by Mel Teshco
About Yours to Uncover: ES Siren 1
Is she willing to sacrifice everything to keep her secret and her lover safe?
It’s the year 2202. Earth is grossly overpopulated and seriously polluted. Rita Songworth has spent half her twenty-two years trying to escape the dying planet. It’s taken the last five of those years to realize making it in the hard-ass infantry is her only way out, via space transporter Earth Ship Siren.
But the journey to Unity, the new colony, isn’t easy. Rita has to resist an attraction to hard, brutish prisoner, Tristan MacFallan, whose masterful hands create more than the beautiful art he’s been assigned to make. His forbidden touch affects her profoundly and he sees things in her no man ever has before. But obeying Kane, her ex-lover and malicious lieutenant, who is appointed to keeping the prisoners under guard, comes at a high price. Is she willing to sacrifice everything to keep her secret and her lover safe?
Contents
About Yours to Uncover: ES Siren 1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
About Yours to Command: ES Siren 2
About Yours to Desire: ES Siren 3
About Mel Teshco
Copyright
Chapter One
Rita Songworth stared through the space transporter’s diamond flex window, out into the star-spangled heavens of deep space. Already Earth was nothing more than a distant blue dot, barely a blip on the radar. From this perspective it seemed almost impossible to believe her home planet was dying, the human race doing all it could just to survive.
Rita pressed a hand between her breasts, as if she could somehow erase all the heartache, all the pain.
Her family was down there somewhere … if they weren’t already dead. If the toxic air didn’t kill them, there was a good chance the lack of food and water would. Not to mention the absence of medical aid, and the hungry mobs, who had turned into raiders and killers.
Her lip curled. The lucky few left behind were the elite, who lived in air-cleansed towers, taking advantage of their wealth while the rest of mankind suffered. Survival of the fittest was their only concern—not that Rita could complain. If the rumors were true, their wealth was how the government had funded this expedition into space and to Solitaire, a new livable planet—though this was no doubt so the elite were guaranteed a place there, after all the hard work had been done.
Rita being on the ship was what her parents had wanted. A second chance. Hope that their only child would live and maybe even one day fall pregnant, carry a child to full term and continue their genetic line.
The window glowed with the cabin’s inner light, reflecting the man sleeping on the bed behind her. Her belly cramped. Lieutenant Andrew Zane. The man she’d fucked—had been fucking, for a little over two weeks now. It’d taken the lieutenant five days after ES Siren had launched into space from planet Earth, to take her to his bed.
It had taken Rita much less time to uncover his true colors—his penchant for rough and forceful sex. His liking for violence.
Sick fuck.
God, she’d been a fool, blinded by his smooth charm, natural leadership and ease of command. Who’d have guessed that his cherub face, tepid brown eyes and clipped honey-ginger hair hid the makings of a monster? Now she just had to find a way to leave him without rousing his violent side.
She hated how easily she acquiesced to having sex with him. Afterwards feeling little better than a whore and wondering why the hell she stayed with him.
She was just grateful the doctor onboard this ship, one of three heading to the new colony, had given her an implant to protect against disease and pregnancy. The same implant had been given to all military women and all the prisoners—male and female. They would keep the implant, even after accommodation was built and farms were up and running on the new world.
The medics would remove the civilians’ implants and inject the women with hormones to help them fall pregnant, ensuring that the human population was maintained.
If Rita or any of the other military women were to suddenly feel clucky, they could request the same procedure. But it would only be given at the colony director’s authority. He decided which of them were allowed to breed. Rita blew out a breath. Did the Earth people of old know how lucky they’d been?
Andrew rolled onto his back, his leg bending to reveal his flaccid cock, with its thatch of coarse red hair and squishy-soft ball sack. Rita shook her head at the repulsive display. All too soon his male urges would be upon him and his man bits would look a whole lot harder. And even more repulsive.
His soft snores reverberated through the cabin. She shuddered with distaste, then leaned closer to the diamond-flex panel and peered at her reflection. Andrew’s teeth marks were clearly visible on her sensitive skin, showing where he’d bitten her just beneath her nipple. Already a mottled bruise had formed, which would undoubtedly mark her skin for many days to come.
It was exactly what he’d have been hoping for. His trademark stamp of ownership.
The realization that Earth was dying had seen most humans revert to a dog-eat-dog mentality. Love and affection were almost forgotten emotions. But although Rita had been attracted to the lieutenant at first, the decision to sleep with him had been mostly about protection. It had seemed like a smart idea—his high-ranking position was one to be coveted. She’d never expected that he’d be the one she’d need protection from—the very man who was her lover and supposed guardian.
She swallowed, but the bad taste in her mouth remained. Even without the overpriced red wine Andrew insisted they drink whenever she came to his cabin, she knew she’d be left with that same horrid sensation on her palate.
She gathered up her clothes, carefully strapping on her bra before stepping into her briefs and standard army regulation uniform of sandy-colored pants and shirt. She pulled on her socks and lightweight boots, gathered her hair into a rough topknot, jammed her cap on her head, then headed out of Andrew’s cabin and down the stairwell to the lower prison deck.
She needed a long run. She needed to get away from the lieutenant. She needed a new plan for surviving the trip—and life on Solitaire.
She pushed open the door into long corridors that were especially creepy at night. The lights were kept dim to preserve energy and to keep everyone’s circadian rhythms as close to Earth’s cycle as possible. But Rita found a strange kind of peace here in the shadows, where she didn’t need to pretend to be anyone other than herself.
It was why she avoided the treadmills in the crowded and well-lit gym.
Down on the prison deck, the ship’s alloy flooring wasn’t rubber-matted. It reverberated underfoot, but she was light and had adapted her running style to keep the noise to a minimum. No sense in waking anyone up—especially when every run this past week had seen her take a long detour.
The sudden dryness in her mouth and lightness in her chest had little to do with exercise and everything to do with anticipation. The anticipation of seeing Tristan MacFallan, prisoner 1588. A man who called to her soul in every way.
Between the three Earth ships heading to Solitaire, there were thousands of prisoners onboard, most of them sentenced for the theft of water and food, the basics of survival. These prisoners would be forced to do hard, manual labor. Many of them wouldn’t survive the term of their sentence.
There were also a few “whites” on board, prisoners who wore a full white uniform to distinguish them from the common prisoner yellows. The whites were guilty of terrible crimes. They were murderers or insa
ne … or both and were carefully hand-picked because of their talents and skills that would be utilized on the new world.
From the very first time she’d seen Tristan board the ship in his prison whites, she’d known he was different. She’d recognized him as the emergent artist the critics had raved about, at least until the Earth had gone to shit and he’d mysteriously disappeared. But despite his uniform and the standard magna-cuffs securing his wrists, she knew he was neither a killer nor crazy. God only knew those people were a dime a dozen on her dying Earth.
No, she’d detected nothing but brilliance behind his watchful stare, although something told her he’d gone way beyond world-weary. He’d lived it tough. More so even than most onboard the ship, whose lives had been shattered by the catastrophic events on Earth.
She only wished she’d been able to read his file, but it’d been labeled “high security” and even she didn’t have the authority or clearance to peruse the details.
A guard doing his rounds saluted as she jogged toward him. She nodded back, mentally counting the minutes before he’d return. With only a skeleton crew on night shift, she should have a full twenty minutes before the soldier completed his rotation.
As she neared Tristan’s cell, she slowed. Though the master switch meant all lights were out, his cell had its own powered light illuminating a corner of the room. The rest of the “all whites” prisoners—any of the prisoners, for that matter—held no such privileges, but 1588 was given special rights and freedoms. He was unique. A gifted artist in a world that had almost forgotten the joy of beauty.
Rita slowed, then stopped at his cell and stared through the flex window.
The shaggy brown-blond hair that drifted to his shoulders was in stark contrast to the male soldiers on the ship, with their closely cropped hair. But Tristan’s mane, shining beneath the overhead light, did little to soften the hard angles and planes of his face. Not that it mattered—his toughness didn’t detract from his magnificence. It just enhanced his maleness, his magnetism.
Tristan’s brushstrokes abruptly stilled. He turned, his deep emerald eyes locking with hers. Something flashed in his gaze. Awareness. Caution. Restraint.
Rita had no doubt he accepted her presence as routine now. She only wished she could see something more … welcoming in his face.
Anger swelled even as all her common sense deflated. She wasn’t some lowly whore beneath his worth! She was Chief Warrant Officer, commissioned officer in the US Army and officer in charge of work placement for the prisoners. She was a rung below her lover, who was in charge of the prison guards, and she was sick and tired of the men in her life treating her as something less.
She turned her wrist to the cell’s identifier so it could read her implanted chip and allow her access. As an officer, she wasn’t exactly restricted from going into Tristan’s cell, but it was foolhardy to do so alone.
The door unlocked and she pressed it open then stepped into his cell. Her heart hammered and the lower regions of her belly tightened. She paused for a moment to regain some semblance of composure. Not for the first time, she wondered if he appreciated the fact that no other prisoners shared his space. In comparison to the three standard bunk beds bolted to the walls in each of the other cells, his living area was expansive.
She cleared her throat. “I see they’ve taken off your magna-cuffs.”
He’d turned back to his painting, as though whatever about her had captured his attention earlier was all but forgotten. “No. They’ve been relocated,” he corrected gruffly, lifting a leg to show the magna-cuffs snaring his ankles.
It made sense. He’d be unable to fully bend and flex his wrists with them on, and the powers that be would want to ensure he could make use of his talent at all times.
She stopped, eyeing the canvas, which, viewed from this side, was mysteriously blank. She didn’t want to see his creation—it seemed too personal, too private. “I’m sorry they felt the need for you to wear them,” she said softly, stupidly wanting only to please this man. “I know you’re not a criminal.”
His eyes snapped to hers, blazing and intense. “Yet I was tried and sentenced to serve the rest of my years on a flight I never wanted to be part of, traveling to a rock I care nothing about.”
She arched a brow. On the few occasions she’d tried to converse with him, he’d given little more than monosyllabic answers. But somehow she preferred that to his ingratitude.
“You’d rather live never knowing where you’ll find clean drinking water? When you’ll have your next bite to eat? Prefer wondering which bunch of looters-turned-murderers will next set their sights on your stash of supplies?”
His jaw clenched. “Enough. I get it, I really do. You want me to kiss the toes of all those in favor of throwing me into a big alloy space-can that might well become my coffin.”
An image of her dying mother and father filled Rita’s mind. Guilt squeezed at her innards and constricted her chest. Despite their blessings, she’d never forgive herself for leaving them behind. How dare he take this one-in-a-billion opportunity for granted!
In seconds she was right in his face, hands on hips, her body quivering with emotions she’d thought she had firmly locked away. “This is the second chance that most people on Earth can only dream about. An opportunity to start again on a planet not corrupted by pollution, drought or overcrowding.”
He surged to his feet, the sable brush clattering to the floor and paint splattering. She looked up, repressing a shiver. At five-foot-five she wasn’t tiny, but he positively dwarfed her. And damned if his inner darkness didn’t make her heart flutter with something illicit and thrilling.
His eyes were no longer filled with bitter antagonism. Instead, they were alight with arousal and stark need. His stare drank her in. “Have you ever been told how beautiful you are when you’re angry?”
Her skin tingled and her body flushed. Though her antagonism melted away as if it had never been, she was far from falling for his charms. “What I look like is hardly the point—”
His rough hands cupped her face as he bent toward her, then his mouth covered hers, stopping any further talk.
Oh, lord.
She closed her eyes as more warmth flooded her body, her mouth opening to his with a little sigh. His full lips pillowed hers, his stubble chafing her tender skin in the most erotic touch. When his tongue slid inside her mouth and tangled with hers, she knew this man could take her to heaven if she let him.
Unlike the lieutenant.
Shame twisted her belly. She pulled away and stepped back, swiping at her mouth. “What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, suddenly all too aware of his prisoner whites, not to mention the other prisoners in their cells, who might be awake and listening.
He raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it obvious?” he drawled softly. “I’m kissing the most beautiful woman I’ve seen since I was thrown in jail six months ago and then forced aboard this can.”
He thought she was beautiful? She gritted her teeth. “The lieutenant will see you tortured or killed for touching me.”
He bristled, contempt fairly dripping from his tone. “Ah, but then you won’t tell your lover, will you?”
Breath left her lungs. Somehow it hurt that he knew she and the sadistic, cold-blooded Andrew were together. But of course the prisoners knew. The lieutenant ensured all the men onboard knew she was his. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He smiled, his voice quiet but thrumming with sensuality. “I’ve seen the way you watch me; visit me at any opportunity. You’re attracted to me. And believe me, the feeling is mutual.”
She backed away. His honesty threatened her on some deep level she didn’t want to think about, and it made her feel all too vulnerable. “I should never have come here.”
She pivoted, and came face-to-face with an exquisite portrait of a black-haired woman. Her shoulder-length hair was bedroom-tousled, and her sultry expression held the look of someone who’d just been thoroughly fucked. Rita’s eyes went wid
e. She slowly turned back to face him. “You painted me?” she squeaked.
He shrugged, though his eyes pierced hers as if reading her every thought. “I paint what interests me. And beauty most often does.”
Dear lord, was that what he imagined she’d look like after a night in his arms?
Her mouth dried. Her breath labored. Was he right?
Adrenalin burned through her veins as she peeled off her cap and shook out her hair, the length tumbling straight as an arrow down her back. “Then just so you know … my hair is long.”
He didn’t even try to rein in his stark admiration. “So it is.”
She turned and headed for the exit. Allowing the identifier to read her implanted chip once again, she pushed through the cell door and stepped out into the corridor. As the door clicked shut behind her, she re-coiled her hair and pushed on her cap, then said softly over her shoulder, “Sweet dreams.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he murmured.
She repressed a sudden urge to laugh as she broke into a run back the way she’d come. For the first time in far too long, she experienced a sense of lightness, as though nothing bad could touch her and everything in her life really was good.
Her smile slipped. One kiss and a bit of praise and she was putty in Tristan’s too-clever hands.
She was an idiot to imagine for even a second that a male—especially a prisoner in whites—would be interested in her for anything more than a gratifying fuck.
Would that be so bad? a little voice taunted. You’re fucking Andrew, and that’s a whole lot less than gratifying.
Using her identifier to unlock yet another door, she pushed away all thoughts of men and sex. Taking a flight of stairs to the next level, where off-duty guards and soldiers were stationed, she stepped onto the rubber-matted corridor and walked past the many bedroom doors—including Andrew’s—before stopping at her own.
She was off duty tomorrow and had the chance to sleep in. But recreational time-out wasn’t on her wish list just then. Not when the lieutenant expected her to accompany him to the fighting ring held at midday tomorrow.
