Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

  "If he gave you painkillers, then you need to rest it."

  "But—"

  "I'll get Yucel to cover you."

  "But—"

  "Don't bloody argue with me, Huxley. Get yourself home and to bed."

  Resigned, he sighed and stood up. “Yes, Boss."

  "Huxley?"

  "Yeah?” He turned and looked at her.

  She winked. “Have a shot of the special medicine your mother gave you for your birthday."

  He laughed. “Is that an order?"

  "It certainly is."

  "Then consider it done."

  She waited until he'd left the building before waking up Yucel. “Sorry to get you up, sunshine, but I need you to cover for Huxley."

  "Huxley?"

  "Yeah. Seems he's on painkillers, and knowing our medic, I'd say they're damned strong. Huxley needs to rest that arm. You're on tonight, Yucel, but you'll have tomorrow off."

  "It is tomorrow now."

  She looked at the timer on the wall. “Well, consider yourself fortunate, then. Another five hours and you can go back home to bed."

  "I'll be right there."

  She heard his sigh right before he cut communication, and she felt like sighing right along with him. In five hours, she'd be back herself.

  Or maybe not. Being the Head Peacekeeper meant extra responsibility, but it also meant some perks. Such as an extra hour or two of sleep and coming in a bit later.

  Once Yucel entered, she plied him with hot una then left him in charge of the scanners. Getting into the single-seater pilot vehicle, she headed once more for home. Hopefully this time there'd be no more call outs.

  * * * *

  Finally, he was back in his own ship. Heaving a sigh of relief, Simon stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, and crawled back into his unmade bunk. ‘Twas hard to believe that just over twenty four hours ago he'd climbed out of this very bunk to rescue his friends, only to end up beside them in the cells.

  Stretching luxuriously, he thought about the fortunate circumstances that had led to their release. He had no doubt that Des would have left them in the cell for the week. He grinned in amusement. The bad-tempered wench made no excuses for anything she did. He could grow fond of her.

  Now where the hell did that thought come from? Startled, he stared up at the ceiling. Fond of that hellcat? She's a shrew! And full of sass, guts and self-confidence. I must be more tired than I thought!

  Shrugging away the thoughts that clouded his mind, Simon rolled over and closed his eyes.

  Sleep came quickly, but it was anything but restful. It was full of collapsing buildings, big beams, and a wench with dark red hair who was ordering him to strip so she could search him for weapons.

  A faint flowery scent teased his senses while soft hands skimmed his body, clever fingers searching ... everywhere. He moaned in his sleep, partly awake, and rolled over. He awoke with a jolt, just as that soft hand in his dream slid slowly between his naked thighs.

  A raging erection had him flopping back on the pillow with a groan. It was unbelievable that the shrewish wench in real life could be the same seductress who'd ordered him around in his dreams. And to think she'd given him a hard-on was almost laughable—except that his straining manhood didn't seem to think so, and at just the thought of her flashing eyes and surprisingly full lips tightening in annoyance, his manhood throbbed even harder.

  Shaking his head, Simon got out of bed and went into the bathing cabin for a cold shower. Unfortunately, that didn't help either. It seemed his fevered mind still held traces of that hellcat Head Peacekeeper, and he had to resort to using his hand like some unseasoned, out of control, hormone driven youth. It was either that or have a tent in his trousers.

  If his friends knew, they'd howl like hyenas.

  Finally getting out of the shower, he dried himself down and dressed in clean pants. He was just stamping on his boots when Torkra appeared in the doorway. “Guess who's here to see you?"

  "Who?” Simon reached for his vest.

  "The Demon."

  Simon's hand stilled. The Demon? Des? Here? “On the ship?"

  Torkra's grin widened. “She asked to see you personally. Cap'n. Sir."

  Simon cocked an eyebrow. “Are you insinuating something?"

  "Me?” Torkra's eyes widened innocently. “Not at all! A wench is here to see you, ‘tis all."

  "Have you been talking to anyone?"

  "Not at all. Shall I tell the shapely-bottomed wench—I mean the peacekeeper—that you'll be right out?” He winked. “Or should I just send her in here?"

  His friends hadn't wasted anytime in telling Aamun and Torkra of his attraction to Des. If he had an attraction. Which he didn't. Mayhaps.

  Shaking his head ruefully, he stood up. “Where is she?"

  "Dining cabin."

  "Why there?"

  "Why not?"

  "Never mind.” No doubt everyone would be there, watching eagerly for something to needle him with later. He had a lot of affection for his friends, but sometimes they could be a pain in the arse, especially when they had too much time on their hands.

  Actually, time on their hands or not, any opportunity to needle each other was taken and used with relish.

  Leaving his cabin, he was surprised to find no one in the corridor, and when he entered the dining cabin, it was to find it empty of all save the Head Peacekeeper.

  She had her back to him while she gazed out of the space shield. The metal shield itself was drawn back while they were on the planet surface, and the view from high up in the ship meant one could see quite a ways, especially on a sunny morning like this morn.

  Pausing, Simon allowed his gaze to wander over her. Tall, with curves in all the right places. Trim waist, rounded hips, long legs and a bottom that curved mouth-wateringly. It sure made his mouth water. Her jacket was thrown over one of the dining stools, and the tucked in shirt made her figure more than apparent to his appreciative gaze.

  This time her hair was in a bun. It had been tight when she'd put it in, but right now it was loosening and looking softer. He wondered what it would look like, all loose and caressing his chest as she leaned over him—

  Now where the hell did that come from? Simon's brows rose and he moved further into the cabin.

  Seeing his reflection in the shield, Des turned briskly around to face him. Now he had a good view of her front, and it was just as enticing as her back view. Rounded breasts pushed her shirt out most interestingly.

  "Trader,” she greeted him coolly.

  "Des.” Dragging his attention from the tempting mounds on her chest, he inclined his head and met her gaze.

  "I have a request."

  Not a favor. A request. How typically Des. Simon grinned.

  "Something amusing you?” she asked tartly.

  "Not at all. Do continue."

  She frowned. “You travel all over the universe, so it's likely you may be able to identify the craft that eludes us."

  "Oh?” Crossing to the table, Simon perched one hip on the corner and lazily swung his leg while he studied her.

  "If I enter the data into your computers, would you go through it and see if you recognize the ship?"

  Well, well. She wanted something from him. His devilish sense of humor reared its head. “Let me see if I have this correct. You incarcerate my men, zap a couple of them, zap me when I come to check their welfare, leave us sitting in the cells—planned to leave us there all week, in fact—then used us to clean up a collapsed warehouse, and now you think I'll help you identify an unknown spaceship?"

  That scowl was back, wrinkling her smooth forehead.

  "'Tis all?” Holding up his hand, he ticked off on his fingers silently, then nodded. “Aye, ‘tis about it.” He quirked his brow laughingly at her.

  "Are you finished being an arse?” Des snapped.

  "I'm not sure. Tell me something else and I'll see.” He suppressed the urge to laugh at the flash of anger in her startling eyes.
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  "How about I tell you this?” Crossing the floor of the cabin, Des came to a stop directly before him, her hands on her hips. “You help me out or I'll make your stay here a living hell."

  "And ‘twould be different, how?"

  "I have not yet made your life a living hell, trader, but trust me, I can do so."

  "I'm scared.” The red creeping up her smooth cheeks made Simon chuckle.

  "I'm warning you—"

  "I thought you were requesting?"

  She glared at him for a few seconds, then swung away. “Forget it. It was a bloody stupid idea coming here—"

  "Wait.” Instantly contrite, and surprised she'd given up so easily, Simon stood and grabbed her arm. “I'm sorry."

  Jerking her arm out of his hold, she scowled. “For what?"

  "Teasing you.” Ignoring her scowl, he placed his hand on her back and started to usher her from the cabin. “We'll go down to the control cabin and you can enter the information into the viscomm. I'll see—"

  "What are you doing?” Coming to a halt, she moved back from him.

  Surprised, Simon blinked.

  "Your hand on my back?” she added.

  "Er—being courteous?"

  She looked totally dumbfounded for several seconds, and Simon suddenly realized that a wench like Des had probably never had a man touch her in anything but anger. Maybe her father would have touched her with affection, but he strongly doubted anyone else would have. The wench was too prickly to encourage it, and the majority of men were much smaller than she herself. And from the bit of gossip imparted to him by the tavern wenches, Des lived alone and didn't have a man of her own ... that anyone knew of, anyway. Whether she saw someone else in another settlement, no one knew.

  How interesting. How very interesting.

  "Well, don't.” She gestured to the open doorway with her hand. “After you."

  Simon stepped out first, but he waited until she'd followed before walking beside her, fighting the urge to place his hand on her back again, just to watch her reaction. The flashing of those almost-yellow eyes was fascinating, as was the red flush that colored her cheeks when she was disturbed.

  "The platform lift will take us down to the second floor, which houses our control cabin,” he informed her as he led her onto the lift.

  About to warn her of the lurching movement of the platform lift, something made Simon hold his tongue as he pressed the descend button. Just as he knew it would, the lift lurched. Des, caught unawares, was thrown off balance and Simon, timing it perfectly, caught her in his arms and drew her up against his chest.

  "Oops, forgot to warn you,” he said cheerfully, as he steadied her. “The platform lift is a bit rough...” His voice trailed away as she tilted her face back to look at him.

  They seemed almost frozen in time, Simon becoming increasingly aware of her lush body pressed against his, the soft breasts against his chest, her rounded hips almost seeming to cradle his lean hips.

  Her flowery scent drifted up to him, and as he had before, he inhaled it. She smells so good.

  Startled, Des's eyes widened, and her lips parted slightly. He knew those lips were full, but now he could see how plump they really were. Plump and ripe and begging to be kissed. So thoroughly kissed.

  By him.

  Simon's hold turned from supportive to a gentler touch, one hand sliding up her back. He started to bend forward—

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?” Des roared, and bracing her hands on his chest, she shoved hard.

  Caught by surprise, Simon actually released her and staggered back a step.

  "You touch me like that again, trader, and I'll break your arm!” she snapped.

  She really was a shrew. And damned if she didn't tickle his fancy. Recovering from his surprise, Simon hid his grin and tried to look innocent. “I'm sorry, lass. You nearly fell, and I was just trying to help."

  "Is that what you call it?"

  "I couldn't very well let you fall, Des.” Not on your delectable behind. Unless I can kiss it better. Hoo boy, he'd better watch his thoughts, because if he got a hard-on while she was here, she'd probably break it as well as his arm.

  The platform lift lurched to a halt, saving him from having to say anything further.

  This time she was prepared, and she stepped off the lift with a scowl at him.

  "All right?” he asked with false concern.

  Those intriguing eyes narrowed but she didn't reply.

  "The control cabin is right ahead.” He smiled. “Shall we?"

  Still without answering, Des strode along beside him, matching his steps easily. That in itself was intriguing. If she matched his steps so easily, and was so strong, what might she be like in bed? She'd be able to take it rougher than the tavern wenches. The small wenches he had to be so careful with, unable to be as wild as he liked for fear of hurting them. The tall Reeka warrior women had never interested him as anything more than friends. But this bad-tempered peacekeeper was starting to turn his steam right up.

  Three

  Reaching the doorway, Simon gestured for her to enter, following close behind.

  In one of the two chairs at the console sat Aamun and Heddam. They looked at Simon and Des with amusement. Simon knew why as soon as he spotted the communication switch by Aamun's hand. It was the same switch used to communicate with the whole ship at once. Anything said anywhere would be heard on every floor.

  Including anything said on the platform lift. And it was switched on now. The bastards, no wonder they looked amused. They'd heard every word Simon and Des had said both in the dining cabin and on the platform lift.

  Behind Des's back, Simon rolled his eyes in exasperation at Aamun, who smirked.

  "Why, whatever are you doing here, lass?” Heddam queried, as if he didn't know already.

  Stepping forward, Simon waved them both out of the chairs. “She's here to enter data of the unknown craft into the viscomm. Hopefully we might be able to identify it for her."

  "Really?” Eyes gleaming, Aamun relinquished his chair to her, winking over her head at Simon.

  "Aye, really.” Simon practically dragged Heddam up from his chair. “So while I check out the information, you two go about your work. I'll see you later."

  "Oh, mayhaps we can help?” Heddam's eyes danced with suppressed mirth.

  "Shamon was looking for you two.” Simon was going to strangle his friend in a minute.

  "Are you sure?’ Heddam rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I thought he was going into the settlement—"

  "He is, and he wants you two to accompany him.” Leaning forward, Simon reached in front of Des and flicked off the communication switch. Now they'd have some privacy.

  "Well, if you're sure you'll be able to cope without us.” Heddam simpered.

  Simon glared at him over Des's bent head. Too busy studying the control panel of the viscomm, she was totally unaware of the exchange going on about her.

  "Come on.” Taking pity on his young friend, Aamun laughingly grabbed Heddam's arm. “We have interesting news for the others, remember?"

  "I'm sure they already know,” Simon said, perfectly aware Aamun was referring to the not-so-private conversation between himself and Des.

  Aamun and Heddam both winked and left the control cabin.

  Shaking his head, Simon turned his attention back to Des.

  "I'm not familiar with this set-up.” She looked at him.

  "Here. I'll get you into the right section, and then all you have to do is fill in the details.” Bracing one hand on the back of her chair, he reached past her and touched the viscomm screen in several places, bringing up the computer mode.

  Within seconds he had a flight craft identi-kit established and ready to run, and he sat down in the other chair beside her.

  "Where did you get this?” Des queried curiously.

  "All our trade ships have them. It's important we know who we're trading with, who approaches us, who might be friend or foe."


  "I doubt you'd have many foes,” she retorted. “Do I just enter the details of the craft now?"

  "Aye."

  In quick, efficient moves, Des typed the relevant information into the computer and then sat back to watch as the computer scrolled through layers of data.

  Swiveling his chair around to partially face her, Simon stretched out his long legs and crossed his booted ankles. Resting his linked hands comfortably on his stomach, he flicked his gaze from her set expression to the screen and back to her face.

  She was so serious all the time, so impatient, he was a little surprised that lines of discontentment didn't crease her smooth skin, and her full lips weren't automatically pulled down at the corners. Instead, her skin was smooth, smoother than many who dwelt in the harsh areas of the Outlaw Sector, and there was a quirk at each end of her mouth that fore told laughter, and he found himself wondering who made her laugh and made her see the lighter side of life. Someone had to, for of what he'd seen of her, laughter wasn't something that came easily to her.

  Sensing his scrutiny, Des swiveled her own chair around to face him squarely. One fine brow was arced up challengingly. “Something wrong, trader?"

  "Nay. And please, call me Simon."

  "You're staring at me."

  "Nay. I'm just doing some wondering."

  "Oh?"

  "Aye. Do you ever laugh, lass?"

  "I don't see that that's any of your business. And don't call me lass."

  "Des."

  "How do you know my name?"

  "I'm very observant.” Simon grinned at her openly skeptical look. “Actually, I heard someone call you that."

  "Most just call me Demon."

  "Because you are one?"

  "So some say."

  "So many say."

  Des shrugged unconcernedly.

  Angling his head slightly, Simon asked, “What is Des short for?"

  "Desdemona.” She looked a little startled at the admission, and then she frowned. “But don't bother calling me that."

  "Why? ‘Tis a very melodious name."

  Her brow arced even higher.

  "Seriously,” he assured her.

  "Only a select few call me by my full name."

  "Parents?"

  Without a flicker of an eyelash, she turned back to the viscomm. “Did you happen to see the spaceships I'm looking for?"