Warrior (30 page)

“You don't think Dona was in collusion with him, do you?” Jess asked, alarmed. “Galar, she didn't hesitate to jump him the minute she realized he was trying to kill me.”

“I know. She got badly beaten for her pains. Ivar is a great deal stronger than she is.”

“The prick.”

“But I,” he said silkily, “am a great deal stronger than Ivar is, at least in
riaat.
”

“Kick his ass when you catch him.”

“Oh, I will. If Dyami leaves me anything to kick. I gather he has some rather violent plans for the bastard.”

“I wouldn't mind giving Ivar a little bit of what I gave that robot, myself. Except I can't.” She fell silent as realization hit, her eyes widening.

“What? Why not?”

“That EDI Charlotte gave me just told me I can't use my powers to kill people. Run away, yes. Destroy property, yeah. And I did give Ivar a good sock in the mouth, but that's about as far as I can go.”

Galar went very still, apparently realizing she was trying to tease more information out of her recalcitrant brain. “Why?”

Jess blinked. “Because they're not my powers. They come from the T'lir, and the T'lir won't allow the use of lethal force. That's why the Sela had to run.” She sat back in disgust as the information abruptly dried up again. “Run where? From whom?”

“Who—or what—are the Sela?” His tone carefully lacked any urgency at all.

“The fuzzy people in the eggs. The ones I saw in that dream I told you about. The Xerans call them Abominations, and they want to kill them all.”

“Maybe it's the Xerans the Sela are running from,” Galar suggested.

“Yeah.” She sounded almost dreamy to her own ears. “Yeah, that's it. It's the Xerans. They want the T'lir, and the Sela can't allow them to have it. We'd all be lost then. The People would only be the first to die.”

“And what is the T'lir?” His voice was very gentle.

“An hourglass,” she said, feeling as if she were floating. “Everything pours through. Everyone.” Jess giggled, suddenly giddy. “ ‘Like sand through an hourglass, so are the days of our lives.'” Her consciousness snapped back into full focus, and she buried her frustrated face in her hands. “Fuck. I lost it in the intro to one of Mom's old soaps.”

“What are you
talking
about?” Galar demanded, his tone sharpening as he evidently realized she had stopped drawing on the EDI.

“Soap operas,” Jess explained. “Daily television serial dramas. There was one called
Days of Our Lives
my mother loved when I was a kid. That line about sand through the hourglass was part of the intro.” She stopped. “And it means something, but damned if I know what.”

“Don't try to force it,” Galar warned. “You'll just drive it deeper into your subconscious. It'll come back out when you trigger another association. Probably by accident.”

“Great,” she growled. “We're at the mercy of television jingles.”

“And on that note,” he said, pushing his empty plate aside, “I think it's time we go to bed.” He stopped, a trace of—was that pain?—in his eyes. “I can find you other quarters if you'd rather.”

Jess put a hand on his. It felt warm and strong under her palm. “I want to sleep with you.” She grimaced. “Though I won't guarantee we'll do much more than sleep. I'm whipped.”

He gave her a smile that made his handsome face even more striking. “I'd be delighted to simply sleep with you.”

They dropped their plates into the vendser recycler—Jess noted with bemusement that she'd absently cleaned her plate, including the slimy okra-like vegetables. “I must have been hungrier than I thought.”

Another flash of that breathtaking smile. “And you didn't even have to fry anything and cover it in ketchup.”

“Hey—don't mock the ketchup. It's one of the Southern food groups. Along with grits, fatback, collard greens, and pig's feet.”

“Pig's feet?” He took her hand as they started out of the mess. “You are really very odd.”

“Hey, I didn't say
I
ate them. Though if you covered them in ketchup . . .”

“Pig's feet?”
His tone of utter horror made her laugh.

Jess and Galar
returned to his quarters at last. She watched, looking a bit bemused, as he walked around lighting the beeswax candles he'd once acquired with the vague thought of using them during some future special seduction.

And if a seduction had ever needed to be special, Galar decided, this one was it.

He turned from lighting the last candle to see her sliding her loose, forest green top off over her head. Galar swallowed, suddenly dry-mouthed, as she stepped out of her pants, then paused, boldly, sweetly naked.

“Goddess, you're beautiful,” he managed, his voice hoarse, as he stared at her pretty tip-tilted breasts with their hard, sweet little nipples.

She gave him a cocky little smile, though a blush pinkened her cheeks. “You're not so bad yourself.” The soft delta between her thighs was all mysterious shadow in the dancing golden candlelight. Her eyes cast back tiny flame reflections, half hidden in the long, straight fall of her hair.

Galar suspected his own eyes glowed like coals with the force of his desire. He knew his cock jutted against his uniform trousers, urgent and demanding.

He ached to show her what he'd tried and failed to express at dinner. His regret had seemed too huge, too complicated to put into words. Instead he'd let himself be diverted by trivialities—Ivar, the Sela, this T'Lir of hers.

Or at least, they felt somehow trivial in the face of this swelling thing in his chest. A distraction from what his hindbrain insisted was truly important, no matter what his reason said.

This was not the time for reason.

The rest would have to be dealt with—questions answered, problems solved. But not now. Now he had to repair the gulf he'd created between himself and Jess.

She rocked back on a bare heel and lifted a brow. “That thing I said about you being not bad yourself. That was a hint.”

Somehow he'd lost the thread of the conversation. “A hint?”

Shaping the words very slowly, Jess elaborated. “You. Are. Wearing. Too. Many. Clothes.” Then she grinned wickedly. “Get nekkid.”

He grinned back. “Oh.” Slowly, he started pulling up his uniform tunic. Perhaps a seductive striptease . . .

“You're just taking too damned
long.
” Jess grabbed the hem of his tunic and whipped it off over his head. “Now that's how you're supposed to take your clothes off for me. Fast. Like you're unwrapping a birthday present. A really
big
birthday present.” Leaning forward, she found his hard, flat brown nipples with her soft mouth.

The first pass of her tongue made him gasp. “Jess . . .” His voice sounded hoarse, pleading. This was supposed to be for her, his apology for his blindness, his ingrained suspicion.

Her eyes glinted up at him. “Shhhh.” A swirl of her tongue, wet and breathtaking.

“But I . . .”

“No.” Her fingers feathered down his chest, tracing the ridges and swells of muscle, combing through chest hair, dipping teasingly into his belly button. “This time is mine.”

He swallowed. “That's fair.”

Her eyes glinted. "I don't care if it's fair or not. You owe me, buster.”

And how did she intend to collect? Intriguing thought. . . .

Galar found out when one smooth hand slid down the waistband of his trousers, slipped between briefs and skin, found his thick erection. Her skin felt cool against the fevered heat of his. Blunt nails gently raked, and his cock jerked in ferocious arousal.

“Hmmm,” she purred. “What have we here?”

He smirked. “If you don't know, I've been doing something wrong.”

“Smart-ass.” Her bright gaze focused on the urgent ridge of his erection. He saw her eyes widen as they flicked to one of the pouches hanging from his weapons belt. “Ahhh. I think I know just how to take the wind out of your sails.”

“Isn't that counterproductive?”

She snorted and pulled the exploring hand out of his pants to run a finger up the length of the hungry ridge. “Not as long as you've got this oar.”

His laugh cut off as she opened the belt pouch and pulled out a length of restraint cable. “Now what,” he said, his mouth going dry, “do you intend to do with that?”

“What do you think?” She unwound it with a flick of her wrist and a grin of sensual anticipation.

“I usually do the tying up.”

“Then it would do you good to be on the receiving end. On your back, cop.” She planted a palm on the center of his chest and gave him a teasing backward push. Galar let himself go over, knowing the bed lay directly behind him.

Feet spread wide, the cable dangling from one hand, she eyed him with all the arrogance of a conquering queen. His cock bucked under her stare.

“Assume the position.”

Slowly, he stretched his arms up over his head, pressed his wrists together. And gave her a deliberately taunting grin. “Now what?”

Jess's reply was a smile every bit as feral as his own. She pounced like a cat, landing lightly astride his thighs, then put the cable between her teeth and began to crawl up the length of his body. His gaze flicked from her swaying, tempting breasts to her wicked eyes, dark and mysterious in the candlelight. At last she stopped, straddling the width of his chest. “Hands.” She gave him an imperious gimme wave.

Galar lifted his crossed wrists, and she circled them with the restraint cable. The golden coil touched his skin and promptly tightened as she wound it around.

“Little snug there,” he said. It wasn't, not really, but it would also hold him, even in
riaat
.

She smirked. “Good. Wouldn't want you to get away.”

He lifted a brow at her. “So now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”

Jess rocked back on her heels and surveyed him, her pretty mouth taking on a deliciously evil curve. “I'm sure I'll think of something.” She contemplated his belt, then reached for the clasp. “I'm very creative. Shouldn't take me long to arrive at some suitable punishment.”

“Punishment?” Both brows flew up.

“Yeah. You've been bad, Galar. Very, very bad.” Slowly, she drew off his belt.

“I trust your plans don't involve that.” He dropped his voice to a menacing growl.

“Oh, no.” The belt sailed across the room to land with a clunk and a rattle. He winced at the sound of his holstered shard pistol thudding against the wall. “Though a spanking might do you a world of good.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I wouldn't recommend it.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't, but I'd love to have that magnificent ass draped across my lap.”

“I could say the same. And I suspect I can spank considerably harder than you can.”

She gave him a mock glare. “Mustn't threaten the mistress, Master Enforcer.” Leaning down, she raked her nails slowly down his ribs. He sucked in a breath and squirmed.

Her eyes widened with delight. “Are you
ticklish
?”

He glowered. “Don't even think it.”

Jess laughed. “My big, tough
ticklish
Warlord.” She started to go for his ribs again.

In one smooth movement, Galar threw his legs up, encircled her waist, and rolled her beneath him as he braced on his knees astride her. He started to lower his bound hands to her flat little belly for a good tickle. . . .

“Uh uh!” She gave his butt a stinging slap. “Off! I'm in charge this time, remember?”

“You sure about that?”

Her eyes narrowed in threat. “You know,” she purred, “I think I'm beginning to feel sleepy. Too sleepy for sex.”

“I'll bet I could wake you up.” He wiggled his fingers.

“Off!”

It was tempting to demonstrate a Warlord's idea of sexual dominance, but he supposed she was entitled to extract a little payback.

“All right.” Galar threw himself back on the bed. “But don't be surprised when I take my turn.”

“I know you weren't threatening Mistress Jessica. Again.” She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Because there'd be consequences. ”

“Really.” Slender hands curled around the thick, flushed shaft of his cock. Her smile sent a quiver of anticipation through him.

Galar lay looking
up at her with hunger and challenge in his eyes. His powerful wrists were wrapped in that restraint cable, hands clasped on his chest, but his rock-hard erection did not suggest submission of any kind as it pointed at his chin. Her artist's eye admired the beauty of his long, powerfully graceful body. Her woman's body heated in response. And her heart . . .

Turned over in her chest.

She bent over him, wanting to touch, stroke, kiss all that masculine magnificence. Climbing astride his thighs, she ran both hands down his body, tracing the ripples and ridges of muscle, enjoying the texture of smooth skin and soft chest hair. His lids dipped as though he enjoyed her touch like a cat being petted.

Here and there she paused to thumb a nipple or cup the heavy weight of his balls, absorbed in him, in his body, in the way it reacted to her. Skin drawing tight, darkening with engorging blood, the rapid thump of his heart under her palm.

A bead of pre-come formed on the tip of his cock like a tear. She bent her head and licked it away, listening as he drew in a hard inward breath.

“Jess . . .” He groaned, sounding strangled. His bound hands tangled in her hair, and his back arched. “Sweet Mother, Jessica . . .”