The Star King (17 page)

"Gann's used to this by now," she reasoned. "I'm probably the hundredth woman, or maybe the thousandth—"

"Thousandth!" Rom roared.

"But I don't care," she said with a sigh, "because last night was wonderful. Actually, it was better than wonderful and—"

This time he silenced her by covering her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly. By the time he pulled away, they were both breathless. "You are the first woman I have had in this bed," he said huskily. "And the only one I have made love to on this ship."

"Really?" Jas asked softly. Then she narrowed her eyes. "How long have you owned the
Quillie?"

"Ten standard years. No, it's been eleven now."

Her heard soared. She was used to being last in line to many. This was a lovely change. Everything about Rom was a lovely change. «Thank you."

Rom stroked her hair and slowly lowered his mouth to hers, loving her without words. Her breasts tingled, and she throbbed between her legs, both from last night's lovemaking and from the need he was now kindling within her. She molded her hands to his buttocks, and the kiss caught fire.

He made a rough sound deep in his throat. Pushing away, he held himself above her, arms extended. Passion had turned his eyes to molten gold, but when he spoke, it was with his ever-present discipline. "I'm needed on the bridge. There is much to do before we dock."

She toyed with suggesting something quick and hot, but instinct told her that Rom wouldn't settle for rushed sex. For him the seduction, the foreplay, and even the cuddling afterward, were all integral parts of lovemaking. "After I change and finish packing, I'll meet you there."

He gave her a light, affectionate kiss before climbing out of bed and walking to the shower enclosure. He stepped inside. The hiss of water filled the silence. When he emerged moments later, he looked wet, sexy, and delicious. Muffling a whimper,.she watched him dry off.

She'd heard the term
good breeding
before, but she had never truly understood what it meant. Until now. Rom's whipcord lean, tightly muscled body was the product of eons of carefully arranged marriages, eleven thousand years of powerful warriors joining with beautiful women. His looks were the best of what the galaxy could offer. Yet it was his inner strength, his generous spirit and innate kindness, that drew her to him, beyond all else—beyond even the persistent familiarity that had compelled her since the moment she'd first seen him.

Wrapping the coverlet around herself, she hopped out of bed. "Being with you is magical, you know that? I don't trust magic, not at all. But"—she seductively lowered her lashes—"I'm enjoying every bit of yours."

He gathered her wrap in his fists, drawing her close to nuzzle under her ear. "Magic and dreams light our life's path. Trust.. ." He moved his mouth down her throat. "Believe."

Dreams come true.

The absurd phrase rang inside her. Believing in fairy tales and magic was frivolous, childish ... dangerous. But damned if the man didn't make a convincing argu-

ment. It was as if everything she'd taught herself, for protection, was wrong. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his pants and closed her eyes. He maneuvered the coverlet lower, baring her shoulders, following the ridge of her collarbone with his tongue. Her knees almost buckled. "How about we make some magic in bed?"

"I can't." He grazed his teeth over her shoulder. "I'm needed on—"

"—the bridge," she chorused impatiently and clutched the coverlet around her with prim determination. "Then go, will you? There's only so much a woman can take."

"Or a man, for that matter." He admitted. "Open," he commanded then. The doors to his clothing storage compartment parted. Shaking out a plush bundle of fabric, he drew it over her shoulders. "We'll need cloaks when we arrive. The Depot is cool and damp year-round."

The luxurious, deep green velvety wrap fell in a graceful swirl before settling just above her ankles. He fastened the heavy cape at her neck. The gold clasp was genuine, she suspected, weighty and engraved with the same symbols as Rom's signet ring.

Scrutinizing her, he lifted the voluminous hood over her tousled hair. "It's best that you don't call attention to yourself while awaiting my return from Skull's Doom. Your hair color will get you noticed, whether you want it to or not. Keep it covered."

What kind of wild and woolly world was she headed into? The reporter who had preceded her to the Depot, Kendall Smith, had black hair, and he hadn't mentioned anyone suggesting
he
wear a hat. She rubbed her cheek against her extravagant new garment's silk lining. "It's so soft. Nandan?"

He nodded. "The shell is Centaurian velvet."

"It's beautiful, thank you. I'll make sure it's still in the same condition in sixth months."
When I have to go home to Earth,
she left unsaid.

He waved his hand, casually dismissing her comment, yet for a moment his eyes held some deeper emotion. Briefly he smoothed his warm palm over her cheek, then turned away to fasten his pants.

Keeping the cape wrapped around her, Jas shrugged off the coverlet and let it fall to the floor. As she folded it and placed it on the bed, she reveled in the sinful feel of the Nandan fabric caressing her bare skin.

"You'll need this, too," he said, rummaging through the drawer of his bedside table until he found a narrow black leatherlike case. "My comm call." He pressed a gleaming metallic object the size and weight of a cheap plastic hair comb into her hand. "A thigh strap, too." He demonstrated, fastening its thin black strap around his upper leg like a garter belt.

"Rom, I'm going to be alone for all of two days—"

"What if I'm delayed? An unlikely possibility, but one nonetheless. Or what if you need to contact me for some reason?"

She spread her hands in surrender.

"Fit the comm call into the sling. It's preset to signal the
Quillie
from anywhere in the galaxy. Simply find a comm box, drop it in, and call."

Jas remembered the reporter mentioning comm boxes. They were everywhere, even the frontier, and were used as frequently as pay phones were on Earth. But the comm call he had demonstrated on television bore no similarity to this sleek piece of equipment. Nor did it have the kind of range Rom described. "I can't take this,

Rom. It looks expensive. What if it gets damaged? Or I lose it?"

He wrenched his boots on. "Yes, the device is costly, and yes, it's available to only a few." His mouth twisted. "A perk leftover from my days as the B'kah heir. I keep it for emergencies. But I want you to have it. Should you encounter any difficulties while I'm gone, use it to call me."

His tone was brusque, but the protectiveness underneath was obvious. And touching. "Thank you." She couldn't recall the last time anyone had looked out for her so thoroughly. That had always been her job—taking care of herself "and everyone else.

Rom strode to the door. "We won't have much time. I'll have to escort you to your accommodations as soon as we dock if I'm going to make it back here by our scheduled departure."

"The Romjha."

"Correct." His mouth thinned in distaste.

She pondered the odd reaction. Was there something wrong with the Romjha? The reporter had stayed there, and everyone on the crew said it was luxurious.

The doors whisked closed before Rom could enlighten her further. Ah, well, she told herself, gathering her things, she'd find out soon enough, wouldn't she?

Chapter Twelve

"Stay close to the storefronts and avoid the alleys, particularly at night," Rom cautioned with a sidelong glance at Jas. Since they'd disembarked from the shuttlecraft that brought them from the
Quillie,
he'd recited all the advice he'd gleaned from a lifetime of frequenting gritty outposts like the Depot. Appearing mildly amused at times, shocked at others, she'd heeded his warnings of terrorists and
anti-Vash Nadah
protests, and listened raptly to his words on how not to be cheated when exchanging her salt for currency. Through it all, her eyes had glowed bright with anticipation.

He shook his head in exasperation. Had she any idea how difficult it was for him to let her out of his protection? She was a warrior once, he reminded himself, forcing himself not to construe her relative innocence as helplessness. Then why couldn't he shake his sense of foreboding?

He tightened his grip around her hand, drawing her closer until his cloak billowed around hers. It was a move designed as much to shield her from the crowd as it was to keep her near him a bit longer. He took the most direct route through the main business district, pointing out a gritty sprawl of aging brushed-silver buildings along the way. "Auxiliary Trade Headquarters," he explained. "Three thousand years ago they were built from a material that supposedly does not deteriorate over time."

Jas raised her brows. "What happened?"

"Lack of attention, complacency, apathy. The list goes on and on.
Much
like the
Vash Nadah
federation itself."

She touched his arm. "You still care a great deal about
Vash
politics, about the future, don't you?"

"Yes." The realization disturbed him profoundly. "I value my heritage," he said quietly. "I cannot abide policies that jeopardize its future." He'd thought himself beyond the ache of guilt, beyond caring. But his reaction to Jas's remark proved he still did. "I'm an entrepreneur," he said flatly. "I don't care to see a poorly operated business when I know it can be run better. Trade lines are breaking down. Where there was once plenty, shortages abound. Who do you think the inhabitants of those planets will blame for their empty stomachs? Heed my words. It is only a matter of time before someone uses their discontent in his favor."

"Someone like Sharron," she suggested grimly.

Rom did not want to sour their time together with bitter memories. "Look over there," he said with forced lightness, changing the subject. "The art museum. And right next door, the library. Both well stocked, and always empty of crowds."

"Empty? Why?"

"Those who come here tend to seek profit, not culture."

She laughed. As he pointed out more landmarks she might find interesting, he mulled over her earlier comment, about how he cared. Perhaps it was not so much caring as it was habit. He'd been raised to view his life on a grand scale—galactic politics, the allocation of resources, the supervision of countless worlds. Even his marriage would have been seen as an alliance. Before his banishment, rarely had something as mundane and insignificant as his personal future crossed his mind. Even afterward, he had thought of his ship, his men.

Until he saw a future that included Jas.

So the jaded trader wants to settle down, eh?
The jest in his mind was in Gann's voice, a man who would be pleased to see him do just that. Rom's thoughts raced ahead. He would buy that moon, build the small port he'd constructed countless times in his mind. Jas could join him in the venture. He fought the crazy urge to sweep her into his arms and beg her to be his partner. His lover for life. But what of her children? They lived on Earth. How could he in good conscience lure her to stay far away from them when he could not offer her respectability, or even his name?

"Oh, look!" Jas peeked out from under her hood. "A market."

"Then let us see what bargains await." He dared not meet her gaze until he gained control of his emotions. But his mood lifted as she led the way toward a vendor selling glow-jewelry. Only Jas could make the Depot seem exciting and new.

"They're luminescent," she said, wide-eyed. "All of them."

To the vendor's delight, she gaped at his unimpressive selection as if they were priceless jewels. Loath to dampen her enthusiasm, Rom declined to tell her how common the trinkets were. "Highest quality," the merchant cajoled. Glancing at Rom he conceded wisely, "Lowest prices."

"Ilana would adore these earrings," Jas said. "And I can't leave without getting something for my friend Betty." She fumbled with her waist pouch, where she'd stored her currency cards.

He settled his hand on the small of her back. "Put your money away. I will purchase the gifts. Choose something for yourself, as well. Which bauble shall I buy you?" he asked indulgently.

Her eager expression softened. "I can't let you pay."

"Why ever not?"

"You've done too much for me already."

Rom regretted all he could
not
give her. He removed her hand from her pouch. "Please."

She bit her lower lip and returned her attention to the cheap jewelry. Together they chose Ilana's earrings, a ring for her woman friend, and then a bracelet similar in width to the ones Jas wore. Rom slipped it onto her pale, slender wrist. Angling her arm this way and that, as if the glow-bracelet might look different in what little sunlight seeped through the low morning overcast, she admired the purchase. Then, for the second time in as many minutes, she cast a narrow-eyed glance behind her. Rom hitched her travel bag higher on his shoulder and searched the crowd. "What is it?"

She hesitated before answering. "Nothing, I guess. Just my imagination running wild."

"I've probably made you jumpy with all my warnings." He laced his fingers with hers and coaxed her along. The time he could spare here was diminishing quickly, and he cursed the fact that he could not spend the day with her in bed at the Romjha. Last night's joining had touched him profoundly; she had introduced him to an aspect of lovemaking he had never experienced, one that was deeply emotional—and equally as unforgettable. But the departure slots assigned by the Depot flight authorities were rigidly enforced. With hundreds of vessels coming in and out all hours of the day, a late takeoff could lose him the privilege of ever trading here again. In two standard days you'll have six months with her, he told himself.

He steered Jas into a maze of dank alleyways. Their boots sloshed in unison through oily puddles. Here, an incense shop didn't quite hide the pungent, metallic odor of hundreds of spacecraft hovering just above the low-slung clouds. The passageway opened into a wide boulevard. It was lined with delicate frond-trees, which were imported, replaced every few months as they succumbed to the fumes.

Jas slowed, and he followed her stunned gaze to a beribboned platform floating an arm's reach above the street: pleasure servants advertising their wares. "Hell and back," he muttered. Wrapping his cape protectively over Jas's shoulders, he tried without success to hurry her past.

Fascinated, Jas studied them. "They're dressed identically, every last one of them. They look like gymnasts. Are they athletes?"

"You could say that." Rom urged her along.

One of the women spotted him, and two dozen blond-haired heads swerved his way. He groaned inwardly. They started to beseech him in Basic slang he prayed Jas could not understand, flaunting their small breasts and swaying their hips in a demonstration of sexual positions that made the palace courtesans of his younger days look like amateurs.

Jas gaped at them. "They're pleasure servants, aren't they?"

"That they are."

As they passed in front of the stage, Rom hunched his shoulders in a futile effort to deflect the relentless and intimate invitations. Jas threw him a sidelong glance. "You're causing quite a stir, Captain B'kah."

"It's my appearance," he explained uncomfortably.

One corner of her mouth tipped up. "Yeah, well, you are incredibly handsome."

"I'm
Vash Nadah."

"That, too."

Clenching his jaw, he explained,
"Vash Nadah
are raised to respect women—and to be skilled lovers. Everyone knows this."

Jas blushed, as he knew she would. Then she linked her arm possessively around his. He grinned at the unconscious gesture, and how she twisted around for one last look as they left the platform behind. Suddenly she said in alarm, "He
is!"

"He is what?
Who is
what?" Rom's fingers curled around the laser pistol he kept hidden in his cloak.

Jas lowered her voice. "That man there, behind the two traders—he's been following us since the marketplace."

"Keep walking." Rom focused straight ahead. "Tell me what he looks like."

"He's huge," she whispered urgently. "I can't see his face, though. He's wearing a hood."

"What else?"

"A brown cloak, thigh length."

The tension went out of him. "Knee boots?"

She nodded.

"Light brown knee boots? With black soles?"