Tail Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates (Tail and Claw Book 3) Read online

  The mention of the word skin short-circuited his brain. The rest of her speech dropped away, and all he could see was her exposed shoulders and bare arms. Human skin was thinner than Tal, and softer, or so he had heard. He had known many humans but had never touched anything more than hands or casual brushes. His hand rose, wanting to find out if the rumors were true.

  A swell rocked the boat. She clutched at the railing.

  “You appear nervous,” he said.

  “A little, yeah.” She rubbed her bare arm over the faint striations. “So, are we cool?”

  He had no idea why she inquired about the temperature. “Cool? We will not be overly warm on the water.”

  “Look, I’m giving you an olive branch here,” she said and extended her hand, the thumb and index finger pressed together as if she held an invisible object. His translation chip provided a ceremonial peace twig. She held an invisible twig.

  “I do not understand.” At all. Humans were so strange.

  She sighed. “It means a peace offering. I’m trying to apologize so we can move forward, but if you want to be all prickly about it, fine. I’m sure being trapped on a boat is going to be awesome.”

  Yes. Awesome was one word for it.

  Chapter 6

  Rebel’s mystery man? Pop star Rebel Cayne was seen on the arm of a suave, charismatic male who is decidedly not her more taciturn mate, Winter. Is Rebel looking to swap one Cayne for another?

  -Tal Tattler

  Marigold

  Boats sucked. They sucked big time. All those romantic stories about mastering the waves, enjoying the sea spray in your face as the wind carries you off to a new adventure?

  Lies. Dirty, filthy lies.

  The boat rolled up and down. It tipped from side to side, and each time Mari was convinced that she would be dumped into the water. No, the ocean. She’d never been more than knee-deep in the ocean. It freaked her out too much. Funky things lived in the ocean, way down in the cold dark depths, things that evolution forgot for good reason.

  The boat was so small and the ocean huge. Fine, it wasn’t a tiny sailboat, not that she had a frame of reference. It had seating and a deck at the front—bow?—and even a hatch to a covered room below deck. And they were within sight of the coast, so they weren’t traversing deep waters. Still. Not a fan.

  The sail swung about—she had no idea what the proper term was—and the entire ship tilted dramatically to the right as it changed direction. Mari screamed and clutched at the railing. If they capsized, she didn’t want to be caught under the awful sailboat, but she didn’t want to casually fall overboard into the sea.

  This was torture.

  “I’m so sorry I was a bad person in a past life. I’m trying to be good. I am,” she muttered under her breath.

  The boat lurched down. She breathed a sigh of relief, then it lurched in the opposite direction.

  “Why are you doing this?” she shouted into the wind.

  Fine, maybe she didn’t always try to be a good person. Maybe she felt prickly and less than nice, but why did she have to be nice? She didn’t steal or hurt people. If the universe was punishing her for a bad attitude, it could go screw itself. She had a nice big crystal the universe could shove up its behind too.

  The boat returned to an even keel. She breathed a sigh of relief, but her hand didn’t relax its grip on the railing. No way.

  A wave crested the side, dousing her in a cold splash. Saltwater went up her nose and in her mouth. She coughed and sputtered, convinced death by drowning was imminent. Her chest felt tight. She couldn’t catch her breath. Wet, the life preserver weighed her down like it would drag her to the bottom of the sea. She coughed again, gasping for air.

  Another wave.

  She scrambled back from the railing and headed for the hatch to take her below deck. In her haste, she slammed into a solid body. Yes, she screamed and maybe she was crying in panic because sailing was literally the worst. She could happily sit in a spaceship for ages, sailing the stars with only a thin shell of high-density carbon between her and the vacuum of space, but the ocean could go fuck itself.

  “You are well,” Winter said. “It’s just a little water.”

  Showed what he knew. It was a whole freaking ocean of water.

  “Can we go back?” she asked, voice trembling.

  “We’re an hour from port.” His arms rubbed her arms, warming her. The gesture was almost tender and filled with concern. “Can you not swim? You should not have come aboard if you cannot.”

  Ah. There was the prickly bastard she knew and, err, not loved but barely tolerated.

  “I can,” she said defensively. In pools, but the point held. She could swim. The ocean was so big and strange. “I’ve never been on a sailboat.”

  “Yes, so you said.”

  The boat leaned to one side.

  She gasped and clung to him tighter. Winter was a solid fixed point, a safe point. Did she think the ocean was merely strange? It was violent. That’s how it was in all the films. Wooden vessels were smashed to pieces on rocks and by giant squids, and they sank all the freaking time. You know what you crashed against in space? Nothing, because space was a vacuum. The amount of empty nothingness between objects was so vast that it took willful negligence to hit anything.

  “Come with me,” he said, taking her hands in his. He walked backward, leading her step by step down to the lower deck.

  He settled her onto a padded bench in what was a tiny room with built-in U-shaped seating and drew the curtain shut over the window. “Stay,” he ordered. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  The interior was orderly. The surfaces were clear. The cushions were fixed to the benches. It had to be tidy, she supposed, if the ship kept tilting back and forth.

  She listened to the wood creak, feeling green. Once she had been on a ship when the stabilizers failed. The entire vessel rolled and rocked, tossed about as if caught in a storm. The crew maintained calmness, even as passengers cried either in fear or from their injuries. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

  Winter returned. He unfastened the drenched life preserver and settled a thick towel around her shoulders. “All is well.”

  “Ohmigod, I can’t believe you’re such a liar.” She clutched the towel around her, already missing the reassuring weight of the life preserver.

  A low thrumming noise came from the depths of the boat. The floor seemed to vibrate underneath her feet. Biting her lip to keep from whimpering, she buried her face against Winter’s shoulder.

  He stiffened for a brief instant, then shifted to hold her against him. His large hands rubbed her back. “That is the engine. I disabled the sail, and the computer is sending us to the nearest port.”

  “No one is at the helm?” A ship without a pilot was more frightening than being tossed about on a stick of wood in an endless ocean. Computers were good enough for basic tasks, but a person needed to be there if anything went hinky.

  “Autopilot is on and Zero is at the helm.”

  “He’s a smart kid and all but—”

  “All is well,” Winter interrupted her, his voice a low, thrumming purr. It felt so nice to be held. Rocking back and forth gently in his arms, she couldn’t tell if it was the motion was him or the ship. He continued to rub her back, and the tension gradually lifted.

  A peaceable quiet stretched between them, the only sounds the water and the hum of the engine. It was almost nice. She had no idea he could be tender and kind, even though Zero had said as much. A man who would hold a frightened passenger until they calmed was not the belligerent snob the media portrayed him to be. This man was more than what had been written about him.

  He broke the silence with, “Why did you come if you’re afraid of the water?”

  “I’ve never been sailing. I’m trying to embrace new experiences that the universe gives me. Also, I had no idea that sailing sucks. No offense.”

  He huffed but sounded amused rather than offended.

  Footsteps thundered down the short flight of steps into the cabin. “What are you…oh.”

  Zero gaped at them, eyes wide in surprise. A slow grin spread across his face. “Never mind.” He turned and ran back up the stairs.

  Winter sighed. “I should check on whatever that was.” He hesitated. “We are ten minutes from docking. It is the nearest available port. If your stomach can handle a meal, we’ll eat before taking a transport back to your hotel.”

  “What about the boat?”

  His ears did a sort of swivel that looked all the world like a shrug. “I pay a fee and the rental agency will retrieve the boat. It is not a concern.”

  Great gas giants, it must be nice to have enough money to not worry about paying fees and losing deposits. This considerate side of him was unexpected and really nice.

  “Thank you,” she said with sincerity.

  His answering smile seemed just as sincere.

  Winter

  He rubbed the side of his face against the top of her head, marking her with his scent gland. It was wrong. He needed to stop, but she smelled of saltwater and sunscreen, sunshine and the wind.

  And now she carried his scent too.

  Winter rubbed a hand over his face, which was a mistake. The action only seemed to increase the intensity of her scent.

  He climbed onto the deck, taking deep breaths of fresh air to clear his head.

  “What is happening? Is Marigold well? Does she require assistance?” Zero fidgeted nervously, looking down to the cabin below.

  “She is not a sailor,” Winter answered. “We will cut our voyage short and dock, for her comfort.”

  Zero agreed. “I’ll bring her water.” He grabbed a cold bottle and dashed below deck.

  Hydration was a wise choice unless
the female was nauseated. Still, better for Zero to attend to his guest. Winter required a moment to clear her alluring scent from his nose.

  Damn it. Not alluring. Appalling.

  He was such a liar.

  The female—Marigold—was not unpleasant, but her face confounded him. It was so flat with her too-small nose. Her eyes were attractive enough, if a touch too round. They gave her a look of permanent surprise. When she spoke, she flapped her hands about as if communicating through a nonverbal language. It made it difficult to gauge the sincerity of her words.

  Amused? Flap, flap, flap.

  Angered? Flap, point, jab. The hand motions were unnecessary and, frankly, distracting.

  Incorrect, he realized, and reassessed his observations.

  Her fear had been sincere. There was no artifice in the way she clung to the railing like she might pitch over the side of the boat and drown. Rebel had been quite the performer. He never knew if her histrionics were genuine or a ploy for attention, and Rebel loved nothing more than attention. Winter did not have to question the sincerity of Rebel’s tears because he knew they were always false.

  Marigold…the way she clung to him. He felt the truth in the way her voice hitched and her breathing grew erratic.

  Something rumbled in his chest. Confused, Winter rubbed a hand on his sternum, wondering if the noise was hunger or…

  No.

  Attraction? Such a bizarre sensation, feeling attraction for the first time in years. He was not sure what to do with it. He wanted…

  The breeze lifted the brim of the hat, threatening to sweep it away, and the sun warmed his skin. The ship approached the harbor, and Winter focused his attention on safely docking the vessel. He’d examine his thoughts later and determine what the female did to make him want to protect her and soothe her.

  Must be a human trick. Those round eyes appealed to a tender spot inside him, and he did not like it. At all.

  “What’s the word, Captain?” Her question roused his wandering thoughts. She joined him at the helm, her hands visibly trembling as she clutched the towel around her shoulders.

  “You should remain below deck,” he said.

  “No, I don’t want to hide.” A soft sigh escaped her. “I’m terrified, but I’m going to do this.” She nodded. “I can do this.”

  “You may hold my tail if you like,” he said, surprised at his offer. “Frightened kits hold their parents’ tails. It is calming,” he explained. Adults touching another adult’s tail meant something else entirely. Then, because perhaps she did not understand that his intention was strictly chaste, “I am being a good host.”

  The boat leaned to one side. She gasped and pressed herself to his side. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. I’m going to do this,” she chanted.

  Unconsciously, his tail brushed the back of her calf. He managed enough self-control to stop his tail from curling possessively around her. She stood at exactly the correct height and size for it to fit her waist.

  He studied her, the way her head peeked up and she fixed on the approaching harbor. Zero talked her through steps the onboard navigation took to dock safely and she nodded along, asking the occasional question. She was frightened. He could hear her voice tremble her and her breath flutter, but she did not hide her face again. She met her fear head-on.

  “I cannot tell if you are stubborn or brave,” he said, at length.

  A laugh tore out of her, and the pure delight in it sparked something frozen inside him.

  He did not like it.

  At. All.

  The exhausted kit fell asleep before they arrived back at the farmhouse. Winter pressed his thumb to the payment pad on the transport and carried Zero into the house.

  “I’m awake.” Zero floundered, struggling to escape Winter’s arms and stand on his own feet.

  “Shower off the sand, then bed.”

  “I know. I’m not a little kit,” he said, tail sulky.

  “You’ll always be my little kit.” Winter kissed the top of Zero’s head. Then, moved by some strange cheerfulness, he gently nibbled on Zero’s kitten-soft ear, an affectionate gesture he had not done since Zero’s age could be counted on one hand.

  “Dad!” He squirmed, voice indignant but grinning. He rubbed his slightly damp ear like Winter had caused it serious harm.

  “Did you have a good day?”

  “I did. How was your day? Was it good? Did you like it when she held your tail?” His eyes gleamed with mischief.

  Winter’s mouth opened in disbelief. He never heard his kit utter such crass words. To ask about an adult’s tail, even his own father’s, was beyond rude. He wondered where he learned that and decided it had to be Chase.

  “Because that’s a thing little kits do,” Zero continued, the teasing confidence gone and growing more uncertain. “When they’re scared? You said that.”

  “Bed,” he said.

  “So to clarify, that’s a yes?”

  “You wanted to go to a bookstore tomorrow?”

  “Oh, yes.” Zero’s tail zipped with excitement.

  “Canceled due to rudeness.”

  “Dad!”

  “And all the books on your reader are canceled now too.”

  The muscles in Zero’s jaw tensed and relaxed, and his eyes narrowed. For a moment, he very much looked like his mother when they were about to have a screaming argument.

  “Fine. I’m sorry,” he said, surprising Winter, even if his tone was petulant.

  “About?”

  Zero sighed, his eyes rolling so violently to the back of his head Winter wondered if he were having a seizure. Winter’s heart lurched before Zero’s eyes resumed their regular position. He definitely learned that from Marigold, and Winter did not approve.

  “Joking about your tail? Is that what I did wrong?” Zero asked.

  “Do you think my ego is so fragile that I cannot handle a joke about my tail? You have met your Uncle Chase, correct? No.” Winter shook his head. Some males were sensitive about the length of their tail, believing it said something about their prowess and not a random chance of genetics. “Holding another’s tail is an act of trust. Do not joke on such matters.”

  Zero’s ears went flat, and he dipped his head. “Apologies. I did have a good day, and I like Merry-gold.”

  “Thank you for the apology, and I agree. It was a pleasant day.”

  He glanced up, ears and head still down. “I do not think Merry-gold enjoyed sailing.”

  “No, but she was excited for the new experience.” And he enjoyed holding her in his arms. “Bed. No more prattle.”

  “But prattle is my favorite,” Zero said, before dashing up the stairs. His ten-minute nap in the vehicle completely revived him. No doubt the kit would be up all night.

  “No books. That’s effective immediately,” Winter called up the stairs. He heard a groan in reply before a door slammed.

  Excellent. He’d put the encounter in the parenting success column.

  Winter felt restless himself. He showered off the sand and the salt of the day, then found himself in the kitchen with a glass of cold water. When Chase called, he accepted the call, despite normally ignoring his cousin.

  “What did you do to my bot?” His cousin’s voice boomed over the speakers.

  Winter shut the door to the bedroom for privacy. He sat on the edge of the bed and held the tablet in one hand. Chase stared up angrily from the screen. He had the same recessive coloration of cream and dark gray as Zero. People whispered that Zero looked more like his “uncle” than his “father,” and Winter wanted to smash each of their vicious, gossiping faces for such cruelty.

  “The hour is late here, and I did my job,” Winter replied.

  “Your job? I’m reading the report and this is a complete systems failure.” Chase waved a handheld tablet at the screen. “Did you dump it in the ocean? It’s not submersible.”

  “That was rain.”

  “Rain?”

  “Yes, rain. The weatherproofing is deteriorating in quality.”

  Chase made a half-hum, half-grumbling noise. It was the same noise his father made when displeased at being wrong but unwilling to admit it.