Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series) (3 page)

She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to comb the unruly waves into a semblance of order. She’d done a crap job cutting it. In the cubby of toiletries, she found some hair cream that smelled wonderful. She dabbed and tucked until her hair was in some semblance of order.
 

She used the lavatory, wishing she could spend some time in the sleek shower-dry. The tube in her tiny apartment emitted water either too cold or too hot and smelled funky even after she ran the cleaning cycle.
 

She washed her hands, grimacing at them too. She needed a manicure. Her nails were clean, but her hands were rough and chapped, with burns old and new marring her golden skin.
 

Well, it was honest labor that had made them so, nothing to be ashamed of. This was just a moment out of time for her. She’d have dinner with Logan Stark and maybe more, and then it would be back to her life in the dark, gritty streets of New Seattle.
 

For a moment, remembering the black hole her life had imploded into with the loss of all that credit, she wanted to huddle on the floor and whimper. But she wouldn’t let herself crumble. She’d get through this somehow, just as she always did. She had a few friends, and she had her coffee stand, and she had her own lodestar, the purpose that kept her going every day.

This dinner with him was just an aberration in her orbit. Hopefully a safe one.
 

***

Logan Stark waited with keen anticipation for his guest to return to the main cabin of his cruiser. Kiri Te Nawa might not be polished, perfumed and physically enhanced as the women he usually took, but she was beautiful as a wild doe.
 

No, a wild cat, he corrected himself, amused. With those tilted eyes spitting golden fire, and her slender hands clawed to attack the sleazy gambler, she resembled the Tyger females he’d met on the planet Bryght. She must have Tygean blood in her ancestry.
 

Her husky voice added to the illusion. Perhaps she’d suffered damage to her larynx at some point, but he found the slight roughness in her voice, the way it cracked under emotion, unexpectedly alluring.
 

Her slim, taut body had felt very good in his arms, too. She had a curvy ass below her small waist, and in her snug uniform, her breasts were high and round. Not as large as he usually preferred, but then that was what made women so fascinating—their endless variety, the mystery of discovering what made each one of them unique.

This one had a spirit as wild as the cats she reminded him of, and she shone like a sleek purebred in a pack of alley-bred mongrels.

He’d found her by accident. With time on his hands after a meeting with space port authorities, he’d been walking. Out of curiosity, he’d ended up in the oldest section of the space port. He passed loading bays for discount cruise lines and smaller private bays that he guessed shrewdly were used by those who preferred to avoid the brightness of the new concourses, their trade better conducted in the shadows.
 

There were families and business travelers just like on the new main concourses, but these folk were shabbier. A few toughs cast him avaricious looks, as if wondering whether he could be dragged into a dark alcove and robbed. Stark watched them decide against aggression and move on, realizing he was no easy mark despite his grooming. Wise choice on their parts.
 

His brother Joran would say he was slumming. Because he’d been here before, many times. Once this shabby area had seemed palatial to youths looking for a safe place to get in out of the cold rain and scavenge something to eat and drink.
 

And while he’d never mugged innocent travelers as these toughs would, in the darkest times he and Joran had rolled a few druggers in the dark streets outside the port. With bellies so empty they hurt, and Creed to feed as well, it had been one of the choices between survival and death.
 

Stark had shaken off the dark memories and was about to turn away when lights caught his eye. The holomarquee of a coffee bar glowed cheerily ahead, contrasting with the garish bar sign across the way and the dark, barred-up space alongside. That valiant little sign drew him. As he neared the stand, he saw that it was clean and bright, with neat racks of snacks and souvenirs.
 

Then he saw the barista. A slim, vibrant figure in her fitted black, she moved with the grace of a dancer as she scrubbed the small countertop of her stand. He stopped for a moment, simply appreciating.

A bent old man stumped up to her window, and laid one gnarled hand on the counter. He said something that made her smile—a glowing smile, with a flash of white teeth and flirtatious sweep of dark lashes. In one smooth motion she turned, grabbed a disposable cup and filled it from the coffee machine steaming at her side. Then she handed the cup to him, holding on until he had a grip on it.

The old man nodded his thanks. She watched him walk away, then returned to her scrubbing. No credit had changed hands. Stark stood for a sec and then decided he wanted one of those smiles and that he’d gladly pay the price of a coffee for it.

He strolled over to stand at her counter, thinking he’d solved the mystery of the stand’s success. He’d certainly been turned from his dark mood.

But, just as he’d reached her, the display over the gambling stand changed and the lovely barista had been riveted, hardly noticing him although he stood directly in front of her. He was not accustomed to being ignored, especially by women.
 

Maybe it was the old memories of lurking in the port, unnoticed and unwanted, coupled with her kindness to the old man, another ragged castoff, which strengthened his resolve to have her.

And now here she was, aboard his cruiser. But Stark frowned as he walked to his cruiser’s compact bar to pour himself a snifter of moonpear brandy. She’d obviously bet a large sum on the StarLotto game, to be so devastated at her loss. Was she naïve or just reckless? And was this an aberration or a habit? If the latter, this would be their only encounter. He had good reason, the best, to steer clear of habitual gamblers.

He’d have the story out of her.
 

As she emerged into the cruiser cabin, he turned, eyeing her with pleasure. Yes, she was lovely, but more than that, the fire of hard-won independence in her amber gaze called to him, challenged him to ruffle her self-possession. A kindred spirit in some ways, but packaged in complete femininity that he wanted to tame.

He’d seen a gleam of calculation when he invited her to come with him, but far from despising that, he understood, even admired her for it. He hadn’t gotten where he was without constantly reading the beings with whom he dealt and deciding how to best use them to his advantage. She was a woman alone, working her business in a rough area of the port.
 

He’d had painful lessons along the way. Perhaps he could save her a few of those. Not that he had any emotional connection in mind. That was the last thing he was looking for.

She smiled as she crossed the cabin to him.

“What?” he asked, handing her a snifter with a small amount of the brandy.

A twinkle of humor gleamed through the shadows in her eyes as she indicated their surroundings. “Stark reality isn’t so bad, not in this case.”

He chuckled. “You like brandy?”

She sniffed it delicately and then took a careful sip. Her eyes widened and she took another sip. “I like this.”

He indicated the two nearest chairs, and she sat. She had a catlike elegance he appreciated. He’d like to see her in a finely made evening gown, with jewels against her golden skin—perhaps Tygean topaz. Yes, a high collar, with a ring dangling from it. The ring would rest on her chest and hide the vulnerable hollow of her throat from any eyes but his.

Even her scent pleased him—the faint sweetness of a healthy female, overlaid with coffee and spices.
 

Opal brought them a plate of crisp crackers, each topped with a dab of white cheese, russet jelly and a sliver of green.
 

“Thank you.” His guest took an hors d’oeuvre and slipped it into her mouth.

Opal nodded, and disappeared into the cockpit.

Stark watched with interest as Kiri chewed. He was not disappointed. She hummed with pleasure as she swallowed. “Mm-m, is that real cheese?”

His fingers flexed on his brandy snifter. He wanted to see that look again, hear that little moan while he was touching her.

She took another cracker. “I’m starving. Forgot to eat today.”

“Then you’ll appreciate dinner. Jasmine serves only fresh foods, most of it flown in from Pangaea.”

She wrinkled her straight nose. “I’m not really dressed for dinner. Maybe you should take me someplace … simpler.”

He shook his head. “No one there will mind.”

“Because I’m with you,” she said wisely. “You dine there often?”

“When I’m on planet.”

Her gaze brightened over her snifter. “You travel? Tell me. Where’s the best place you’ve gone?”

He couldn’t resist her interest. “Every planet—or nearly every planet—has its own appeal. Serpentia has golden deserts and fascinating rock formations. The sunrises and sunsets there are spectacular. Pangaea is almost completely green and blue—gardens, farms and water. Bryght is a small planet, but the sky there seems to be full of moons; three male moons and two female.
 

“Frontiera …” he paused, thinking how to describe it. “She has three moons as well, but most of all, she’s like Earth II must have been before pollution and overcrowding. Vast stretches of open country, with only wild creatures and nomadic tribes. The wetter regions have some settled peoples.”

She took another cracker, leaning closer. “Are there no cities at all?”

“Some, but mostly small towns and huge areas with no settlements at all. Like Earth, she has climates—cold at the magnetic poles and hot at the equator. There are seas, and we don’t yet know what creatures dwell in their depths.”

His guest shivered, sipping her brandy, her gaze faraway. “Which region do you like best?”

“The tropical areas are beautiful, as are the more temperate boreal forests. I’ve mining interests in the north. The mountains are spectacular, snow-capped and wild. There are skrog. Have you ever seen one?”

She laughed, a husky sound with a catch in it that ricocheted straight to his groin. “Skrog? Only in holovids. Are they as ugly in reality?”

“Uglier. And their cry can shatter your eardrums if you’re too close—a great bellow that ends in a shriek.”

She winced, still laughing. “How horrible.” She smoothed her hand over the arm of her chair. “They do make lovely leather, though.”

He watched her hand, sheer lust seizing him. He wanted her hands on his skin. He’d have that. He’d have all of her.

“What’s the worst place you’ve been?” she asked.

Stark gazed into the clear, dark gold brandy he was swirling idly in his glass, the same hue as her eyes.

It dimmed, replaced with another image. Slamming forward through the years, a dirty alley closed around him. Cold, wet, stinking of garbage. Nowhere to shelter himself, or the two smaller boys shivering beside him, waiting for him to find food and a safe, warm place to sleep, unless he found it, or wrested it from someone else.

“Nowhere you’d care to hear about.” And closer than she knew. He turned to look out the porthole at the lights of the city emerging from the fog and rain below. He was above it all now, secure in his lofty perch, but no matter how many years buffered him from the cold and hunger, he’d never forget. And he’d do anything necessary to assure he and his were never down there again.
 

“And now we’re arriving at our destination. Finish your drink if you like.”

Chapter 3

From the grim shadow that passed over Stark’s face, Kiri’s question had ignited dark memories of some kind. So he had them too.
 

He carried himself like a man who knew how to fight. Maybe he’d been in the Space Forces and in some terrible battle. The Solar Wars weren’t all that long ago. A warrior, maybe? No wonder she felt safe with him.

The ship hovered, turning if the lights spinning past outside were an indication. Another craft zipped by, so close the wake caused Stark’s cruiser to wobble. Kiri gripped the arms of her chair nervously. She’d only flown on the clumsy airbuses that traversed the city and tightly woven suburbs. They weren’t light enough to be bothered by passing vehicles, but landing was a jarring experience.
 

Tal had offered to take her on one of his cruisers, but she wasn’t setting foot in any craft that might have been hijacked. With her luck, the police would choose that moment to close in on him, and she’d wind up restrained in the back of a police cruiser.
 

To her surprise, Stark’s large hand covered hers. “Giles will set us down without a bump. In fact, I’ll wager you won’t be able to tell we’ve landed.”

“I’ll believe that when it happens,” she retorted, but his touch was certainly taking her mind off her fears. He could probably convince her to jump out of the ship with him if he just held her hand in this warm, sure grip—and she hated heights.