His Virtual Bride

by Dee Brice

  Undressing quickly, she slipped the soft cotton over her head. It slid down her body like satin. The hem came to a halt just above her knees. It wasn't fancy and, with the fabric worn thin in a lot of places, it sure wasn't sexy. But she felt fairly safe wearing it. Fairly.

  She crawled into bed on the left side, ordered the light off and called, "You can come in now."

  Even in the half-light cast by the lamp on his side of the bed, Keely could see Geoff had stripped down to his skivvies. And--Goddess help her!--he was even more gorgeous than she'd imagined. Earlier, she hadn't really looked at him. But she looked now.

  Wide shoulders, a lightly matted barrel-like chest, firm abs, narrow waist and hips. Perfection. Sculpted, but not overly defined like some Marsians who worked out constantly and watched themselves in the mirrored gym walls. Her gaze flicked down, lingered only long enough to notice his skivvies barely held his private parts, then took in the rest of him. Powerful thighs, well-muscled calves. And, when he turned away, an ass--a well-muscled, perfectly rounded ass--she wanted to grab. Hold on to while he pumped into her again and again.

  "You can't drive a spike with a tack hammer." He looked at her over his shoulder.

  Feeling her face heat, Keely pulled the sheet up to her neck. She supposed she resembled a turtle, but she didn't care. She refused to let him see how her nipples had tightened while she just stared at him. And her legs--seeming to have a will of their own--had parted so she could cradle him between them.

  "Geoff." Her voice sounded achy, needful.

  He settled on the bed. On his side, one arm under his head, the other flung over a pillow, he grinned. "Wanna change your mind? Crawl on top of the sheets? On top of me?"

  "No." Jove blast it! She sounded too damn indecisive. Too needy.

  "Want me to crawl underneath?"

  "No!" That was better. As if she really meant it. "We need to talk."

  "About?"

  "Le Roi. Your hermaphrodite." Who are probably going at it like rabbits and making each other really, really happy.

  "They aren't my anything, Keely."

  "Then whose are they?"

  He frowned. Her fingers twitched as if they wanted to soothe that crease away. At last he answered, "They're kinda like we are, Keely. Kinda like information gatherers working for a prize."

  "Who or what are they looking for?" She had no intention of letting Geoff's friends--or Geoff himself--cut her out of collecting the huge reward Paris had offered for her great-uncle. Too much of Keely's own life depended on her finding Le Roi first.

  "Herma-Frodie didn't lie." He raked his hair. "Except for one thing. They didn't come to help. They came to take me back to Earth."

  Geoff reached across the pillow to chuck Keely under her chin. Her gaping mouth closed with a click and her jutted chin drooped.

  "I…I know Paris doesn't care about any staff member's past. So long as we can get the job done now, it doesn't matter what we did before."

  "But that doesn't keep you from wanting to know everything."

  "About you," she corrected.

  "Why am I more important than any other person?"

  * * * *

  She thought for a moment, her red-gold eyebrows drawn together above her nose.

  Geoff reached out again and rubbed away the frown with his thumb. Her skin felt like satin--cool and incredibly soft. He wanted to tip up her chin, taste her lips. He wanted to toss the bundling pillows on the floor, pull her on top of him and stroke her satiny skin until she begged him to fuck her.

  "We're partners. I think we'd get along better if we know something about each other," she told him.

  "Okay. You go first."

  "No, you first. How old are you?"

  "Thirty-two. You?"

  Ignoring the question, she posed her own. "Where are you from?"

  "Not Mars, which you already know. You?"

  "What planet?"

  "Mostly I live on Earth." He gave up trying to pry information from Keely. At least for now. But he had learned she had single-minded determination. Stubbornness, he silently amended.

  "What do you do--on Earth?"

  "Told you before. I command the Fleet Admiral's flagship, The Honey." And, Jove blast it, I miss her!

  "Right. Somebody stole her."

  "Right." Renewed anger--fury--raged through him.

  "Did you? Steal her?"

  "Jove, no! If you really think I did, you--"

  "I don't believe you stole her, but… Do you know any details about her theft? Anything about the how or when or why?"

  "I know about the when. The day before Thanksgiving--that's an old-Earth holiday in November. We still celebrate it." He raked his hair with tense fingers, pulling on the ends until he suspected he looked as crazy as Paris' great-uncle Le Roi. "Somebody with my voice, thumb print and retinal scan…everything looked and sounded like me.

  "That takes care of the when and the how."

  "But not the why. Why, Geoff? Why would someone steal your flagship?"

  He almost told her. He wanted to tell her, but couldn't. The fewer people who knew why, the better his chances to recover The Honey intact.

  "Guess you have secrets to keep." Keely sighed. "But aren't you a little young? I mean, I picture the commander of the Admiral's flagship as having a few wrinkles and some gray hairs. Some…seasoning."

  "The powers-that-be thought I'd be less dangerous aboard The Honey. I prefer fighters. They're more like your No-Name. Small and quick. Deadly."

  Keely's smile was like that. Small and quick. And what it did to his guts when it faded was definitely deadly. He wanted to protect her--just like he wanted to protect The Honey. Not the kind of baggage to be carrying around when he caught up with Le Roi and whoever might be helping him. The former King of Mars was crazy as a loon and clever as a fox. Geoff almost laughed at the mixed, though accurate, metaphors.

  "Goodnight, Geoff."

  "Hey! We had a deal. I told you about myself. Now you tell me about you. How old are you?"

  Reluctance shone in her eyes. Her teeth raked her lush lower lip as if she wanted to seal her lips shut. She pulled the sheet up to her ears and clenched her fingers on it as if he might tear it away. Which, Goddess help him, he would do if she didn't look so damned…lost.

  "You want me to guess how old you are? I can do that. As a kid, I could always guess peoples' ages. I was pretty good at it. Seldom missed." He sat up, tailor fashion, and ordered the lights to full. "Let's see. No signs of cosmetic fiddling around your eyes. No sagging jowls--but all that chin-jutting you do probably keeps them tight."

  Keely grinned and jutted her chin.

  "I could tell better if you'd let me see your body."

  "In your dreams."

  "Yeah, there, too. Well, since you're working in the recovery field, you must be younger than Paris."

  "How old is she?"

  "Dunno. I don't think even her grandfather Pushin knows her real age."

  "Guess," Keely challenged, "oh infallible age-guesser."

  "Under fifty, over forty. You…I think you're more than twenty, but younger than thirty-five. Am I right?"

  "Possibly."

  "Come on, Keely, give," he cajoled when she didn't take umbrage at being thought forty years old or even older.

  "Twenty…" she muttered.

  "I missed that. Did you say twenty-six?" She nodded, but looked uncertain. Or, in typical female fashion, had fibbed about her age. "That old, eh? I'm surprised you don't have warts and whiskers."

  She hit him with a pillow and the fight was on.

  She was stronger than she looked and pretty much held her own, delivering whap for whap until he discovered one of her secrets. She was ticklish and he took advantage until he had her right where he wanted her. Under him. Her captured hands above her head. Her breasts--full and tempting beneath his T-shirt. Her legs spread, held open by his thighs. His cock celebrating its nearness to its goal. Her eyes changing color, darkening. Her laughter
fading and need growing to match his own. But under the need…

  "Jonathan Jacob Jones! You're a virgin."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "Whadya mean? Maybe--"

  "Maybe not. I…I can't remember. Anything."

  He sat up. "Jove blast it, Keely! Don't cry."

  "Not crying." She swiped away her tears as she sat up, leaning against the headboard. "I never cry." Her chin jutted.

  "Maybe not. But you're giving a damn fine impression of somebody who does."

  She hiccupped. "Sometimes…it just hits me. Like…like when I see how Herma-Frodie look at each other. I-I wonder if anybody's ever looked at me with so much love and respect and all that sappy stuff. It hits me then. And it hurts--not being able to remember."

  "You don't remember anything? Not even your real age?"

  "Not even my real name. Your queen's physician said I look like a girl he treated a long, long time ago. Her name was Keely. I liked it, so he called me that. Then Paris called me that and by the time Doc released me--"

  "Everyone called you Keely. Where'd the Ketchum come from?"

  A too brief grin tilted the corners of her mouth.

  "I seem to share the queen's sense of the absurd." Geoff's tone was wry. He recalled how he often deliberately mispronounced Keely's surname.

  "Yeah. She said it fit someone who's hunting for her great-uncle. At first I didn't get the joke. Like you, she said it like catch 'em. When I got it, it seemed to fit as well. So I kept it."

  "So you could be married, have six kids and a whole passel of relatives who are missing you like crazy."

  "I doubt it. I think I'd feel it here." She touched her chest in the vicinity of her heart. "But I don't."

  "Well, hell."

  "Yeah."

  Geoff leaned against the headboard, easing Keely into his arms. She resisted at first, but soon gave in to the very human need to be touched. Sighing, she snuggled against him, her cheek--soft and damp with new tears--pressed to his chest. Right where his heart beat strong against her ear.

  "I don't want your pity."

  "Don't have it."

  "Then why are you cuddling me?"

  "'Cause I don't think you're ready for what I really want to do to you."

  "Which is?"

  He tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes. "You may not remember who you are, Keely. But you know what I want."

  She blushed. Blushed, by Jove!

  "I guess I do know." She hid her face against his chest. "Geoff? Will you let me know when I am ready?"

  "Uh…sure."

  Jonathan Jacob Jones! Had he just promised to take Keely's virginity?

  Chapter Five

  Jove, her hair felt like living silk. Short as it was, he still could curl tendrils around his fingers. He imagined her hair wet from a shower, curls rioting around her piquant face.

  "Geoff?"

  Crap! What kind of torment had she devised for him now? She sounded sleepy, but her body told a different story. Her back muscles felt tight and she kept wiggling her hips. Which pressed her lower body against his thigh and… Well, hell. All that soft femininity gave him hard, typically male ideas.

  "Keely?" He'd keep this light if it killed him. She didn't need to know that he was ready to take her even if she wasn't ready. She didn't need to see or feel his cock growing like Pinocchio's nose.

  "I read that a woman has to learn, um, that her body doesn't instinctively know how to…climax."

  That was news to him, but he supposed it could be true. "And?"

  "I read that most girls teach themselves during puberty by masturbating."

  Jonathan Jacob Jones! "That's about when and how guys learn."

  "Really?" A sharp elbow prodding his belly, she sat up. Eyes wide, she studied his face. "I thought guys--men--just knew how to, er, get an erection. That all you have to do is think about sex and you come. That's the right word, isn't it?"

  "Yeah, that's the right word. With guys it's more a matter of learning how not to…come." He eased her back down beside him. He didn't want her to see that this discussion made him as hard as a meteoroid.

  "Why would you not want to come? If it's as pleasurable as I've read, why stop?"

  "Well, since sex is more enjoyable with a partner… That is, the partner's enjoyment is as important as my--er, the man's--the guy should accommodate his partner."

  "Ahh," she sighed as if a light had turned on. "So women have to learn how to come and men have to learn how not to."

  "That pretty much covers it. Good night."

  "But how can they learn the how and how not to? So many societies proscribe masturbating."

  "In some societies they have instructors. Good night, Keely."

  "Do they have instructors on Earth?"

  "Y-yes, but--"

  "But?"

  He gave up trying to avoid her questions. "On Earth, there are guilds that specialize in teaching men how to pleasure their lovers. You really should talk to Herma about this stuff. Being great friends with Kendra's grandmother--who used to be a sex surrogate--Herma would know."

  "But--if I understood you correctly--sex surrogates teach men how not to. Who teaches women how to?"

  "Their lovers. Good night, Keely. We have a long day ahead of us and--"

  "How does a woman get a lover?"

  He bit back a groan. "They meet." Feeling her draw a deep breath, he forestalled her question. "Somewhere. There's a physical attraction between them. They date. Eventually, if the attraction's still there, they have sex."

  "How do they know if the attraction's still there?"

  "They kiss. They touch each other in intimate places. When they want more…they have sex."

  "So it all boils down to physical attraction."

  "Yeah. Although--" Triple J! I should have thought before I spoke! "Personally, I like to like my partner before we--er--have sex."

  "Good idea." She snuggled against him, slid her foot up and down his calf, then eased one leg over his. He could feel her heat and his growing cock.

  He just lay there, unwilling to move. Knowing if he did move, he'd teach Keely everything she need to know about how to.

  "Geoff?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Do you like me?"

  More and more every second. "Yeah."

  She purred. "Good night, Geoff."

  "G'night." But for some reason, sleep eluded him.

  The next morning Geoff awoke to the sound of Keely's wind-chimes laughter and the scent of cafftea wafting under his nose. He could get used to this, he realized--snuggling a bolster to him instead of a warm, hopefully willing woman. Opening his eyes, he saw Herma sort of floating beside the bed, the cup of delicious smelling cafftea in her hands.

  When she and Frodie floated, Geoff remembered they were holographs not real people. Which meant, he thought, his resentment growing, at other times he considered them human. Which was probably why most people liked the couple.

  "Good morning," Herma greeted softly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

  "That's okay. I'm usually up by now anyway."

  Herma flicked a glance at his groin where his morning erection tented the sheet. He gave in to the smile twitching the corners of his lips. Herma laughed as she put the cup on the nightstand and floated through the closed door into the living room.

  No wonder Keely thought a locked drawer wouldn't hold the couple. No, his partner had known. She couldn't remember her real name, but she'd known about Herma-Frodie's unique ability to go through solid objects. And Keely seemed perfectly at ease with the pair--as if they were…long–time friends who happened to meet after losing touch for a long time. And how weird was that? That they'd link up again in the middle of the galaxy?

  Geoff didn't believe in coincidence. Neither did he think it sheer serendipity that Herma-Frodie just happened to find Keely and him on Saturnalia. The hermaphrodite had had help. Geoff had a list of conspirators that grew longer by the minute, starting with cousin Connor's meddl
esome grandparents–in–law and ending with Le Roi himself. Of those on Geoff's list of suspects, the former king of Mars rose to the top. Le Roi most likely knew where The Honey was and who had stolen her. He might have faked his own death, but that didn't mean he would keep his hands off his home world. Especially when The Honey could give him supremacy over this part of the galaxy.

  A soft tap announced a person incapable of intruding through solid doors. Sure enough, Keely poked her head around it, saying, "Hey slug-a-bed, you ever getting up?"

  "Unless you want to join me." He patted the bed and waggled his eyebrows.

  Laughing, she closed the door.

  "I don't see any point in staying on Saturnalia," Keely told him as Geoff settled into a chair at the room service table. "Do you?"

  Geoff cast a glower at Frodie who looked like mob–muscle on guard at the French doors to the beach. Herma hovered at Geoff's elbow to shake a napkin into his lap.

  "Miss Keely has a good appetite," Herma observed. Today she wore a halter-top and shorts in neon orange. With Frodie garbed in funereal black, the pair reminded Geoff of Halloween. All they needed were a cauldron and a black cat.

  "Well do you?" Keely asked, a pancake-laden fork halfway to her mouth.

  "There are a few other casinos we could check out. But, given Le Roi's fondness for luxury, I doubt he'd hang out in any of them," Geoff admitted. "The problem is I've run out of places to look."

  "We've been discussing that," Keely told him, smiling at Herma-Frodie.

  Reconnected they look even more like something out of a demented storybook. Suspecting Keely would resent his denigrating her friends, Geoff kept the idea to himself.

  "We need a little more information before we can determine where to look next."

  Frodie's ability to talk comprehensively still startled Geoff. There was something about it that raised his hackles. Or maybe he was just paranoid.

  "What kind of information?" He forked what looked like ham into his mouth. It tasted like ham, too, so he took another bite.

  Keely's hand over his took his gaze to her face. Her eyes pleaded with him. "We need to know why recovering The Honey is so important."

  "Other than my conviction for treason you mean?" Resentment laced his voice. It also left an acid taste in his mouth and had him shoving his breakfast aside.