She bit her lip. She wasn't quite ready to tell him this yet, but that project was sounding better all the time. "After we're married," she said demurely. "Then we'll discuss."
He sighed deeply. "Oh, all right. I suppose we can keep practicing, if we must."
"Only three months till our wedding."
He growled. "I know. I'm looking forward to the honeymoon. Wait till you see the gardens on my estate in Pangaea. Wait till I fuck you in the gardens there… you'll enjoy it so much you'll probably pop an egg spontaneously."
She giggled. "Charlie, sshhh. Someone will hear you. You know that's how those pesky rumors get started."
To the delight of the paps and fans lingering outside the Rawr City Hotel, Chaz Jaguari threw back his head and laughed, his arm around his lovely fiancé, who smiled up at him with delight and love shining in her eyes.
"You," he told her, "Are a rascal. And maybe it's my turn to start a good rumor."
So saying, he tipped her back over his arm and gave her a deep, lascivious kiss, right there in front of everyone. The pose made her hair fall back, and revealed the betrothal collar with its magnificent emeralds and topaz.
Charlie was right—the kiss was all over the galactic holovids the next morning, with the headline, 'Galaxy's Biggest Star Caught in New Orbit—Trajectory: Marriage!'
Roxie's favorite headline was a lesser one, 'The Tyger is Trapped!'
Sprawled on the luxurious divan beside her in his Rawr City Penthouse, the remains of their breakfast on the hover-table nearby, fresh cups of coffee at hand, Chaz merely smiled at his snickering fiancé.
Then he went back to jotting lyrics for his new song, 'I Caught a Tygress by the Tail'.
THE END
The Adventure Continues…
in Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bryght.
The first book in the Orion series.
Want more fast-paced, sexy Sci Fi Romance with alpha Tygers? The check out the best selling Tyger, Tyger, Burning Bryght.
He's the only one who can bring the luxury cruise ship Orion thru a deadly asteroid belt. They find him a mate…or everyone dies.
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About CJ Cade
Where space opera adventure meets sexy romance.
CJ is a native of Montana, so look for the flavor of the cowboy culture in her Sci Fi Romance. Her alpha heroes & feisty heroines may pilot space ships instead of horses, but they find plenty of wild adventure & sexy romance, so deep space never stays cold for long!
CJ also writes Contemporary & Contemporary Paranormal romance as USAT Best-Seller Cathryn Cade.
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Comets and Caviar
Jenna Lincoln
Shake up a fresh martini and get ready to meet your new favorite intergalactic man of mystery.
Malachi Cartier’s tastes run to the exceptional whether he’s savoring fine spirits or an extraordinary woman. At least that's the cover identity he's using to get close to a self-styled sultan and his entourage. Somewhere in their cargo is an artifact that might prevent the invasion of Earth.
Unfortunately, the artifact is protected by a more-than-competent security professional, Keya Murakami, the one woman he didn’t have a chance to savor. Charm will only go so far before Malachi has to dust off his more specialized skills to achieve his goal.
If he gets a second shot at Keya? Champagne with a side of caviar.
Part One
The best way to attract attention was to look like you wanted to avoid attention. Malachi Cartier sauntered through the security checkpoint, one hand in his pocket, sunglasses on. He ignored the attractive uniformed people who were staffing the final check-in podiums. They were decorative and mainly existed to call the autohops and serve champagne, which was in contrast to their colleagues who administered three levels of body scans.
His contact inside the Rocky Mountain Metroplex transport hub had sent an empty comm exactly sixty minutes ago, the amount of time needed for a large party to travel from the port hotel up the beanstalk to the shuttles, ride the elevator shuttles to low Earth orbit, and arrive at this checkpoint on the lower deck of LS Quantum.
Malachi’s role, now that he’d completed the same journey, was to play the typical rich playboy, a role he’d perfected over the last few years. It was a hiding-in-plain-sight technique used by some of the best predators, human and otherwise. Just as in prior centuries, rich playboys craved novelty. It was practically expected that the character he’d created, Malachi Cartier, would be on the guest list for the newest galactic luxury craft.
LS Quantum promised untold delights of the adult variety and every luxury imaginable, beyond imaginable if one believed the rumors. And Malachi Cartier could observe it all with an ironic lift of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. These opening moments were critical; the passengers arriving with him would begin making assumptions based on their most likely fictional experience with intergalactic playboys.
The luxury liner LS Quantum had been a well-kept secret throughout its development and construction, except to those who had a hand in the initial financing. That strategy made it attractively exclusive to the individuals, families, and corporations with ties to the investors. The attempt at exclusivity for booking passage on the newest, most-advanced star cruise liner must've worked because a wide array of beautiful couples and some intriguing singles wandered throughout the large waiting area, admiring the artful projections or enjoying the plush senticouches. Everyone had the sleek look of well-fed, well-rested wealth. Malachi wondered how many of them were here for work, pretending to vacation, just as he was. Professional instincts said probably more than a few.
“Champagne, sir?”
Malachi nodded to the dark-haired beauty wearing a navy-and-silver LS Quantum uniform “Merci,” he said, as he took two glasses and handed one to his traveling companion. "Here you go, Heck.”
Hector Kahananui stepped out from behind the heavy-duty hover lift that was supporting a massive stack of trunks and bags. Pressing the cool glass against his forehead, he heaved a sigh. "Do we really need all of this, Mal?"
With a subtle clutch to his heart, Malachi said, "All of that and more, my friend." He tipped his chin toward the group of travelers who were exiting the checkpoint and shuffling into the waiting area "So much to see, so much to acquire in this big galaxy of ours."
He turned back to the lovely crew member. "We'll need several of the autohops unless we can just take the hover lift to our cabins?"
A tiny frown creased her forehead as she eyed the dirty, dock-worn hover lift. "Oh, no problem, sir. We prefer to use our own equipment.” She gestured to the large party dumping bags and boxes onto a dozen of the floating metal pallets. "Our autohops are designed to fit in their own custom lifts."
Malachi counted the number in the group, searching for the leader. One of the autohops swerved to avoid a collision and a young woman tugged the arm of a frail-looking older man to keep him from a nasty knock on the shin.
The old man wore a pristine white suit with a dark purple sash across the chest. He tottered and leaned on his companion before regaining his balance. "Thank you, my dear," he exclaimed.
"Of course, your highness," the woman replied.
Mal and Heck exchanged a look. Target acquired.
Someone was watching them. Keya had felt the itch of an unseen gaze on the back of her neck, and she swung around just in time to catch his royal majesty, Sultan Nurbanu, from getting clipped by the baggage bot.
"Have you ever seen such things?" he asked, taking her arm and nodding toward the bots. His weak grasp felt light and brittle. The sultan was in danger, especially after three assassination attempts in the past three months, but his health was the more imminent threat. "You and your crew come highly recommended, but I would wager you didn
't think you'd be saving me from my own luggage." Deep smile lines crinkled around his eyes at his joke.
“Our job is to protect you and your group from all threats, sir, luggage or otherwise,” Keya said with a smile. She wore a fitted black suit with a soft ivory blouse underneath, fashionable-but-comfortable heeled boots, and a short string of pearls around her neck. Some clients wanted their personal security to stand apart and look like hired muscle. Her company specialized in more discreet protection, hence the formal attire.
The majordomo approached with their room information and claimed the sultan's attention. He favored Keya with a skeptical look as he took the monarch's arm and led him away.
Good, Keya thought. She liked to be underestimated. It brought the predators into the open that much more quickly.
She felt the gaze again like the quick flash of a target lock. A man wearing dark glasses strode across the lobby like he owned it, heading in her direction. The autohops and luggage might have slowed down a mere mortal, but this man was something else, radiating heat and energy like a demigod.
He shifted mid-stride as an autohop veered into his path, causing him to brush against her. With a nimble side step, he said, "My apologies. We were waiting on the"—he gestured to the small group of robots cueing up at his feet—“autohops, but I think the signal was lost."
Something about the voice—the subtle accent—triggered a response in her memories. The shine of the material of his suit reminded her of armor, and the way he filled it out made her want to take a much longer look.
Two female crewmembers, as young and as beautiful as many of the passengers, nearly tripped each other in their rush to assist the man in the dark glasses. Expression anxious, the first one said, "Right this way, sir."
The second one added, "We will take care of every detail. It is our pleasure to serve."
Keya frowned at the near-identical sounds of their voices and the precision of their movements. Androids? If so, these were a half-dozen generations beyond anything on the commercial market.
Ignoring the crewmembers, the man turned to her, a slight smile bringing attention to his perfectly sculpted mouth. And where else could she look when he wore sunglasses? "I apologize for my clumsiness, mademoiselle." Accented standard English but not necessarily a standard accent.
"No harm done," she said. Out of uniform, she might have added something else like, “I'm sure we're all anxious to see the ship.” But she was working, and that meant no social interaction, especially not when she was providing security for a sultan, a large group of his science corps, and priceless alien artifacts.
More importantly, rescuing her sister depended on a flawless execution of the job at hand.
One of his hands twitched like he wanted to reach out. Instead, he placed both of his hands over his heart and said, "Bon voyage." After a fraction of a bow, he returned the way he’d come, trailing behind the two lovely women and ten of the autohops.
Keya frowned at his back, observing how his broad shoulders filled out the perfectly tailored suit. Custom work like that cost credits.
She shook off the distraction and resumed supervising the combined group of royals, court officials, and scientists in her keeping. Unaccustomed to traveling from their underdeveloped planet, they gawked and chattered like a flock of birds. She'd only started the job seventy-two hours ago, and already she was counting down until the end. That was when the real test would start anyway.
At last all the equipment, secured crates, and wardrobe containers had moved into the bowels of LS Quantum. On her final check around the boarding area, Keya’s gaze snagged on the man in the perfectly tailored suit. He was leaning close to one of the crewmembers as if straining to hear her words. He turned and caught Keya staring, and his small smile sent a warming touch throughout her body.
The hands to the heart, the accent...Keya snapped around and double-timed it to catch the last of the straggling scientists. She watched their shuffling feet and half-listened to the earnest conversation about quarks. The hair on her arms tingled; hell, her whole body tingled.
She knew that man.
Well, she'd spent one night with him. She knew what he'd wanted her to know.
Keya’s cheeks flushed. She couldn't wait to hand off the group and access the passenger manifest. As soon as she could check her memory against his transport image, she would know for certain if their paths had crossed, if the intriguing passenger was the one man she would have loved to see again except under their current circumstances.
The night Malachi made the worst mistake of his career was also the night he'd kissed Keya Murakami.
The two events were forever linked in his mind. Despite the powerful urge to taste her lips again, kissing Keya now, especially if she was working for the people he needed to rob, would only magnify his problems.
His senses attended to the lux details of the ship as he recorded the path to their cabin, even as his mind replayed the events of that fateful night five years ago this summer.
Less experienced, but not young enough for excuses, he'd thought he could handle the alleged extraterrestrial contact, keep the civilians calm, get the whole thing buttoned up, and scrub the evidence. But when he’d rolled in with his partner and one backup team, the situation was already too far gone. His organization, a secret circle within the larger NSA framework, hadn’t been as laser accurate with crowd algorithms back then. Rather than the fifty or so civilians they’d expected, nearly three hundred people chanted and swayed under the stars. The fanatics had formed a tight, orderly circle around the deep patterns that were now stamped onto the rock.
The image had just appeared one morning, discovered by hikers outside of Boulder, Colorado. Tests confirmed that the intricate design, which was nearly fifteen meters in diameter, was new and made by tools unknown to human science. As the crazies started to roll in, camp out, and generally create a public nuisance, the local police had requested federal support to secure the area. The government contacted Malachi’s group and in he went, underprepared in every way that mattered. They’d been outnumbered by people fervently devoted to the cause of extraterrestrial contact. Tasked with controlling the information by any means necessary, Malachi, Hector, and the backup team were real life men in black. But even with their skills and training, six of them against three hundred was a losing battle. Not only did the photos and videos of the image hit every feed, but also their attempts to disperse the true believers quickly turned violent. They’d had to fight their way out, only surviving, if he were honest with himself, because Keya had arrived with local law enforcement.
Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Malachi grounded himself by listening for his own footfalls in the thick carpet of the corridor. A rich platinum, it blended with the holoprojection-capable metal plating lining the walls. The doors were spaced far apart, indicating the massive size of the suites in this section. His glasses allowed him to see the plain structure below the projected images. When he looked over the rims, it seemed as if he were walking the hall of an airy retreat with high ceilings, skylights, and blooming plants in delightful groupings.
In the privacy of their rooms, he and Hector would begin the task of reviewing the ship’s blueprints to cross-reference their location with the full passenger manifest. Their contact said they'd be within striking distance of the sultan and his entourage, but one of them would have to get close enough to determine if the alien artifacts were in the hold or in the scientists' quarters.
It was a risk to accept this job, especially once the link between the circular marking in Colorado and the artifacts had been verified. Malachi had a particular set of skills that worked very well in military and/or political situations. But even though this mission was neither military nor political, he made sure his superiors at the NSA decided he was their best option, given his playboy persona and the excitement surrounding the luxury vessel. Risk or no, he was determined to close the door he'd inadvertently left open that fateful night.
Keya. She was even lovelier than he remembered. Her delicate features and tawny eyes, all framed by shining black hair. He remembered the silken feel of that hair sliding through his fingers as he kissed her
Their cabin was both welcoming and opulent, filled with the combined effects of visual, sound, and scent-based technology. He sank onto the main senticouch, mind only partly attending to the virtual port projected over the virtual cabin rail.
Keya had already been working in private security when they'd met. He hadn't known at the time, but Keya was good, her company new but doing well. After their encounter—after everything—he'd done some checking and learned of her strong reputation as the head of a top notch personal security firm within the Rocky Mountain region and also within the aerospace industry.
She was good, but he was better. Even though he didn’t want to work against Keya, his mission took priority over his feelings. Several key artifacts her group was transporting couldn't be allowed to remain at large. Snatching them at the Terran and Colonial Extraterrestrial Science Expo would have attracted too much attention. But a properly handled theft from the cargo hold on this new, beautiful luxury cruise ship might not even be noticed until the sultan and his scientists arrived home.
"Mal, we've got a countdown running in here." Hector appeared in the next doorway. From a slot in the wall, autohops trundled in bearing their bags and trunks.
"C'mon, time to get strapped in." Hector waved him into their stateroom where along the far wall meter-high numbers counted the remaining five minutes to lift off. "First sweep was clean. No time to appreciate all this now," Hector said as he settled onto a large leather chair. He tapped a discreet control screen and his chair elongated and produced whisper-thin molecular shields that formed custom cushions around his skull, torso, and legs.
Cosmic Cabaret Page 99
