Sailmaster's Woman

by Annie Windsor

  Sailmaster's Woman

  Annie Windsor

  Arda book 1 -

  Chapter 1

  Elise Ashton rubbed her blue eyes and yawned as her cousin Georgia Steel sat down across from her.

  The sidewalk café was packed. A dozen yellow plastic tables, two dozen yellow chairs, a brick patio, and a hundred coffee-seeking zombies—it was almost too much for Elise’s senses after a sleepless weekend.

  She gazed first at Georgia’s tired face and then at the sky, wishing she could soar into the low-hanging clouds and escape to Polaris, or maybe Cassiopeia. If only space travel were possible. Surely those star systems had life-sustaining planets, and surely their inhabitants were more interesting than Nashville’s natural species: Genus Redneckius.

  Then again, if Elise’s First Rule held true, the Milky Way wouldn’t offer her much better fare than Middle Tennessee.

  Elise’s First Rule: In the end, all men are boring.

  In front of her, gray city streets bustled with typical Monday traffic. Morning heat rose from the pavement in shimmering waves, punctuated by car exhaust and hurrying pedestrians.

  “This place looks more like New York every day,” Elise muttered. Her long blond hair already lay limp against her shoulders, a testament to July’s blistering temperatures.

  “Amen.” Georgia brushed red bangs behind her ears. The heat didn’t seem to be affecting her, but it never did. Georgia was one of those perfect women with a tiny waist, sparkling green eyes, and slender hips. One of those women who worried over losing half a pound, and how many calories were in a carrot stick. If Elise hadn’t loved her distant cousin like a sister, she probably would have spiked Georgia’s coffee with the highest calorie chocolate syrup Coffee Stand had to offer.

  A waitress in a white t-shirt with “Latté” scrawled across her plastic-enhanced chest minced over, flashed a phony smile, plopped two cups on their table, and left without so much as a boo or how-do-you-do.

  Elise glared after Latté-tits and sighed. “This freaky-dream thing is out of hand. If I don’t get some sleep, I’m likely to pour espresso on that woman’s head. Perky and rude should be an illegal combination.”

  “Mm. Well, I think your sexual repression is getting to you.” Georgia downed a swig of her morning rations.

  “I’m not repressed.” Elise shifted in her plastic chair, bringing her knees together and smoothing her black business skirt. It was an unconscious gesture, and Georgia caught it before Elise did.

  “Scared something’s gonna crawl up in there, girl?”

  “No!” Elise let her legs fall open for three seconds, then snapped them back together again. “I mean, not anything I don’t want.”

  Georgia leaned forward, exposing shameless cleavage. “And what does Elise Ashton really, really, gotta-have-it-’til-her-clit-aches want?”

  For a few seconds, Elise couldn’t speak. Her neck felt warm enough to combust, and she squeezed her coffee mug until her fingers burned. “Oh, please. Let’s not start this so early. I’m too sleepy to defend myself.”

  “You’re such a wimp.”

  “Am not.”

  “When was the last time you did something wild?”

  “I—you—oh, fuck you. Drink your coffee.”

  Georgia settled back in her seat, bouncing her foot like she usually did after whipping Elise in an argument.

  If she hadn’t been so sluggish, Elise would have given that bouncing foot a good flick, or at least kicked at one of Georgia’s plastic chair legs. Her recent Tai Kwon Do lessons might have made that interesting. As it was, she just smiled at her cousin, filed the exchange for later revenge, and went back to yawning.

  “I think it’s a trust thing.” Georgia grinned. Her foot was still bouncing. “You’ve been screwed over so many times, you figure why bother, right?”

  “Elise’s Second Rule: Trust no one but Georgia.” Elise sipped at her mocha-almond express, wishing it were magical elixir. “Besides, you’ve had your own share of screw-overs, m’dear. Face it. Good men, the kind of men who can handle a strong-minded woman—don’t exist.”

  Georgia sighed. “Pessimist. You’re probably right, but I’m not willing to give up yet.”

  Elise took another slug of her espresso, hoping it would keep her eyes open. The State of Tennessee would be grateful if she stayed awake to log in the endless complaints received by the Attorney General’s office. No doubt Georgia would be grateful, too, as Elise would be quicker to grab one of the ringing phones. Bossing high-level politicians and lawyers all day kept Elise’s mental and emotional claws sharpened, and she could use the workout today.

  Georgia and Elise had manned the AG’s secretarial staff for almost ten years, since they both finished high school and opted out of college. Georgia didn’t go on to higher education because she hated school. Elise didn’t go because she couldn’t afford it. She meant to try again once she got older, to study her true passion of astronomy, but there was work. And bills. And Georgia’s endless tales of woe from failed relationships. Georgia needed Elise, and Elise needed to be there for her cousin.

  Elise’s Third Rule: Always take care of Georgia, because she’s all you’ve got.

  The two women had grown up together with their only surviving aunt, with little knowledge of their family. As far as Elise was concerned, they hadn’t done badly for themselves, either.

  At twenty-eight, Elise didn’t know if she could even handle the studying involved with going back to school—the grading, the long hours, or even the change from her comfortable, quiet life. She still had her constellation charts and the telescope she bought when she was only twelve. She didn’t use it much any more, but every now and then, in the tiny hours of night, when she was almost sure no one could see her, she’d steal a glance at a comet, or watch a meteor shower.

  And as the magnificent events unfolded, she would give in to her natural excitement, using her vibrator to bring herself to quick, sharp orgasms as the heavens sparkled.

  Now that was something wild.

  At least it broke the monotony. But she would never admit it to anyone—especially Georgia. The two women shared an odd instinct, a connection that often let them know more about each other than they should. Elise figured the closeness came from growing up virtually alone, but Georgia always said they were secretly the children of psychic gods.

  Whatever.

  Elise wasn’t spilling about her vibrator or her personal falling stars.

  “So, is it still the same dream?” Georgia’s lyrical voice cut beneath the crowd noise.

  “Yes. Well, no.” Elise shifted in her chair, not wanting to lie, but not wanting to mention the nightmares that had recently intruded on her fantasy dreams. In the nightmares, she was a slave, riding in a squalid ship made to look like an inhuman skull. Elise’s dreams had a habit of coming true, though not always directly. They were like hints of the future, and the skull-slave scene was definitely not one she wanted to talk about.

  “Tell.” Georgia leaned forward. Her bright green eyes almost glittered. “I know those dreams are hot.”

  Elise forced a smile. “Not hot, really. But definitely more intense.”

  She let the warm coffee run down her throat between sentences. The sensation was almost wicked, especially when paired with thoughts about her nighttime stargazing, and her good dreams. The ones about the space pirate with midnight hair and obsidian eyes. Orion himself, with muscles like a god, standing astride the deck of his silver space frigate. Him, she could fuck all night.

  “I keep waking up at the wrong times, though.” Elise sighed. “Just before the handsome guy makes me come.”

  “I think you should see your doctor.” Georgia glanced at her watch. “Come on. We’ll be l
ate.”

  Elise stood, thinking that if she told her doctor anything about her dreams and fantasies, he’d either take her right there on the exam table or send her to a shrink.

  The doc was cute, but he didn’t warm Elise’s engines. Given that he was rich, smart beyond reason, and very handsome, her lack of response suggested the shrink might be a good idea.

  In the end, all men are boring.

  However, the thought of being examined with an intimate twist not only made Elise’s heart beat faster, but it brought a quick, throbbing ache to the celestial equator between her legs. It had been too long since someone explored her galaxy.

  And it was damned hard to find an explorer who knew how to navigate.

  If she could find a man, one true, honest man who could excite her every night—a man who would respect her, yet stand up to her—she would wrap her legs tight around that man, fuck him blind, and never let go.

  For a few blocks, Elise and Georgia walked in silence as Elise pondered the fact that her standards were so high most men no longer interested her. In the end…boring.

  Even the good ones. Not that the few relationships she suffered through could be counted as “good ones,” but still.

  What was she waiting for?

  Did she think Orion would drop out of the sky and sweep her away for hot sex on his star boat?

  Yeah, right.

  Stupid. Exciting, but stupid.

  Even if space pirates existed, Elise doubted that any of them would seek wanton sex with her. She just wasn’t the type men picked for a wild fucking, no matter how racy her private fantasies became. She was a woman who hooked up with “nice” guys. Clunky, quiet, reserved businessmen who had no clue what to do with a car engine or a clit. Like Bob at work, her supervisor. He’d been making eyes at her for years, and he’d made it clear that if Elise got ready for launch, he was standing by.

  Bob was handsome in that former-linebacker sort of way, but jeez. He defined boring, like most men did, in the end, as her first rule so clearly summarized.

  Now, Orion—he might be another story.

  Enough. Elise forcefully ignored the ache between her legs. I can’t spend my whole day lost in sexual daydreams.

  As her attention returned to reality, she could feel the rush hour crowd jostling by. The air was only getting hotter in the forest of downtown high-rises, and the whole scene made Elise long for a quick trip to the moon.

  Instead, she turned left with Georgia, into the alley between two of the tallest government buildings in Nashville. As Georgia cleared the crowd, a man bumped her arm and spilled her coffee all over her blouse.

  He didn’t even slow down.

  Georgia stood stock still for a second, staring after him in disbelief.

  Elise noticed the curve of her cousin’s perfect breast, nipple hardening beneath the hot liquid. The rich smell of coffee filled her senses, and she wondered what Georgia looked like when she climaxed. Both of her nipples were probably huge then, swollen after so much kneading and sucking.

  How would it feel to be fucked by one of the gorgeous male specimens who were never too far from Georgia’s beck and call?

  Georgia was so free. So reckless.

  She probably wore those men out.

  Georgia caught Elise’s eye, and for one dignity-shattering moment, Elise believed her cousin was reading her mind. She felt her cheeks blaze, hotter than the images still flickering on her mental screen.

  A sly grin played on Georgia’s elfin features. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Elise wished desperately that her face would quit burning. “Not for a million bucks.”

  What’s the matter with me?

  “Girl, sometimes, I have the distinct feeling you’re wilder than you let on.” Georgia grinned again, then sighed and pulled the wet fabric away from her still-saluting nipple. “It’s gonna be a hell-Monday. I can tell.”

  The flames ebbed out of Elise’s face. She reached for her bag to get a napkin to help Georgia dry off, then realized there was nothing hanging from her shoulder. “Damn! I must have left my purse at the café. At the counter, when I paid.” She stomped her foot. “Damn, damn, damn!”

  Georgia looked at her watch. “We don’t have time to go back. Five minutes—we’ll lose points.”

  “You head on inside.” Elise pointed to the entrance. “I’ll run back for it. I can afford a few points to save my license and credit cards.”

  “Okay, but—hey, I know.” Georgia’s mischievous smile was unmistakable. “I’ll tell Bob you were having female problems. That’ll shut him up. He’ll probably forget to dock you for being late.”

  Once more, heat rose to Elise’s cheeks at the image of good old Bob thinking about her private bodily functions. “Gee. Thanks. What a true friend.”

  Georgia giggled, then hurried into the building.

  Elise turned and jogged toward the alley entrance. Rush hour was waning. She should be able to get to the café and back in just a few minutes. Bob would have to deal with it. No way was she leaving her wallet—

  Smash!

  Elise had struck something rock-solid.

  She fell hard on her backside, scraping her hands on the dirty alley stones. Pain coursed her spine, and her palms burned.

  Legs.

  There were legs in front of her, eight to be exact, blocking the alley entrance.

  And they looked like leather-clad tree trunks.

  The air popped, as if a bubble had dropped around Elise, blocking out the typical city noises and sights. She couldn’t see people or cars. There was nothing outside the alley. And nothing in it but her and the tree-trunk legs.

  Harsh laughter filled the air.

  Elise’s heart thundered as she raised her eyes.

  Oh, God.

  These weren’t pirates. At least not the dreamy kind.

  The tree-legged men were enormous. Easily seven feet tall, dressed in slick bodysuits and armed with weird silver sticks topped by glowing crescents. And they weren’t handsome guys. To a one, they looked like carnival freak shows, human but scale-covered. Long fingernails, spiked teeth—maybe they were part lizard. Or part alligator.

  Who could tell?

  One thing was for sure, though.

  They had skulls tattooed on their scaly necks, and they were green. As in Crayola green.

  What are these guys? Actors? Movie monsters?

  Elise scrambled to her feet, unable to keep from staring.

  The monster closest to her pulsed like a heartbeat, from plain green to neon green and back again. If that was a special effect, it was more advanced than any film crew in Nashville could afford.

  But if they aren’t actors…

  Elise’s mouth went dry. The neon alligator’s stick was huge. Bigger than all the rest, with a double-crescent tip. He was twice as ugly as his companions, with scratches and gashes and bald patches on his scaled skin.

  An alligator with mange. And some freaky cattle prod.

  Elise tried to back away, and ran into leather and metal.

  She didn’t turn around. Somehow, seeing more alligators behind her would have taken her sanity.

  Her chest was so tight she couldn’t breathe or speak, but in the next second, she heard herself whisper, “What—I mean—who are you?”

  More alligator laughter polluted the alley. It sounded like saws on concrete, and Elise became aware of a swampy, stale smell. It was…dirty. The kind of odor she imagined to fill the back rooms of porno shops and peep shows.

  Before Elise could regain her mental balance, the pulsing neon alligator reached a claw forward and flicked the end of her nipple.

  “Ow!” Fury surged through her, and she dropped into a Tai-Kwan-Do ready pose. “Bastard! Wanna try that again?”

  The monster lunged, and Elise kicked.

  He dodged her blow easily and grinned, bringing the tip of his stick around to tap her behind.

  Elise screamed as a burning pulse shot through her muscles.

/>   “What the hell is that thing?” She pivoted to the side of the stick and landed a punch on the bastard’s nose. For nothing. He didn’t even flinch.

  One of the creeps shocked her from behind, and the pain was excruciating.

  Tears leaped into her eyes, and she swore under her breath. No way was she crying in front of these freaks. Clawed fingers closed on her shoulders. Again, she tried to defend herself, but her captor was too strong. And those shock sticks—they were inches away. She didn’t dare move too much.

  One of the alligators snapped a cold metal collar around her neck.

  “Damn you!” She grabbed the band with both hands and pulled at it, but it shocked her just like the sticks did.

  More scaly hands clamped on her arms and jerked her backward. Scaly arms wrapped around her, crushing air from her lungs.

  Elise worked to kick but couldn’t get off a good blow. Her heart was in open rebellion, hammering against her ribs. She screamed, but her throat closed off the sound.

  “No one can hear you,” said the alligator with mange. He was lurking in front of her, double-crescent stick inches from her right cheek, and a hungry, taunting expression twisting his greenish lips.

  Elise had the distinct sensation that her collar had just told her what the monster said. Even the horror of her situation couldn’t block the wonder of that fact.

  Reality began to sink in.

  These—these—things were aliens, and she was suddenly closer to the stars than she had ever been. The skulls on their necks—her nightmare!

  Whatever was happening to her, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  A sharp pain lanced her forearm. A shot. They had given her some sort of shot.

  She tried to pull away, but claws dug farther into her shoulder.

  Colors rose and swam at the edges of her vision, and she felt her muscles deny her terror and begin to relax.

  “Who are you?” she asked again, slurring her words.

  The mangy alligator leaned close to her, nearly gagging her with his sex-shop reek. With two rough fingers, he grabbed Elise’s chin and kept her from turning away as he spoke in a voice more gravel than sound.

  “My name is Gith. Lord Gith. But you will call me Sir. We are your new masters, wench.”