Parallel Desire Read Online Free PDF Page A

rolling tumbleweeds. Unless you counted the bars; too many bars for so few people, at least by her reckoning.
    During their short drive, he'd made it pretty clear that there was something she had to understand about his situation down here in south Texas. One thing was obvious: He had no intention of obeying their king's directive to return to the main base.
    "So what is all this?" She reached for the wallet, but he caught her hand roughly.
    "Before you open that, I need to explain." He bent down slightly, lowering his hefty shoulders in order to meet her gaze head-on. "You should understand what you're seeing."
    After months alone, Jake was clearly relieved—more than he'd ever willingly admit—to debrief her on his activities. "Go on," she urged.
    His bright green eyes narrowed with an almost predatory glint, and he gave a brisk nod, turning toward the desk. He jabbed a finger at the wallet. "I took this off of Tierny the night he killed my wife."
    "Hope." No way would she let him objectify the situation. She'd been through enough grief and loss to last more than three lifetimes, and understood the temptation to depersonalize. "You took it from Tierny the night he killed Hope ," she clarified.
    "Yes." He leaned a little closer, his large shoulder brushing against hers as he bent to open the wallet. "The night of Hope's murder, this was all that remained of the man who did the deed. This wallet and"—he braced both hands on the desk, slowly rotating his head until their gazes locked—"this body."
    "So you killed him … took his form because he'd killed her?"
    Jake swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing wordlessly. Finally he whispered, "Payback."
    "I understand payback, sir." He cut his eyes at her continued use of the formality, and she lifted a hand. "Jake, I'm sorry, but it's danged hard to relinquish the chain of command."
    His shoulders sagged and his grip on the desk tightened. "If you need to call me sir , then do so, Shelby."
    "I'm more comfortable that way."
    "So long as you have a clear handle on the facts."
    "Which are?"
    "That I am not the man you're convinced I am. I changed after Hope's death, after taking this body"—he tapped his chest—"and this man's identity. You can't understand it; you're not Antousian."
    She couldn't help but flinch, and she saw the instant regret in his eyes when he stood upright again, backing away slightly as he continued, "I'm sorry to remind you of my genetic heritage and am well aware of how distasteful that must be for a Refarian such as yourself."
    She shook her head dramatically. "I ain't got no problem with you."
    His eerie green eyes filled with unexpected amusement. "What is the deal with this accent of yours, Shelby? This way of speaking? 'I ain't'? You studied human language, the same as me, and the emphasis was on non-regional dialects."
    She felt her face flush; if only the man knew. If only he could understand why she spoke the way that she did. "I perfected my English down this way, sir. That's all."
    "I'm not buying it."
    Shelby bent over the desk, reaching for the wallet where it rested just beneath his hand. "Give me this thing, okay? I'm ready to find out what's really going on here."
    "Tactical avoidance." He chuckled, a low rumbling sound that would have turned on any woman this side of the Rio Grande, and plenty more on the other side, too.
    She avoided his electric gaze, focusing on the wallet. "No, sir, but I have a mission here, and I'm keen to fulfill it."
    "A woman with a purpose," he purred with a sly, seductive smile. "I like that."
    Scott Dillon, through and through, no matter what name he goes by , she thought. Ever the purveyor of his masculine charms. Still, she was fairly certain his tone was more show than anything else; the sadness in his eyes was much too obvious to indicate otherwise.
    "Give it to me." She yanked the wallet out of his grasp, but he caught her hand, and for an infinite moment nothing mattered except the