He looked away, his jaw tight.
She eyed him, not happy to realize she was right. “He’s angry with you, isn’t he?”
“He’s … not currently speaking to me,” he admitted.
“I’m not surprised,” she said. “I wouldn’t be either, if I was him.”
She took a deep breath, and let it out. Then she looked at him. “Logan, you know I … have feelings for you. Funny, I was on the verge of letting you know I forgave you for that woman in your bed when I was missing.”
He moved, straightening and taking a step toward her, his silver gaze heating. She held up one hand, and he stopped.
“But I don’t believe,” she said, the words falling like stones between them, “that you truly have any understanding of other people’s needs and wants, Logan. You’ve spent so many years manipulating business deals, you think you can play people that way. Even the people you say you care about. I guess I thought I could bend myself around that, and it would be worth it, to be with you. But I’m sorry. I can’t be in a relationship with a man who plays people like—like market shares or holo-chess pieces.”
She forced herself to finish, even as tears filled her eyes, blurring his pale, taut face. “I’ll pack my things, and be gone in the morning.”
She turned and walked out of the room. But even the tears spilling down her cheeks could not wash away the memory of the look in his beautiful, gray eyes. Shock and dawning pain.
But she’d told him the truth. She would not stay with a man who didn’t treat others with respect, even though leaving him would rip her heart out.
She’d survived losing her parents, and years of not knowing if her brother lived or died. She’d survive this too.
Chapter Eighteen
Creed was listening to Logan—a captive audience, held not only by circumstance, which was that Stark had committed another of his autocratic acts and somehow figured out how to override LodeStone security for a few moments, locking Creed in his office at the mine.
The holovid readouts told Creed that his own system was working to break it and he would be free in a few moments, but meanwhile he could not escape his brother’s words.
So he was listening. He had his back turned, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on the readouts ticking off the nanosecs till he was free, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to mute the hololink.
“I get that you haven’t forgiven me for this mess,” Stark said behind him, He sounded tired, Exhausted, even. “But there are things you need to know, things I just found out about your—about Taara.”
“This is bad, Creed,” he added. Creed looked over his shoulder. Stark looked like hell, his face haggard, eyes shadowed. “You need to brace yourself.”
Creed’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded faster. “She all right?”
“She’s safe. Is she all right?” He shrugged. “Her cousin came to see me, told me some things. It seems that my actions caused history to repeat itself in a particularly painful way.”
“Spit it out.” Creed’s muscles tightened, ready to move, to act.
If Taara was suffering, something had to be done. He might not be able to look at her without remembering how he’d opened up to her, without wondering if any of her smiles and sighs had been truth. Still, the thought of her hurting made him want to do violence.
Stark nodded. “When Ms. Ravel was fifteen, she lived on Serpentia. Her cousin lived with them, as his family was gone, killed in a cruiser collision. The whole family was, ah, evidently known more for their courage than their common sense. Anyway, when Taara was just fifteen, her parents went on a camping trip into the desert, during the storm season, leaving Taara at home. Daanel had gone to spend the weekend with friends.
“News reports warned of a huge storm approaching the remote area where they’d gone. It’s common for the big sandstorms to wipe out all holovid links, so no one knew if the parents were safe. So, Taara went to her father’s business partner for help. Wanted him to take her out to the desert, to warn them. Law enforcement was stretched thin assisting desert communities, refused to go and look for a pair of vacationers foolish enough to go into the wilderness at that season.”
Stark lifted one hand to massage his brow. “The man agreed to help—if she’d repay him with sex. Seems he’d been lusting after her for some time. According to Daanel she was afraid of him.”
“Seven hells,” Creed whispered.
Stark nodded. “I see you get where this is going. Taara was frightened, repulsed. She ran from the old lecher. Evidently in shock, because instead of contacting the police, or her cousin, she hid until sometime the next day. Was found on the streets by a police patrol.”
“What happened to her folks?” Creed asked, although he already knew.
“They died in the storm. So, I’m sure you understand. This whole thing—it’s like an echo of her past.”
“Making me doubly the lecher this time,” Creed muttered. Nausea tightened his gut. She thought she was responsible for her parents’ death. That if she’d let some slimer have her, her folks would still be alive.
“No!” Stark nearly shouted. “For God’s sake, Creed. That’s not what I meant at all. You couldn’t have known about this. I’m the one who pressured her—blackmailed her.”
Creed looked at his brother, who was staring down at something in his hand. A bracelet. Creed had seen it somewhere before, he couldn’t recall where and didn’t care. His mind was far away.
“What happened to him?” Creed demanded. If the quarker was still alive, Creed was going to find him, no matter how far across the galaxy, and kill him—slowly.
Logan lifted his chin in grim acknowledgment. “He’s dead. I checked, believe me. Cleaned out the company accounts and took off. Died in some gambling den in Sunspot City.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Creed said. “Would’ve enjoyed taking care of him.”
Stark lifted his chin. “I imagine Ms. Ravel would like to hear that. And who knows, maybe you did. I know you and your Zhen brothers were there a time or two.”
This made Creed feel marginally better.
“According to Daanel,” Stark added brusquely, “she went through extensive counseling at the time, got over the worst of it, but my offer … brought it all up again.”
Not to mention being treated like a whore by Creed. He stared at nothing, but saw her again, her green eyes full of pain as she said, “No, I’m not a victim. I’m not.”
But she had been, for the second time.
“So,” Stark said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s all of it. Do with it what you will.”
Creed lifted his head, stared at his brother. “‘Do with it what I will’. You got any more great ideas, O Master of Schemes?”
Stark winced. “Just one and then I’m done. Summer’s nearly over. The Frontiera City Harvest Ball is coming up in a few weeks. Her cousin says they’ll be there, showing off some of their fashions from the new boutique.”
Creed grimaced. “Go to a fancy dress ball? Rather face pirates again, honestly.”
“I hear you. It is indeed fancy dress. But, if you can clear the time, Daanel will outfit you. And I’ll get you a suite at the hotel.”
Creed stared at the bracelet Stark was flipping in his fingers. “You and Kiri gonna be there?”
Stark’s hand closed on the bracelet, his knuckles white. “No. At least I will be there, but not with Kiri. You’ll no doubt find this poetic justice, brother. She’s left me.”
For the first time in his life, Creed felt pity for his oldest brother. “No,” he said quietly. “Justice would be me punching you in the nose and getting over it. I like Kiri.”
“As do I,” Stark said. Creed watched him. Logan more than liked her.
“When you come to town, we’ll spar. You can punch me then.” Stark pushed himself from his chair as if he could no longer be still.
Creed shook his head. “We’ll see. Thanks for … for the intel.”
“Le
ast I could do.” Stark broke the link. His image winked out.
“Security system is online,” a pleasant voice announced. “Doors are open.”
Creed rose, but instead of going back to work, he walked slowly out of the mine. He stood in the warm sunshine and stared at the valley below, a train of ore cars slowly wending their way down to the refinery.
The hells with work, he was quitting for the day. He had some hard thinking to do.
* * *
As Taara promenaded past the mirrors lining the grand ballroom of the Frontiera Celebratorium, she smiled, albeit a little sadly.
Thanks to her designing talents, Daanel’s skill with the sewing droids and Logan Stark’s deep credit, she had created the ball-gown of her dreams—literally—one that appeared to have been fashioned of gossamer sheets of iridium.
The fabric had been flown in from Serpentia only the week before—astonishingly, Logan Stark’s idea. Daanel had told her it was another apology, which Daanel was determined that she accept as it would give a push to her designing career. Taara decided that since the cost wouldn’t be more than a blip on Stark’s huge credit outlay for his business empire, she would accept.
Jagged, irregular panels of iridescent fabric floated about her legs, parting in the front to frame her ankles and feet in silvery stiletto heels. The bodice nipped in at her waist and then lifted and limned her small breasts in a bustier of net. Jagged struts of faux iridium rose behind her head, framing her face and hair. Her soft curls had been pulled up into a simple chignon at the crown of her head.
She was flanked by Daanel and his lover, both garbed as black and silver wasps. Tony was a sexy wasp, but he had eyes only for Daanel, which warmed her heart.
Despite her lack of desire to be here, Taara had to admit the décor was amazing.
The Celebratorium had been transformed into a faux farm. Musicians played from the flung open doors of a barn, bulging with sacks of grain and casks of berry wine. The pavilion was edged in rows of saplings, their fall-hued leaves moving gently in a breeze, and softly lit with lantern balls floating about just above the revelers heads. Shocks of maize marked seating areas, and berry vines twined everywhere, edged with tiny twinkling lights that danced away at a touch—mechanical fireflies. Youths and maidens dressed as sprites swung and twirled gaily overhead on swings bedecked with fall blooms.
Revelers strolled or posed, chattering and admiring each other’s finery with exaggerated courtliness to suit the occasion. Everyone knew that a slight given on Harvest Night would be repaid with a trick. A few dancers had begun circling the floor in a sprightly waltz.
Through the open doors, one could view the two full moons hanging over the Frontieran sea.
“If you two want to dance, don’t worry about me,” Taara called to Daanel over the music.
He shook his head. “The night is young, sweetie. Let’s find you someone to flirt with.”
There was certainly no dearth of men, and many of them seemed to think she looked very nice. She received a courtly bow from a tall man in black velvet, and curtseyed back with a smile.
“He’s yummy,” Daanel approved. “Will you be all right?”
She smiled at him brightly. “Yes, I will.”
And she would. This was her life now, and it might not be the one she’d dreamed of—the iridium here might be faux, but it was good enough for her. She had her work, she had Daanel, and she had Kiri. She’d make more friends, and one day she’d meet a man she could make a life with.
If not, she’d be fine anyway.
Because she had faced the thing she feared the most—letting down the people she loved, and discovered that they didn’t need her to sacrifice herself for them. They just needed her love. It hadn’t been her fault her parents died; it had been their own recklessness, and her father’s partner for failing to ask for help from the authorities. Not hers.
Creed had his own choices to make also. And if he chose not to accept her, that was his right. She just wished reminding herself of that could take away the terrible ache in her heart. The jagged, empty place he’d left there.
Daanel leaned close to kiss her cheek, his antennae tickling her cheek. “Love you,” he said.
“Love you.” She smiled wistfully as he followed Tony onto the dance floor. They were a nice couple.
“May I get you a drink?”
She looked up at the man in black velvet. He had kind eyes, with crinkles around them as if he smiled often. “Yes,” she said. “And then you can tell me about your costume. I can’t guess what you’re supposed to be.”
He winked. “I’m a black hole. Careful you don’t fall in.”
“Tell me about it.” Taara said wryly as she accepted a glass of wine from him. “There are all kinds of black holes a girl can fall into.”
“Ah.” He turned to survey the ballroom with her. “I perceive your mood is not as starry as your gown. The man of your interest is here with someone else, perhaps?”
“Sorry,” she said. “But you’re sort of right. He’s not here at all.”
Then her gaze landed on a tall, lean man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes, the graceful stature of a fighter, and the wary look of a wild creature who had wandered into civilization—Creed.
Her heart leapt with incredulous joy and she moved forward one impetuous step, to run to him, embrace him. Then she remembered the way he’d sent her away. He wasn’t here for her. If he were, he’d have linked her to let her know he was coming. Hells, he would have linked her to let her know he was alive, breathing and maybe even that he forgave her.
She turned to her escort. “Let’s dance.”
* * *
When he saw her, Creed stopped in his tracks. Then he brushed his hand down over his own suit. Now he got why her cousin had insisted he wear a gray suit. He was the Frontieran rock and she—she was the precious ore, the iridium. She glittered like a living treasure as she flitted around the dance floor. She was the treasure the rock protected, held safe. One that a man would die fighting to obtain and to hold.
Except that he’d had her in his grasp and tossed her away. Good as told her to go and find another man. Now she had, and Creed wanted nothing more than to get his hands around the smirking slimer’s neck and squeeze.
“Go,” Kiri said, giving him a push. “Cut in.”
He jerked his attention away from Taara, and looked down at her. She wore a lii silk gown the hue of coffee beans, subtly glistening in the lights of the ballroom. Chocolate diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat. She looked pretty, although drawn, having lost weight she couldn’t really afford.
Creed had been surprised when she linked him, told him she’d be at the ball, but she’d informed him she was making business connections for her new coffee shop. He’d instantly offered to invest in it himself. She’d smiled at him, and said she’d think about that. He intended to see that she accepted his offer, but that was for the days ahead. Now, he had forgiveness to ask.
He looked back at Taara, smiling up at her partner—her second partner in the space of several moments, a dark haired man in a dashing green suit. Some kind of green insect wings flapped from his back. Creed would like to squash him like a bug. “She looks happy where she is.”
“Of course she does, it’s a fancy dress ball,” Kiri snapped. “Women love getting dressed up like goddesses and having men beg them for dances. Also, she probably knows you’re watching her. What’s she going to do, let you see her heart is broken?”
“Huh,” he said intelligently. All he could manage—felt like Kiri had punched him in the gut. “Her heart? You think she was that into me?”
Kiri gave him a look like he was dumber than the rock his suit resembled. “Yes, Creed. I do. Now, she’s putting on a show. I’m worried about her, Daanel’s worried about her.”
She put her hand on his arm. “Creed, Stark started this whole thing, but you’re the only one who can fix it. You need to either end it with her, set her free, or … “ She shru
gged, a challenge in her golden eyes. “Decide if what the two of you have together is more important than your masculine pride.”
Creed raised his brows. “You don’t mess around, do you?”
“Not when it’s this important.” Her smile slipped away, her eyes haunted. “Logan is so fucked up, I don’t know if he’ll ever understand this, but you need to. You can lose the people who are most important to you if you don’t take care of them—and I don’t mean control. I mean care. So don’t shove Taara away with both hands, thinking she’ll be there when you’re finally ready to reach for her.”
Creed did something he never did, slid his arm around her and gave her a gentle one-armed hug. She was small, as small as Taara, but she stood straight and adamant in his grasp.
“You’re good for him,” he said. “I’m sorry it didn’t last.”
She shrugged, her soft mouth tight. “It was for the best. Being with him is like being in the grip of a tractor beam—so powerful you just get swept along with his plans. But it’s not a good life plan, you know?”
“Yeah.” Creed gave her a gentle squeeze and let her go. “I know. Listen, if you ever need anything, no matter what, I’m just a link away.”
At this, she looked up at him, her gaze soft. “Thank you, Creed. That means a lot.” Then she gave him a little shove. “What would mean so much more is if you would get your fine ass over there and fix things with my girl.”
“Guess you’ll give me no peace till I do.”
Taara had just finished her dance, and was listening to her partner blather on about something, her back to Creed. The fool was leaning over her, his gaze pasted not on her face but lower. Creed’s neck swelled as he saw where the man was staring—right down the front of her shimmering gown, what there was of it.
Then she stepped back, and the guy grabbed her, sliding his arm around her waist and leering at her, clearly with the idea that he was a prize she’d want to win. Or maybe he just didn’t care what she wanted, didn’t see that she deserved to make her own choices and have every man here bow in respect.
Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) Page 20
