A bent old man stumped up to her window, and laid one gnarled hand on the counter. He said something that made her smile—a glowing smile, with a flash of white teeth and flirtatious sweep of dark lashes. In one smooth motion she turned, grabbed a disposable cup and filled it from the coffee machine steaming at her side. Then she handed the cup to him, holding on until he had a grip on it.
The old man nodded his thanks. She watched him walk away, then returned to her scrubbing. No credit had changed hands. Stark stood for a sec and then decided he wanted one of those smiles and that he'd gladly pay the price of a coffee for it.
He strolled over to stand at her counter, thinking he'd solved the mystery of the stand's success. He'd certainly been turned from his dark mood.
But, just as he'd reached her, the display over the gambling stand changed and the lovely barista had been riveted, hardly noticing him although he stood directly in front of her. He was not accustomed to being ignored, especially by women.
Maybe it was the old memories of lurking in the port, unnoticed and unwanted, coupled with her kindness to the old man, another ragged castoff, which strengthened his resolve to have her.
And now here she was, aboard his cruiser. But Stark frowned as he walked to his cruiser's compact bar to pour himself a snifter of moonpear brandy. She'd obviously bet a large sum on the StarLotto game, to be so devastated at her loss. Was she naïve or just reckless? And was this an aberration or a habit? If the latter, this would be their only encounter. He had good reason, the best, to steer clear of habitual gamblers.
He'd have the story out of her.
As she emerged into the cruiser cabin, he turned, eyeing her with pleasure. Yes, she was lovely, but more than that, the fire of hard-won independence in her amber gaze called to him, challenged him to ruffle her self-possession. A kindred spirit in some ways, but packaged in complete femininity that he wanted to tame.
He'd seen a gleam of calculation when he invited her to come with him, but far from despising that, he understood, even admired her for it. He hadn't gotten where he was without constantly reading the beings with whom he dealt and deciding how to best use them to his advantage. She was a woman alone, working her business in a rough area of the port.
He'd had painful lessons along the way. Perhaps he could save her a few of those. Not that he had any emotional connection in mind. That was the last thing he was looking for.
She smiled as she crossed the cabin to him.
"What?" he asked, handing her a snifter with a small amount of the brandy.
A twinkle of humor gleamed through the shadows in her eyes as she indicated their surroundings. "Stark reality isn't so bad, not in this case."
He chuckled. "You like brandy?"
She sniffed it delicately and then took a careful sip. Her eyes widened and she took another sip. "I like this."
He indicated the two nearest chairs, and she sat. She had a catlike elegance he appreciated. He'd like to see her in a finely made evening gown, with jewels against her golden skin—perhaps Tygean topaz. Yes, a high collar, with a ring dangling from it. The ring would rest on her chest and hide the vulnerable hollow of her throat from any eyes but his.
Even her scent pleased him—the faint sweetness of a healthy female, overlaid with coffee and spices.
Opal brought them a plate of crisp crackers, each topped with a dab of white cheese, russet jelly and a sliver of green.
"Thank you." His guest took an hors d'oeuvre and slipped it into her mouth.
Opal nodded, and disappeared into the cockpit.
Stark watched with interest as Kiri chewed. He was not disappointed. She hummed with pleasure as she swallowed. "Mm-m, is that real cheese?"
His fingers flexed on his brandy snifter. He wanted to see that look again, hear that little moan while he was touching her.
She took another cracker. "I'm starving. Forgot to eat today."
"Then you'll appreciate dinner. Jasmine serves only fresh foods, most of it flown in from Pangaea."
She wrinkled her straight nose. "I'm not really dressed for dinner. Maybe you should take me someplace … simpler."
He shook his head. "No one there will mind."
"Because I'm with you," she said wisely. "You dine there often?"
"When I'm on planet."
Her gaze brightened over her snifter. "You travel? Tell me. Where's the best place you've gone?"
He couldn't resist her interest. "Every planet—or nearly every planet—has its own appeal. Serpentia has golden deserts and fascinating rock formations. The sunrises and sunsets there are spectacular. Pangaea is almost completely green and blue—gardens, farms and water. Bryght is a small planet, but the sky there seems to be full of moons; three male moons and two female.
"Frontiera …" he paused, thinking how to describe it. "She has three moons as well, but most of all, she's like Earth II must have been before pollution and overcrowding. Vast stretches of open country, with only wild creatures and nomadic tribes. The wetter regions have some settled peoples."
She took another cracker, leaning closer. "Are there no cities at all?"
"Some, but mostly small towns and huge areas with no settlements at all. Like Earth, she has climates—cold at the magnetic poles and hot at the equator. There are seas, and we don't yet know what creatures dwell in their depths."
His guest shivered, sipping her brandy, her gaze faraway. "Which region do you like best?"
"The tropical areas are beautiful, as are the more temperate boreal forests. I've mining interests in the north. The mountains are spectacular, snow-capped and wild. There are skrog. Have you ever seen one?"
She laughed, a husky sound with a catch in it that ricocheted straight to his groin. "Skrog? Only in holovids. Are they as ugly in reality?"
"Uglier. And their cry can shatter your eardrums if you're too close—a great bellow that ends in a shriek."
She winced, still laughing. "How horrible." She smoothed her hand over the arm of her chair. "They do make lovely leather, though."
He watched her hand, sheer lust seizing him. He wanted her hands on his skin. He'd have that. He'd have all of her.
"What's the worst place you've been?" she asked.
Stark gazed into the clear, dark gold brandy he was swirling idly in his glass, the same hue as her eyes.
It dimmed, replaced with another image. Slamming forward through the years, a dirty alley closed around him. Cold, wet, stinking of garbage. Nowhere to shelter himself, or the two smaller boys shivering beside him, waiting for him to find food and a safe, warm place to sleep, unless he found it, or wrested it from someone else.
"Nowhere you'd care to hear about." And closer than she knew. He turned to look out the porthole at the lights of the city emerging from the fog and rain below. He was above it all now, secure in his lofty perch, but no matter how many years buffered him from the cold and hunger, he'd never forget. And he'd do anything necessary to assure he and his were never down there again.
"And now we're arriving at our destination. Finish your drink if you like."
Chapter 3
From the grim shadow that passed over Stark's face, Kiri's question had ignited dark memories of some kind. So he had them too.
He carried himself like a man who knew how to fight. Maybe he'd been in the Space Forces and in some terrible battle. The Solar Wars weren't all that long ago. A warrior, maybe? No wonder she felt safe with him.
The ship hovered, turning if the lights spinning past outside were an indication. Another craft zipped by, so close the wake caused Stark's cruiser to wobble. Kiri gripped the arms of her chair nervously. She'd only flown on the clumsy airbuses that traversed the city and tightly woven suburbs. They weren't light enough to be bothered by passing vehicles, but landing was a jarring experience.
Tal had offered to take her on one of his cruisers, but she wasn't setting foot in any craft that might have been hijacked. With her luck, the police would choose that moment to close in on him, a
nd she'd wind up restrained in the back of a police cruiser.
To her surprise, Stark's large hand covered hers. "Giles will set us down without a bump. In fact, I'll wager you won't be able to tell we've landed."
"I'll believe that when it happens," she retorted, but his touch was certainly taking her mind off her fears. He could probably convince her to jump out of the ship with him if he just held her hand in this warm, sure grip—and she hated heights.
"Really?" He raised a brow at her. "You're a gambling woman. How about a small wager?"
"I don't bet. Well, today was the only time and you saw how that turned out."
"This isn't that kind of wager." He leaned closer, his eyes on her mouth.
Kiri's breath caught in her throat at the sensual threat implicit in his gaze. "What kind is it, then?"
His gaze rose to meet her own, locking with hers like a tractor beam. "If we land without you noticing, you owe me a kiss."
Her hand trembled in his. When had she turned it to clasp his? Satisfaction gleamed in his gaze. She shrugged, hoping he didn't notice her telltale shiver or the heat that blossomed on her cheeks.
"Okay." She'd kissed plenty of guys, so why did the thought of kissing him make her feel as if she were about to take another huge gamble?
"Mr. Stark, we've landed," said Opal, appearing as if conjured in the open door of the cockpit.
Kiri blinked. Had he sent the woman some kind of secret signal on his comlink? No, they really were down, the lights of a rooftop landing pad reflecting on wet pavement.
"Thank you," Stark said. He tugged on Kiri's hand, and she was startled to realize he was still watching her, ignoring the other woman.
Feeling like a small craft being sucked into the magnetic field of a powerful star, Kiri let him pull her across the soft skrog leather to him. Her gaze locked with his, she let her body take over, leaning forward and tipping up her face to his. She knew his flight attendant was still there, but somehow that didn't matter anymore.
She felt the heat of his skin first, the soft puff of his breath across her lips. That strange magnetism engulfed her, sweeping her in, so that when his lips touched hers it was almost a relief. His lips were warm, firm, softer than she'd expected. He didn't mash his mouth on hers, or try to shove his tongue in her mouth, but he still managed to invest the caress with some mysterious urgency. When he angled his head and pressed more firmly, demanding entrance, she parted her own lips and gave it to him. Pleasure swept through her, and her secret places softened and swelled in a paean of need.
The kiss deepened as he tested the damp softness of her inner lips, then used his tongue to taste her, a leisurely sampling that ended with his tongue in her mouth, tangling with her own. A soft moan of shock and excitement emerged from her throat. But who cared when he was sucking gently on her tongue, enticing it into his own mouth as if she were the most delicious woman he'd kissed in eons.
His hand tightened on hers, and she curled her fingers about his in response.
When he let her go, lifting his head, she dragged her eyes open. She pulled her wet lower lip between her teeth and let it go, tasting him on her lips. Oh, glory, if he could do that with just his mouth and one hand holding hers, what effect would he wreak with his whole body? And judging from the predacious light in his gray eyes, he'd been just as affected.
"We'll have dinner," he told her. "Then perhaps you'll kiss me again, hmm?"
"Perhaps." Her cheeks heated as he smiled at her again. He knew exactly how much that kiss had affected her. And that she wanted more.
* * *
Jasmine was hushed, elegant and dimly lit. A Pangaean female in a leaf-green cheongsam led them to a table in a quiet alcove, bowing politely as she gestured them to sit. Kiri was relieved to see that she didn't look twice at Kiri's clothing. Of course with lighting like this, her black smock could've been crafted of the finest lii leaves.
Stark seated Kiri in the plush, semi-circular booth and slid in after her. She was both alarmed and delighted by his nearness. He smelled so good, as if the essence of some dark, wild forest lingered on his skin. Some kind of cologne, she supposed, but she wasn't sure the scent would be half so inviting on any other man.
Whatever, it certainly wasn't a scent the men she knew could afford. In fact, none of them could afford to even set foot in this place. They frequented the crowded eateries with rock music thumping, surrounded by rowdy beings like Mauritians and Tygers arguing, fighting and laughing.
The denizens of her apartment complex were the same, or they were older, beaten down by life and reduced to living in the slums.
To distract herself from the memory that she might be on the verge of losing even such doubtful shelter, she looked around at the tasteful arrangements of tall plants screening them partially from other diners.
A party of Serpentians filled the nearest booth. Their skin and hair, ranging from golden to gold-green, gleamed even in the low light. They were laughing together, their table crowned with a carafe of steaming fire whiskey and glasses.
The gentle babble of Pangaean came from behind her somewhere. The place smelled clean, no mildew, no stale grease and body odor. Just the tantalizing smells of good food.
"This place must be popular with travelers," she said. An inane remark, but conversation was good.
She focused on Stark, a mistake, because as soon as she looked at him, she found herself reliving their kiss. She couldn't believe he'd locked lips right in front of his employees. Public kissing was usually for dark, noisy clubs when everyone was drinking or drugging.
"Yes. Will you let me order for you?" he asked, as another Pangaean approached their table, this one in the male version of the cheongsam, with pants.
"All right. But nothing slippery." She'd seen the things beings from other worlds consumed, and she wasn't eating anything that looked as if it should be wriggling in a swamp somewhere. She'd rather eat vegeprotein—at least it was safe.
The creases at the corners of his mouth deepened. "I'll remember that."
He consulted with the waiter, and in a few moments they were served drinks in round goblets with small blossoms floating near the rim. "Pear brandy blossoms," Stark said, handing her one of the glasses.
He lifted his glass to her. Kiri followed suit, sipping cautiously. The same brandy he'd given her earlier, mixed with some kind of fruit juice, perhaps the pears from which it had been distilled. Faintly sweet, the drink left the taste of brandy lingering on her tongue. She nodded. "It's good, thank you."
He looked quietly satisfied. "So tell me how you came to be a barista at New Seattle space port, Kiri te Nawa."
She glanced at him and away. Like he really wanted to know her sad story. But she could play the social game. She waited while their waiter set a graceful tray on the table, full of delicate sprays of green leaves, a swirl of creamy filling centered on each one, topped with a single berry. She picked one up carefully and slipped it into her mouth, chewing with relish. Hmm, delicious, whatever it was. Creamy, smooth and tart. She chose another.
"I didn't start out to sell coffee," she told him. "But after I left trade school, I got a job at a one of the big MoonPenny stands. Then I realized I was spending all my credit just getting by. I wanted something of my own, where I could keep the profits and invest them back in my business. So I worked second jobs here and there, and saved until I had enough to lease my space."
Then she'd had the encounter that changed her life and started her funneling credit to a far more serious pursuit—her search for what the slavers had stolen. But she was hardly confiding in him about that on first acquaintance.
"Kiri's Kaffe," he said.
She grinned. She never lost the thrill of pleasure at hearing her kiosk's name. "An ancient people here on Earth II spelled coffee that way. It's stardusty, I know, but everyone remembers it."
"I think it's the owner they remember."
Kiri picked up her drink. Quark, but that look made her self-conscious, and hype
r-aware of him as a man—an extremely virile one.
"Some of them, I guess. Got that bar right across the concourse. Guys sit in there and drink, start thinking they're the galaxy's gift to womankind." She grinned at him over her glass. "I usually talk them into buying an after-drinks coffee and send them on their way."
Stark chuckled. "So you don't generally date your customers?"
"Not often," she said. "Kinda awkward for repeat business."
With free vaccinations for STIs and for pregnancy, hooking up with relative strangers was safe—unless one picked a creeper. But even when dates culminated in sex, none of those men had ever had this effect on her.
His face creased in that attractive smile, but he sobered quickly. "Wise. There are some very ugly men—and women—out there hiding behind attractive facades."
"That's for sure," she muttered. "I'm pretty good at reading people. If a guy gives off any creeper vibes, doesn't matter how golden he is, I tell him I'm with someone—or that I prefer other girls."
She laughed at the look he gave her. "Yeah, that one never works. Men can't believe a woman could possibly prefer a lover without—um, certain equipment unless they see the evidence for themselves."
Stark raised his brows in silent inquiry and her cheeks heated. She took another hasty drink, avoiding his gleaming gaze. "No. Haven't and don't."
"There are those who enjoy both." He calmly picked up another hors d'oeuvre, the green leaf delicate against his large, muscular hand. Wow. Did he mean he sometimes…?
"So, um…your skin is tanned," she blurted. "You spend time in the sunlight somewhere? Must be on another planet. Not safe to spend too much time outdoors here on Earth II. Of course in New Seattle the heavy clouds shut out the sun anyway."
He glanced at his hands, accepting her change of subject. "This would be the remnant of my last visit to Frontiera," he answered. "In general I visit the medical booths."
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 78
