“Thank you, sir,” Val said around a stifled yawn, then nodded and left. Perhaps her weariness accounted for the subdued attitude, and it had nothing to do with the admiral’s accusation. Still, something about the slump of her shoulders seemed defeated, not simply tired.
Later. He would worry about it further later.
Lieutenant Sparks was a man of thirty who had a variety of ear and nose piercings and wore his blond hair in short spikes—Gregor’s first thought, when he had met the man, had been that he had recently electrocuted himself. The look had persisted for the last five years, though, so that hypothesis seemed increasingly unlikely. He was gazing in the direction Val was walking, and Gregor glanced in that direction, too, wondering what arrested the lieutenant’s attention.
“Flight suits usually aren’t all that flattering,” Sparks said, “but she’s clearly got a nice ass.”
The blunt statement shouldn’t have surprised Gregor, who had heard all manner of coarse language from the mercenaries, but it did. Not because he disagreed—all of Val’s physical attributes were nice—but because it hadn’t occurred to him that others might be interested in her. He didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to him, other than that they had been isolated since leaving for this mission, and he hadn’t had to witness anyone lusting after her.
“You seen her in anything less… less?” Sparks grinned. It wasn’t until Val disappeared into a tunnel that he pulled his attention back to Gregor.
Gregor thought of Val’s blouse, the one that hugged her breasts, emphasizing their alluring curvature. “No.”
Sparks gave him an odd look. Could he know that had been a lie? Even if he did, he shouldn’t question a superior officer. He shouldn’t even be discussing this with a superior officer. Captain Mandrake was too lenient with what he allowed with these mercenaries.
“I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed if you had,” Sparks said, his grin returning. “Sorry, sir. I forget you’re practically a cyborg when it comes to women. And other things.”
“I have engaged in sexual relationships with women in the years you’ve known me,” Gregor said stiffly.
“Yeah? Did they know?”
Gregor didn’t quite grasp the question—judging by the lieutenant’s smirk, this was some form of sarcasm or humor. He had a feeling a scathing response should be given, but he wasn’t certain he could come up with something appropriate, so he pointed at the tablet. “Do you have a report for me yet?”
“A report? On the shuttle? We just got here.”
“Then should you not be performing a preliminary assessment?”
“We’ve got it underway. I just figured I should report in to you.”
“Consider it done,” Gregor said.
Sparks lifted his hands. “All right, all right. You’re huffier than usual, especially considering we just dodged enemy fire to come down here and save your asses.” Grumbling under his breath—Gregor caught a rude comment about his mother—Sparks headed to the shuttle.
There were times when Gregor truly missed the discipline and enforced respect of the fleet. Sparks usually sir-ed Captain Mandrake, but he never bothered with his direct superior or with any of the other higher-ranking officers on the ship. Sometimes, that was grating. Especially at a time when Gregor had just had the epiphany that, if he didn’t establish a relationship with Val, another mercenary might step forward as soon as she was hired—or even before—and pursue her. That would have irked him even before they had grown closer. Before she had kissed him. Now it would be intolerable. If only he knew how she truly felt, he could say something. If he weren’t the one in charge of deciding whether to hire her or not. Damn, he normally enjoyed solving complicated problems, but not in this situation. Unlike with mathematics, he was ill-equipped to solve this one.
Gregor looked into the back of the damaged shuttle and found Sparks, Sergeant Masterjohn, and the young woman Jamie Flipkens, arguing over an open panel. Numerous panels had been removed on the interior, and Gregor trusted this was a sign that important work was already in progress. He backed away to let them continue.
Lieutenant Frog hopped off the ramp of the undamaged shuttle, wearing his usual patchwork jacket and green bandana, the latter restraining a mass of black braids that fell halfway to his waist. He gave Gregor something between a military salute and a swooning damsel throwing her hand up to her forehead. “You miss us, sir? We’ve got instructions to get you off this icy rock as soon as possible, and those brains in there are supposed to make it happen. Are we supposed to find lodgings here, or sleep on the shuttle? I’m fine with the last thing. I like keeping my weapons close at hand, you know.”
“Yes.”
“Where’s the new girl?” Frog asked, and Gregor tensed, wondering if asses would come up again. He regretted that he hadn’t reprimanded Sparks for speaking crudely of Val. “She working out? I thought I saw her flying up there with you.”
Gregor relaxed an iota. Not a question laced with sexual interest, but one of professional interest. That was much more preferable. “So far, she has performed satisfactorily as a pilot and in all aspects of what became an unexpectedly complicated mission.”
Frog’s eyebrows rose almost as high as his bandana. “Satisfactorily? Did you just rate her as satisfactory? You’ve never given Lieutenant Sequoia such high praise.”
“Lieutenant Sequoia does not apply himself as diligently as he could.”
Frog scratched his jaw. “Come to think of it, you’ve never rated me as satisfactory, either.”
“Perhaps if you didn’t blow up so many ships that the captain ordered disabled.”
“He says disable them, I disable them. Into lots of pieces.” Frog grinned. “How is that a problem?”
“When prisoners are desired.”
Frog waved away this bit of logic. Gregor could have let the conversation end there, since he had now checked in with the senior officers on the mission, and they seemed able to go forward with no further input from him. He was also, as he had predicted, growing tired now that the danger of the battle had subsided. But he found himself wondering if one of his colleagues might have a solution for his… problem of the heart. It wasn’t his nature to ask for advice from people, not when the galactic network had vast encyclopedias of information on any topic, but he didn’t feel adequately capable of dealing with these emotional issues. Nor did he believe an encyclopedia entry would hold the answer. Frog was perhaps not the most capable person for discussing emotional concerns, either, but he was a better option than Sparks. Gregor doubted he would be made to regret the choice, either; he had worked with the man often, and Frog’s teasing rarely grew rancorous. Also, he had inquired after Val’s progress, so he might genuinely have an interest in having her join the crew. They had been short a pilot for three months, meaning everyone pulled longer shifts during times of combat.
“In the case of Cadet Calendula’s satisfactory rating,” Gregor said, “it’s possible I may not be able to assess her in a wholly unbiased manner.”
“Oh?”
“She’s…” Gregor flexed his fingers in the air. He so rarely discussed emotional issues that he hadn’t anticipated the odd reluctance he had to voice them, not to mention an inability to be succinct.
“Hot?” Frog suggested.
“Pardon?” Gregor understood what hot probably referred to in this context, but the suggestion had caught him off guard. He was searching for more poetic words to describe his feelings. He did not wish to imply that an attractive woman in general would cause him to become biased.
Frog pantomimed having boobs and giving them a squeeze.
Gregor thrust out his hand, palm out. He didn’t want any more clues.
“I have feelings of a romantic nature for her,” he said.
“Hah, I knew it.” Frog grinned again, flashing both rows of teeth this time. “I’m winning that bet.”
“You… knew I had feelings for her?” How could anyone have known? Gregor never spoke of his
past with the other mercenaries, and he was certain he had never mentioned Val before. Had he given off some indicator of his interest back on the Albatross? He hadn’t thought he had done anything less than professional, at least in the view of others.
“No, but I was pretty sure you were capable of them. And I argued that way when others on the crew said you weren’t. That was the bet.”
“I see.”
“So, what’s the issue? You don’t think you can judge her without bias because you want her to join the crew so you can date her? Or try? Would it help if I told you there’s no way on this frozen ice ball of a planet that she’s going to fall for you?”
Gregor was beginning to regret his choice of confidant. “No.”
“Well then, have Sequoia decide whether she gets the job or not. He’s the flight squad second-in-command, anyway, right? And he was working with her before you two were sent off on this mission, wasn’t he? He should be able to judge her fairly.”
That was… a surprisingly simple but logical solution. It could even be argued that, because of the training time they had spent together, Sequoia was more qualified to judge Val’s aptitude and work ethic. Gregor was surprised he hadn’t thought of it.
He was about to nod his willingness to consider this suggestion, but he remembered Sparks’s leer as Val had walked away. “You don’t think Sequoia might also be biased? If not by romantic feelings, then by her attractiveness?” With the current male-to-female ratio on the ship, Gregor had no doubt that many of the mercenaries would relish the opportunity to add more women to the crew.
“I doubt it. Unless he’s been lying to me, Sequoia’s more likely to be biased toward hiring male pilots.”
Gregor wasn’t quite sure what that implied, but Frog’s words relieved him, nonetheless. Yes, if Sequoia would handle the review, then Gregor needn’t worry about his ability to judge Val fairly. And if she was accepted into the crew and given an officer’s rank, as would be appropriate thanks to her previous military experience and officer status there, then it would be less questionable for Gregor to pursue her. It still might not be ideal, since she would still be under his command in his unit, but it could be… doable.
“I see. That is a most satisfactory idea, Frog.”
“Ah, I got that rating from you after all.”
“Your idea did.”
Gregor jogged toward the tunnel that led to the guest quarters. He wouldn’t disturb Val tonight, but in the morning, he could tell her… His step faltered and he planted his hand on a wall. Wait, should he tell her? If she had only been feigning an interest in him in order to ensure she obtained the position, then it would end with the announcement. She would never kiss him again. His body cried out in anguish at the notion of not tasting those lips again, of never tasting more of her.
One of the ground crewmen walked past from the opposite direction, giving him an odd look.
Gregor released the wall and resumed walking, albeit more slowly. He would tell Val about his decision—he had to eventually anyway—and hope for the best. What more could he do?
11
The hazy smoke of a bar swirled around Val’s head as she stood, her back against a post, watching the fight.
Gregor crouched in the middle of the circle of brutes, his shirt off, his sinewy chest gleaming under the flashing signs in the bar. Two men attacked him at once. He kicked the first brute in the stomach, sending him toppling back into a line of stools. The second tried to trap him with a bear hug, but he hurled the man over his shoulder, this one flying all the way to the front door before landing in an unmoving heap.
Val stretched out a hand in concern when two more thugs charged at him from the side, but he leaped back, dodging their grasping hands. The muscles in his shoulders rippled as he grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks and bashed their faces together. Val stared at Gregor, barely aware of the two brutes slumping to the floor or of the last of his assailants running away, leaping over the bar and disappearing amidst a shattering of glasses. There had been no need for concern. He was quite capable. Quite… magnificent.
She licked her lips, watching him spin in a slow circle, his legs bent in a fighting crouch as he checked for further threats. When he saw there were none, Gregor straightened and turned toward Val, his eyes intense. A rush of heat flushed her body. He strode straight toward her, the hazy air swirling about his form, and the rest of the bar faded from her awareness. She lifted her arms, longing to run her hands over his torso, to feel the ridges and valleys of his lean, powerful form. He stepped close, resting his hands on her waist as his body touched hers. The hard muscles of his chest pressed against her breasts, and she slid her arms around the back of his neck, rising to her tiptoes, hoping for a kiss.
Gregor tilted his head inquisitively. “Was my performance adequate?”
“Oh yes.”
“Excellent.”
His lips descended, and Val met them eagerly at the same time as she rubbed her hands over Gregor’s bare shoulders and back, loving the feel of his warm skin. His own hands were busy, too, bolder than they had been in the freezer or in the shuttle. He gripped her ass, pulling her into him, even as he pressed her against the hard post, trapping her exactly where she wanted to be. His lips left her mouth, kissing their way down her throat, trailing fire in their wake. The buttons of her blouse came undone easily, and he stroked her breasts. Delicious shudders coursed into the depths of her body, making her ache to wrap her legs around him. She curled her fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp and kissing the sinews of his throat, savoring the taste of his skin, salty after the fight. She nipped gently at his ear, and he groaned, leaning into her.
“I need you,” he whispered. His hands slid around her hips to find her belt. “I’ve needed you since you first walked into my classroom.”
The admission made her heart swell. “I need you too.” She tore open his belt, too, wanting nothing more than to finish what they had started in the shuttlecraft, to—
An insistent bleeping interrupted Val’s dream. She groaned and growled, “Snooze,” at her tablet, which had brightened to simulate dawn sometime before starting its backup alarm. Apparently, she had been too engaged in her sleep to notice.
She tugged the fur blanket over her head, hoping she might recapture the dream, but it had already faded, replaced by disappointment, by the memory of Admiral Summers’s words, by the knowledge that Gregor, even if he might desire a relationship with her, wouldn’t act on it. Not when he believed she might be feigning her attraction to him to get a job.
She should have been able to deal with it, to put thoughts of sex—and a sweaty, bare-chested Gregor—out of her mind until things settled down. Later, after she got the job—if she got the job—she could approach him as a peer. He would know then that if she kissed him it wasn’t because she wanted something; it was only because she wanted him.
The fact that she wanted him so badly in the first place was still a surprise, but there was no denying the vividness of that dream, or the damp heat between her thighs as she shifted her legs beneath the fur. The sweetness with which he had returned her kiss in the freezer had warmed her heart, but it had been the kiss in the shuttle, the one where she’d practically pawed that uniform off him, that had changed everything. It—and the revelation that he had been watching out for her far longer than she knew—had left her yearning to feel his body, not buried under clothing but naked, hot, and hard against her. And she wanted him to touch her bare body as well, to have him kiss her, to slide his hand between her legs, fingers moving with the same deft skill that he used on the control panel, knowing all the right buttons to press.
It was her own hand that found that spot, rubbing gently as she imagined Gregor pulling her up the ramp to the shuttle, closing the hatch this time so they were assured privacy. He kissed her hungrily, one hand slipping past her belt, the other pushing open her blouse, buttons flying everywhere in his eagerness to touch her. She slid her free hand under her
nightshirt, fingernails sweeping past her stomach as they glided upward, cupping her own breast. She rasped her thumb across her nipple, wishing it were Gregor’s tongue stroking her tight sensitive skin.
She rubbed herself harder, wanting to feel something moving deep inside her, wanting Gregor moving deep inside her, his muscular chest rising and falling above her, his eyes full of adoration as he gazed down at her. She pushed against her hand, but her fingers lacked what she truly needed. She ground until she was slick, sweat bathed her belly, and her body throbbed. With a final quick push, a semblance of relief came, but it wasn’t the explosive release she longed for. It wasn’t Gregor.
The alarm bleeped again, and Val huffed, shoving the fur aside, irritated with the primitive bedding, irritated that she hadn’t thought to pack anything more useful than her hand for relieving tension, and even more irritated with that stupid admiral who had ruined what might have been… much.
She grabbed her wash kit and a towel. As frustrating as the situation was, she would have to get control over her libido and accept that she and Gregor weren’t going to explore shuttles together any time soon. She needed to focus on finishing her mission, getting off this ice ball, and getting hired. That was it, damn it.
* * *
Val was back to feeling superfluous again. True, she had flown again that morning, working alongside Gregor, Frog, and the Malbakians to drive off more attackers. But this evening, she was reduced to holding tools for Jamie, who stood on a ladder, working on a vertical stabilizer accessible from a panel on the outside of the shuttle. The other two engineers labored inside the craft, clunks and clangs echoing from within as they finessed—as they had called it—a new coolant monitor into place.
“You look bored,” Jamie said, glancing at Val. “We’re hoping to have the repairs done by tomorrow afternoon.”
“That’s good. And I’m not bored. Pilots just get restless when they’re not in the air.”
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 43
