Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series)

by Cade, Cathryn

  Stark lifted his brows at her and she sighed in resignation. “Would you like me to apply it, sir?”

  He nodded. She’d have a lighter touch than he. “Just the standard infectious diseases and STIs.”

  She bent over the woman sleeping between them, one hand lying lax in her lap. Carefully, Opal touched the needle to the inside of Kiri’s wrist. Logan gave her a look of query and Opal nodded. She’d gotten the sample.

  Kiri started awake with the suddenness of a wild thing. She clutched her wrist with her other hand, her eyes still dazed with sleep.

  “What?” she demanded. “What did you give me?”

  She catapulted out of her seat, shoving Opal aside. “What is that? Some kind of drug?”

  Backing against the bulkhead, she glared from Logan to his employee. The woman straightened from the chair she’d fallen against, looking at Stark for direction, or maybe that was ‘I told you so’ in her gaze. He shook his head at both of them.

  “It’s not a drug,” he said. “Look at it. It’s a common blood test.”

  Opal held the sampler out to her. Kiri took her eyes off of him long enough to peer at the screen. “I don’t believe you. Why would you want to test my blood?”

  He raised his brows at her and she blushed, but she was still scowling as if he’d betrayed her. Huh. He should’ve listened to Opal.

  “Here,” he said. “Opal can do mine, as well. I wouldn’t allow her to drug me, would I?”

  She watched silently as Opal applied the device to his wrist. He took it and held it out to Kiri so she could see the readout. She stepped forward to look at it. After she’d examined the results, she nodded once, but maintained her defensive posture against the bulkhead.

  “You should have asked me.”

  “Understood.” He turned to Opal. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kiri turned her glower on Opal. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I guess you have to do what he says.”

  Opal raised her brows.

  Logan smiled wryly. “She could have broken your neck if she wanted to. She held back because you were only trying to get away.”

  “Oh.” Kiri eyed Opal with new respect. “Are you some kind of bodyguard?”

  Opal nodded with dignity. “Among other things. Although Mr. Stark doesn’t really need a bodyguard.” She gave him a look that said he needed a conscience much more, but he ignored her with the ease of long practice.

  “All my personal employees are ex-Space Forces,” Logan said. “And now I suggest you sit down, as we’re nearing our destination.”

  “Where?” His passenger leaned over to look out the nearest porthole. Opal disappeared, the medic kit in hand.

  “Where would you like it to be?” One finger across his lips, he watched Kiri, knowing what her response would be. He was not disappointed—in that at least.

  She turned on him, those magnificent eyes full of amber fire. “Better go back to my place, if I can’t even fall asleep without someone messing with me.”

  “You’re angry.” Damn. Definitely should have listened to Opal.

  She flung herself into the chair across from him. “No kidding. Just because you bought me a meal, you had no right to treat me like a—”

  “Don’t say it,” he interrupted, his amusement gone. “Don’t even think it.” He gave her the look he used to bring tough beings and ex-soldiers to heel.

  “Whore,” she said defiantly. “I’m not one, won’t be treated like one.”

  He was going to enjoy turning her over his knee.

  “If I’d thought you were a prostitute, I wouldn’t have invited you to dinner,” he told her. “I would have given you credit and fucked you where and when and how I wanted you.”

  He watched that strike home, watched her wrap her slender arms around her middle. Wisely, she said nothing further.

  “I would ask the same precaution from any potential sex-partner,” he went on. “Vaccinations for STIs and pregnancy may be compulsory here, but that doesn’t mean everyone obeys the law or shows common sense. You know that.”

  “Yeah, well you should have asked,” she said stubbornly. “I won’t have things done to me without my consent.”

  He bowed politely. “So noted.”

  She echoed the gesture, wrinkling her nose as she did so. He let his anger slide back into amusement.

  She was a wildcat, all right. And he wanted her claws in his hide. But he’d wait, because he wanted her willing, eager when he took her. So eager she’d agree to all the extremely intimate things he wanted to do with her. And to all the things he wanted her to do for him.

  “Take me home,” she repeated, clearly not appreciating his smile any more than his plain speaking.

  “All right. What’s the closest landing pad to your home?”

  “The Astra quadrant, Landing Ten.”

  He scowled, all traces of amusement gone. “That’s the roughest area of New Seattle.” Unfortunately, he knew it well. No place for a single woman, especially one whose looks would invite the interest of every ganger and slimeball on the streets.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. I get by.” She stared out the porthole, her hands clenched together in her lap.

  So her business truly was in trouble if she lived in the crowded, dirty area near the port. Her family must have left her with little credit, or perhaps it was all tied up in her coffee stand.

  Or perhaps her gambling was the problem. She’d said it wasn’t. He’d find out if that was true. And then he’d deal with it—because his decision was made. He wanted her, and for more than one night. And what he wanted badly enough, Stark always got.

  But right now, he’d deal with protecting her from her dubious home.

  “Giles.”

  “Yes, sir.” His pilot’s face appeared on holovid, lit weirdly by the multi-colored lights of the control panel.

  “Astra quadrant, Landing Ten.”

  Giles looked away, punching in the coordinates. He frowned, his heavy brows shooting together. “Unemployed rioting in that area again. Reports in the last hour say it’s bad. I recommend against landing under these conditions, sir.”

  Stark jerked his chin affirmatively, letting his pilot know he agreed, and there was no way they were dropping off their passenger down there alone tonight, apartment or no.

  Kiri bolted upright. “We must land. I have to look after my place. Besides, the fighting’s been three or four streets over, closer to the wharfs. Really.”

  “Take us over as low as you can,” Stark instructed his pilot. “Use your judgment.”

  His guest crouched by the porthole to peer down at the lights of the city, visible in ragged drifts through the fog and clouds. Her hand clenched on the rim of the window.

  “Kiri, come here. You’ll have a much better view on the holovid. Giles, the forward and belly cams, please.”

  He held out his hand and, when she put her hand in his, tugged her to him.

  The rioting had been getting worse in the past weeks. Crooked unions, ruthless companies, swarming criminals, and hungry people who had little to lose made for a volatile stew, and it was all boiling over.

  Kiri caviled at sitting on the edge of his chair, but only until the holovid changed to a view of the city below, then she perched quivering against his thigh.

  Giles flew in low from the south, with the bay a black void on their left, and the lighted sea docks below. The tall outlines of skyscrapers rose from the clouds, many windows lighted, some only black, gaping holes.

  A sudden flash lit the streets below. Kiri gasped, flinching against Stark. He changed hands, holding hers with his right and slid his left arm about her, his hand on the curve of her small waist. “Flashbombs.”

  She nodded, then flinched again as another explosion rocked the night, this one bigger.

  “There. That’s my building, between those two tall ones. And there’s the landing.”

  She gripped Stark’s hand, turning a pleading lo
ok on him, her eyes huge in her face. “We can—”

  Warned by his expression, she whirled back just in time to see the street before her building light with an eerie red which flared to brilliant orange-yellow, scaling the buildings as if in obscene glee. The cityscape below seemed to tremble, only to rock with another, much larger explosion.

  Her building bulged outward, fire erupting from the windows. Then the tall structure imploded, falling in on itself in slow, terrible inevitability.

  She moaned, a hoarse cry of animal pain. Flying forward on her knees, she smacked her hands flat on the porthole as if she could beat back the explosions. He’d seen it before in these very streets as mayhem or accident destroyed what the denizens had worked to build.

  Stark grabbed her, holding tight as she fought to free herself. He hauled her back into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Giles. Get us out of here.”

  Opal appeared in the cabin door, grasping the frame for balance as the ship rocked with the concussion of the explosions below. “Your penthouse, sir?”

  Stark nodded and then turned his attention to the woman who had collapsed against his chest. He tipped his head to the side to peer into her face. She wasn’t weeping, but his initial relief quickly changed to a deeper worry. She lay against him, her face white as chalk, her eyes half closed. She trembled with each shallow breath. Shock.

  He held her close, tucking her silky head under his chin and rocked her, his hand smoothing over her back. “Shh, you’re safe. You’ll come with me. In the morning we’ll figure things out.”

  Without being asked, Opal glided to the back of the ship, to his private cabin and returned with a comforter, woven of Pangaean halfpaca, soft and warm, in Lodestar’s trademark gray. She helped Stark tuck it around Kiri, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth.

  “It’s all gone,” she mumbled. “My things.”

  Stark met Opal’s eyes. Kiri couldn’t have had much, in that place. But losing it tonight, on top of losing her credit … that was one hell of a lot to process.

  “Mementoes, perhaps,” Opal murmured, her eyes soft with pity.

  He’d nothing to say to that. Everything he possessed, he’d fought for and won, or purchased for himself as a grown man. But he knew that to people who’d grown up with a family, such things were important. Holographs, jewelry, pieces of furniture, even treasured clothing were passed down, squabbled over.

  He’d started with nothing. Was this woman strong enough to do the same?

  Chapter 5

  Kiri dreamed that she ran through the dark, wet streets toward her apartment building. In the way of dreams, her feet would not move, mired in helplessness as thick as glue. Around her, the buildings burned, flames spurting viciously between the buildings, hissing in patches of old fuel and piles of garbage. Beings shouted, their cries far away, muffled as if a curtain hung between her and their battles.

  But she was not alone. Whirling, she gaped at the tall form looming in the street behind her, a black silhouette against the flames. Only his eyes glittered, reflecting fiery red and yellow of the flames, and yet she knew the flame that burned inside him was more powerful still—that of absolute will.

  “It’s gone,” Stark told her, his deep voice slicing through the chaos like a steel blade. “Nothing left for you here.” He held out his hand to her in a clear command.

  “No,” she protested, shaking her head desperately. “No, they’re still there; I just have to find them.”

  She turned away, trying to move on, but her feet were trapped in hot, enveloping folds. She tried to scream, but nothing emerged but a whimper.

  “Kiri,” he ordered, his heavy hands grasping her arms like manacles. “Kiri. Wake up.”

  She woke to find herself lying in a soft bed. Stark leaned over her, a powerful silhouette against dim lamplight. His hands grasped her bare arms. As she stared up at him, her heart thundering against her ribs, she knew a sudden, nearly overpowering urge to fling herself against his shoulder and weep.

  He didn’t give her the choice, pulling her into his arms. He was living heat and strength, from the broad expanse of his chest to the length of his legs, clad in some light, clinging fabric. Against her bare skin… Someone had undressed her, although she still wore her soft bra and panties.

  He was in the bed with her. This realization should have shocked her, but instead, he was a bulwark against the nightmare. She snuggled closer, shivering, her face in the curve of his throat. His scent filled her nostrils, clean male musk, tinged with that delicious tang of the forest. She spread her palms flat on the hair-roughened plane of his chest, her belly snugged against his, her legs opening to tangle with his longer ones.

  “Shh,” he murmured, his voice a rumble in her ear. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

  One of his arms was wrapped around her, his hand stroking her bare back. The other hand cupped the back of her head, his long fingers spearing through her short hair. From this warm nest, it seemed safe to examine her memories, terrible as they were.

  “My place ... is it really gone?”

  “Yes.”

  She shuddered. Not a nightmare then, but real. “I dreamt I was there. While it burned. And I couldn’t do anything.”

  “You were there.” His breath was warm on her temple, his lips brushing her skin. “And you can’t do anything about it.”

  She took a sobbing breath, fighting the hot weight of tears pushing behind her eyes. “I won’t be helpless. I won’t. I’m strong.”

  His hand smoothed over her back again, down into the curve and lower, over her ass. “You’re a fierce one, Kiri te Nawa.”

  The remnants of her fear morphed into anger, swift and hot. She pushed at his chest, her fingers tangling in the mat of short, curling hair on his chest. “Are you laughing at me again?”

  His hand smoothed down her back again. “No, wildcat. I’m admiring you. You’ve been through a lot in the space of a few hours, and you’re still hissing your defiance. Hold onto that. Sometimes defiance is the only thing that gets you through. Although I’d remind you recklessness does not necessarily denote strength.”

  “Sometimes … it’s all I’ve got,” she whispered. Then, ashamed of betraying vulnerability, she flexed her hands, digging her nails into the plush swell of muscle of his pectorals. He sucked in a sharp breath, and she bared her teeth against his throat and nipped at him.

  His fingers tightened painfully in her hair, and he pulled her head back, his eyes glittering. “Tyger kitten or no, do that again and I’ll turn you over my knee.” His breath puffed warm and moist against her face.

  She believed him, but she needed some outlet for the emotion tumbling inside her. Sliding her hand up, she speared her fingers into his short hair, cupping the back of his head, hard and silky under her palm.

  She tried to pull him closer, but he resisted. She glared at him. Couldn’t he see she needed him, needed forgetfulness? She was just giving him what he wanted, wasn’t she?

  “Are you sure?” His face was taut, his square jaw set. “If I kiss you, I won’t stop there.”

  Her heart thundering, trying to climb her throat, Kiri trembled clear into her feminine core. She held male power in her grasp. She wanted desperately to unleash it, use him to burn through the dark backlog of despair. “Yes. I want this.”

  He swooped, his mouth opening over hers, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue licking into her mouth to claim hers. It was more than a kiss, it was a claiming, and she reveled in it, her body softening against his, his taste and scent filling her senses. This was sheer hedonistic pleasure, drowning her in sensation.

  He held her in one arm, while his free hand stroked down over her shoulder, his fingers tracing the edge of her soft bra. He cupped her breast in his hand, and she arched into his touch, loving the cup of his palm over her sensitive flesh, even through the thin, stretchy fabric of her bra. He dragged his thumb over her nipple and she moaned as pleasure shot down through her body, straight to her pussy.


  Kissing her deeply, Stark stroked his hand down over her belly, over the thin fabric of her panties. His fingers delved between her thighs, and he cupped her mons. Claiming her most private place, for now.

  Another moan struggled up her throat, the soft sound hanging over them, above the rustle of sheets, the rush of their breath and the thundering of her heart.

  “That’s right,” he urged against her mouth. “Let me hear your pleasure.”

  He let her go, just long enough to yank at her panties. The soft fabric tugged at her hips and then tore, falling away from her. She should care, but she wanted his hand on her again, so desperately that she whimpered instead, opening her thighs to him, lifting her upper leg to curl it over his hip, arching into him.

  When he cupped his hand over her again, bared now to his warm, powerful touch, she cried out at the exquisite relief. He kissed her again, closing his lips over hers to drink in her cry.

  Then he stroked his long fingers into her waiting flesh. His touch was sleek and easy—she was wet for him, so ready for the large pad of his finger to delve into her, drawing her wetness up, up and over the swollen knot of nerves hiding in her curls.

  “This?” he asked gently, drawing his finger in a tiny, tantalizing circle.

  “Yes.” She strained toward him.

  “Say my name, Kiri.” He stroked her again, with the same teasing care, and her pussy contracted, aching for more. She dragged her eyes open enough to find him watching her, his eyes hooded, gleaming with pleasure as if he were surveying a new acquisition, one that he planned to exploit to the fullest. “Who do you want touching you?”

  “You. Stark,” she managed, wanting to hit him, wanting to kiss him. “Please, touch me.”

  “Logan. You’ll call me Logan. Say it when you come. Can you do that for me?”

  How dare he sound so … tender, coaxing? She wanted to please him as much as she craved the pleasure his diabolically clever touch promised.

  She had to get out of here. Just as soon as he gave her what she needed. This was just sex. Any more of his tenderness, and she was afraid she’d cling to him like a weakling, not wanting to let go. “Yes.”