Warrior (35 page)

Instead, he'd looked up her body and met her gaze, and an expression she'd never seen before had flashed over his face. Half wonder, half stark terror, followed by narrow-eyed determination.

And then he'd rolled over her like a storm, all ferocious desire and stark male demand.

Now he worked his big shaft inside her as he kissed her, his tongue sweeping in and out in thrusts that mirrored his cock's. Each stroke of that thick organ tugged her inner walls with a lush, sweet friction. She could feel her orgasm gathering strength.

Moaning, she dug her nails into his broad back and curled her legs around his waist, holding on as he rode her with that wild desperation.

Suddenly he tore free of their kiss to stare into her face.
Riaat
had turned his eyes to a solid sheet of flame. She'd never seen the red glow so intense. “I love you,” he growled. “Love you. Love you, love you!” With every chant, he thrust faster, harder, deeper.

“Galar!” The orgasm exploded with greater speed and force than she'd ever known, a storm of burning pleasure that set her every nerve on fire.
“I love you!”

“Jesssicaaaaa . . . !” He convulsed against her, his angular face gloriously lost.

And the fire swept them both away.

They lay together
in a dazed and panting pile. Galar was breathing like a stallion run to the end of his endurance, sweat slicking his skin. Along with, Jess noticed, lingering sticky smears of fruit. She smiled against his shoulder. “We're going to need a bath.”

“I lied.”

She stiffened in sudden hurt panic and met his gaze.

“No, not about loving you!” Galar said, alarmed, evidently reading her mind. “I meant about the meal being called a lover's repast.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew down.
And you thought it was necessary to scare me witless about this, why?

He pulled away from her with some difficulty—they
really
needed that bath—and fiddled with his Vardonese container again.

“I'm really not hungr—” Jess began, just as he turned back toward her. She broke off.

There was a small, blue velvet box in his hand.

"We actually call it a ‘betrothal repast.'”

“Oh.” She couldn't seem to think of anything else to say.

Galar licked his lips. “I downloaded an EDI on your marriage customs. It said the male in your time gives the woman a ring.” A flick of his thumb opened the box, revealing a glorious ruby surrounded in a cluster of diamonds on a silver band. “So I went to twenty-first-century New York, to that store they call Tiffany, and I bought this.”

Jess stared at the ring, speechless.

“I had it all planned,” Galar told her. Was that nervousness on his face? “You were going to be stunned by my eloquence and suitably wooed by my food selections.” He shrugged impressive shoulders. “So much for that plan. I'm afraid romance isn't my . . .”

She threw himself against him, hooking both arms around his neck as she swooped in for a kiss. “Oh, the ring is beautiful. And your dinner was delicious, and I—” Tears stung her eyes. “I will love you until the day I die.”

He cupped her face in his free hand. “Marry me.”

“God, yes!” She dove in for a kiss, laughing, crying.

It was some
time before they came up for air and Galar managed to slide the ring on her finger.

Jess extended her hand, admiring the way the sun threw glints from the diamonds and ignited fire in the heart of the ruby. “God, that's glorious.”

He nodded. “Almost as pretty as you are.”

Jess dimpled at him. “And you say you're not romantic.”

Galar's mouth curved into a smile as he caught her hand in his and began to play with her fingers. The smile drained away. “Do you know what I saw when Vanja caught us in that psychic feedback loop of hers?”

Jess blinked at the unexpected topic change. She shrugged. “I figured it was probably the moment when T'lain shot you.”

He shook his head. “Not even close. It was the look on your face when I arrested you. For the first time, I realized just how much I'd hurt you.” Galar looked up from her fingers, his expression intense, demanding. “And I wondered— how could you just forgive me the way you did?”

“Maybe because—I dunno—I love you?” Jess snorted. “Dumb question, stud.”

“But, Jess, I knew you were innocent,” he told her earnestly. “In my soul, I knew it. But I was so determined never to be fooled again, I didn't let myself believe in your innocence. It was raw pride. Ego. Why did you forgive me?”

She blinked. “I . . .” And stopped as abrupt understanding filled her.
White trash
. “Because I didn't believe I deserved anything better.”

He caught her chin, tilted it upward. “But you do. You deserve all the love I can give you.” His golden eyes narrowed. “And I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you, until you believe it. I will show you just how much you mean to me, just how much you
are
to me. Until you see it, feel it, taste it.” A smile flashed over his face, white and wide. “Until you bust my ass whenever I step out of line.”

A grin spread slowly across her face. “Okay, you talked me into it.” She leaned toward his mouth. “The tasting part sounds especially good.”

The kiss went on a long, long time.

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Punching the senior investigator in the mouth would
be a very bad idea.

For one thing, Dona's titanite-reinforced fist would probably shatter his jaw. For another, Alex Corydon was the leader of the Internal Security Team investigating her, and he already thought she was a spy. Knocking out a few of his teeth would virtually guarantee her a very unpleasant stint in the Gorgon Penal Colony. And a treason conviction was nothing to laugh at, particularly in the twenty-third century.

So Dona Astryr pasted an expression of polite attention on her face and straightened the fingers that wanted to curl into fists.
I'm not going to hit him. I'm
not
going to hit him.

“You're telling me you had no idea your lover was a spy?” Corydon lifted his upper lip in contemptuous disbelief. His teeth shone very white against the inky blue-black sheen of his skin as his eyes narrowed into slits of metallic gold. Hair the color of flame was bound in a severe braid that emphasized the height of his perfect cheekbones. The dramatic coloring made him look intensely alien, though in reality he was nothing more than human. His purebred DNA was yet another reason he hated Dona's cyborg guts. “You worked with Senior Enforcer Terje for more than a year— even slept with him—yet your sensors never once told you he was lying to you?”

How many times had she explained this? Ten? Fifteen? She'd lost count. Fighting to control her irritation, Dona looked out the wall-length window at the rolling, tree-covered flanks of the Blue Ridge Mountains as they dozed in the sunlight, painted with indigo shadows. It was a beautiful view, one that normally never failed to soothe.

Today it barely kept her from breaking Corydon's exquisite nose.
I know how this works, dammit,
Dona thought.
I've interrogated more than my share of subjects. Pissing them off is all part of the game. An angry criminal makes mistakes.

But she was no criminal. She was a Temporal Enforcer. She'd spent eight years chasing killers and thieves through time, and she didn't deserve Corydon's suspicion.

Taking a deep breath, Dona returned her attention to the senior investigator, who sat behind Chief Dyami's massive black desk as if he owned it. Her commanding officer had loaned Corydon his office for these relentless interviews of the Outpost staff.

The bastard was convinced someone there helped Ivar commit his crimes. And his favorite suspect was Dona herself.

“Ivar apparently used his internal computer to hide his reactions whenever he lied,” she said with careful patience. “There were no physiological changes for my sensors to detect. ” Dona had an impressive array of them implanted throughout her body, alongside the nanobot units that enhancedher strength to superhuman levels. Titanite-reinforced bones allowed her to use that power without shattering her own arms or legs. A neuronet computer wound through her brain in a molecule-thin network, giving her control of the whole complex system.

“You told Chief Dyami
your
lover's computer was active even in casual conversation. You never even entertained the thought that he might be a traitor?”

“Do you ever wonder if
your
friends are traitors?”

“Actually, yes, I do.” Corydon's tone was icy. “I'm always alert for signs of treason.”

“Your commanding officer told me he considers you an intelligent and capable agent.” His chin set at a contemptuous angle. “Your . . . naivete suggests otherwise.”

“I'm aware of that.” Dona's cheeks heated furiously. Under normal circumstances, she'd tell her comp to control the bright blush staining her cheeks, but she knew Corydon had a sensor array aimed at her. He'd probably take any action by her comp as an indication she was lying. “I assumed he was preoccupied with whatever case we were working at the time.” God, she hated to admit this to the smug bastard, but if she wasn't completely honest, he'd hang her out to dry. “But you're right—I should have realized Senior Enforcer Terje was working for the Xeran Empire. Had I done so, at least two good agents would still be alive.”

“Ah, yes, Enforcers Jiri and Ando Cadell.” Corydon's metallic eyes flicked down to the comp slate sitting at his elbow, either reading sensor data or reminding himself of some detail from her file. “I believe one of the Xerans beheaded Jiri, then ran Ando through when he tried to defend her. After cutting off his hand.” The chief investigator shook his head. “Ugly way to die.”

The memory of that night raked claws of pain and grief across her mind. “Yes, it was. Very ugly.”

“They were married, weren't they?”

“Yes, sir. Almost forty years.” Dona remembered Jiri's crow of triumph as she'd won that last hand of Kirilian poker the night before she'd died. “They were good friends of mine.”

“All couples fight,”
Jiri had said once when Dona bitched about her latest row with Ivar over his jealousy.
“It's a great excuse for make-up sex.”

Yeah, right. The last time Dona fought Ivar, he'd damn near beaten her to death. The only thing she wanted to do with him now was to shove a shard pistol into his mouth and pull the trigger.

“Does it bother you, I wonder,” Corydon asked softly, cruelly, “to know you got those good friends killed?”

“I have nightmares about it. Damn near every night.”

The investigator curled a skeptical lip. “That is too bad.” He made a show of studying the comp slate again. “Your record doesn't seem to indicate any real incompetence. You've been an agent of Temporal Enforcement for eight years now. Decent case-solved rate. Adequate string of commendations—even a Silver Dragon for bravery under fire.” He sniffed. “But then, you
are
a cyborg. I'd imagine it's easier being courageous when you're so hard to kill.”

Her mouth tightened. “I was awarded that for chasing a berserk Tevan cyborg through twentieth-century Chicago after he murdered my previous partner. I managed to keep him from killing any temporal natives, but I damned near died doing it. The medtechs had to resuscitate me twice after they got us back.”

“A Tevan?” Corydon's aristocratic nostrils flared. “Tevans have no business time-traveling to Earth. They can't pass for human.”

“Since they're eight feet tall, scaled and orange, no. And this one was completely insane. That's why we were chasing him.”

“An impressive arrest, I suppose.” He glanced down at his comp slate. “Of course, it would have been more impressive if you were human.”

I'm
not
going to hit him.

Corydon finally let
her escape more than an hour later. Dona decided to take a stroll around the Outpost to walk off her anger and anxiety.

She had good reason to worry. The bastard meant to charge her with treason, and he'd dig until he found an excuse to do it. Never mind that Dona was innocent. She wouldn't put it past Corydon to manufacture evidence if he couldn't find any legitimately.

Given the state of computer simulation, it would be easy to create a very convincing recording of her doing something she'd never done. And Corydon was rabidly self-righteous enough to do whatever it took to see she got “justice.”

Frowning darkly, Dona strode along the Outpost's broad, ruler-straight corridors, winding her way through crowds of techs, fellow Enforcers, and wandering tourists.

It was a sprawling facility, one of five located in various continents in various eras. Galactic Union officials had chosen sixteenth-century Spirit Mountain as the site for its North American headquarters. In this time, the surrounding area was sparsely populated by Native Americans, who had witnessed enough strange lights and loud noises to consider the mountain haunted.

The Outpost itself was located deep within the core of the mountain, where it housed Temporal Enforcement, a well-equipped infirmary, and a sprawling concourse packed with a wide variety of shops.

Dona headed for the latter. She'd always enjoyed window shopping and people watching in the concourse, where tourists and scholars bought whatever they'd need for their trips through time. Clothing for any era could be synthesized in the stores, along with the appropriate currency and enough supplies for extended temporal excursions.