Bachelor on Mars

by Leigh Wyndfield

  How long had it been since he’d wanted a woman this much? Maybe never. Goldie was his own precious metal.

  She licked him everywhere but his cock, taking her time.

  “Please,” he begged again, finally breaking down, mindless under her ministrations.

  She obliged him by finally slipping her beautiful lips over his head, just teasing him at the top.

  “More,” he gasped, needing so badly to find completion. Although he didn’t want it to end so soon. He wanted it to last forever.

  She stayed at the top first, simply mouthing his head over and over. But then she took him deeper, and it didn’t take long for the pent-up need to explode over him in the best climax of his life, and God, he wanted to do it all over again. As soon as he recovered from the mind-blowing experience.

  Afterwards, he pulled her up to his chest and snuggled her close, feeling closer to her than he’d felt to anyone in a long, long time.

  It had been a long time, more than a year now he realized, maybe longer. He’d come to Mars and obviously that meant he’d be celibate, but before he’d left, he’d been so distracted. And while he would have preferred to be deep inside her, he found that this moment of relief had taken the edge off him to the point he could think about how amazingly lucky he was to even have found such a perfect woman for him on Mars. To have had this moment and for it to have been like this blew him away.

  After finally stuffing his desire back into a box, contentment slipped over him and her as well he surmised, based on the pliant feel of her body as she draped herself across him.

  He figured he wouldn’t be able to rest with Goldie so near, that it would be too weird, but the minute he closed his eyes, he was out, sleeping the sleep of the dead. It was one of the best slumbers of his life.

  Margo woke up with the new morning sun hitting her eyelids, taking a long moment to study Jack Boyle, who was still asleep beside her. He was even more good looking without the slightly grumpy frown he tended to wear, made worse, she was sure, by the visiting TV contestants.

  She still could barely believe she’d slept with the geologist of her dreams. Well, not slept-slept, but fooled around.

  Orgasmed.

  Jack. Boyle. Flopping on her back, she stared at the station ceiling, unable to stop grinning while she listened to him breathe. For the first time in her life, she understood why people suddenly broke into song or danced with joy.

  It was so good, it was all she could do not to wake him up and do it again.

  Part of her was embarrassed that she’s been such a hussy, climbing on him and outlining exactly what she wanted. But she was proud of herself, because by speaking up, she’d had a mind-blowing experience she could take back out and relive for the rest of her life.

  Since it felt cruel to wake him when he was sleeping so soundly, she slid out of bed, threw on her clothes, and went in search of coffee. As the water heated on a camp stove they’d brought, she rooted around and found two mugs. When she closed the cabinet door, she could see the outline of her tousled hair, the swollen lips, and her love swept appearance in the glass.

  She touched her lip with a slightly shaking hand, unable to resist grinning at herself. They were in danger of dying and all she could think was I slept with Jack Boyle!

  When she went back to the futon, Jack was awake, blinking at her, maybe a little confused as to how he’d gotten here.

  “Coffee?” she asked, offering a mug.

  “You’re amazing,” he said.

  She felt amazing. An odd sense of peace filled her. As if things were finally right. Which was stupid, because nothing was right.

  “No error message. I think it made it through,” she said, sitting down when he patted beside him, cradling her own mug with both hands.

  He leaned into her space to give her a long, deep kiss a feeling of need stirring deep inside her, but lazily, as if it wasn’t all that pressing. “We should get back,” he said when he came up for air, “But I really don’t want to go.”

  “Me neither,” she said, going in for another kiss, and lacing her free hand into his hair to pull him even closer to her.

  She wanted to hang out and see Mars with him, hear all his stories, see everything he’d discovered so far. She wanted to have sex with him. Lots of sex. On Mars. With Jack. F’ing. Boyle. A smile spread across her face at the thought and she pulled away from the kiss to look at him. They were both breathing heavily, caught up in a haze of their attraction and mutual need. The sensible scientist side of her kicked in soon enough though, as thoughts of the tasks that lay before them started to creep into her mind. “Hopefully we won’t run into any trouble, but I suppose we should leave early, just in case.”

  They both silently sipped their coffees, neither racing to go anywhere.

  “Okay,” he said on a sigh, putting down the mug. “We should go.”

  The hiss of an airlocked door opening made them both jump to their feet, Margaret spilling coffee in her haste. Jack took a step forward when another hiss signaled the entry door opening and a man walked through.

  Beside her, Jack froze. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Sit,” the man said, and his tone had so much command that Margaret obeyed.

  Jack did not. “What are you doing, Haxley?” he asked, his whole body coiling into a tight spring.

  Haxley must have seen the coming danger too, because he pulled something from his pocket, the action so swift she didn’t register what he held at first, because she was too busy trying to match up the man she’d seen in science articles and on the console screen yesterday to the person before them.

  She knew who Walter Haxley was—everyone who knew anything about Mars did. As a weather expert, he studied the seasons and wind patterns on the planet, although she hadn’t seen anything from him lately. He’d been the first to find private funding to develop his own station and the first to take on sponsors. The commercials he’d been in before he’d left Earth still ran once in a while, and she occasionally still saw him giving weather reports from his station, which she’d always thought was a bit cutesy, but she’d still tuned in for them anyway.

  “I said to sit, Boyle.” This was a very different Walter Haxley from yesterday. Gone was the scared trembling and the dirty face. In fact, the hand that held an odd-looking gun was rock steady as he aimed it at them.

  She tried to make sense of the gun, her brain having trouble with the stickup-like feel of the situation.

  Thank God they’d been so cold, they’d gotten fully dressed this morning. Because this would be much worse if she still wore only Jack’s shirt. She’d almost been tempted to see if she could interest Jack in a quickie. She’d warmed up to the idea even further after the amazing kiss he’d planted on her.

  Jack held up his hands as he sat next to her on the sofa, the storm cloud of anger on his face belying the placating gesture. “You can’t just kill us and get away with it.”

  “Of course I can. You’re the one who said he’d been attacked by Russians in all your communications.” He waved his gun. “You surprised me, Jack. You made it all the way here despite the fact I blew up your rover. And somehow you managed to have another rocket coming, when you were supposed to be starving to death. Very inconvenient.”

  “I weep for you,” Jack said, his gaze searching Haxley’s face.

  She could almost see his intelligent mind looking for a way out of this mess. And she had to admit, if she had to pick anyone to be in this situation with, Jack Boyle was her number one choice.

  What she didn’t understand was why Walter Haxley was threatening them. It seemed crazy to think he’d set this elaborate plan in motion, because there wasn’t an upside she could see. Blowing up Jack’s rover and their rocket—it made no sense.

  “So, there were no Russians. This has been all you from the start?” Jack asked.

  “It was me.” Haxley didn’t look like he was gloating. In fact, his tone had a whine o
f apology in it. “I have problems but no resources to solve them. I need your stuff, Jack. It all comes down to that.”

  Jack frowned, showing he’d heard Haxley’s whine, too. “You did it all. My rover, the rocket, the crazy com where you said you’d been attacked.”

  “All of it.”

  “Why?” Jack asked, which was Margaret’s question too.

  “Because you were supposed to be out of money months ago,” Haxley raged, his emotions changing so quickly, Margaret flinched. “But somehow, even with all your grants drying up, you’ve managed to keep yourself afloat. And when I saw you had a new rover, I had to go check out Station 7 to see what else you’d been hiding from me.”

  “You went to my station?”

  Margaret knew that couldn’t be true. They’d talked to everyone last night, after they sent the messages. Russ would have told her if there had been a visitor and his demeanor had been as relaxed as ever. There had been no sign he’d been forced to lie. He’d been the same bordering-on-stoned guy he’d always been. And if they couldn’t travel at night, neither could Haxley.

  “And what did I find?” Haxley went on, his tone edging into hysterical. “A bunch of women filming a reality TV show!” His fingers grew white on the trigger. “I forced some idiot named Lynette to tell me how much she paid you, but that shouldn’t have kept you going. It wasn’t a small amount, but you should have folded already. I want to know where else your money is coming from before I kill you.”

  If he knew about Lynette, then he must have shown up after the call. Margaret suddenly got a bad, bad feeling, fear washing over her. He’d killed three of the contestants already. “You didn’t kill them, did you?”

  Jack’s hand gripped her knee in warning, but she had to know.

  “They’ll die if I don’t get the answers I need from your boyfriend here.”

  Which meant they were still alive. She blew out a breath and tried to let Jack handle this, since he knew Haxley best.

  Jack shrugged his shoulders as if loosening up for a fight. “You want me to tell you, but if you’re going to kill me, why would I share my secrets?”

  “Because I’ll kill your woman if you don’t,” Haxley said pointing the gun at Margaret.

  She hissed in a breath and tried to master her fear. She wasn’t going to die here on Mars if she could help it. The important thing was to stay grounded and not panic.

  Jack shrugged. “You’ll kill her anyway. You have to. Besides, she’s not my woman. She’s just some bimbo I picked up during filming.”

  “I’m not a bimbo,” she hissed, because she figured Margo would say that, although she was only half acting. Being judged for her looks had always been a pet peeve. She appreciated Jack’s attempt to take her out of the crossfire, but she wanted to know what the hell was going on here. Was Haxley working with the Russians?

  “Hey,” Haxley said, waving a hand at her. “Boyle’s always been an idiot. Forget him. You can live with me.”

  Disgust nipped at her, the thought of spending the night in his bed making her sick to her stomach. She kept looking at Jack, not wanting Haxley to see her true feelings. It was time to be Margo again. Margo would handle this like any girl would, and since Margaret really had never been a normal female, she would need Margo’s help.

  Jack gripped her knee but the arrogant look was still on his face.

  “You have to know that there was nothing between us,” Jack said, his voice empty, as he turned to her. “You were supposed to leave tomorrow.” He dismissed her by focusing on Haxley once more. “You should let all the TV people go on the shuttle. You don’t want their blood on your hands.”

  Margo’s heart tumbled at Jack’s chivalry. He was willing to sacrifice his own life for her to get on the shuttle.

  “Maybe I will let them go, along with your girlfriend, if you tell me how you’ve been funding your station.”

  “Guarantee me they’ll go on the shuttle and I’ll tell you.”

  Margo sucked in a breath. There was no way Jack should trust Haxley. The wide-eyed stare and sweat beading on his face screamed that something was very wrong. Mentally.

  “I give you my word,” Haxley lied, so obviously even she could see it.

  “Why are you doing this?” Margo asked, unable to keep quiet. “You’re famous and well respected.”

  “Because I need money for some very important repairs and I can’t get a single grant with him taking everything. I got here months before him, but he’s all the magazines and papers can talk about. You would think he’s the second coming of Einstein.” Haxley waved his gun. “Hell, even one of you TV stars jumped in the sack with him.”

  “I didn’t—” she started, but of course she had. And she’d been about to do it again.

  “Don’t lie to me. Your hair is a rat’s nest on the back of your head. I might be old, but even I know what just-fucked hair looks like.”

  Margo touched the back of her head, finding it snarled into a mess. She smoothed it before she could stop herself, dropping her hand when Haxley snickered.

  She tried to get back on track. “But that doesn’t give you the right to hurt Jack.”

  “Look at you. The man just insulted you and you’re still on your knees for him. Boyle inspires that in everyone. It’s pathetic.”

  Margo flinched at that sexist insult. What the hell? That wasn’t all right. She wasn’t used to such blatant sexism in a fellow scientist. Innuendo yes. Childish puns, undoubtedly. But blatant had been out for years.

  Jack wanted to drive his fist through Haxley’s teeth for insulting the women he’d fallen in like with. Because while he felt all warm and smushy about Margaret Carson, he wasn’t silly enough to think it was anything but a deep, abiding interest. But he was also self-aware enough to realize they had something going here. The possibilities he could have with this woman were endless and he wasn’t going to let anyone kill her.

  The pieces had finally started to click together. Haxley had obviously gone off his rocker and he wasn’t going to let Jack go and therefore he couldn’t let Margaret go either, so freeing them wasn’t going to happen.

  Haxley held a zoot gun. The gun had been developed to fire in the lighter atmosphere of Mars to protect them from unknown predators or who knows what. Jack had never carried his because all that seemed to live here besides the odd virus or bacterium, was rocks. It should, however, be less accurate inside the station, since the atmosphere here was closer to Earth’s density. Still, Jack didn’t want to take the chance Haxley might kill them by luck or because the gun was accurate enough to get the job done.

  “Where are the other two people from your station?” Jack asked, wondering if Haxley was on some sort of a rampage and had killed his staff.

  “Richard really did die,” Haxley said, looking momentarily sad about it. “He was electrocuted in the mechanical hut. An accident, I assure you.”

  “And Ellen?” Jack hoped the likable atmospheric scientist hadn’t joined Richard in the hereafter.

  Haxley shrugged. “She and I had a momentary difference in opinion, so I locked her in the supply closet. She’ll come around. She just needs some time.”

  Jack thought fast. He had to come up with some way to get near the old man so he could overpower Haxley. Because the lightning-fast mood changes and the paranoid plotting were signs this wasn’t going to end well. Maybe Haxley had Red Meningitis.

  On the bright side, he hadn’t killed them yet and Jack wasn’t going to let him.

  “You’ll let Margo go if I tell you how I’m getting my money?” he asked again, setting the scene for his next move.

  Margaret sat forward beside him, but he gave a tiny shake of his head, hoping she saw his plan when she realized where he was going.

  “I promise,” Haxley said.

  Jack suppressed a sigh, disappointed his nemesis hadn’t at least tried to lie convincingly. “It’s in my pack,” he said. “May I?” He pointed to his stuff still sitting in a pile beside the door,
not wanting to startle Haxley and end up getting shot.

  “Stay there!” Walter waved his gun around wildly.

  Jack held out his hands in a placating gesture and settled firmly into the couch. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The older man backed over to the packs and stood beside them as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Then he dumped both bags out, items scattering everywhere with the force of his motion.

  Chocolate bars covered the top of the pile from Margaret’s pack and Jack glanced at her, lifting a brow. There were a lot of them, maybe twenty in all. Someone had a chocolate addiction.

  She shrugged sheepishly.

  “Follow my lead,” he mouthed to her.

  She nodded.

  When Haxley had everything out of every pocket, he straightened. “There’s nothing here,” he snarled. “You’ve tried to trick me.”

  “There is, actually,” Jack said. “Right by your left shoe.”

  Haxley searched around and brought up a rock. “This?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s quartz,” Haxley huffed.

  “It’s not. It’s a diamond. I’ve been selling them.”

  Haxley held the crystal up to the light. It caught the rising sun from the viewport and spread a pretty rainbow across the floor. He stared at it in awe. “There are diamonds here?”

  “I’ve been selling them slowly. I don’t want to flood the market.”

  “Damn,” he said, still staring at the rainbow, his eyes ringed with black circles from lack of sleep, his clothes hanging from his body.

  Jack realized whatever was wrong with the old man had been going on for a long time. “Have you been feeling okay?” he asked.

  Haxley’s gaze snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t start with that Red Meningitis crap.” He waved his gun, getting agitated again. “You and Ellen need to stop harping on that. I told her and I’ll tell you. I don’t have it.”