Honey Moon (12 page)

Oh God—how could she be so…risqué? Waste any amount of what little money was left that Sam had given her. For what possible reason, assuming she didn’t get popped the moment she approached the shuttle so that no one but morgue employees would know what she’d done, could she expect Sam Dexter would want a second helping? A more prolonged one that’d involve clothing coming off?

Odds were Sam had smoothed things over with the goddess at the bar. He’d have run his fingers along the woman’s slender arm, rested his other hand dangerously high on her thigh, bent to her ear and murmured magic. The uptight beauty queen would have melted, and slipped her manicured fingers into his hand as he convinced her that the short, disheveled slut who’d scurried out of the bar was a nobody he’d barely touched and wanted nothing more to do with.

‘Never contact me again. Stay out of bars and far away from me.’

Jenna’s fingers clenched and the bodywash lurched out of her hand. She barely felt the micro-thin tube whack her on the toes as thoughts ran wild, stirring her anxieties into a tempest no teapot of a frazzled mind could contain for long without going mad.
Hellsbells. I’m acting like a teenager.
She heaved a sigh and tapped the five minute cool down then shut-off for the water, wishing she could turn off the spiral of insecurity as easily.

After telling his fiancée what she needed to know to help him save lovers worldwide, Sam would have whisked the woman home to their bed. Then, come morning, to follow their full moonlit night of more passion any girl had a right to be entitled to—
was he on top, alongside, behind, beneath her right now?
—he’d escort his purring bride to the shuttle.

Once the image of Sam Dexter went live over the Net as a hero, the pair would flee to the most erotic honeymoon suite Earth had to offer, paid for courtesy of billions of admirers. He’d sweep his bride, dressed in swirls of white, up into his arms while grateful families clapped and cheered. In the room, he’d kick the door closed with his heel and undress his bride slowly, pin her down and work that thick, skilled cock into the luckiest woman alive for hours of intense lovemaking. Any fleeting memory of a five-minute screw in a public restroom would be long gone. He’d occasionally think of Jenna as that hooker whose name he didn’t know, the fool who’d showed up at the launch as an unneeded, unwanted, ignored third wheel.

I’m such an idiot.

Yeah, well, so what. I’m involved, whether the perfect couple wants it or not.

She pushed her sleep-deprived body out of the shower and stood on the vent centered in front of the mirror. A tap of her finger to the side of the sink activated the dryapp. The tube came down, and a couple of toasty minutes later, water drops had evaporated from head to toe.

The moment she stepped away from the sink to wrap a robe around her, the com buzzed and her stomach roiled. The easy part was finished. Now she needed the balls to deal with the other insanity she’d ordered up. Legs shaking, she headed out of the bathroom and tapped the link on the com-desk. “Is this…the Love Center Rep?”

“Yes. Open up before I get mugged.”

Her breath froze when she heard the voice. She swallowed hard, struggling for more than a squeak to pass her lips. “Um…I expected a woman.”

“Listen, dearie, if you don’t let me in, it won’t matter what gender I am. I’ll be against the wall out here with my pants down. You can’t leave merchandise this dangerous standing in a dank corridor…”

Why, oh why did I do this?
The man grumbled on while she tightened the belt round her waist and dragged her feet to open the door a crack. Her heartbeat stopped. The guy—a representative who supposedly provided an expensive service sponsored by the LC—was the most attractive and scariest thing she’d ever seen as he shoved his open-toed sandaled foot—with sparkly, iridescent nail polish, laced in thin red straps—against the door to force his way in.

A full-length, hooded black duster folded on his arm and a large sky-blue bag in hand, the man stood half a foot taller than her. Soft purple hair with pink highlights floated about his muscled frame. He blinked at her where she was rooted to the floor and allowed her a chance to gawk as a smirk played about his lips.

Pulled into four, loosely plaited pigtails, his glistening hair tumbled to his knees. He’d look effeminate if not for his lean face, masculine jaw, thick brows and the intricate blue and green inked vines running from his cheekbones, curling around his neck and into the sapphire leather shirt glued to a sculpted chest. Black pants hugged his groin, advertising what promised to be all male, no enhancements.

The guy was gorgeous and his smug grin told her he knew that he had her heart racing. She flinched. “Listen. There’s been a mistake. I didn’t…shouldn’t have called you.”

He stared at her from sparkling, violet eyes and she tumbled into them. “There, there. Don’t be afraid of me, sister. I’m here to help.” He raked his intense gaze over her and his smile widened. “Sweet. You’ll be an easy fix.”

He hustled farther inside, turned to push the door closed, giving her a glimpse of an exquisite backside. He shrugged the duster and bag to the floor. “My time with you must be hurried. I’ve worked all night and thank the stars and full moon, you’re my last. This city was in a panic.” He winked at her. “You’d think a hundred couples or more were off on honeymoons or something.”

“But I-I changed my mind. I’ll pay—”

Two steps forward and his hand shot out to snag the front of her robe. “Don’t panic, dearie. I just want to do you and go home. You’d best be ready under this.” Her mouth fell open as his other hand got in on the action, jerking at the belt. Before her nervous yelp cleared her throat, the robe puddled around her feet and she stood nude before him. He eased back, eyeballing her hands flying to cover her crotch. He tsked. “Stop that. You’re exquisite. Almost perfect. I’ll make you so pretty his…it is a he, right? His head will never stop spinning.”

She gulped. “Really?”

“Oh yes. But in all honesty, my head’s in a whirl with you just as you are, so lovely and committed to a partner that isn’t
moi
. Hm…too bad my guy isn’t into foursomes. The poor thing can barely handle a ménage.” The man’s charming giggle dissolved her fear as he spun round to grab the bag, then his strong hand clasped her elbow. She drew in a deep breath of
lilacs
as he marched her into the bedroom, his extravagant hair swirling in a tangle of purple and pinks as it kissed his long legs.

“Hope you don’t mind the cut and shave in here, sweet thing, instead of the bathroom. I’d rather work with some elbow room. Can you imagine? They say the mansions on Mars have three bathrooms, including a master shower that’d hold an orgy.” He pushed her to sit down on the bed, pulled her hand out and ran his fingers up and down her arm. “Get used to my touch, dearie. I’m going places only your lovers have been—oh yes I am. Just relax. My name’s Laven or Lav or Lavender. Lenard Harding if you’re pissed at me. And, Miss Last But Not Least on my schedule, what’s your real name?”

“Jenna…”

Time flew by in a daze of sitting, standing, legs spread wide. She’d never had anyone spruce her up like this, let alone a man who guaranteed she’d not look at purple the same way again. Lav’s touch, his hands, were enchanting. A flawless tactile experience of a confident guy, without a hint of embarrassment or seduction. The jitters had a heyday inside her chest when he tied the last thread round her leg, pulled her to her feet and twirled her about.

“Oh damn it, dearie. I need the coldest of showers. I have to wrap myself in my duster to hide my gun as it is. It’s going to be a painful ride home.”

Her gaze flitted down to his crotch and she smiled. That bulge was lovely but not indecent.

He tilted his head, pretending her attention hadn’t left his bright eyes and his hand flew to his mouth. “Oh yessss. You sure about the pink and lime exotic lace teddy instead of the Dominatrix whip pattern? Makes me want to cuddle you, not get on my knees and beg you to ravish me.”

She managed a shaky nod and he laughed. “Okay. Doesn’t matter what you pick. He’s going to think that shuttle went off course and he’s landed in heaven. Never had a girl fill out any type of lingerie like you.” He grinned and patted his chest over his heart. “Glad you’re headed to the moon. When your man keels over from a heart attack, you won’t be able to come crying to me.”

She shivered, basking in the attention of the cheerful flirt who knew her every dimple. The camisole he’d poured her into was pretty much made out of lines of fabric. A cobweb of expensive silk that supported her breasts while leaving their front and nipples exposed. The lace-edged hem brushed the top of her groin and the curve of her butt cheeks, the center of her butt was exposed as an open circle, tied in place by ink-black straps hugging round the top of her legs.

Lav had insisted she not leave any part of her bottom uncovered. Below the camisole, she wore teeny-tiny hot pink French panties with rip-away sides, and beneath that a sparkly red thong. The luxurious strip of fabric teased and caressed where Lav had trimmed and shaped her pubic hair instead of shaving her. He’d said the craze for the childish look was outdated. That the unscented crème conditioner he used would make her so deliciously soft and refined, yet divinely au natural, he doubted a lover would ever stop kissing her, no matter how many times her own cream added flavor.

“Oh God. I feel…”

Lav smacked a kiss on her forehead. “You feel and smell damn sexy. Cinnamon, vanilla and almond, laced with the scent of an aroused damsel is a seductive combo I only give to the sweetest of girls.” He bent to her ear. “Call me if your intended doesn’t treat you right. I’ll fly to any satellite in any galaxy for you, love.” He straightened and began stuffing rejected undergarments back in his bag. He gestured to the tube of conditioner and small vial of perfume still on the bed. “Not that you, dearie, needed either, but keep those. I’ll say I left them by accident.”

“Oh no. You could get in trouble.”

He winked, shouldering the bag. “That’s my lover’s name. Hopefully I’ll soon do just that and more than once, from many angles, and I’ll forget all about lovely ladies. Thanks for making a long night fun and make sure you—” He dropped the bag. Those gorgeous violet eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you, sister. What are you wearing to the launch?”

“Er… In the closet.”

Lav strode to the closet, flung the door open and pulled out the crisp sky-blue button-down top with matching knee-length skirt and zippered sides. “Perfect. Quaint and begging to be removed.” He mock scowled at her. “Put it on. Now. So I know you’ll be less apt to mess with my masterpiece.”

Ten minutes later, she stood in her doorway, fully dressed, watching Lav blow her a kiss from the elevator. As the door closed on him, her smile ran for the hills and she slipped back inside and locked the door.

Lav seemed to have a kind heart and he certainly was a pro—touched her with sureness and no sexual heat, a job he’d done a million times. He’d noticed errant hairs, but not seen past the mask beneath the makeup he’d expertly applied to her face. He thought her nothing but a skittish girl who’d stayed up all night because she yearned to excite the man who’d given her a ring.

Part of that was right. She was a criminal who’d gone without sleep to meet with terrorists, and oh God, did she hunger to please a specific man. Lusted and longed for the chance to entice a famous bachelor who’d handed a ring to another and told the unexpected quickie never to contact him again, let alone show up with a pair of rings neither one of them had chosen.

Who am I kidding?
Jenna ran her fingers through her exquisitely trimmed hair, freshly shampooed and no color or glitter added because Lav had cooed over her natural locks. Even if Sam Dexter arrived without a bride—doing something insanely stupid like pretending to be a pilot—and even if he saw her at all and went along with her equally insanely stupid plan, and even if they walked onto that shuttle together, he’d either not care or not get a chance to go beyond the prim blouse and schoolmarm skirt.

She clenched her groin muscles, feeling the thong rub in a mockery of not even close to comparing to what Sam’s fingers had done in a hot few minutes.

Even ifs be damned. I feel pretty—really pretty—and no matter what happens, I’ll get a chance to see him.

Chapter Nine

Thank whoever the patron saint of martyrs is that I’ll never see my true-love-fantasy-girl again.
Limbs heavy, feet concrete, vodka and no sleep fueling his last night on Earth, it felt like nothing but short-circuiting wires powered Sam’s sluggish brain.
Fuckin’ hell.
He was an imposter about to hijack a shuttle. An act labeled terrorism, which was surely more despised and ruthlessly punished than ethnic cleansing of fertile humans. And what type of crackpot accuses governments of potential mass murder with no concrete evidence other than gut instinct, and one pervert of a pilot with a cracked skull who’d had a horrendous weapon of mass destruction in his apartment? Now, insanely, stashed in a place coated with Sam’s fingerprints? Falsified records only postponed the inevitable. All authorities had to do was grab hold of Moore’s fingers and Sam’s and the gig was up.

What if I’m wrong?

Then you’re a dead man, asshole.

What if I’m right?

Then you’re a dead man, asshole.