Havoc (3 page)

His searching fingers moved down to her ankles, felt around the tops of her boots, where an assassin might hide pin knives or darts. Finding none, he quested along her calves, the insides of her thighs. Sayal tensed. His hand lingered over her pussy, his palm hot and firm—surely, he didn't think she hid anything there—then moved on a second before she had reason to suspect more than a weapons search was under way.

For some reason, her body reacted to his touch. The panic, the adrenaline surging through her, made her flesh hypersensitive. Yes, that had to be why her nipples were peaking, pressing against the short carpet while he shifted again, straddling the backs of her thighs.

He drew back her hood, slid off the clip holding her hair, and threaded his fingers through the length. “Surely, Captain,” she said, hating the breathlessness in her voice, “you don't think I keep weapons in my hair."

"Stranger things have happened,” he replied. As if she were a rag doll, he flipped her again so she looked up at him where he straddled her. The position brought his crotch in contact with her dampening pussy, and she was glad for the black color of her suit, lest he see how her nipples had hardened. He caught her wrists and held them in one hand above her head. “Keep them there."

If he felt any arousal, he hid it well. His expression was as stony as ever. Spreading his fingers while she obediently kept hers clasped, he felt around her waist, over her belly, then, as she'd known he would, over her breasts. She swallowed drily as his palms skimmed over her taut nipples. No hiding them now. By the Fates, she hardly minded that the pads of his fingers lingered over the aching tips. The light pressure felt exquisite. It rippled down to her swelling sex, almost making her writhe. Yet she forced herself to lie rigidly, and he seemed unmoved.

"Open your mouth,” he said.

"What?"

He caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I said open your mouth. Gotta make sure you don't have any spit darts."

"Oh.” She did, and he inserted a thick finger, sliding it over her tongue, over her teeth, over her lips, wetting them as if in a kiss. Between that and the pressure on her mound as he moved over her, Sayal's head began to swim. Perhaps she'd absorbed more of that hool than she'd thought.

Abruptly, he tapped her cheek and got off her. “You're clean, at least clean enough for me."

He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “What did you say your name was again?"

"Sayal Iluma.” She got up on her own, refusing his hand, and discreetly straightened her bodysuit. As if there were room for a wrinkle. It hugged her like it was painted on, leaving little to the imagination. Where Keeva was all athletic power, this Sayal was slender and delicate. From her slanting green-gold eyes to her economic movements, she reminded him of a solar cat, grooming down a stray hair in a perfect, glossy coat.

Kels turned from her and straightened his dick in his pants. The little intruder had got him hard again, even after his workout with Keeva. Why, he didn't know. He was ferociously pissed at her, first for surprising him in his own cube, second and not least of all, for destroying his fog. All that good hool gone to waste.

He went to a side cabinet and pulled out a carafe of yare, not nearly as potent as hool, but it'd have to do. He had sorrows to drown. “How'd you do it?” he asked.

"Do what?” She stood tensely, hands closed at her sides.

"Sober me up. Jack?"

"Yes,” she said.

She lied. He didn't have the piercing headache that always followed jack, and his heart didn't race. She also didn't know there were no such things as spit darts, and for all that she had a fine Asaki blade in her possession, he'd taken it like candy from a baby.

No assassin, least not unless she was completely incompetent. Who was this little beauty?

Without asking if she wanted one, he poured her a shot of yare and handed it to her. Her hand trembled. Good. He liked her nervous. Gave him an advantage. If she noticed the hard-on she'd given him, she'd probably be even more jumpy.

"Why'd you break in? If you wanted to talk, you could've caught me at the bar, after the games. Anywhere."

"I needed privacy. What I have to discuss with you is for your ears alone."

She had an exotic accent he couldn't place. “I'm listening."

"As I told you, I need transport to the Conflict Zone. My research has shown you've traveled there before."

"Research?"

"Yes, Captain. You are not a random choice. I believe Fate has led me to you. You fulfill all the requirements."

Requirements? He didn't like the sound of that. Could be she was a winger, a religious zealot. He'd had a few run-ins with those. Screwball lot, best avoided.

She looked at him pleadingly. “I've also been told that you're a man of your word, and if anyone enters into a contract with you, you will honor it."

"I worried my reputation would catch up with me someday.” Honesty and smuggling were strange bedfellows, but no one would do business with him if he had a rep for running off with the goods.

He stepped away from her and sprawled in the trashed chair that came with the cube. He reached into his pocket for a cig and lit it up. When he offered her one, she refused. She still held her drink. There was no other chair in the room, and she shifted on her feet, clearly feeling awkward and exposed, which was exactly how he wanted her. Slouching back in his comfortable seat, Kels eyed her through the smoke. “It's a pricey trip to the Zone. Dangerous too. What's in it for me?"

Her chin lifted. There was a haughtiness to her bearing that made him wonder if she was a richer fallen on hard times. Hard times were bad, for her and for him. He wasn't at all surprised when she said, “I have little money now. But I promise, you will be paid."

He gave her a shark's smile around his cig. “Oh, luv. If you knew how many times I've heard that before.” He propped his boot on a low shelf and shook his head. “I work for money, payment up front, cold, hard iron. Me and my first mate have to eat. And if you haven't noticed"—he tipped his head to indicate the cramped, dirty cube—"I'm not exactly living the lifestyle to which I'd become accustomed."

She found a tiny ledge to set her drink upon, untouched. “Yes. I know how you lost your cargo on your last run. And how you gambled away the
Ash Nova
, hoping to win enough to repay your angry client."

"Then you'll understand why I have to refuse.” He stood to show her to the door. She held up her hand.

"Wait, Captain. Please, hear me out."

"I've had a long day, Sayal, and I'm not in the temper to entertain guests.” He crowded her back against the wall.

Her shoulders thumped against it when she stepped away from him, her eyes wide. Yet she held his gaze and said, “I can help you win back your ship. If I do that, then will you consider my request?"

He flattened his hand on the wall beside her head. “No."

"But why?” Her chest rose and fell swiftly. The panic practically dripped off her, but she didn't run.

"No captain would take you without payment up front. The Conflict Zone's hotter than ever, sweetheart. It might be a suicide run. And for what? What's your business there?"

"The games."

"To observe? Or participate?” With her fine bone structure and slinky body, she could compete, but she lacked the boldness she'd need.

"Participate.” She swallowed visibly. “With you."

"With me?” Disbelief turned into laughter. He backed off and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sayal, what in the seven hells would make you think I could compete in the high games? Or would want to?"

"I've seen you at the Dome, with your gamespartner. I thought your performance was adequate. Beyond adequate,” she amended hurriedly when he scowled at her. She stepped toward him. “I must gain invite to the high games. It's absolutely vital. Don't you see? With your ship and your experience, you—"

"Fulfill all the requirements. Yes, I see it now.” He pulled on his lower lip, shaking his head. “Sayal, my dear, I wish everyone had the confidence in my abilities that you apparently do, but let me assure you, this—” he waved his hand over his body—"is not high-games material. I'm not exactly known for my small ego, but I'm a realist."

"It's not true. Physical beauty is only one aspect of the games. Ability to orgasm, powerfully and repeatedly, and to bring one's partner or partners to orgasm is the most valued talent."

She
had
done her research. “And you'd be my gamespartner, is that it?"

"Yes.” She trembled noticeably, braving his frank perusal. He rolled his gaze over her, from her silky, straight hair the black of deep space, to her delicate face, ample tits, small waist, and long, slender legs. She was quite a gorgeous bird, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and began to walk in a circle around her, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. She twitched but held still. He slid his hand around her waist and felt her heat through the thin material of her suit. When he stood in front of her again, he smoothly bent to kiss her, but as he had figured she would, she flinched away.

Not lifting his head, he smiled. “Luv, if we're going to be gamespartners, we'll have to get used to each other."

She stepped out of his grasp. “Not until you give me a firm answer. Not until we've won back your ship. Until then, we do nothing."

Straightening, he dragged on his cig. “Hm. All right, I'll play along. How do we win back the
Nova
?"

"You wager for it. Jarouk. This time, I will help you."

"Help how?"

Her fingers clenched and unclenched, and her gaze dropped. Classic tells of lying. “I have a patch that will make you resistant to the jarouki toxin."

"Never heard of such a thing. How'd you get your hands on it?"

Those striking green-gold eyes flashed at him. A promising bit of temper there. “It doesn't matter. I have it, and it will help you win, without anyone knowing the difference."

"Well, luv, Ulvik's a mean old scrag. If he figures we've skunked him, we'll both be goners. Lucky if he just vaporizes us. More likely we'd be handed over to slavers. He's got that kind of humor about him."

"You must trust me. It's the only way."

"Ah. Trust.” He snubbed out his cig and went for his yare again. He was mellowing pleasantly and finding he liked the looks of this girl more and more. Certainly it'd be no hardship to fuck her, and it would be business. Keeva would understand. He wondered what Elion would think of this deal.

Surprised to find he'd already half accepted her proposal, he finished his drink in one gulp and tossed the glass onto his chair. “I don't do anything without consulting my first mate. If you're serious about this, meet us tomorrow at the Spiker's Lounge, around ten-hour. We'll talk details then."

She gave a brilliant smile. Saints, she could make a gelded Quitza come with that face. “Thank you, Captain. I knew you were the right choice."

He walked her the few steps to the door, one hand hovering at the small of her back. At the door, he set his hand on her waist, and she turned to him, aglow with her success.

"Now, princess,” he said, almost hating himself for dimming that glow, “I've not said yes yet. Don't get your hopes up. Elion's the sensible one. He'll most likely talk me out of this tomorrow."

"I cannot believe he would refuse the opportunity to regain your ship."

Kels cocked a brow. “There's no such thing as a sure thing. Besides"—he ran his palm down to her hip, pulling her to him—"how do you know we'll mesh as gamespartners? There's more to it than fucking. The best partners develop a bond, a deep one. High gamers are often life mates, you know."

Her muscles tensed, and she licked her lips nervously. He squeezed lightly, and what little space remained between their bodies disappeared. Their thighs touched, then their hips, enough that she'd feel his rigid cock pressing into her belly. Sayal put her hands on his chest, as if she might push him away. A pretty bird, indeed, but she gave every sign of being inexperienced, and that wouldn't do.

"I sense...” she began, her voice breathless, “we would do well together."

"Really?” Nudging a finger beneath her chin, he bent and kissed her, no gentle first exploration, but a full, wet sucking of her lips into his, his tongue sweeping, then demanding entrance, devouring her mouth while she made little mewling sounds and braced against his restraining grip. His other hand burrowed into her hair to hold her still. Sayal held stiff with shock. Then...yes...the moment of surrender. With a small sigh, she pressed up into his assault, her lips growing soft and supple, her breasts rubbing against his chest. He slid his tongue around hers once more and withdrew. Best to leave her wanting.

Her face was flushed, her breathing unsteady. Kels slipped his hand up over her breast and felt the firm nipple against his palm. She allowed it, though she looked about ready to bang out the door and fly.

Doubtful she realized what she was in for. In the sex department, he figured she was more talk than action, and when he moved his palm in slow circles over the tight nip, the nervous flutter of her lashes did nothing to dissuade him from that notion. “Have you done much gameswork, luv?"

"N-no.” She spread her fingers on his chest and closed her eyes, her lips wet and glossy from his kiss. Yeah, his cock would sure like a go at her. He was stone hard, burning for her. She let him play a moment more, then drew away, her eyes glazed, but her gaze steady. “No more of that until our deal is finalized, Captain."

Crossing his arms over his chest, he propped a shoulder against the door. “All right, then.” He gave her a critical perusal, careful to keep his expression cold. “We might be good fuck mates."

His coarse words made her frown, as he had thought they might. Still staring at him as if he might make a grab for her, she gathered up her hair and pulled the hood over her head. It hardly gave her any anonymity, he'd hate to tell her. With a body like that and those gemstone eyes, she'd stand out in any crowd.

"Until tomorrow, Captain Havoc."