The Star King Page 9

  “I could get used to this,” she confessed.

  His mouth curved as she paused to clean and dry her fingers. She glowed inside with his smile, and felt her belly contract when she entertained the insane thought of kissing him. Not that he would waste his time with a rookie like her. He was a man of galactic experience. If she were a male guest, he’d be regaling her with tales of conquests and sexual prowess. “I think you must have had adventures to fill ten lifetimes,” she said.

  “Twenty.”

  She laughed softly. “Tell me some.” She lifted her glass of liqueur. “Like this. Why is it so special?”

  He settled onto his side and balanced one arm across his upright knee, a move steeped in lazy, graceful sensuality. “Star-berries grow in only the most inhospitable locations. The berries in this bottle came from a planet that sits between two red-giant stars. It knows only eternal sunset and freezing temperatures, except for a very brief summer. When the snow melts, the star-berry bushes bloom. Magenta flowers stretch to the horizon. And the fragrance”—his pale eyes glazed over with the recollection—“some say it’s as intoxicating as the liqueur itself.”

  Without a second thought, Jas dipped her fingertip into her glass of pink-tinged fluid and stroked the essence of that frigid, faraway land across his lips. His eyes darkened. Seeing his response elicited a shivery, long-forgotten yearning. A tiny alarm sounded inside her, a warning, but she chose to ignore it.

  “The flowers are extremely fragile,” he began again, watching her intently. “They fall with the first flurries. The ripe berries must be picked shortly thereafter, because within days they’ll be buried under hundreds of feet of snow.”

  Basic feet measured longer than Earth feet, making it even harder to picture so much snow. “Does anyone live there?” Jas asked.

  “Butterflies. And the harvesters who fly in for the summer. All vanish with the first snow. But it gets cold long before that.” He glanced away. “You can’t imagine how cold.”

  She thought she saw him shudder, but she couldn’t be sure. Astonished, she spread her palms flat on the table, leaning forward to scrutinize him. “You were a harvester?”

  “For a time.” His eyes flashed with something she couldn’t define. Secrets. She would bet he was full of them. And contrasts. His self-assured, aristocratic grace implied good breeding, yet he was a trader and part-time smuggler. His crew clearly worshiped him—his mere presence commanded a room—but his cocky attitude and disregard for Vash rules gave the impression that he didn’t give a damn what others thought. “You are not what you seem, Rom B’kah.”

  His voice was quiet, frank. “Nor are you.”

  They offered each other more food. Jas found that the ever-changing tastes, the nuance of textures, the heightening of the senses, made every touch and smell and murmured bit of conversation incredibly erotic. Warm fingertips lingered. Hands caressed. It seemed so natural when, at last, their lips came together. She didn’t know who reached for whom first, but she was in his arms and he was kissing her, almost lovingly, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Honeyed warmth spread through her. She wrapped her arms over his shoulders and angled her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss. His tongue was velvet, stroking hers in an endless caress. Desire coursed through her with an intensity she’d felt only in her dreams.

  She never imagined that a kiss alone could be this blissful…this arousing. Fingers skimmed across her throat and collarbone, and she longed for them to reach lower.

  He lifted his mouth from hers and kissed his way to the hollow under her earlobe, lingering there. She hunched her shoulders. No man had ever lavished such attention on that spot, one she never knew was so sensitive. Toes curling in delight, she arched her neck and bit back a sigh, twisting restless fingers into his thick, mink-soft hair.

  Again his mouth found hers. This time his kiss was hotter, and hard with passion. Distantly she sensed that his ardor was intensifying. Unease flickered through her as he expertly maneuvered her onto her back, his lean, powerful body molding to hers, his muscular thighs holding her in place. Only now did he begin to explore below her neck and shoulders. His fingers glided up her thigh, slipping past the elastic band of her panties, kindling a breathless carnal urgency. Suddenly she understood that his technique of limiting his touches had been a cleverly erotic way of teasing, of intensifying her need for more intimate caresses. “Oh, Jas…my sweet angel,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “Now we will make love.”

  Chapter Six

  For reasons Rom could not fathom, Jas stiffened. Instinctively he transferred more of his weight to his arms and nuzzled the side of her throat, murmuring her name and sweet, soothing endearments until she relaxed. Closing her eyes, she answered his whispers with breathy sighs, reacting to the simple caresses as if they were his most expert moves. Her unschooled response, her genuine appreciation of his every touch, aroused him beyond anything in his experience. She was no pleasure servant, of course, and was not raised as a Vash Nadah, so he hadn’t expected her skills to be honed. But her apparent innocence in the ways of lovemaking unsettled him with a soul-shaking carnality.

  Perhaps that is her intent, an inner voice warned him. To drown your wits in pleasure before you gain the answers you seek.

  It was a risk he’d gladly take.

  Rom molded her bottom to the curve of his palm, felt her warm, pliant flesh. Utter heaven lay between her thighs. Groaning softly, he raised her hips and eased her legs apart, fitting himself, swollen and aching, against the inconsequential wisp of her undergarment. Her moist heat embraced him, and somehow seared him through the fabric of his pants. Eager to remove any barrier between them, he tugged on the undergarment. Again she went rigid, grabbing his hand. “Don’t.”

  An Earth word, but there was no mistaking its meaning. One thing a Vash Nadah man did not do was force himself on a woman. Though he had little to do with his old life, the teachings of his ancestors guided him to this day, and would remain with him until his last breath. Dazed, he sat up, untangling his limbs from hers.

  She almost stumbled as she stood, studiously avoiding his gaze as she yanked on the hem of her wrinkled skirt. Bewilderment dampened his thrumming desire. Frantically he reviewed the past few moments in his mind. Had she found his embrace distasteful? Clumsy? Surely not. He prayed not. Most likely her uneven grasp of Basic had caused her some confusion. He patted the rumpled pillows next to him. “Sit. The evening is not over.”

  “Oh, I think it is,” she said crisply.

  “Ah, just as I suspected, a translation problem. Lovemaking is the traditional end to a fine meal.”

  Nodding, she clasped her hands primly in front of her. “Like dessert?”

  He nodded. She rolled her eyes. “Rom, I came here to show you the benefits of the commerce agreement. I hoped you would find it useful, if not of great value. I thought that was what you wanted, too. Or did you invite me here only to…to—”

  “To make love to you,” he finished helpfully.

  She fixed him with a narrow-eyed, contemplative gaze. “You are honest. That is a point in your favor. Good night, Captain B’kah,” she said with sardonic formality. “I enjoyed your hospitality. And your food.”

  He opened his arms in invitation. “The most exquisite delicacies are yet to come.”

  She made a small squeak. “You are amazing.”

  “Some have said that, yes.”

  Her gray-green eyes flared with inner fire. For a moment she looked as if she were struggling for inspiration. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Finally she threw up her hands in frustration. “Basic! Totally useless. A million words for an act of trade. And not one to put you in your place.” Spinning on her heel, she marched past him.

  He went after her. She stopped at the double doors, and he tipped his head to peer into her eyes. Ah, how her spirit and independence invigorated him. “You don’t need words to ‘put me in my place,’ Jas. I’m already there.” He lifted a tendril
of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. “For tonight I am with you.”

  Almost imperceptibly, her pupils enlarged. An untrained observer would have missed the subtle signal. He did not. An odd sense of longing filtered through him—for her reaction to be one of attraction, not fear. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he wanted her to feel as he did. “Stay,” he said quietly.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Many reasons.” The fleeting anguish in her haunted eyes pierced his soul. “None of which you would understand.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  She turned slightly, revealing the rapid pulse flicking in her throat. “I have dreams…dreams that haunt me, and leave me exhausted for days afterward. I am walking in the desert, searching, never finding…and when I wake, I feel empty, as if I left someone behind.”

  Great Mother, Rom thought. Could she be reliving their encounter in her sleep?

  “I have so much in my life,” she said with feeling, her accent even more pronounced. “Yet the emptiness does not go away. I do not want to spend the rest of my life feeling this way. So I came here, to space, to maybe find what I am missing. I want to feel alive again. I want adventures—like you’ve had.”

  “I suppose I’ve been around the galaxy a few times.”

  “I envy that.” She studied him, her gaze contemplative. “I want that.” Slowly, deliberately, she flattened both hands on his chest. Her husky voice mellowed into a somewhat uncertain but nonetheless seductive murmur as she tilted her chin up. “Kiss me, Rom,” she whispered. “Just kiss me.”

  His heart leaped at her blatant longing. Weaving his fingers through her dark, silken mass of hair, he covered her mouth with his. She made a muffled cry and locked her hands behind his head, kissing him back with a soulsearing sensuality. It was a fiery, desperate mating of hot, hungry mouths and searching hands, and his senses spun gloriously. Precisely the kind of uncontrolled passion you were trained to rise above, warned the combined voices of his father and the generations of men before him. She’s undisciplined. Dangerous.

  And all he’d ever wished for.

  She pulled away before he could react to the explosive revelation. “I’m sorry. I’m not as adventurous as I thought.” Tears in her eyes, she hit the entry control panel with one shaking hand. The double doors coasted open, revealing a darkened corridor. Then he watched her disappear into the shadows, her pale, bare feet a silent blur atop the alloy flooring.

  Gann inquired the next morning, “Tell me, old friend, was your night with the Balkanor angel everything you hoped it’d be?”

  Rom frowned at the bowl of breakfast stew in front of him.

  Gann gave a quick, astonished laugh. “No! Tell me it isn’t so.”

  Rom ground his teeth together. “Tell you what?”

  “She exhausted you!”

  “Control yourself,” Rom implored under his breath. “These are private concerns, and not for the crew’s ears.”

  “Or the woman’s, I take it.” Gann waved his arm at the emptying mess hall. “Don’t worry. She’s gone. I joined her for breakfast as she was finishing. But I couldn’t wrest a scarran’s seed of information from her about last night. She seemed to be in good spirits, though. Very talkative.” He gestured to his cheeks. “Her color was high, too. The look of a well-satisfied woman. A Vash Nadah–satisfied woman.” He peered at Rom speculatively.

  Rom glared back.

  Gann smacked his open hands onto the table. “Hell and back! She refused you. A first, eh, Rom?”

  It was, but Rom would be damned before he’d admit it. The men sitting nearby rose. With a clatter of utensils, they handed their dirty bowls to the day’s assigned kitchen crew before leaving the room to attend to their duties. Mulling over last night’s fiasco, Rom stirred a hefty spoonful of dried Mandarian pepper flakes into his stew. The evening had taken a toll on him emotionally and physically. Command of his body and emotions was bred into his very bones. But with Jas, he’d fought—and nearly lost—his ability to maintain it. Just as he had on Balkanor. The knowledge shamed him.

  A warrior must never allow his desires to take precedence over those of a partner.

  Gann broke into his sullen thoughts. “You have the look of a man obsessed.”

  “Finding out why that woman helped me live when I was better off dead is good enough reason for obsession,” he snapped.

  “Give it up, B’kah. She has nothing to tell you.”

  “I was beginning to feel the same. Until she mentioned having disturbing dreams. Within them, I think, lies my answer. I must switch tactics.”

  Cradling a cup of tock in his hands, Gann asked, “To what? Other than wrestling her out of her clothes.”

  “A game of Bajha.”

  Gann choked. “You’re joking.”

  “No. In fact, I intend to hunt her down this very morning and invite her to the arena.”

  “This is one match I’ll be content to watch.”

  For the first time that morning, Rom smiled. He looked forward to joining with Jas on a level far more intense than simply physical. “My regrets,” he said, swallowing. “But for this I cannot allow spectators.” After a purposely drawn-out pause, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned forward. “Some games, Gann, are best played in private.”

  After breakfast, the solitude of her quarters brought Jas no peace. She worked on her upcoming travel itinerary, adding to her list of questions to ask the men at the next meal. Many concerns were still unanswered: how to get transportation once at the Depot; what types of accommodations were available; how to exchange her salt for currency.

  She threw down her pen. Most of the time making lists soothed her. But not today. Not after last night.

  As was her habit at home, she sought electronic distraction. Using a keyboard that was a flat, touchactivated surface labeled with radiant Basic runes, she logged on to the ship’s computer, just as Terz had taught her. A display of current mechanical anomalies sprang up. A balky gravity generator, a couple of seized aircirculating fans, a broken cargo panel—she skimmed the items and found nothing to interest her. Moving on, she navigated through a vast realm of knowledge, until she came to a file entitled Trade History. She read further. If she knew more about Vash history, then maybe she could better understand Rom and his effect on her.

  The first passages described the galaxy eleven thousand years in the past, on the eve of a cataclysm known as the Great War.

  Eventually technological evolution outpaced spiritual evolution. Societies that had existed for eons crumbled. Disease, endless famine, and fear caused by selfish warring kingdoms spurred a complete collapse of civilization. Warlords took control by renouncing spirituality and the Great Mother, and by condemning those who embraced sexuality for reasons other than procreation.

  The account smacked of propaganda, but even pondering the events objectively, she knew that the distant past had been dark and dangerous.

  Eight brave warriors banded together and vanquished the evil. Their vow to never again bring war to the galaxy formed the basis of the Vash Treatise of Trade.

  “‘Motherhood is revered,’” she recited from the excerpt in a hushed voice. “‘The family is holy. Sexuality is to be celebrated, for sacred is the joy found in pleasing, consensual sexual relations between a man and a woman.’” Closing her eyes, she thought of the way Rom had touched her, held her…

  Shuddering, she pressed two fingers to her lips, recalling the kisses they’d shared, so enthrallingly tender and passionate that the mere memory made her long for the more intimate ways he could give her pleasure. Most shocking of all was that she’d responded to him with instinctive carnality, almost as if such passion had been inside her all along.

  But she’d run away, frightened by that discovery and the feelings Rom evoked in her. Magical. Like her damned dreams.

  And dangerous.

  The one time she’d let magic cloud her reason, she’d acted
rashly, and it had spelled disaster. Embracing logic was the only way to keep from getting hurt again.

  She pushed away from the desk. By now most of the crew would be gathered on or near the bridge. She was in need of a little distraction, some company; she would even brave Rom’s company—she swallowed—should he be there. She walked confidently through the darkened corridors and emerged into the brightly lit area alive with the sounds of conversation.

  “Ah, Jasmine,” Rom called to her. “I have something for you.” Rising from his usual seat, he opened the bottom drawer of a console crammed full of computer hardware and produced two excruciatingly familiar, black suede high-heeled pumps. Holding them easily in one of his big hands, he announced, “You left these in my quarters last night.”

  Heat rushed to her face. Mortified, she glanced at Gann and the rest of the bridge crew, then expelled a hiss of breath. “I do not believe you.”

  Rom appeared genuinely taken aback. “It is the truth. Regretfully you left with everything else intact.”

  “That is not anyone’s business.”

  “I most certainly agree.” Spreading one broad palm on the center of his chest, over his heart, he said, “Commerce would pale in the blaze of your kisses.”

  Six pairs of light-colored eyes watched her expectantly, diluting the effect of Rom’s compliment. Flashing a stiff smile at the men, she thrust out her hand. “Give me the shoes.”

  “You are not pleased. Tell me why. You are a woman. I am a man,” he recited, as if quoting the teachings she’d read earlier. “And everyone knows that the traditional end to a fine meal is—”

  Jas made a small choking noise.

  “—making love. Sex in its myriad forms is yet another form of sustenance.”

  I was only snacking, doll. Look, I came home for the main course. Jas flinched as Rom’s words brought back the bitter memory. As Jock’s admission of that first affair echoed inside her, every fiber of her being wanted to flee the bridge. But she stayed, riveted in place, exposed, while that scene played out inside her: Jock’s teasing attempt at making up; how she’d stubbornly dammed her tears to avoid upsetting two inquisitive five-year-olds in the middle of a fast-food restaurant. But Ian had known somehow, recognized the pain his father’s dismissive words had brought her. She’d never forget how Ian looked, a little boy with a cardboard Burger King crown propped crookedly atop his head, a knight-in-shiningarmor look on his face. He’d been her champion.