The door slid open.
“What?” the guard asked, as friendly and chatty as always.
“I’d like to see the captain,” Ankari said.
The guard shrugged and shut the door in her face.
“That went well,” Jamie said.
“Things have changed, haven’t they?” Lauren asked, turning her back on her work to face them.
“I think so.” Maybe they should have tried to escape when they had been on that station. But she didn’t know when they could have done so. There had been such a brief moment between the time Ankari had freed herself and the time the mercenaries charged into view. “I don’t suppose microbiologists know how to build weapons or booby traps?”
“I... don’t know,” Lauren said. “We do have some toxic and flammable lab components in here.”
“Why don’t you two see what you can come up with? I’ll—”
The door opened again.
“Let’s go,” the guard said.
“To see the captain?” Ankari asked, since he had said it in the same grim tone one might use if one was taking a prisoner to be pushed out an airlock.
“Yes.”
Ankari gave her friends nods and followed the guard into the corridor. It was late evening ship’s time, but she didn’t know if Viktor would be on the bridge or in his cabin. It occurred to her that she had never seen his cabin. She imagined something with a dearth of chairs.
As the guard led her up a ladder and toward the officers’ quarters rather than the bridge, Ankari found herself slowing her pace and wiping her palms on her jumpsuit. She wondered if Zimonjic had left a message, explaining why she had done what she had, that she had believed she was doing the right thing for the company. Even if she hadn’t, Viktor might have guessed. He would regret... much, especially if Zimonjic had been a Grenavinian native. His people seemed to mean so much to him. Ankari still believed some of his interest in protecting her was because of her own similar background.
“You coming, woman?” The guard had stopped in front of a door, little different from any of the other gray doors in the gray corridor. Thanks to Ankari’s slow pace, he had outdistanced her by several meters.
“Yes.” She wiped her palms again, took a deep breath, and joined him.
The guard waved his hand over a sensor. “She’s here, sir.”
The door opened, and someone walked out, a rangy fellow in a crisp pseudo-military uniform that seemed out of place among the casual civilian garb the mercenaries favored. But a Mandrake Company patch, vines curled around a sword, rode his shoulder. “I’ll let the team know, sir,” he called over his shoulder and stepped past Ankari, giving her a curt nod.
The guard stepped back and pointed for Ankari to go in, his gesture making it clear he didn’t plan to enter himself. She took another deep breath and walked inside.
A pair of three-dimensional maps floated in the air above the friction-mat flooring, one depicting a lush green forest complete with terrain features and roads, and the other showing a large, wooden facility with numerous decks or boardwalks between structures. The holograms were partially translucent, but it took a moment for her eyes to adjust and spot Viktor through the busy maps. He stood on the other side of the cabin, next to a bank of fruit trees potted in a grow system, leaning against a high desk—she had been right; there was no chair. He wore the same black trousers and t-shirt he had donned that night in the temple. She blushed, remembering the way she had tugged those trousers down, her eagerness to do so. Funny how the things that came naturally and without hesitation in the shadows of night could fill one with awkward embarrassment during the light of day, even the artificial light of day of a spaceship. She wondered if Viktor had chosen the clothing intentionally, or if he simply had six black shirts and wore them regularly.
“Good evening,” Ankari said, realizing they had been staring at each other through the map for a long time. Or maybe it had only seemed long.
“Ankari,” he said. Not exactly a term of endearment. Or even a greeting.
Should she walk through the map and join him at the desk? As she had guessed, there wasn’t a sofa, or any other place to sit, either. Except for the bed, which was tucked in an alcove under cupboards. One of the doors was open, revealing his stash of battle armor. The room itself was tidy—how not when there were so few furnishings?—with most of the decor on the walls. One wall held a rack of old-fashioned swords and guns, one a big star map dotted with pieces of paper with snippets of text—quotations?—on it, and the last held framed pictures—landscapes of snow-covered mountains, lush forests, and green meadows along with a family portrait she itched to take a closer look at. But she remained in place, clasping her hands behind her back.
“I’m sorry about Dr. Zimonjic.” Ankari wanted to add that it hadn’t been her fault, that she’d had no choice but to go along with her, but felt like that had been her excuse for everything from the beginning. Even if it was a legitimate one, Viktor had probably heard it often enough to grow tired of it.
“Yes,” he said.
He was full of words tonight. If she knew him better, knew where she stood with him right now, she would tease him for it.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Ankari said. “I can see you’re busy. I just wanted to see if we were still, er, if you were still planning to come down with us and do something to Felgard.”
Viktor extended a hand toward the maps. “This is his island and a blueprint of his compound. It’s possible they’re not accurate—there’s misinformation out there—but Lieutenant Thomlin is good at gathering intelligence. We’ve been making plans for the incursion.”
“Oh. Good.” Ankari should have realized that was what she was looking at. “I wasn’t sure if you might have changed your mind about risking your people to help us.”
“No.” Viktor tilted his head. “We made a deal.”
“I know, but I would understand if you decided it hadn’t been wisely made and didn’t want to go through with it.”
Viktor walked around the holograms, his skin brown and green and yellow for a moment as he brushed through the edge of the terrain map. He stopped in front of her, gazing into her eyes. “Have I... given you reason to want to break off your end of the deal?”
“No, not at all. I mean, I haven’t seen you much—at all—these last couple of days, and I just thought you might have been distancing yourself because... I don’t know. You were having regrets. Or realizing you’d made a mistake. Or wondering what you’d been thinking. Or all of those things.”
“I’ve been preparing for the mission.” Viktor looked thoughtfully at the map. “And, yes, thinking about things. Mostly regretting that I approved the use of deadly force for your... kidnapper without knowing who it was or thinking that something aside from money might have been motivating that person. It was my mistake. Nothing to do with you.”
“Except that if I wasn’t here, none of it ever would have happened. Your life would still be normal.”
“As I recall, you didn’t volunteer to be here.”
Viktor took her hands, his skin warm, pleasant. He wasn’t sweating and nervous the way she was. The callouses on his palms, rough against the backs of her hands, sent a little shiver through her. This first inkling that he wasn’t mad or disappointed with her filled her with hope, and maybe something more. Her eyes were level with his collarbone, and when she lowered them, she could admire the swell of muscles beneath his shirt, remember the taste of the skin beneath it.
“No,” she whispered, “but I feel like I’ve been trouble for you ever since we met.”
“That I won’t deny.”
She lifted her gaze to his face, not entirely certain she had piqued his humor or if there was some frustration in the admission. Maybe some of both. The corner of his mouth did quirk up, and he rubbed the backs of her hands with his thumbs.
“I wish we could have met in different circumstances,” Ankari said. “At some little bar on a space station somewh
ere. I could have bought you dinner.”
“Would you have approached me if you saw me in a bar?”
“It depends. How many guns would you be wearing in a bar?”
“Two. Some daggers. Throwing knives. Bars are breeding spots for trouble.”
“You and I must frequent different bars.”
“It’s possible.”
“Would you have approached me if you saw me in a bar?” she asked, curious if he had been attracted to her from the beginning or if her heritage or something about this mess had caused her to grow on him.
He gazed thoughtfully at her. “I don’t approach women in bars. Since we’re always moving around, it’s less complicated to rent them by the hour, then leave.”
Ankari mouthed, “Rent them by the hour,” and he winced, maybe realizing that hadn’t been the smoothest thing to say. She decided his rough edges were charming rather than crude and merely smiled, though she couldn’t resist teasing. “Not much of a romantic, are you?”
“No.”
“Well, since I’ve been so much trouble for you, let me offer a little advice that may help you save money in the future. You’re a handsome man, Viktor. You could get women without paying for them. Just walk up, smile, and talk to them. You wouldn’t even have to talk that much. A few grunts would suffice. Oh, but leave the guns with someone else when you do it. You are on the intimidating side at first glance. Some women will be drawn by that, but your odds are better if you appear vaguely approachable.”
“I’m only interested in one woman,” Viktor said. “My new business partner. Will grunting work with her?”
“Grunting and possibly keeping something interesting in your pocket for her to find.”
Both corners of his mouth quirked up this time. “That’s always there.”
Ankari blushed. “I meant, uhm, tablets... keys to handcuffs. Things like that.”
“You like to be handcuffed? Is this before or after the grunting?”
Er, she was making it worse. Although he looked positively amused by this conversation, so maybe it was worth it. Besides, now she caught herself wondering what he might do to her while she was handcuffed. Their previous encounter had been so abbreviated. She knew very little about his preferences. “Grunting is good at any time, I think. Especially if it’s an expression of pleasure.”
“Excellent.”
Ankari shifted her weight, so that she was gazing through the map toward the bed. It was a tidy bed, neatly made, with a furry blanket folded across the bottom. A soft fuzzy rug on the floor offered a nice alternative to the rubbery matting, and she imagined stepping on it barefoot in the morning. Viktor released one of her hands and slid up behind her, so they were both facing in the same direction.
“Are there any other tactics I should know about for getting this new business partner to sleep with me?” He leaned close, his chest against her shoulder, and lowered his face to the top of her head. He took a deep breath. Smelling her hair? She was glad she had washed it recently.
“You should probably visit her in her lab at least once a day, so she doesn’t think you’ve forgotten her. Or that you’re angry with her. Or that you’ve realized it was a mistake ever to kiss her. Not that she’s needy and requires constant reassurance, mind you; it’s just that you’re a hard man to read. Daily displays of affection would enlighten and delight her, I’m sure. Yes, like that,” she added, for he was nuzzling her hair now, and had inched closer, the entire length of his body pressing against her. His free arm curled around her waist, leaving no space between them. Her own body heated in response, and she leaned into his embrace. What had she been talking about? She had already forgotten.
“It was inconsiderate of me not to come,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck.
“Yes, because you promised... things. You promised a later.” Ankari wasn’t truly irked with him—she was so relieved that he wasn’t upset with her that all of the tension had flowed from her muscles, and she wanted to melt into him. But she was terribly curious what he’d had in mind that night in the temple when he had said that single word, his eyes scorching as they had memorized her on the way out the door.
“I did,” he agreed and kissed her temple, the brush of his lips so gentle that her soul welled with emotion. She had been kissed before—why did it mean so much coming from him? Because he usually rented women by the hour? Because he was known for killing people, not making love to them? “I’ve thought of you often,” he went on. “Most of the crew believes you’re still a prisoner. It seemed easier that way. And it seemed I could more easily maintain that facade if I wasn’t seen spending large amounts of time with you. But when I was visiting, I never wanted to leave. I always wanted to make your friends leave instead.”
“Oh?” Ankari closed her eyes, imagining him ordering everyone out of the lab and pushing her up against a counter...
Viktor bent his head lower, his soft hair brushing against her temple, his lips grazing the tender flesh of her neck. She leaned her head to the side, eager to give him access to her throat, to whatever he wanted to touch. Each scrape, each nibble sent a tingle of electricity through her, charging her to the core. “Actually, I wanted to bring you back to my cabin,” he murmured as he explored sensitive flesh, sucking, licking, nipping. “That’s what I’ve wanted since that first night we kissed. It’s what I’ve thought about. In my rack every night.” His hand slid up the front of her body, caressing her breast through the fabric of her jumpsuit, then drifting toward the zipper. “Mornings too. Afternoons...”
The idea of him thinking about her excited her almost as much as the deft strokes of his roaming fingers. She released his hand so she could turn and slide hers around his back, anchoring him to her, making sure he wasn’t going anywhere. She tilted her face toward him, asking for a kiss.
He smiled, as if he had been waiting all night for the question, then lowered his lips. She opened her mouth, drawing him into her. His tongue stroked long and deep, tasting her, inviting her to taste him. She rocked into him, wanting—needing—more of him.
She could feel his hardness against her and longed to wrap her arms and her legs around him, to press her slick heat against him, to have what she’d yet to experience, to have him in her. But he had pulled her jumpsuit down past her shoulders, tangling her wrists and hands in the fabric, so she couldn’t have grabbed anything. Meanwhile, both of his hands were roaming, one thumb teasing her nipple through her thin camisole, the fingers of his other hand drifting lower, stroking her throbbing mound through the fabric of her jumpsuit. She wanted the clothes gone, but the way they rasped against her damp skin was arousing, as well.
“I’ve never even seen you naked,” he murmured. He was deliberately teasing her, keeping it slow when all she wanted was to throw him against the wall and jump on him. She was already panting, already aching for him.
“That could happen,” she croaked, finally tugging her hands free, her sleeves falling about her legs.
Viktor released her, and she moaned a protest. She grabbed his shoulders, not willing to let him go. But he wasn’t leaving, only pushing her jumpsuit the rest of the way off. She yanked her camisole over her head, wanting his mouth on her flushed body, wanting his lips on her aching breasts. He knelt to tug the legs of the jumpsuit over her shoes. Shoes. Why the hell was she still wearing shoes? She tried to kick them off and stumbled, catching herself on his shoulders. Wrong outfit to wear for easy access for sex. She should have kept the monk robe. But finally, she stood before him in nothing except her panties. She might have yanked those off, too, but she hesitated, a hint of self-consciousness creeping into her mind as he knelt, staring up at her, looking at her from head to toe. What if he was disappointed after his fantasies?
He ran his hands up her bare legs, his fingers curling around the backs, stroking the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. “Even better than I imagined,” he said, eyes like lasers as they burned into her flesh.
“Good,” she w
hispered, relief making her bolder. She ran her hands across his shoulders, squeezing the muscles beneath his shirt. She needed to start stripping him down, but he wasn’t standing back up. Still on his knees, he pulled her against him, breathing deeply, inhaling the scent of her womanhood. She gripped the back of his head, digging her fingers into his hair, and arched against him, wondering, hoping he might...
His hands ran up her thighs to cup her backside, his fingers curling into the band of her panties. Any second he would tear them off. He rubbed against her first, nibbling through the thin fabric, his tongue darting out, tracing the outline of her lips. She gasped, her head lolling back, and groaned his name. “Viktor... please. I want—”
It was as if that was what he had been waiting for. He tugged her panties down, and she kicked them away, supported by his strong hands. She rocked into him, pressing her mound of curls into him. His tongue darted and stroked, and she ground against him, her breaths coming in quick gasps. Her legs quivered, and it was only his hands on her butt, supporting her, spreading her, that kept her upright. His stroking licks turned into nibbles, and she groaned again, bucking with need she couldn’t control. With a final nip of his teeth, she cried out, a great wave of release flowing through her.
Her legs gave out and she fell against him, might have fallen to the floor, but he caught her, lifting her and carrying her to the bed with two long strides. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, still catching her breath. His eyes, blazing like flames, found hers as he lowered her onto the bed, the soft fur of the blanket brushing against her damp back.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 23
