Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series) (4 page)

“Really?” He raised a brow at her. “You’re a gambling woman. How about a small wager?”

“I don’t bet. Well, today was the only time and you saw how that turned out.”

“This isn’t that kind of wager.” He leaned closer, his eyes on her mouth.

Kiri’s breath caught in her throat at the sensual threat implicit in his gaze. “What kind is it, then?”

His gaze rose to meet her own, locking with hers like a tractor beam. “If we land without you noticing, you owe me a kiss.”

Her hand trembled in his. When had she turned it to clasp his? Satisfaction gleamed in his gaze. She shrugged, hoping he didn’t notice her telltale shiver or the heat that blossomed on her cheeks.
 

“Okay.” She’d kissed plenty of guys, so why did the thought of kissing him make her feel as if she were about to take another huge gamble?
 

“Mr. Stark, we’ve landed,” said Opal, appearing as if conjured in the open door of the cockpit.
 

Kiri blinked. Had he sent the woman some kind of secret signal on his comlink? No, they really were down, the lights of a rooftop landing pad reflecting on wet pavement.

“Thank you,” Stark said. He tugged on Kiri’s hand, and she was startled to realize he was still watching her, ignoring the other woman.
 

Feeling like a small craft being sucked into the magnetic field of a powerful star, Kiri let him pull her across the soft skrog leather to him. Her gaze locked with his, she let her body take over, leaning forward and tipping up her face to his. She knew his flight attendant was still there, but somehow that didn’t matter anymore.

She felt the heat of his skin first, the soft puff of his breath across her lips. That strange magnetism engulfed her, sweeping her in, so that when his lips touched hers it was almost a relief. His lips were warm, firm, softer than she’d expected. He didn’t mash his mouth on hers, or try to shove his tongue in her mouth, but he still managed to invest the caress with some mysterious urgency. When he angled his head and pressed more firmly, demanding entrance, she parted her own lips and gave it to him. Pleasure swept through her, and her secret places softened and swelled in a paean of need.

The kiss deepened as he tested the damp softness of her inner lips, then used his tongue to taste her, a leisurely sampling that ended with his tongue in her mouth, tangling with her own. A soft moan of shock and excitement emerged from her throat. But who cared when he was sucking gently on her tongue, enticing it into his own mouth as if she were the most delicious woman he’d kissed in eons.
 

His hand tightened on hers, and she curled her fingers about his in response.

When he let her go, lifting his head, she dragged her eyes open. She pulled her wet lower lip between her teeth and let it go, tasting him on her lips. Oh, glory, if he could do that with just his mouth and one hand holding hers, what effect would he wreak with his whole body? And judging from the predacious light in his gray eyes, he’d been just as affected.
 

“We’ll have dinner,” he told her. “Then perhaps you’ll kiss me again, hmm?”

“Perhaps.” Her cheeks heated as he smiled at her again. He knew exactly how much that kiss had affected her. And that she wanted more.

***

Jasmine was hushed, elegant and dimly lit. A Pangaean female in a leaf-green cheongsam led them to a table in a quiet alcove, bowing politely as she gestured them to sit. Kiri was relieved to see that she didn’t look twice at Kiri’s clothing. Of course with lighting like this, her black smock could’ve been crafted of the finest lii leaves.

Stark seated Kiri in the plush, semi-circular booth and slid in after her. She was both alarmed and delighted by his nearness. He smelled so good, as if the essence of some dark, wild forest lingered on his skin. Some kind of cologne, she supposed, but she wasn’t sure the scent would be half so inviting on any other man.

Whatever, it certainly wasn’t a scent the men she knew could afford. In fact, none of them could afford to even set foot in this place. They frequented the crowded eateries with rock music thumping, surrounded by rowdy beings like Mauritians and Tygers arguing, fighting and laughing.
 

The denizens of her apartment complex were the same, or they were older, beaten down by life and reduced to living in the slums.
 

To distract herself from the memory that she might be on the verge of losing even such doubtful shelter, she looked around at the tasteful arrangements of tall plants screening them partially from other diners.
 

A party of Serpentians filled the nearest booth. Their skin and hair, ranging from golden to gold-green, gleamed even in the low light. They were laughing together, their table crowned with a carafe of steaming fire whiskey and glasses.

The gentle babble of Pangaean came from behind her somewhere. The place smelled clean, no mildew, no stale grease and body odor. Just the tantalizing smells of good food.

“This place must be popular with travelers,” she said. An inane remark, but conversation was good.
 

She focused on Stark, a mistake, because as soon as she looked at him, she found herself reliving their kiss. She couldn’t believe he’d locked lips right in front of his employees. Public kissing was usually for dark, noisy clubs when everyone was drinking or drugging.

“Yes. Will you let me order for you?” he asked, as another Pangaean approached their table, this one in the male version of the cheongsam, with pants.

“All right. But nothing slippery.” She’d seen the things beings from other worlds consumed, and she wasn’t eating anything that looked as if it should be wriggling in a swamp somewhere. She’d rather eat vegeprotein—at least it was safe.

The creases at the corners of his mouth deepened. “I’ll remember that.”

He consulted with the waiter, and in a few moments they were served drinks in round goblets with small blossoms floating near the rim. “Pear brandy blossoms,” Stark said, handing her one of the glasses.
 

He lifted his glass to her. Kiri followed suit, sipping cautiously. The same brandy he’d given her earlier, mixed with some kind of fruit juice, perhaps the pears from which it had been distilled. Faintly sweet, the drink left the taste of brandy lingering on her tongue. She nodded. “It’s good, thank you.”

He looked quietly satisfied. “So tell me how you came to be a barista at New Seattle space port, Kiri te Nawa.”

She glanced at him and away. Like he really wanted to know her sad story. But she could play the social game. She waited while their waiter set a graceful tray on the table, full of delicate sprays of green leaves, a swirl of creamy filling centered on each one, topped with a single berry. She picked one up carefully and slipped it into her mouth, chewing with relish. Hmm, delicious, whatever it was. Creamy, smooth and tart. She chose another.

“I didn’t start out to sell coffee,” she told him. “But after I left trade school, I got a job at a one of the big MoonPenny stands. Then I realized I was spending all my credit just getting by. I wanted something of my own, where I could keep the profits and invest them back in my business. So I worked second jobs here and there, and saved until I had enough to lease my space.”
 

Then she’d had the encounter that changed her life and started her funneling credit to a far more serious pursuit—her search for what the slavers had stolen. But she was hardly confiding in him about that on first acquaintance.

“Kiri’s Kaffe,” he said.
 

She grinned. She never lost the thrill of pleasure at hearing her kiosk’s name. “An ancient people here on Earth II spelled coffee that way. It’s stardusty, I know, but everyone remembers it.”

“I think it’s the owner they remember.”

Kiri picked up her drink. Quark, but that look made her self-conscious, and hyper-aware of him as a man—an extremely virile one.

“Some of them, I guess. Got that bar right across the concourse. Guys sit in there and drink, start thinking they’re the galaxy’s gift to womankind.” She grinned at him over her glass. “I usually talk them into buying an after-drinks coffee and send them on their way.”

Stark chuckled. “So you don’t generally date your customers?”

“Not often,” she said. “Kinda awkward for repeat business.”

With free vaccinations for STIs and for pregnancy, hooking up with relative strangers was safe—unless one picked a creeper. But even when dates culminated in sex, none of those men had ever had this effect on her.
 

His face creased in that attractive smile, but he sobered quickly. “Wise. There are some very ugly men—and women—out there hiding behind attractive facades.”

“That’s for sure,” she muttered. “I’m pretty good at reading people. If a guy gives off any creeper vibes, doesn’t matter how golden he is, I tell him I’m with someone—or that I prefer other girls.”

She laughed at the look he gave her. “Yeah, that one never works. Men can’t believe a woman could possibly prefer a lover without—um, certain equipment unless they see the evidence for themselves.”

Stark raised his brows in silent inquiry and her cheeks heated. She took another hasty drink, avoiding his gleaming gaze. “No. Haven’t and don’t.”

“There are those who enjoy both.” He calmly picked up another hors d’oeuvre, the green leaf delicate against his large, muscular hand. Wow. Did he mean
he
sometimes…?
 

“So, um…your skin is tanned,” she blurted. “You spend time in the sunlight somewhere? Must be on another planet. Not safe to spend too much time outdoors here on Earth II. Of course in New Seattle the heavy clouds shut out the sun anyway.”

He glanced at his hands, accepting her change of subject. “This would be the remnant of my last visit to Frontiera,” he answered. “In general I visit the medical booths.”

She nodded. Anyone with credit could receive regular metered dose of faux sunlight to stimulate vitamin production. She wore a vitamin patch, herself. Not as expensive as the booths. Just slap it on the midriff somewhere and leave it until it fell off, the vitamins having been absorbed by the body. Real sunlight would sure be nice though.
 

“Your people must be proud of you,” he said, changing the subject yet again. “A business of your own.”

“Don’t have any people.” She took another drink, swallowing the chill of things she didn’t think about.

“Ah.” He nodded as if her admission explained something. “Your stand is in a tough area of the space port.”

“What I can afford. Rent there is stiff enough. Astronomical in the new area. MoonPenny can afford that. I can’t.” Especially now. Panic beat at her, and she drained her glass, drowning it momentarily.

“But you’ve plans to expand?” he asked. His calm reached out to her in a soothing wave. The man could hire out as a psych therapist, the way he controlled the mood around him.

She set her glass down. “Eventually. I’m good with numbers. I watch the markets, buy my beans at discount. Took over the stand cheaply too. You should have seen the mess it was in. I cleaned it, fixed it up, called in a few favors from friends.”
 

He nodded. “Your hard work shows. You’ve made it stand out in the surroundings. I do wonder how you make a profit, however, when you give away your product.”

She stared at him and he shrugged. “I watched you hand out coffee to two passersby in several moments. Kind, but not good business.”

“Not like they have the credit to buy anyway. Just flotsam and jetsam of the port, with no one to care. Least I can do is give them a hot cup of java once in a while.”

He picked up another leaf, but instead of eating it, he held it out to her, a new warmth in his gaze. “I see. Here, have another. Our dinner is on the way.”

She opened her mouth to let him slip the treat between her lips. She chewed and swallowed. “You look like you just closed a great business deal.”

“I never feed my business partners.” Not with his own hand, anyway. The unspoken words hung between them, reminding Kiri that he was no uncomplicated man with partying on his mind.

Her dinner was set before her. “Breast of Pangaean pheasant,” the waiter murmured. “Sauced with a light balayti cream. Pureed root vegetables, crisp yam and moonberry compote.”

It looked delicious and smelled heavenly. Stark’s plate held the same selection.

“We’ll have a light wine,” he told the waiter. “Not too sweet.”

Kiri spread her napkin in her lap, her eyes on the food. She was going to eat every bite, slowly, so she’d never forget this meal. The waiter set a basket of rolls and a small bottle of oil on the table. Stark broke a roll for her and trickled oil over it. Her mouth full of succulent pheasant, Kiri nodded her thanks.

The food was as delicious as it looked, the flavors and textures blending perfectly. Kiri hadn’t eaten real meat or fowl for longer than she cared to recall, so she was glad the sauce wasn’t too rich, hiding the flavor. The bread was tender and flaky, the oil a tangy enhancement.

Not until she’d worked her way through most of the food on her plate did Kiri surface from her haze of pleasure to realize that she hadn’t spoken to her host for several moments. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, looking at him. He was doing quiet justice to his own meal and didn’t seem to notice her preoccupation.