"You don’t have to dance."
She smiled at him, her eyes sultry and seductive. "I want to. It’ll be worth it."
The music began. Tribal, primeval, its rhythm the double beat of a heart, steady and repetitive: da dum… da dum… da dum, the tempo slow.
Standing on her toes she arched her back, ran her hands up and through her hair, and let it fall through her fingers in a heavy cascade. She swayed, her body becoming an instrument for the music, fluid and graceful. The tempo built up, a sensual, erotic melody overlay the heart beat beneath. She flowed with the phrasing, sensual and seductive, weaving a pattern around herself with hands and hips, belly and thighs and breasts. The dance promised and whispered, beckoned and teased. Her hands slid down her thighs or up the back of her neck, where she pushed her hair up, to let it flow down around her shoulders. Her fingers wove their own tapestry.
The garment was open at the front, held in place only by a silver belt at the waist. He could see the curve of her breasts, her nipples taut against the translucent material, a tantalizing flash of bare thigh as she moved, silk on tawny skin. The soft mound between her thighs beckoned.
He swallowed and stirred in his seat, his breath shortening. His cock was so hard it hurt, shoving against his trousers. Much more of this and he’d come in his pants. Oh, gods, Morgan, enough. He stood, ripped his shirt off and reached out for her. He’d fuck her here, here on the couch, fuck her senseless.
She danced on, aware of his presence but ignoring him.
No. His chest heaved as he sucked air into his lungs. No, this wasn’t about a casual fuck, however passionate. It wasn’t what he wanted from her. She was no houri dancing for any man’s whim; she danced for him, giving herself to him to do with as he willed. This dance was an apology and a surrender, woven into an erotic fantasy. He would make her quiver, make her ache with lust just as she had done to him.
His hands on her thighs, he drew her against him so that her back was to his chest, and slid his hands slowly up her body, pushing the dress aside, her silk smooth skin beneath his fingers. Her body tightened at his touch. When he cupped her breasts she gasped and leant her head back against his shoulder. Fondling her erect nipples, he buried his mouth against her neck underneath the thick, dark hair. Lust raged through him as he rubbed himself against her. Careful. Too much of this and he’d be finished.
He turned her to face him and lifted her up from the waist, holding her so that his lips could touch her belly, then lowered her, tasting the salt tang of her skin all the way, until his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking and flicking with his tongue. She groaned in response, murmured his name, fingers clutching his hair. He let her slip a little lower until, clutching her tightly against his hips, he could kiss her. She clung to him, legs, arms, lips. They swayed together, the music throbbing in his brain.
He carried her to the bedroom, where he slipped the dress off her body and shrugged off the rest of his clothes. He knelt on the bed, buttocks on his heels and pulled her towards him. Facing him, knees on each side of his thighs, she lowered herself onto him. Delicious. Warm and slippery wet. He fought the urge to thrust. Not yet; not yet.
She whispered something in her own language and then his mouth closed over hers. The music continued its rhythm, sensual and erotic and he let it flow through him as it had flowed through her, moving them both in an ancient dance with intricate steps and delicious harmonies, her arms wrapped around him, her voice sighing her pleasure, her fingers tracing his body.
He owned her, he possessed her, she was his. The music changed and he leaned her backwards until she lay on the bed looking up at him. The rhythm became faster, deeper, her fingers gripping tighter, her body arching harder. Now he thrust deep, as deep as he could. She raised her knees, gripped his body with her thighs. Oh, yes. Deeper. The blood pounded in his brain, matching the music. She gasped, moaned, writhed beneath him as the flood gates of passion burst for them both.
It was a long time before either of them stirred.
"That’s not what I expected," she murmured at last.
"Is that a complaint?" He rolled onto his side, supporting his head on an elbow.
"No. That was very, very beautiful."
He stroked her face with his fingers and she moved her head to brush his fingertips with her lips. This certainly beat a quick fuck with a dancing girl. But then… she’d danced before, she said. He didn’t like that notion. Not at all.
"How many times have you done this dance?"
"Once. But it wasn’t like this. This was very special. With Coreb it was nice but…" she shook her head.
"Coreb." He almost snarled the word.
She smiled. "His name is Coreb Jenson and he’s ten years younger than me. He’s quite tall, but not as tall as you, black skin, broad nose, thick lips, black, curly hair, not a bad body and he’s pretty good at sex. Apart from that we had absolutely nothing in common. I didn't love him, he didn't love me."
His stomach squirmed with jealousy. Morgan doing something like this with another man. "How could you do this dance for a man you didn't love?"
Morgan was silent for a moment. "Oh, you can. The dance is different every time you do it. You try to discern what your man wants and you give it to him. Coreb wanted fast fun."
"And what did I want?"
She smiled, looking deep into his eyes. "You wanted to dominate me, own me. And I guess I was apologizing…" she paused, searching for words. "I was wrong about a number of things. To be honest, I expected it to be out there on the sofa, fast and furious."
"It did cross my mind," he admitted. "But I wanted rather more than a quick release." He wanted to own her. He wanted for her never, ever to countenance dancing for anyone but him.
"So I gathered. I love you, Ashkar. But you’ll never own me. What I give you, I give willingly."
He nodded. "So you'll marry me?"
She half sat up, staring at him. "Marry you?"
"Yes. It's a Manesai custom. A man and a woman bind themselves to each other in front of family and friends." He couldn't keep the irony out of his voice.
"But your marriages are arranged. Family to family. It's got nothing to do with love."
He shook his head. "I'm a grown man, my parents have no say in who I wish to marry now my wife has passed on. And I've done my duty to the family line, produced a son and a daughter. I want to marry you."
She sank back onto the bed. "I love you desperately, Ashkar. But I'd be the wrong wife for you. You'd offend all those admirals offering you their daughters."
"I've already done that."
"Oh."
"Yes. Three out-and-out proposals. And I've ignored quite a number of indirect propositions. I'm not in the market." He grinned. He'd said those words and they were so right. The woman he loved lay beside him.
"Ashkar, you can't be married to an alien. Imagine what a field day the gossip mongers would have."
"I don't care."
She tilted her body so she could meet his gaze. "I do. You'll be grand admiral, I'm sure of it. If I'm not holding you back. Look, they accept our relationship because we don't advertize it. But marriage?"
He slid an arm around her, holding her tight to his side. She smelled of sex and sweat and a hint of her favorite perfume. He'd never loved her more. "They'll get over it."
"Please, let it go. I'm very happy with how things stand. Please?"
He felt the tension in her body. She meant what she said. But so did he. This was a subtle form of warfare, or perhaps diplomacy. He would have to persuade her, win her over to his position. Time to retire gracefully, and regroup. He gathered her up, aware of parted lips close to his, her breast against his chest, her beautiful, silver eyes imploring him. "If you're happy, I'm happy."
He met those luscious lips with his own.
***
Ravindra stretched his shoulders and wished the chairs in these conference rooms were a bit more comfortable. He'd fielded the questions from his senior admirals,
anxious to know what had happened the previous evening. He hadn't gone into detail but the knowing smirks said it all. They were happy; only President Assarta to go. Speaking of which, here was the man himself with his entourage of lackeys. Ravindra stood and bowed.
"Good morning to you, Admiral," said Assarta, returning the gesture. "I trust you all enjoyed your evening, officers," he said to the room at large. "And I understand you retrieved your lady safely?"
"I did, Mister President."
"There was some… ah… fuss, I understand? Armed troops in an innocent nightclub?" He waited, clever eyes on Ravindra’s face. He already knew all this.
If he was expecting an apology it would not be forthcoming. "Unfortunate, I know. We had reason to believe that Suri Selwood was in danger. But my public relations people have already explained this have they not? And apologized for the inconvenience caused?"
"Mister Trimpathi—the owner of the nightclub—is a well-respected businessman here." Assarta’s voice held a note of reproach.
And a generous supporter of Assarta’s Mirka faction. "I assure you, his business won’t suffer. Quite the reverse. The place will have added popularity. And the lads Suri Selwood danced with… they’ll have a story to tell their grandchildren."
"True," conceded Assarta, lips pursed. "Not every man can claim to have danced with the Orionar Queen." His eyes glittered with a hint of malice. He knew what had happened on Krystor and he probably knew about the temple, too. So many leaks.
"Without her your local war would still be unfinished."
Assarta raised an eyebrow. "And when will we have the opportunity to meet this remarkable woman?"
"She’ll be joining me for this evening’s ball."
"Ah. Excellent. Well now. Let’s move on to the agenda items."
Ravindra took the opportunity for a quiet word with Prasad during the morning break, leading him away from the other delegates and out onto a balcony with a murmured excuse. The city basked in sunshine, the sky clear and transparent, a slight breeze stirring the flags on their poles. A far off glitter betrayed the snow caps on the distant peaks, and a bright glare low on the horizon was the second of this system’s twin suns.
Ravindra leaned on the balustrade, one foot propped up on the lower rail. "I want you to investigate, Prasad. This whole business with Morgan smells wrong."
"How did she get off the ship without an escort?"
Ravindra grunted. "It seems Morgan explained that she was going out with a group of Fleet officers and wasn’t that escort enough?"
"Ah. That was a mistake."
"Not one those troopers will make again. They’re already off the ship. After what happened last time she went off on her own..." He took in a deep breath and blew it out again, then shifted his position, turning so that he had his back to the railing, his arms folded. "It all seems to have been very innocent but…" he shook his head and frowned. "Look at anything you can lay your hands on about that night—the restaurant, the nightclub, the shuttle flight down." He gazed out across the city. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but she’s such a prize. We’ve only just started to scratch the surface of what she can do. Asbarthi may be dead but Bunyada isn't."
"She is. I think if I was Bunyada, I’d be trying again."
Chairs scraped in the conference room. "Report to me as soon as you have something."
"Srimana." Prasad bowed.
Ravindra returned to the conference as the intelligence chief slipped out the doors.
***
Eyes still closed, Morgan wiggled her nose and breathed in deeply. Ravindra’s bed, but he was gone. She sighed, stretched and yawned. What a night. What a spectacular, magnificent night it had been. After that first glorious union, she had slept until, aroused and wanting, he had woken her with kisses and caresses from erotic dreams into reality. Her orgasm had rippled through her body like a seismic wave, shaking her to her core, as she gasped beneath him, arms around his shoulders.
She sat up in bed and put her arms around her knees, her hair hanging down around her face. She still felt stupid and guilty about her night out with the girls and yet she’d been touched more than she realized by the depth of his concern. She had to admit that she wouldn’t have imagined he’d care so much. Enough to want to marry her. That would have been silly. He deserved to be their grand admiral but with her as his consort… She shook her head. No. Even though they both knew she wasn't really an alien, nobody was going to believe it. They'd point at her hair and her eyes and how weak she was. She was glad they'd put that notion to bed.
She stretched her shoulders, wincing a little as sore muscles complained. Out of practice. Still, the dance had been a spectacular success, two bodies moving together, working to the music in a way she could never have imagined. The routine had certainly never been designed as a duet.
"Oh."
That was it. The shift drive. What if the interlocking parts of the motivator didn't quite dance to the same tune? She leapt out of bed. This was something she could work on.
***
Morgan ran a hand through her hair as she walked along the passage to Ravindra's office. She'd been summoned, but by his clerk. And he wasn't taking her calls. He wasn't even supposed to be here. What the hell was going on? Oh, well. She'd find out soon enough. And at least she could tell him they were almost ready for another test of the shift drive. She grinned. And this time she reckoned it would work.
Ravindra's office door opened as she approached. He sat behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him. Prasad, standing facing the door, offered her a neck bow.
"What's going on?" she asked. "I thought you were staying planetside for the ball?"
"I want you to be present for a small ceremony." Ravindra rose and walked around to stand behind her. A glance at his face was enough to tell her not to ask questions.
A moment later Leila Peris entered, flanked by two guards. Her eyes slid to Morgan for a moment and then she saluted Ravindra, head respectfully bowed. "Srimana."
She was nervous, but then you'd expect she would be, dragged into the admiral's office.
Prasad stood in front of the girl. "Lieutenant Peris, you are under arrest for treason against the Manesai Union, in particular for conspiring to kidnap Suri Selwood."
Morgan started. "What are you saying? That’s ridiculous."
She made to step forward but Ravindra laid his hand on her shoulder. "It’s true. Watch."
Judging by Leila's reaction, it was true. The fear beamed off her, bright as a beacon but she managed to shake her head. "That's rubbish."
Prasad put a data card into the reader on Ravindra's desk. "Is it?"
Morgan recognized the nightclub, Trimpathi’s. The grainy security footage showed Ravindra shoving through the dancers to collect Morgan, showed the crowd following behind as he dragged her up the stairs. A few moments later, the people returned, coming back down in small groups, chatting and laughing. Morgan recognized all the women from the group she had been with, saw them collect their things and leave.
"I was fetched, they left. So what?"
"Keep watching," said Ravindra.
Leila, coming back. Leila meeting someone, someone who put an arm around her.
Morgan turned to stare up at Ravindra. "So she met somebody. I still don't see the point?"
"It's who she met," he said. "This man is a local Bunyada operative. We found out about him from the rebel data we obtained when we seized their headquarters."
Bunyada. Again. Morgan's legs trembled. It was all she could do not to sway.
"He is under arrest," said Prasad softly, smiling slightly, a nasty, satisfied smile as Leila started. "We caught him yesterday."
The room fell silent, except for the sound of Morgan’s breathing, her chest heaving. Leila stared at the floor, mashing her lips.
"I thought we were friends," Morgan said. "I guess I should have known better." The disappointment was a bitter taste in her mouth.
"We are
friends." Leila raised her chin, staring at Ravindra for a moment. "I don't care what you do to me. But you, Morgan. You don't want to work for them, these Mirka oppressors. All we want is freedom to govern ourselves. We're equals, we Vesha and the Mirka. We know you found evidence on Krystor." She flung out an arm pointing a finger at Ravindra. "But he… he has covered it up. You must see. They're trying to hide our past from us, prevent us from learning the—"
"That's enough," Ravindra snapped. "Prasad. Take her away."
The guards gripped Leila's arms, one on each side, and marched her out, Prasad following.
Morgan leaned back against Ravindra's chest, feeling the warmth of his body. He slid an arm around her waist. "All right?"
"Yes. Huh. And here I was thinking she really liked me."
"Perhaps she did. But the point is, my love, you are a target. And you will continue to be."
"Yes, yes. Point made and understood. Was it just her? Not the others?"
"Just her. And her boyfriend." That at least offered a small sense of relief.
"What was the plan?" she asked, turning to look at him.
"They were going to drug you—all of you, spike your drinks so you appeared to be drunk."
"All of us?"
"Except Peris, of course. Then she and her friend would have helped you out of the place."
"And then?"
"We can only guess."
She sighed. "When did you know all this?"
"Today. Prasad contacted me when they’d caught Peris's friend." He urged her toward the door to his quarters. "Come. I'll pour you a drink."
They sat on the couch together, Morgan's head on his shoulder, grateful for his warmth, his hard strength. "At least I have some good news. I think I've solved the problem with the shift drive."
She felt him straighten. "Have you indeed."
"Mmm. Have you really been keeping all the Krystor Temple revelations from the people?"
He sipped his brandy. "There's so little to go on. You've seen what happens if the wrong people get even a sniff of something they can use. The Orionar Queen?"
Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration Page 3
