No Rules

by McCormick, Jenna

  After the first few hours, he leaned against a pillar to wait. A harried-looking clerk asked for his genetic scan, probably hesitant to make any of her demanded alterations before he verified they had enough universal credits to cover the purchase. Fenton prepaid for whatever she would need. Money mattered to him very little, and the genuine pleasure she derived from spending it was worth it.

  He owed her this at least.

  With half the attendants in tow, Alison stood at the eye of a frenetic hurricane. She made a sharp, slashing motion over a purple bolt of cloth indicating a cut, then turned and winked at him. His heart rate sped up with that simple connection and he looked away first.

  “Excuse me.” The salesgirl moved forward, handheld scanner aimed at him. “Would you mind standing straight so I can verify your measurements?”

  “I don’t need anything.” Fenton scowled.

  “Your wife ordered it.” The girl waited patiently. “She said one of your shirts had been damaged and she wanted to replace it.”

  “No need.” He sent the girl off with a wave. His body stirred as he recalled exactly how Alison had damaged his shirt, in a frenzy to get him naked. She pouted prettily at him now, but on this, he would not be moved. With a shake of his head he mouthed the word wife?

  She shrugged and turned back to her minions.

  He’d told her she needed to pretend they were involved, but from the little he knew of Earth customs, a wife was a full-fledged life mate. Even pretending that she was his stirred his possessive instincts. He’d never responded to a woman the way he did Alison, not sexually, nor with the unsettling tenderness that softened his actions. He needed to keep his icy reserve in place. Opening up to her was not an option.

  She’d already forced him to cross too many lines.

  “Ready?” Alison’s soft voice broke him from his reverie. He blinked, startled at the transformation. She’d donned a bright blue dress, much more ornate than the simple sheath garment she’d been wearing. It caught the light and shimmered with her every move, sluicing over her formidable curves to just below her knees. Her hair was still tied back in a braid, but a length of fabric that matched the dress had been woven into it, creating a more polished and modern look. Her shoes were silver, with high wedge heels, revealing freshly painted toenails and a small silver bracelet around one ankle.

  “This isn’t going to work.” The words escaped before he could call them back, and her face fell.

  “You don’t like it?”

  He took his time, considering her from head to toe. How could he explain that he liked it too much? That she drew too much attention? Notice he was desperate to avoid?

  Perhaps saying something callous, hurting her feelings, would be the smartest move. Yet one glance at her exquisite face and, for the first time in his memory, Fenton didn’t want to take the smartest course. Not if the toll was injuring her in any way.

  “You look lovely, a beautiful shine on a rare gem.”

  His reward was her radiant smile. “Thank you. For everything. No one has ever given me so much for so little. I wish you’d let me repay you in some way.”

  To the curious ears of the post workers, she could have been referring to the shirt he refused, but Fenton was nothing if not cautious. Taking her hand in his, he lifted her knuckles to his lips, in a gesture he remembered his father using on his mother. As the only role models for a genuinely affectionate couple he had to go by, he hoped it was sufficient. “The pleasure of your company is the only payment I crave.”

  Alison blinked, as though genuinely startled, and he turned to instruct her purchases be delivered to their rooms. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he escorted her from the store to the grandeur of the promenade deck.

  He’d been a little worried about Alison’s deportment. Needlessly so, because she fell right into the role of a prestigious lady. He’d had his suspicions about her from the beginning, but her ease at transitioning from demjong whore to his doting wife, at least publicly, was without reproach.

  He requested a private table, and since the hour was early for the last meal, they were seated on the much-coveted balcony overlooking the central view port. Below them the starscape spread out in an endless blanket of glittering possibilities. Two months ago, Fenton had never been off the central planet of Hosta, had never seen anything but oceans of ice or sand. Now he was speeding away from his home via the space lanes, never to see Hosta again. The change unsettled him.

  “Are you all right?” Alison asked, staring at his ruined face instead of the view.

  He was about to wave off her concern, but hesitated. Maybe it would be better for the two of them to get to know one another, instead of hiding everything. It could only help with the ruse to understand a few basics at least. “This is only my second time with space travel. First leaving the Hosta System.”

  Her eyebrows drew down. “Really? That’s surprising, considering you were part of the military.”

  “Ground force only.” The overlord wanted to keep him close to home. He’d been forced to stage an unspeakable betrayal to be granted his post on Pental. One he hoped to make amends for at some point. “How about you? You seem to have . . . adapted well.”

  The corner of her bow-shaped mouth kicked up. “Adaptation has always been my specialty.”

  He wanted to ask more, to know what put that sparkle in her eyes, but the server came over to recite the specials.

  Alison listened, then looked to him expectantly. Fenton had no idea what anything was, since he’d grown used to surviving on military rations. If it was edible and would keep him alive, it was fair game. Gourmet dining wasn’t part of his training. “Go ahead and order for both of us.”

  Her shoulders straightened and her chin went up. She rattled off pronunciations for his native dishes he had trouble with, along with two servings of Risgale.

  “One. Just water for me,” Fenton corrected and dismissed the server with a wave.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t drink alcohol?”

  He shook his head. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better than to load up on mind-numbing substances, but it isn’t an option.”

  She licked her lips, clearly intent on asking another question, but stifled it and turned to face the window. Her delicate profile was beyond compare as she studied the stars.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about our arranged marriage.”

  “Oh?” She looked back at him, tilted her head to the side. He stared at her forehead so he didn’t get lost in her eyes, flecked with green and brown and gold, swirling into infinity.

  “We’ve undergone a serious commitment. It would be a good idea for us to get to know one another a little bit.”

  “You mean, other than in the biblical sense?”

  His translator chip didn’t pick up her meaning, but her wicked expression conveyed her message. His cock twitched with interest but he shifted, his course set.

  “Yes. Tell me about you.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  Everything, Fenton thought. “About your life on Earth. Your family. You mentioned some female relatives. Do you keep in touch?”

  She shook her head and waited for the server to drop off their drinks. “No. Even before I left Earth, Sally and I hadn’t spoken in some years.”

  “Sally’s your sister, right?” He recalled the name from before.

  “Yes. She didn’t exactly approve of my life choices.”

  “What about your mother? And your aunt?”

  “You have a very good memory for details.”

  Since it was part of his training, he shrugged the compliment off and waited while she took a sip of her drink. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s an ugly story, not really polite dinner conversation.”

  “I promise, nothing you say will ever be repeated.”

  Setting her drink aside, Alison took a deep breath. “Well, first off you should know that Lola wasn’t really my aunt, at least not by blood. S
he was my mother’s lover.”

  It took every ounce of his control not to react to that statement. Two women, together? On Hosta it was a crime punishable by death. Men could only seek out the same sex as part of the ranking, but men were different, more sexual. For women to shun men completely . . . Fenton couldn’t imagine the sort of freedom Alison had grown up with.

  Alison stared out the window, oblivious to him. “They’d been best friends since they were little, and while Lola always knew what she was, my mother was determined to be married to a man, have a traditional family. You see, on Earth, there’s this ideal of a happily-ever-after and even though it doesn’t really exist, we’re all brought up watching movies and television shows where there’s a mom, a dad, kids, maybe a dog. They all live together in a house and it’s supposed to be perfect, or as close to perfect as real people can get. Mom’s family was old-fashioned and she bought in to that. She married my father instead of following her heart, and it cost her everything.”

  Before he knew what he was doing, Fenton reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. It had been ages since he offered comfort to anyone, but the pain and sorrow in Alison’s tone called out to him. He wanted to soothe her hurt, take the pain from her any way he could. “If this upsets you, you don’t have to continue.”

  She offered him a watery smile. “I’ve never told this to anyone before. It hurts but it’s a good hurt, you know?”

  He had no idea what she was talking about, but didn’t mind. The feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused hands was addictive. His thumb brushed across her knuckles exploring the delicate structure of her hand while waiting for her to continue.

  “So anyhow, my father, though wealthy with a shiny public image, was an abusive drunk. He never went after me or my sister, but Mom was fair game. He was a smart son of a bitch too. Never hit her face or anywhere that wouldn’t be covered by clothing. I think he knew that she didn’t really want to be with him, and he resented her for that.”

  Fenton’s throat closed up. “A man should always protect the woman in his care. On my world he would have been banished to the Northlands for such actions.”

  “If only. No one knew, other than Lola. When my mother finally decided to leave him, she had no money, nowhere to go. Lola took us in. We lived with her for years, until he found her. Found them.”

  She paused in her narrative, her eyes filled with emotion. She wouldn’t cry, though. Alison wasn’t a crier, especially not in public. She had a warrior’s heart, and he couldn’t help admiring the hell out of her.

  “He killed them, with a laser rifle. I was away at college, and Sally was at a friend’s house. I think he planned it that way, planned to make it look like a break-in gone wrong, but Lola had compiled a file against him. I didn’t know about it until after the fact. She’d been trying to convince Mom to report him to the authorities. Mom was too scared, though, of his power, his connections. She thought he’d forget about her and leave us alone. It was a mistake that cost her her life.”

  Fenton closed his eyes, squeezed her hand. He didn’t offer her any words of comfort because they were just that—words, empty and meaningless. Tragic loss was heartbreaking and soul-crushing. No doubt the trauma she’d suffered had shaped her entire life. That she’d survived and even flourished afterward impressed the hell out of him.

  “So he had to pay for his actions?”

  She withdrew her hand, offered him a reassuring smile. “Life sentence, which turned out to be only six months. He died in a prison riot.”

  “So justice was served.”

  “I guess.” A shadow crossed her face and he wondered what she was thinking.

  Their meals were served, an assortment of delicacies from stuffed gourds to spiced meats. Alison picked at the offerings on her plate, but without her usual zest.

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She shook her head. “My appetite’s gone.”

  He stood and pressed his thumb to the menu, paying for the meal and ordering the same dishes to her room in three hours. “Let’s go.”

  Extending his arm he waited.

  “You haven’t eaten anything.” Those beautiful multihued eyes scrutinized his face.

  His hand went to his scar automatically, wishing it wasn’t a part of him, that she wasn’t forced to behold such ugliness when her life’s cup spilled over with it. “I’m fine. I want to show you the ship.”

  She took his arm, then stood on her toes to kiss the ruined flesh on his face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  If only he could believe that.

  7

  Guilt was eating Alison alive. Talking about what her father had done made her realize what a monster she’d become. She didn’t dwell on the sins of her parents—her father’s pride and bloodlust, her mother’s weakness—but telling Fenton about them and watching his reactions made her question her past actions.

  True, she’d never taken a laser rifle to someone, but she’d been hell-bent on destroying Gen, Rhys, and anyone who stood in her way. Just like her father. Her own personal sin was greed, and it had turned deadly during her tenure at Illustra.

  She wondered what sort of justice would be fitting according to Fenton. Alison wished she could leave him, find a new patron. Credits equaled freedom, and being dependent on someone else, especially such an upstanding man, made her twitch.

  She wanted to sully him, to knock him off of his holier-than-thou pedestal and drag him down into the muck with her. It was petty, but she’d feel like less of a parasite if he was just as flawed. She might be a weak and disgusting creature, but so was he, and she only needed to get him back into bed to prove it.

  Patiently, Alison walked by his side, feigning interest in the ship’s various services. Every luxury she’d ever imagined was offered, beauty treatments from old provincial to DNA contouring. She could become someone else entirely, someone taller, thinner, blond, and beautiful.

  But for the first time in her vanity-driven life, Alison wasn’t worried about her exterior. Because a man she truly wanted, a man capable of incredible generosity and kindness, desired her just as she was. She couldn’t even resent him, or his money, because his every word, his every glance, was focused on her. She’d tried to buy him a shirt made from that celestial material, to make up for the one she’d damaged, but he’d refused. Did he want her to feel inferior, indebted to him? His lack of demands only doubled her guilt and unease.

  Consumed by the need to even their playing field, she pulled him into a private sauna a deck above theirs and stripped off her fabulous dress. One thing that was not universal: undergarments. She sashayed up to his side, wrapped her arms around his neck, her invitation clear.

  His hands cupped her shoulders, held her at a distance. “Alison, don’t.”

  “Why not?” She skimmed her hands over her breasts, her nipples puckered with desire. “If this is the only way you’ll let me repay you, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

  “No.” He shook his head, bent, and picked up her dress. “Not like this.”

  She glanced around the small steam room in confusion. “You mean here?”

  He extended the hand clutching the material, not meeting her eyes. “I mean, not for repayment. I told you, I don’t want that.”

  The fingers that wrapped around the dress were numb. “You mean you don’t want me.”

  He didn’t contradict her, and even despite the heat she shivered. Maybe she should have booked an appointment for the DNA contouring after all. Another possibility occurred to her. What if it had nothing to do with her body, but instead with what she’d told him? It had been a calculated risk, opening herself up to him that way, but she thought he’d appreciate her honesty.

  It looked like she’d thought wrong.

  Pulling her beautiful dress back on, she moved past him out into the common corridor. He fell into step beside her silently, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

  She knew without a doubt that s
he was his captive now. If he refused to take her body in trade, she had no cards left to play. It was one thing to be a whore, another to be a whore no one wanted.

  Fighting tears, she strode into her quarters. He hesitated at the threshold. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

  “Of course.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see how much his rejection stung.

  “Do you need anything?”

  You. The idle thought stuck in her head. He had all the power. She wanted him more than he desired her, he had the money, the connections. She was completely without value, a pet that he locked up when he went off to do whatever it was he did. She had only one option left, the most unpalatable of all.

  She had to tell him the truth.

  Staring at the starscape she whispered, “Please don’t take me to the empaths. They’ll kill me.”

  He didn’t reply, but she heard the hiss of the door shutting, sensed he was still in the room. Playing games no longer made sense; he was on a winning streak. Better to throw herself on his mercy and hope he had some.

  His hand landed on her shoulder, and she fought the flinch. It wasn’t a sexual gesture, but one of comfort and connection. One she didn’t deserve.

  Spinning her to face him, he tilted her chin up and stared into her eyes. “They are a race of pacifists. Why would you think they would hurt you?”

  Her throat closed up and she shut her eyes.

  He continued to study her, his eyebrows drawn down. “It’s crucial to my mission that I contact an alchemist there. From everything I know, they are a welcoming, peaceful people. You don’t have to go planetside with me, if you are frightened, but if you have information that might affect me, please, tell me now.”

  Her teeth sank into her lip and she shook her head.

  His knuckles skimmed over her cheek. “You are under my protection, and I vow I will see you safe. Try and get some rest.”