“Well, it was a dog,” he offered.
“And now it’s a dog puddle.” She giggled.
“Isn’t a dog puddle called piddle?” he asked.
After another giggle, she tried to look serious. “I think they’re called poodles.”
Her bright laughter compelled his, and he realized he’d laughed more in the last few days than he had in the last few years. Despite the obstacles between them, he found he enjoyed being with Mary. He liked her, not as a conquest, or a puzzle, but as a person, a friend. His only other friend was Duster.
“Why did you learn—I mean, never mind.” She shook out her napkin and folded the hunter green fabric into something else.
He didn’t want her to be afraid of asking him questions. “I learned in bars and hells. Origami was something to do while waiting for jobs. It’s also a great way to meet women.”
“How so?”
“Women would wander over to see what I was doing, and I’d give them what I’d made.”
“I find it hard to believe that you had to have some gimmick to meet women.” She flashed him a dubious frown.
“Why’s that?”
“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” Mary raised her eyebrows. “In case you haven’t, you’re not hard on the eyes. I imagine it far more likely you had to find a way to keep the women at bay. With bodyguards.”
“I’m flattered.” It surprised him when he flushed at her compliment. “But what I did for a living kept the women well away for the most part.”
“Care to share?”
He considered how much she might know about Overlord, but her honesty made him willing to take a risk. “I was a pickpocket.”
She gasped and looked around. “You’ve come a long way.”
A very long and bloody way, he thought, as he followed her gaze to the opulence surrounding them. “I hated that life. A lot of danger for a minuscule payoff.”
“How did you ever—” She cut herself off with a clamping of her jaw, and he sensed her fear of incurring his wrath by asking the wrong question. Mary honestly wanted to connect to him as a friend and tried not to overstep perceived boundaries.
“Don’t stop asking me questions.” He leaned back, fiddling with his coffee cup. “If you ask something I don’t want to answer, I’ll say so, and I’ll do my best not to get upset.”
“Deal.” She offered her hand. “I’ll do my best not to push.”
“Deal.” He cupped her hand, shook gently and let go, even though he wanted to hold on.
“So, how did you ever get away from being a pickpocket?”
“I put my hand in the wrong boot.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “I thought pickpockets picked pockets, not boots.”
“That’s the general idea, but this lady had a wad of script in her boot that would have choked a thousand elves.”
“You got caught.” Mary guessed the truth with a grin.
“Indeed.” He grinned back. “I almost got killed.” He could tell from her expression that she’d guessed the identity of his target and teacher. He confirmed the truth. “Kraft.”
“I thought so.” Mary nodded.
“Kraft taught me there were bigger things in the Void to pick other than pockets or boots.” It struck him in a sudden rush that he’d met Kraft while attempting to steal from her, and he met Mary when she’d attempted to steal from him. Mary had a knack for looping his life back on him.
“Kraft taught you how to be a bigger and better pickpocket.”
“No, Kraft set my feet down the path of smuggling.”
“Books?” Mary’s face lit up. She found books as fascinating as he did.
“Not at first.” He hedged around an ugly truth. “I couldn’t afford a fast enough ship to smuggle books, but eventually, yes.”
“So all of this”—Mary lifted her hands to encompass the entire extravagant House—“was built by a pickpocket?”
“Yes.” Once he’d amassed a fortune smuggling, he’d used his money to terraform Windmere. Rich veins of heavy metals built his empire, but he’d started as a pickpocket.
“I like it.” She smiled with a playful gleam. “Knowing that somehow makes all of this less intimidating.”
He compared his world to what he knew of hers from his reports. “You didn’t steal my goods in order to work your way to something like this, did you?”
“No.” Refusing to meet his gaze, she considered the bird she constructed from her napkin.
“If it’s not riches you’re after, what is it?” He leaned forward, almost desperate for an answer.
“I can’t tell you.” Genuine reluctance filled her gaze when she looked up at him.
“I thought we were trying to be friends.” He leaned closer, frustrated he’d lost the easy rapport between them with one question. “I thought we were trying to trust each other.”
“It’s not that simple.” She frowned. “If this were just about me, I’d tell you, but it isn’t, so I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Mary shot to her feet and hurried from the room.
Chapter Ten
Mary couldn’t sleep. Raw edges from the green dress rubbed against her skin. She tossed and turned for an hour before she yanked the stupid thing off and flung it to the floor.
Naked, she snuggled into silk sheets that smelled of peaches and hyacinth. She didn’t think Commander would burst into her room unannounced, but still, she felt vulnerable sleeping in the nude. Alone in her cabin in the woods, she slept with her boots on in case she had to be up and ready at a moment’s notice. Here, she didn’t have such worries.
Such worries. That about summed up her life. One nagging worry after another plagued her. Thoughts turning to home, Taiga and the folks of Pine Glenn, she wondered if they had any idea what had happened to her, or if any of them cared.
She didn’t know if anyone saw the Runner abduct her from the spaceport near Pine Glenn. Just the thought of her adopted father Emmet Courtland twisting in the wind not knowing, about drove her mad.
She wondered if Commander would let her send a message to Emmet. Probably not. Even if he did, he’d no doubt read the message, and that would only make matters worse. No, let Commander think her the leader. Whatever pain Emmet had she would address later, when she got out of here; or rather if she got out of here.
When would Commander get bored, give up and send her away? Another week? A month? A year? She didn’t have months or years to dawdle. A week was too long. One glance of him in all his smoldering male glory was one glance too many. Hotter and sexier than any man had a right to be, Commander was every schoolgirl fantasy all rolled up into one thigh-clenching dream. She alternately wanted to kiss him, kick him, capitulate to him and then command him to her every whim.
Since Commander wouldn’t let her go, she had to escape. Surprisingly, she felt bad about it. He was a lot more human to her once he climbed off his high horse. He hadn’t been on the Fringe for a long time, and she seemed to remind him of what it was like. And that made him behave nicer. Or maybe it was only because she was behaving nicer. Nicer? Her language teacher would have switched her butt for that, but lemon-sucking Mrs. Roth wasn’t here.
With a sigh, she rolled onto her back. Above her, she saw a pale reflection. “What the—” She sat up, and so did the woman above her head. “A mirror.” She settled back, wondering why someone would want a mirror above the bed, of all places.
“Maybe Kraft liked to watch herself sleep.” She considered. “Stupid. How could you watch yourself sleep?” Pondering the mirror, Mary distracted herself by wondering about Kraft.
Commander said Kraft taught him to smuggle, but had it been more than that? Had he loved her? The man kept her ship like a shrine. He either hated or loved her. Probably both. Mary imagined a great and torrid romance between them that went horribly wrong because of, well, clashing egos, most like. He certainly had a big one, and Kraft, what little Mary knew of her, seemed to have a good reason to have a massive ego.
/> Kraft had to be dead. Why else would her ship be here? Mary would just about give her eyeteeth to find out why Commander thought of Kraft whenever he looked at her. Mainly so she could exploit it. She felt a little guilty about such a thought and slept in fitful bursts.
In the morning, she found a new dress hanging off the back of the bathroom door. The simple copper dextex looked like it would fit better, but she put her same green dress on after her shower. He couldn’t dress her up like some kind of doll. She became even more determined to wear the green silk-and-velvet dress until it fell apart, or he returned her own clothes to her.
After looking around House, she lurked at the doorway of a fully outfitted dojo. In a space where over a hundred students could work out, she watched Commander practice katas solo.
Sweat-slicked, bare-chested, clad in black gi pants, he moved gracefully from one position to another, each stroke of his massive body a dance, a weapon, wielded with seductive expertise.
From where she stood, she caught wisps of his fresh sweat mixed with that pine and citrus zest of him. The entire dojo smelled faintly of him. She found the scent so intoxicating she breathed through her mouth.
Watching every line of his powerful body against the white room, she realized he wore only the gi pants. Below a thin layer of black cotton he was, well, naked. She flushed and closed her eyes, almost ashamed of her thoughts. Almost. Yeah-huh, underneath his pants, he was naked.
Michael found her gaze distracting.
He’d come to his dojo to burn off his sexual tension, but her watchful eyes only heightened his arousal. Every time he moved, her gaze followed and lingered, like a rich caress.
“Come in, Mary.”
Her eyes widened, but she lifted her chin as she stepped to the thick mats that covered the dojo floor. The mats also went about nine feet up the walls. Her green dress made a startling contrast to the mostly white room. He wondered why she hadn’t put on the fresh dress he’d left for her. Knowing Mary, she must be attempting to defy him in some small way.
Her wet brown hair, plastered to her delicate skull and down her slender neck, compelled him to brush the strands aside and bite up along the edge to her ear. He wanted to fill her ear with erotic words in every language he knew.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, but House wouldn’t tell me where you were, so I wandered around, looking for breakfast and, well, I’m hungry and—” She cut herself off by glancing around.
Her nervous babbling teased a smile across his lips. “Do you know what I’m doing?”
“Katas.” She shrugged, indifferent, but he failed to be convinced because her body spoke volumes of interest. From her wide, curious eyes to her wildly conflicted scent, Mary radiated wicked interest.
“Nash said you are well-versed in the forbidden arts. Karate is your art?”
“Partly.” She stepped closer, as if trying to prove he had no impact on her, but she blushed when she glanced to his hips and pointedly away.
“Go through there, put on a gi, then join me.” He made no effort to hide his response to her. Semi-hard, his cock pressed against his whisper-thin pants and he turned to give her a better look.
Mary shot a quick glance to his hips, tossed her head, and then marched off to the locker room. She emerged wearing a white gi with a white belt.
“Why did you choose a white belt?”
“Because it fit.” She tightened the belt with a sharp yank.
“Or perhaps to lull me into a false notion that you are a novice.”
She lifted her plastimetal-encircled wrist. “Considering the gray I have on, I am.” She tapped the bracelet. “Your luller forces me to be a novice.” With a disdainful toss of her head, she continued, “How can I defend myself when a dose of Baka awaits any aggressive move I make?”
So, she still wanted to challenge him physically. The very idea caused him to laugh, but only deep inside. With calm authority, he said, “House, cancel Baka, Mary, override 201484. Confirm.”
In dulcet tones of obedience, House said, “Baka injection, Mary, cancelled by order of Commander.”
Mary considered her bracelet. “I’d feel a lot better if you took it off.”
“No.” He refrained from laughing and managed to keep his gaze on hers. He had a feeling that was what she’d been after all along.
“Why?” She looked at him, all wide-eyed innocence, but he wouldn’t fall for such an obvious ploy.
“Because.”
“Fine.” She uttered an exasperated sigh, clearly disappointed her scheme didn’t work but not all that surprised.
Together they went through warm-up exercises, then katas, and then they were ready for kumite, or free-style sparring.
“I’m assuming we won’t actually land blows.” Mary sized him up with an intense gaze.
“No, I don’t want to hurt you.” He lifted his hand to preempt her. “I don’t want you to hurt me, either. Light taps, nothing more.”
Her eyebrows drew up. “Okay. Do you want to be the aggressor or the defender?”
“Lady’s choice.”
Without warning, not even the customary bow, she charged, throwing punches and kicks with lightning speed. Her fists and feet flashed to his chest, his belly and his face. He blocked her with a lazy grace and tapped her body in return. Once to her chest, once to her belly and once to her face.
“Three.” He bowed with formal regard.
A deep scowl darkened her face as she withdrew. She didn’t understand what she’d done wrong.
“You are obvious, Mary.”
Her scowl deepened. “You’re quick. Freakishly so.”
“Indeed. Yet still, you are obvious.” His smile compelled her to attack again, but she never came close to her targets, because anger prevented her from focusing. He tagged her three times and bowed.
Muttering a stream of profanity, she changed her pattern, but still, he blocked each attempt and tagged her.
“I guess my physical reactions are not so slow for a man pushing forty.” He bowed formally again.
She growled. “I never should have said that.” She lowered her voice. “Not out loud, anyway.”
“Let’s reverse roles.”
She dropped into a defensive posture, her feet gripping the white floor mats as she centered her bodyline.
He made three light taps with his feet and hands to her body. Her blocks were a shade shy, her countermoves way off.
Frustrated, she thrust out her arms, palms open and up. “I give!”
He considered taking advantage of her surrender, but only for a moment. “Let me show you what you’re doing wrong.”
Her gaze narrowed. “You want to teach me to fight better?”
“If you want to learn.” By teaching her, he could get close and smell that compelling mix of scents she gave off. Anger and frustration smoked her floral scent.
“I’ll use everything you teach me against you.” A deep-seated compulsion caused her to challenge him at every opportunity.
“Granted.”
“Deal.”
When she stuck out her hand, he shook and released before he could give in to his urge to pull her into his embrace.
After telling her never to let anger move her, he walked her through several countermoves and blocks. They sparred again. This time, she landed a blow. Unfortunately, underestimating her, distracted by the rich scent of her, he stepped forward to block her arm and her foot blasted into his hip. He crashed into the padded wall.
“I didn’t mean to kick you that hard—at all!”
Mary rushed forward, her eyes wide, mortified. She may have missed some of the finer points of karate, but she held to principle. Kumite was a game, not a situation to hurt. Her reaction made it clear that she’d tried to land a close blow, a tap. She’d never intended to actually kick him.
“It wasn’t your fault.” He rubbed his hip and realized he’d gained another bruise. One that would match her blows to his chest and chin. He couldn’t remember how
many years it had been since he’d had fight marks on his carefully maintained body.
“Does it hurt?” She slipped her hand in the side vent of his drawstring pants, touching his naked hip.
“Yes.” He stopped her from removing her hand. “Your touch soothes the hurt.”
Her gaze met his.
A sudden shift and the floral citrus scent of her desire flooded him. Her hand gripped his hip. No doubt she could feel the fabric pulling as his erection pushed against the thin front of his pants. For the life of him, he wanted to take her hand and wrap her fist around—
“I think we should stop.” She pulled her hand away.
He captured her wrists and pressed her back against the padded wall, pinning her hands above her head. Panting, he dipped his head to hers but held off kissing her by the slimmest margin.
Mary froze.
Awash in the smell of her, he held her captive with the bulk of his body and nestled his erection against her soft belly.
She gasped.
Fear tainted her longing with dark, turned earth.
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
She shuddered against his low voice, her gentle movements making him harder.
“Am I?”
“Fear and desire.” He rocked up. Hard, throbbing, he rubbed himself against the plush promise of her captured body.
She struggled for a moment, but the padded wall absorbed her movements. He pressed his lips against the left side of her neck, kissing his way to her ear.
“Fear.” He nipped her earlobe, then lowered his head to her right side, did the same. “Desire.”
She gasped but didn’t struggle further.
Chuckling, he bit her neck. “Transparent Mary. Fear and desire. I smell them on you as a dark mark of perfume.”
After a drawing sigh, she jutted her hips out and nudged him with a slow roll of her entire body. “I’m not the only one.”
Surprised, pleased, he moaned against her lips. “The difference is there is no fear in me.” His fists to her wrists clarified that he held her with full advantage.
“No?” she asked.
Her quivering voice compelled him to rock against her belly with blatant promise.
Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 Page 9
