Resisting Tamaki

by Shelley Munro

  “Problem?” Rico asked.

  “Yeah.” Tamaki jerked his head toward his office. “You could say that.”

  “You want me to get rid of her?”

  “No!” Tamaki’s reply was instant. No, he didn’t want that. He had rather more sensual plans in mind. First he’d strip the ugly tunic from her body. It made her appear sexless. Instinct told him that beneath the brown cloth she bore a pleasing shape. It was the way she held herself, the proud bearing. The flash of vulnerability in her eyes that vanished the instant she noticed anyone was watching her, replaced by a tough, no-nonsense attitude. Tamaki imagined sliding his hands under her brown tunic, fanning his fingers to measure the width of her waist and slowly moving them up to cup her breasts. He wondered about size. Shape. His palms tingled and his cock woke abruptly, pushing against the placket of his trews with enough vigor to make Tamaki uncomfortable.

  “Earth to Tamaki.”

  “Huh?”

  Rico grinned. “I said, Earth to Tamaki.”

  Tamaki moved so the glossy hi-tech bar was between him and his friend. “We’re on Marchant. Remember? Light years away from the blue planet.”

  “What’s up?” Rico stared at Tamaki before his gaze moved down his body. “Ah. I get it. Wee Willie Winkie is exerting his say in the interview process.”

  “Get fucked,” Tamaki muttered.

  “Oh yeah. And I’d sure like that. The microt I can talk my way into Marianna’s pants I’ll be sure to let you know. Hell, I might even take out an ad in the Marchant Communicator. Hire a market crier or something. Marianna’s surrender would be worth the celebration.”

  Slightly diverted, Tamaki studied his friend and coworker. Rico had taken one look at Marianna, a local, and declared she was the woman for him. Yet he hadn’t been able to talk the female into a date, not within the club or for a casual meeting in the city. Tamaki hadn’t been able to understand why Rico wouldn’t go with any other female. He glanced toward his office. Suddenly it all made sense.

  “I want her, but I can’t fuck the hired help. It’s against the rules since the company was sued for the Martian scandal.”

  “Don’t hire her—then the rules won’t apply,” Rico said. “Go and interview the female and tell her she isn’t what you’re looking for in a bartender.”

  “Lie, you mean.”

  Rico snorted. “Come on, Tamaki. You’ve done it before.”

  “Yeah, when I was young and stupid. Lies have a way of coming back to bite you in the arse.”

  “Hire her then, and keep your hands off. You’re the boss.”

  Tamaki gave a clipped nod and strode back into his office. “Sorry about that. I needed to have a word with my assistant manager. I’m Tamaki Grierson, the club manager.”

  “Where are you from?”

  Tamaki found himself grinning. “Who’s conducting this interview here?”

  “Sorry, I was curious. I don’t recognize your accent. The other male too. He looks like he’s from Marchant but his voice gives him away as an otherlander.”

  “We’re from Earth,” Tamaki said. “We grew up together on a landmass called New Zealand. We’ve both worked in several of the nightclubs in this franchise chain.”

  The woman nodded. “I have visited the blue planet.”

  Curiosity crept through Tamaki. He wanted to know more about her, but bearing Rico’s words in mind, he changed the subject. “Tell me what experience you have. Why should I hire you?”

  She looked him straight in the eye, her golden irises surrounded by dark lashes that curled upward in a delicate arch. Her eyes were more elongated than his, reminding him of a cat. Man, he’d sure like to stroke her fur and make her purr. Tamaki stalked behind his desk and sat, not wanting her to see his growing erection. Damn, he couldn’t get his mind off having sex with this female. And despite knowing he was making a big mistake, he was going to hire her—even if she didn’t know a fiery reeb from a guardian’s kiss cocktail. Letting her walk out of his life would be an even bigger mistake. Aware he was skirting the rules but unwilling to let her leave, he continued the interview.

  “I worked as a bartender at the Lingam Towers on the planet Dalcon. I worked there for forty cycles. Once I began my training, I worked evenings and week breaks at the Gallant Dragon on Bezant.”

  Tamaki was impressed. She’d worked at some high-class joints. She had experience, so at least Rico couldn’t call him on that. “Why did you go to part-time? What training did you do?”

  “I am a pilot. I work for Coalition Shipping.”

  Tamaki straightened abruptly. “You’re seriously overqualified for working in my club.”

  Her golden eyes narrowed, emphasizing their shape. Her tongue darted out to dampen her bottom lip. Tamaki followed the move with fascination, lust jolting his cock to even greater prominence. His gut hollowed. She looked defeated yet anger pumped off her in waves. There was a story here.

  “I had a personality conflict with my superior officer. The ship left while I was in the city. The schedule does not permit them to return for me.”

  The bastard had left her stranded. Her calm demeanor impressed Tamaki. Only the tightness of her body gave her away, and the way she appeared to glow when her emotions heightened. Not a shred of feeling showed in her voice.

  “The job is yours if you want it. Can you work tonight?”

  Cimmaron let out a slow breath. He’d given her a job. Relief made her giddy and relaxed the tension she held inside. “Yes. I can work as many hours as you need me.” While she wasn’t interested in him romantically, she had to admit, as far as males went, his appearance was pleasing. Careful about such things, she allowed none of her thoughts to show on her face. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him.

  “Good. See Rico about a uniform on the way out. The position is worth two hundred credits per week plus a meal while you’re on the job.”

  Cimmaron nodded. At least if she worked tonight, she’d get a meal. Now all she needed to worry about was finding somewhere to live. “Do you know if there are any rooms to hire around here?”

  Tamaki frowned, and Cimmaron watched closely, seeing his scowl disappear magically. He was a beautiful male. He tugged at hungry emotions she hadn’t realized she had. The thought brought a soft, choked sound. Her pills. They were in her cell on the ship, along with the rest of her possessions. Phrull, this day just kept getting worse. She didn’t want to mate with any male, but without the pills to deaden the urge… Maybe she could find an apothecary. The goddesses must be laughing at her predicament. Her mother had told her she was silly trying to outrun her destiny, all because she wished to travel and command her own starship. Prestige and power before mating and offspring. Cimmaron thought it was a good trade-off. She refused to live the way her mother did, slave to that male—her stepfather.

  No, there had to be a way.

  “I have a friend who might be able to help with lodging.”

  Tamaki Grierson scrawled a name on a scrap of parchment and handed it to her.

  “I will see you later this eventide. Don’t forget to see Rico about your uniform.”

  Cimmaron stood, heeding the dismissal. She’d push through her problems one by one, the way she always did. She had a job and maybe accommodation. She’d find an apothecary next and take things from there. Even if she had to steal to do it, she’d fight the Dlog female instinct to mate and procreate.

  She’d fight for freedom and personal choice.

  And she’d win.

  Chapter Two

  “I’m not wearing this.” Cimmaron gestured at the skimpy costume she held in her left hand. It consisted of strips of royal blue fabric. Small strips.

  “Don’t worry, there’s more,” Rico said with a chuckle in his voice. He reached into a storage cupboard and drew out a pair of thigh-high boots in the same blue as the strips. “Here you go.”

  Thigh-high slut boots. Cimmaron gaped for an instant before her mouth firmed into a scowl. “The boots co
ver more than the rest.” She shook the blue strips and held them up doubtfully. “I’m sure they won’t fit.”

  “The uniform is made from shrinkton fabric. When you put it on, the material will conform to your size to fit perfectly.”

  Cimmaron glared at the offending boots. No doubt they were the same. “I’ll wear my own clothes.” Even though the only clothes she owned were those she stood in right now. She’d get by somehow, and it would be better than having her body showcased for all to see. The loss of her pills was going to prove difficult enough as it was without men and women who frequented the bar staring at her, touching her. Unfortunately, the Dlog people drew attention wherever they went because of their golden skin. Cimmaron shivered as stealthy thoughts of sex and coupling slid into her mind. Tamaki Grierson with his piercing blue eyes, his sexy form tempted her. No! She would not allow her Dlog hormones to push her into sex with a stranger. Cimmaron thrust the uniform at Rico’s chest. “I can’t wear this.”

  “All the female staff wear this uniform,” Rico said. “No uniform, no job.” His voice sounded matter-of-fact, but the threat was inherent in his words and stance. He meant it. If she didn’t consent to the uniform, she wouldn’t have a job.

  Well. Cimmaron’s nose and chin lowered as pride took his announcement on board. “If one customer gropes my backside, I’ll hit first and ask questions later.”

  “We have security men to take care of that,” Rico said smoothly. “All you need to do is serve drinks.”

  He was laughing at her. Cimmaron’s chin lifted a fraction. “All right,” she said in a grudging tone. “What time do I need to be back to start work?”

  “At moon wane.”

  “First or second?” Cimmaron accepted the jute bag he handed her and stuffed the offending uniform inside. She learned by her mistakes.

  “First.”

  With a curt nod, she strode to the door and the Maxiom security guard who stood beside it. His sneer remained intact when she approached, but Cimmaron noticed he edged away, out of kicking distance.

  “See ya later, Hulk.” And with a jaunty wave, she opened the door and slipped outside.

  The crowds had thinned during her time inside the bar, and the narrow lane was almost empty. The closeness of the buildings made it appear later in the day than it really was. An elderly Marchant woman limped home with her shopping, her head lowered against the stiff wind. Cimmaron pulled the slip of parchment Tamaki had given her out of her trews pocket and scanned it with a frown. She should have asked someone at the club for directions before she left. The crease between her brows deepened as a vision of Tamaki Grierson flitted through her mind, along with the inevitable sexual zing. No way was she going back in there until it was time to start work.

  A rusty chuckle made the hair at the back of her neck prickle. Cimmaron’s head jerked up and she froze, aware of the danger she’d blundered into because she hadn’t been paying proper attention.

  “Hoya, looky at the Dlog chica,” a gritty voice said. “Whatcha doin’ so far from home?”

  Damn her distinctive coloring, and damn Tamaki Grierson. He had her so wound up she was probably glowing gold again and making herself even more visible than normal.

  The speaker was one of a group of Marchant youths who loitered on the stoop of the neighboring stone building, smoking curve pipes and drinking from frosted flasks. Jostling and nudging each other with their elbows, they appeared harmless enough. She’d keep walking, as if she knew where she were heading, and ask someone else for directions to the lodging place.

  “Where’s ya man, Dlog?” The male at the front appeared to be the leader. Cimmaron watched his face. His cloudy white eyes told her he was high on vroom, the local liquor. Phrull, her day just kept going downhill. She glanced at the others. Their edgy gazes darted up and down the street to check for witnesses.

  Cimmaron cursed under her breath, and prepared to run if they attempted to jump her. Running was probably the only course of action available. One or two youths alone would have been manageable, but five… She sighed, angry for getting into this position. If only she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her woes.

  “What’s the chica doin’ alone without her man?” the youth repeated, his smirk revealing a topaz jewel set in one of his front teeth. It glinted in the light of one of the flare-torches illuminating the narrow lane.

  A rich kid slumming it. Great. Cimmaron backed away, even though she’d prefer to box the kid’s ears.

  “If ya don’t have a man, maybe I’ll take the position.” The youth’s smirk widened as his gaze strolled up and down her body. He made her feel dirty, and the longing to box his ears grew stronger.

  “Heard Dlog women are hot,” another youth said. “Wouldn’t mind some.”

  Cimmaron caught a whiff of his breath from where she stood. She backed away a fraction more, continuing to watch the leader’s eyes for a hint of his next move.

  “Sorry, boys.” An arm snaked around her waist. “This one is mine.”

  Cimmaron tensed until she recognized the voice. Tamaki Grierson. She cast a quick glance at his impassive face. Oh, just excellent. Her new boss, the one male who actually tempted her, the one who made Cimmaron long to give her body, to indulge her Dlog senses, came to the rescue. Why did it have to be him? She inhaled deep and instantly regretted it when his clean, green scent threatened to undermine the rigid control she kept over her Dlog sensuality. Cimmaron found herself leaning into his muscular body without even knowing how it happened. And Tamaki, damn his hide, took advantage of her slip. Before she knew it, her back pressed tight to his chest and she felt the reassuring beat of his heart.

  “Maybe not your woman for long. Ya shouldn’t let the Dlog wander,” the boy said. “Might find someone betta.” His friends sniggered, egging him on.

  “And you think you’re the one to take her from me?”

  Leashed danger throbbed in Tamaki’s voice, but the youths were too befuddled on vroom to take heed.

  “Move behind me, out of the way,” Tamaki murmured for her hearing only. “It’s about time these bullies were taken down. I’m tired of them harassing my female staff.” Anger laced his words, and Cimmaron felt the tension rise in him.

  Slowly, she edged away, but instead of stepping behind as instructed, she stood at his side. Poised lightly, she watched the youths, waiting for the moment they decided to make their move.

  Seconds later, the leader launched himself at Tamaki. His buddies moved in a collective unit, backing up the leader. A mistake. She gave a feral snarl and jumped into the melee, her dander soaring high. Lashing out with her right fist, she took pleasure in the crunch of a flat nose. The roar of pain and vicious cursing brought a grin. Hand-to-hand combat wasn’t something that came naturally to a Dlog female preprogrammed for serving her mate, but she was a pilot, and they were a different breed altogether. She blocked a punch and kicked the youth’s feet from under him. He toppled over, falling into an open drain with a mighty splash.

  Tamaki knocked the leader to the ground with a bone-crunching right cross, and the remaining three youths melted into the shadows.

  “Can’t you follow orders?” he demanded.

  “No.” Her chin lifted in challenge as she silently disputed his thoughts about the reasons the captain of the Intrepid had left her stranded. “Not when I’m perfectly capable of helping. I’m not a helpless Dlog flower.” Her indignation climbed as she waited for the typical male reaction.

  Tamaki smiled without warning, his teeth a flash of white in his tanned face. The fight had ruffled his dark hair and Cimmaron experienced an absurd desire to fix it for him. She curled her hands to fists and resisted the urge with all her might.

  The leader of the youths stirred with a muffled groan. He spat and his jeweled tooth fell out onto the cobblestones. He grabbed it and rolled to his feet with another groan. “You’re gonna be sorry,” he snarled before limping off and disappearing into the shadows between two of the stone buildings.


  “It occurred to me you wouldn’t know your way around the city. I’m going in the direction you want.” Tamaki took her arm and arched a brow in silent enquiry.

  A shiver sped through her body, converging in her feminine heart. The slow, seductive flush of arousal seeped back to her mind. Cimmaron swallowed. She was not attracted to this man. “Tell me where to go.” She tried to shake off his touch. It didn’t work. Instead, his lips shaped into a smile of incredible charm, one that made her heart beat even faster.

  “It’s no trouble,” he said.

  Sighing, Cimmaron gave in even as she silently disputed his words. The man was trouble wrapped up with charisma and sex appeal. She was in a dilemma, and she knew it.

  * * * * *

  Cimmaron dressed in the blue strips of uniform with misgiving. The cracked looking glass in her rented room didn’t foster much confidence. The smallest strip covered her breasts but also lifted them until they were prominent and left nothing to the imagination. She now had a cleavage big enough for hands to get lost inside. If they dared try! The bottom half of the uniform covered her from just below the bellybutton to mid-thigh, leaving her stomach bare. Then there were the boots. The soft fabric matched the rest of her uniform. A modern material made with shrinkton, it adjusted to the outside temperature so the wearer never became too hot or cold. She sighed and unzipped them, ready to don. They were too big when she put her foot inside, but she zipped them up anyway. They shrunk to fit immediately. She peered into the looking glass, studying the reflection with misgiving. With her golden blonde hair tumbling loose around her shoulders and the uniform, she looked like a showgirl from the planet Veyga.