Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  She nodded. Anyone with credit could receive regular metered dose of faux sunlight to stimulate vitamin production. She wore a vitamin patch, herself. Not as expensive as the booths. Just slap it on the midriff somewhere and leave it until it fell off, the vitamins having been absorbed by the body. Real sunlight would sure be nice though.

  "Your people must be proud of you," he said, changing the subject yet again. "A business of your own."

  "Don't have any people." She took another drink, swallowing the chill of things she didn't think about.

  "Ah." He nodded as if her admission explained something. "Your stand is in a tough area of the space port."

  "What I can afford. Rent there is stiff enough. Astronomical in the new area. MoonPenny can afford that. I can't." Especially now. Panic beat at her, and she drained her glass, drowning it momentarily.

  "But you've plans to expand?" he asked. His calm reached out to her in a soothing wave. The man could hire out as a psych therapist, the way he controlled the mood around him.

  She set her glass down. "Eventually. I'm good with numbers. I watch the markets, buy my beans at discount. Took over the stand cheaply too. You should have seen the mess it was in. I cleaned it, fixed it up, called in a few favors from friends."

  He nodded. "Your hard work shows. You've made it stand out in the surroundings. I do wonder how you make a profit, however, when you give away your product."

  She stared at him and he shrugged. "I watched you hand out coffee to two passersby in several moments. Kind, but not good business."

  "Not like they have the credit to buy anyway. Just flotsam and jetsam of the port, with no one to care. Least I can do is give them a hot cup of java once in a while."

  He picked up another leaf, but instead of eating it, he held it out to her, a new warmth in his gaze. "I see. Here, have another. Our dinner is on the way."

  She opened her mouth to let him slip the treat between her lips. She chewed and swallowed. "You look like you just closed a great business deal."

  "I never feed my business partners." Not with his own hand, anyway. The unspoken words hung between them, reminding Kiri that he was no uncomplicated man with partying on his mind.

  Her dinner was set before her. "Breast of Pangaean pheasant," the waiter murmured. "Sauced with a light balayti cream. Pureed root vegetables, crisp yam and moonberry compote."

  It looked delicious and smelled heavenly. Stark's plate held the same selection.

  "We'll have a light wine," he told the waiter. "Not too sweet."

  Kiri spread her napkin in her lap, her eyes on the food. She was going to eat every bite, slowly, so she'd never forget this meal. The waiter set a basket of rolls and a small bottle of oil on the table. Stark broke a roll for her and trickled oil over it. Her mouth full of succulent pheasant, Kiri nodded her thanks.

  The food was as delicious as it looked, the flavors and textures blending perfectly. Kiri hadn't eaten real meat or fowl for longer than she cared to recall, so she was glad the sauce wasn't too rich, hiding the flavor. The bread was tender and flaky, the oil a tangy enhancement.

  Not until she'd worked her way through most of the food on her plate did Kiri surface from her haze of pleasure to realize that she hadn't spoken to her host for several moments. She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, looking at him. He was doing quiet justice to his own meal and didn't seem to notice her preoccupation.

  The wine burst on her tongue, mellow and faintly sweet, perfectly complementing the food, with echoes of flavor that filled her mind's eye with a sunny vineyard like those she'd seen on holovids. She gave a hmm of pleasure.

  "Good?" he asked, taking a drink as well.

  "Wonderful, thank you." She picked up her fork, determined not to leave a bite.

  Stark poured her more wine and went back to his meal. Finished, Kiri sat back with a sigh that was nearly a groan.

  "Dessert?" Stark asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

  Kiri shook her head regretfully. "No, thank you. I couldn't eat another bite. But you go ahead."

  He shook his head. "I don't often eat sweets."

  "Really? How about your coffee? I'll bet you drink it dark."

  Stark nodded.

  "I never did serve you a coffee," she remembered. "Stop by tomorrow and I'll make you one, on the house."

  He didn't move, but his gaze touched her as surely as if he'd reached out his hand to take hers. "Why don't you make me a cup at my penthouse in the morning?"

  Excitement and fear fizzed through her veins.

  This was it, the moment of decision. Did she shake her head and thank him for the meal, or did she leap again? God knew she wanted to. Now that her belly was full, her body and mind relaxed with brandy and wine and plush surroundings, he was still the most attractive man she'd ever met. And after that kiss, she wanted more. A lot more.

  "Hot and dark?" she asked daringly, holding his gaze.

  "Just the way I like it."

  Chapter 4

  Stark's passenger amused him again by falling asleep as they approached the New Seattle Docks. With her lashes lying on her cheeks in a dark fan, she looked more vulnerable, younger. She was really out—a rich meal, brandy and wine on top of what had evidently been a sleepless night.

  He'd enjoyed watching her eat with such single-minded attention—reminded him of Creed and Joran when they were boys. Any meal was a chance to fill up, especially when they never knew when the next one would arrive. Kiri clearly wasn't accustomed to fine meals, although she had the perfect table manners that suggested she'd been raised well.

  He wondered why some man hadn't already snatched her up, as a mistress or even a bride. She was a beauty, and a sensual creature if her pleasure in food and in their kiss was any indication. And not above a casual hookup.

  He had an idea that she would consume sexual pleasure with even more gusto than she had the food he'd given her. If she'd been that lost in a simple kiss, what would her response be to his hands and mouth on her, his cock inside her? Would she remain as quiet and dainty as a cat, or go wild, screaming her pleasure to the night?

  The desire that had simmered all evening arrowed straight to his groin, his cock twitching pleasurably.

  "Opal," he said quietly. "Bring me the medic kit."

  "Yes, sir." Without question, she brought the small kit from a storage unit and watched without comment as he took out a palm-sized unit. He opened it, revealing a tiny, sharp needle on one end.

  "Sir? Are you going to wake her?" she murmured.

  Stark lifted his brows at her and she sighed in resignation. "Would you like me to apply it, sir?"

  He nodded. She'd have a lighter touch than he. "Just the standard infectious diseases and STIs."

  She bent over the woman sleeping between them, one hand lying lax in her lap. Carefully, Opal touched the needle to the inside of Kiri's wrist. Logan gave her a look of query and Opal nodded. She'd gotten the sample.

  Kiri started awake with the suddenness of a wild thing. She clutched her wrist with her other hand, her eyes still dazed with sleep.

  "What?" she demanded. "What did you give me?"

  She catapulted out of her seat, shoving Opal aside. "What is that? Some kind of drug?"

  Backing against the bulkhead, she glared from Logan to his employee. The woman straightened from the chair she'd fallen against, looking at Stark for direction, or maybe that was 'I told you so' in her gaze. He shook his head at both of them.

  "It's not a drug," he said. "Look at it. It's a common blood test."

  Opal held the sampler out to her. Kiri took her eyes off of him long enough to peer at the screen. "I don't believe you. Why would you want to test my blood?"

  He raised his brows at her and she blushed, but she was still scowling as if he'd betrayed her. Huh. He should've listened to Opal.

  "Here," he said. "Opal can do mine, as well. I wouldn't allow her to drug me, would I?"

  She watched silently as Opal applied the device to his
wrist. He took it and held it out to Kiri so she could see the readout. She stepped forward to look at it. After she'd examined the results, she nodded once, but maintained her defensive posture against the bulkhead.

  "You should have asked me."

  "Understood." He turned to Opal. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, sir."

  Kiri turned her glower on Opal. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. I guess you have to do what he says."

  Opal raised her brows.

  Logan smiled wryly. "She could have broken your neck if she wanted to. She held back because you were only trying to get away."

  "Oh." Kiri eyed Opal with new respect. "Are you some kind of bodyguard?"

  Opal nodded with dignity. "Among other things. Although Mr. Stark doesn't really need a bodyguard." She gave him a look that said he needed a conscience much more, but he ignored her with the ease of long practice.

  "All my personal employees are ex-Space Forces," Logan said. "And now I suggest you sit down, as we're nearing our destination."

  "Where?" His passenger leaned over to look out the nearest porthole. Opal disappeared, the medic kit in hand.

  "Where would you like it to be?" One finger across his lips, he watched Kiri, knowing what her response would be. He was not disappointed—in that at least.

  She turned on him, those magnificent eyes full of amber fire. "Better go back to my place, if I can't even fall asleep without someone messing with me."

  "You're angry." Damn. Definitely should have listened to Opal.

  She flung herself into the chair across from him. "No kidding. Just because you bought me a meal, you had no right to treat me like a—"

  "Don't say it," he interrupted, his amusement gone. "Don't even think it." He gave her the look he used to bring tough beings and ex-soldiers to heel.

  "Whore," she said defiantly. "I’m not one, won't be treated like one."

  He was going to enjoy turning her over his knee.

  "If I'd thought you were a prostitute, I wouldn't have invited you to dinner," he told her. "I would have given you credit and fucked you where and when and how I wanted you."

  He watched that strike home, watched her wrap her slender arms around her middle. Wisely, she said nothing further.

  "I would ask the same precaution from any potential sex-partner," he went on. "Vaccinations for STIs and pregnancy may be compulsory here, but that doesn't mean everyone obeys the law or shows common sense. You know that."

  "Yeah, well you should have asked," she said stubbornly. "I won't have things done to me without my consent."

  He bowed politely. "So noted."

  She echoed the gesture, wrinkling her nose as she did so. He let his anger slide back into amusement.

  She was a wildcat, all right. And he wanted her claws in his hide. But he'd wait, because he wanted her willing, eager when he took her. So eager she'd agree to all the extremely intimate things he wanted to do with her. And to all the things he wanted her to do for him.

  "Take me home," she repeated, clearly not appreciating his smile any more than his plain speaking.

  "All right. What's the closest landing pad to your home?"

  "The Astra quadrant, Landing Ten."

  He scowled, all traces of amusement gone. "That's the roughest area of New Seattle." Unfortunately, he knew it well. No place for a single woman, especially one whose looks would invite the interest of every ganger and slimeball on the streets.

  "Tell me something I don't know. I get by." She stared out the porthole, her hands clenched together in her lap.

  So her business truly was in trouble if she lived in the crowded, dirty area near the port. Her family must have left her with little credit, or perhaps it was all tied up in her coffee stand.

  Or perhaps her gambling was the problem. She'd said it wasn't. He'd find out if that was true. And then he'd deal with it—because his decision was made. He wanted her, and for more than one night. And what he wanted badly enough, Stark always got.

  But right now, he'd deal with protecting her from her dubious home.

  "Giles."

  "Yes, sir." His pilot's face appeared on holovid, lit weirdly by the multi-colored lights of the control panel.

  "Astra quadrant, Landing Ten."

  Giles looked away, punching in the coordinates. He frowned, his heavy brows shooting together. "Unemployed rioting in that area again. Reports in the last hour say it's bad. I recommend against landing under these conditions, sir."

  Stark jerked his chin affirmatively, letting his pilot know he agreed, and there was no way they were dropping off their passenger down there alone tonight, apartment or no.

  Kiri bolted upright. "We must land. I have to look after my place. Besides, the fighting's been three or four streets over, closer to the wharfs. Really."

  "Take us over as low as you can," Stark instructed his pilot. "Use your judgment."

  His guest crouched by the porthole to peer down at the lights of the city, visible in ragged drifts through the fog and clouds. Her hand clenched on the rim of the window.

  "Kiri, come here. You'll have a much better view on the holovid. Giles, the forward and belly cams, please."

  He held out his hand and, when she put her hand in his, tugged her to him.

  The rioting had been getting worse in the past weeks. Crooked unions, ruthless companies, swarming criminals, and hungry people who had little to lose made for a volatile stew, and it was all boiling over.

  Kiri caviled at sitting on the edge of his chair, but only until the holovid changed to a view of the city below, then she perched quivering against his thigh.

  Giles flew in low from the south, with the bay a black void on their left, and the lighted sea docks below. The tall outlines of skyscrapers rose from the clouds, many windows lighted, some only black, gaping holes.

  A sudden flash lit the streets below. Kiri gasped, flinching against Stark. He changed hands, holding hers with his right and slid his left arm about her, his hand on the curve of her small waist. "Flashbombs."

  She nodded, then flinched again as another explosion rocked the night, this one bigger.

  "There. That's my building, between those two tall ones. And there's the landing."

  She gripped Stark's hand, turning a pleading look on him, her eyes huge in her face. "We can—"

  Warned by his expression, she whirled back just in time to see the street before her building light with an eerie red which flared to brilliant orange-yellow, scaling the buildings as if in obscene glee. The cityscape below seemed to tremble, only to rock with another, much larger explosion.

  Her building bulged outward, fire erupting from the windows. Then the tall structure imploded, falling in on itself in slow, terrible inevitability.

  She moaned, a hoarse cry of animal pain. Flying forward on her knees, she smacked her hands flat on the porthole as if she could beat back the explosions. He'd seen it before in these very streets as mayhem or accident destroyed what the denizens had worked to build.

  Stark grabbed her, holding tight as she fought to free herself. He hauled her back into his arms, cradling her against his chest. "Giles. Get us out of here."

  Opal appeared in the cabin door, grasping the frame for balance as the ship rocked with the concussion of the explosions below. "Your penthouse, sir?"

  Stark nodded and then turned his attention to the woman who had collapsed against his chest. He tipped his head to the side to peer into her face. She wasn't weeping, but his initial relief quickly changed to a deeper worry. She lay against him, her face white as chalk, her eyes half closed. She trembled with each shallow breath. Shock.

  He held her close, tucking her silky head under his chin and rocked her, his hand smoothing over her back. "Shh, you're safe. You'll come with me. In the morning we'll figure things out."

  Without being asked, Opal glided to the back of the ship, to his private cabin and returned with a comforter, woven of Pangaean halfpaca, soft and warm, in Lodestar's trademark gray. She helped S
tark tuck it around Kiri, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth.

  "It's all gone," she mumbled. "My things."

  Stark met Opal's eyes. Kiri couldn't have had much, in that place. But losing it tonight, on top of losing her credit … that was one hell of a lot to process.

  "Mementoes, perhaps," Opal murmured, her eyes soft with pity.

  He'd nothing to say to that. Everything he possessed, he'd fought for and won, or purchased for himself as a grown man. But he knew that to people who'd grown up with a family, such things were important. Holographs, jewelry, pieces of furniture, even treasured clothing were passed down, squabbled over.

  He'd started with nothing. Was this woman strong enough to do the same?

  Chapter 5

  Kiri dreamed that she ran through the dark, wet streets toward her apartment building. In the way of dreams, her feet would not move, mired in helplessness as thick as glue. Around her, the buildings burned, flames spurting viciously between the buildings, hissing in patches of old fuel and piles of garbage. Beings shouted, their cries far away, muffled as if a curtain hung between her and their battles.

  But she was not alone. Whirling, she gaped at the tall form looming in the street behind her, a black silhouette against the flames. Only his eyes glittered, reflecting fiery red and yellow of the flames, and yet she knew the flame that burned inside him was more powerful still—that of absolute will.

  "It's gone," Stark told her, his deep voice slicing through the chaos like a steel blade. "Nothing left for you here." He held out his hand to her in a clear command.

  "No," she protested, shaking her head desperately. "No, they're still there; I just have to find them."

  She turned away, trying to move on, but her feet were trapped in hot, enveloping folds. She tried to scream, but nothing emerged but a whimper.

  "Kiri," he ordered, his heavy hands grasping her arms like manacles. "Kiri. Wake up."

  She woke to find herself lying in a soft bed. Stark leaned over her, a powerful silhouette against dim lamplight. His hands grasped her bare arms. As she stared up at him, her heart thundering against her ribs, she knew a sudden, nearly overpowering urge to fling herself against his shoulder and weep.