6 arrived daily, and the shipping company had needed help transporting, crating and even selling their goods.

  Old Man Rodriguez would sit on his porch sipping rum and Coke, telling stories about his great-great grandfather growing up in Mexico when the Otra had first been spotted.

  Otra—Spanish for other. She scoffed.

  “So what that they’re pretty?” she asked Romec, who ignored her in favor of the milk. “Not everyone likes tall, dark and handsome. And what’s with that glowing eye trick, anyway?” She’d noticed that on the occasions when Trotter was getting his rocks off, his eyes glowed as if lit from within. Silver beacons of gr
eed.

  In her entire life, Tara had never seen an Otra until she moved here. They looked human enough, if extraordinarily attractive. Most seemed taller on average. She’d never seen an Otra with anything other than black hair or black eyes, not that she’d seen that many. The Barkins had had a few working the docs. And though it was unusual to find Otra so far from the North, where most Otra were accepted and even welcomed, many found success in the not-so-friendly South.

  “And let’s face it, Florida acts like its own little country anyway.”

  Romec’s tail twitched in agreement. She stared at him, wishing she had as much joy living in the slums. If only she could heal this sorry little section of town and leave. Lord knew, Mannie had been all over her to move in with him.

  Her foster brother since the time she could walk, eight-year-old Manuel “Killer” Drake had adopted two-year-old Tara as his sister as soon as he’d spotted her. An unnamed connection she still felt to this day tied them. They’d moved together from home to home, from center to center, until he’d reached an age of independence and took Tara with him. Within two years he’d made a fortune boxing. Hell, he held the heavyweight championship three years running.

  Just yesterday he’d been pestering her to move in with him. After healing his hands and his jaw, she’d calmly, irrationally said no. Again.

  Tara sighed. “I must be crazy.” The loneliness gnawed at her, but she didn’t want to infringe on Mannie’s social life. She wanted someone to love and someone to love her. A man with morals, standards and physical appeal. For all that men seemed to like Tara, she’d rarely felt a reciprocal attraction. The few she’d slept with had been duds in bed, and her failed relationships and subsequent loss of arousal made her feel worse.

  A loud banging noise from outside startled her and she looked out the front window.

  The woman who’d been servicing Trotter stumbled across the porch, waving a gun like it was the Fourth of July. “This shit is so good.” She cackled, her fading beauty as washed out as the look in her dull, blue eyes. “Okay, Tara. Come here and die, and maybe he’ll give me another two grams.”

  Tara rolled her eyes. “Give me the gun, Sheila.”

  “No.” Sheila Farel, once a lovely young seamstress who lived several doors down, and now Jonah’s newest whore, staggered and aimed an unsteady hand at her. “Tonight I get the statue. I told Jonah about it, and he told me to bring it to him. It’s Otra shit, girlie. I told you so.”

  Anger spiked through Tara’s normal calm. “That statue healed you. I thought we’d agreed to keep it between us.” The ungrateful witch. Tara seethed, realizing she’d made a poor decision to let Sheila see her most prized possession, a small carved stone she’d had since she could remember. The last time Sheila and she had met, the woman had been out of her mind in pain, detoxing and nearly dying because of it. Needing to heal the woman before Tara went crazy from the psychic itch under her skin, Tara had distracted Sheila with the alien stone.

  Sheila had the grace to look uncomfortable before she glanced at the baggie sticking out of her pocket. Her eyes hardened as she looked back at Tara. “Sorry, but I need my stuff. I have to have it.” She teared up. “This Majesty is evil, I know. But it’s so good, too. Like the devil himself.” She laughed again, buzzing on her high.

  “If the devil were Jonah Trotter,” Tara muttered.

  Romec meowed again, then hissed when Sheila tripped and fell near him.

  Smart cat.

  “Fuck. Just gimme some credits and I’ll leave you alone. I’ll tell Jonah I couldn’t find you and the statue was missing or something.”

  Tara sighed. “Sheila, he knows where I live. My light’s on. He probably knows I’m here right now.” She paused. “How on earth can you have sex with him every night?”

  Sheila blinked and smiled. “That’s the easy part. That man is pure sugar, sweet and hitting as my Majesty.” She giggled. “A royal cock, yeah. He tastes so good. I just love it when he lets me swallow him.”

  Tara grimaced. “You need me more than you think.” The sour stench emanating from the woman, in addition to the ailing aura surrounding her, sickened Tara. The need to soothe, to fix what was broken, crawled over her skin. Without listening to Sheila another minute, she grabbed the older woman’s arms and held tight, ignoring the gun now pointed at the floor.

  Sheila struggled at first but grew weaker as Tara’s hold tightened. “That hurts,” she whined.

  “I know. But soon the pain will go away. And this time you’re leaving for good.” Her voice echoed as she focused her energy on Sheila and on the black, sparkling statue sitting by itself on a shelf in the living room. Made of black OQ, Otra Quartz, the palm-sized statue had been carved to resemble a woman, her hands spread out and uplifted, her eyes closed, a smile of peace on her lips. The object helped her concentrate, and she sifted more power through Sheila’s infected cells.

  Unfortunately, Tara started to feel the aftereffects of healing too quickly and too intensely. Crap. That Majesty really screwed with her ability.

  “Seriously, Sheila.” Tara had to clear her throat to continue. “No more Majesty. You need to leave here, to never come back. Never.”

  She hoped the push would stick. Ordering Sheila to stop taking Majesty hadn’t worked before. But this time, Tara felt an odd boost in her power, a spike of energy that felt uncomfortably foreign. Sexual.

  Oh hell. I hope it’s not a residual from Trotter. Her skin crawled.

  Trotter was hot. Hell, he was Otra. But evil clung to him like a second skin. The way he looked at her left Tara feeling raw and dirty. Weakness filled her limbs and she faltered to her knees just as Sheila straightened and blinked.

  “Go home,” Tara rasped. “And pack.”

  Sheila nodded and left without looking back. The door slammed shut in her wake.

  Unable to take much more, Tara toppled to the floor. In the distance she heard Romec meow, heard Sheila trip and curse in the front yard, and then her vision grayed before it lit up again in a nova of energy. Two male, piercing black eyes surrounded by a forest of lashes stared at her in astonishment, and then she blacked out.

  * * * * *

  Romec Talson ’Or Fal swayed on his feet and would have passed out had his brother not caught him.

  “Romy? Oh no. Roarke?” Jamie, his sister-in-law, asked with an urgency he could feel. “What can I do?”

  A small sneaker nearly unmanned him, and Romy groaned. “Keep Michael from castrating me. You sure that kid’s only two? He’s got huge feet.”

  Michael giggled. Jamie huffed and dragged his nephew away before he could do more damage. Romy blinked and looked closely at the controls of his brother’s personal shuttlecraft, trying to focus.

  Roarke growled, “That’s the third time this week. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  Romy accepted the chair his younger brother threw him into and tried to regain control of the situation. “You might be bigger than me, but I’m older than you.” His vision and faculties gradually came back and he grinned. “You’re not the boss of me.”

  “Not the boss of me,” Michael dutifully repeated.

  Romy glanced over his shoulder to see his nephew waving at him.

  “Don’t start that again,” Jamie warned and gave him and his brother a hard look.

  “Jamie, I’m handling him.” Roarke coughed to cover a laugh, his brown eyes twinkling. They waited until Jamie left with Michael for the back berthing quarters. Then Roarke spoke, “So okay. I’m not the boss of you. But I’m worried. What’s wrong? I’ve never seen you as off-kilter as you’ve been lately.”

  Romy shrugged, playing off the odd vision of a woman’s dark, lovely eyes. What the hell had that been all about? One second he’d been standing at the controls, enjoying the sight of deep space with the sound of his nephew giggling in the background. And then, pow. “Who knows? Weird stuff is always happening to me. I have a lot of power bouncing around in my genius brain.”

  “Geniu
s? You wish.” Roarke snorted. “Most Otra have one or two abilities. Since mating Jamie, I’ve been able to share my emotions with her without even thinking about it.” Jamie was full human, a rare woman with a hint of psychei in her make-up. She’d fallen in love with Roarke—a half Otra, half human who’d possessed a muted sense of psychic energy. Or at least, he had been muted, until he’d found his other half. “Funny thing. Michael already shows signs of a power.” He sounded proud of the fact.

  Romy nodded. “He’s a strong little guy. Probably stronger than you are already, weakling.”

  “Smartass,” Roarke muttered. “So how many abilities are you up to now, super freak?”

  Romy shrugged.

  Roarke glared. “Spill. Last I heard, it was six.”

  “Yeah, around that.” It was more like eight, but he didn’t like counting. Every time Romy tried something new, he found to his amazement a capacity to handle more and more psychei—that universal energy inherent in all things, but especially in Otra. The humans called it extrasensory perception. Not a bad definition, but it couldn’t encompass that whole mass of seething energy that tingled in the air.

  Roarke stared. “Does Dad know?”

  “Some. I had to bribe Z to keep him quiet.” His older brother gleefully threatened to tell their father about Romy’s abilities. Apparently his siblings thought he’d gotten away with too much in his younger years and now needed to be babysat by their father. “And before you ask, Val’s so caught up in Rowe and his little Iris that he hasn’t had time to bother with me in a few months.” Romy eyed the hallway through which Jamie had passed. “You ought to pay more attention to your wife. Another child would give me a nice break.” He glanced back at his brother and stared hard at the aura dancing around Roarke’s head. A vision of a sweet baby boy greeted him. “Ah. Yeah, that’s a stellar idea. Name this one after me, why don’t you?”