Hmmm, obviously the wench wasn't into family discussions. “Nay. Are you avoiding answering the question, Des?"
"It's not your business."
"I'm interested."
"I'm not."
Simon shrugged. “I find you interesting."
"You find tavern wenches interesting. Drinking and brawling and wenches.” Des sounded bored as she watched the screen flicker while the computer scrolled through the last of the crafts known to the general public.
"'Tis the general perception of us, aye,” Simon agreed. “But we're not really just drunken brawlers looking for a willing wench."
She cast a sideways glance at him.
"Mayhap you should let me prove it to you,” he said.
"I don't need proof of anything, trader."
"'Tis more to us than what you know and have heard.” He found in some way that he really wanted her to understand that, though why it should bother him so much, he wasn't sure.
"If you say so—” Her voice halted as the words ‘no match’ words came onto the screen, and she swore softly. Folding her arms, she scowled at the words. “Do you have any other way of trying to find out the identity of the craft?"
Curse ill-timing. “I can try for you. ‘Twill take me awhile."
"Why?” She was still frowning at the screen.
"Because my contacts are not on-line at the moment."
"You haven't tried."
She was a tenacious wench. “Because I know my friends."
In a quick movement she stood up. “Very well. Let me know if you discover anything."
Getting up just as quickly ensured that their bodies almost touched, and when she frowned up at him, he smiled. “Of course. As soon as I know anything, I'll come straight to you."
"Hmm.” Stepping away from him, Des moved to the door. “Thank you for the use of your identi-kit."
Simon followed her from the cabin. “You could thank me more by having dinner with me tonight."
Des stopped so quickly that Simon walked right into her, nearly knocking her over. They both staggered, and he grabbed her around the waist to steady her.
"Let go!” Eyes blazing furiously, she swung around in his arm.
"Easy, lass.” Hurriedly he withdrew his arm, but allowed his hand to linger near her waist.
Stepping back brought her up against the wall of the corridor, and realizing that she'd just done the retreating, Des immediately stepped forward. Which was an interesting move for Simon, because that one step brought them almost breast to chest. There were only a couple of inches between them.
Hands on her hips, Des narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about, trader?"
He was beginning to find her frown cute. It made her fine little nose wrinkle slightly. “Dinner?"
"You are inviting me to dinner?"
"'Twould seem so."
"I don't do dinners."
"Neither do I.” Simon grinned. “I usually do wenches."
"Well, you won't be doing me, let me give you the tip."
"Says who?"
Almost immediately the pupils in her eyes dilated. Oops. But he couldn't deny that he awaited her reaction with fascination. Suns, I must have a death wish!
Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared and a faint red tinged her high cheekbones.
Simon quirked one brow, staring her down boldly ... and challengingly. Aye, I have a death wish.
"Would you care to repeat what you just said?” Des's voice was dangerously low.
"Says who?” For the life of him, Simon couldn't believe he was baiting her so unmercifully. What the hell had gotten into him?
'Twas more like who had gotten under his skin.
Des's fists clenched and she drew in a deep breath, which caused the full mounds of her breasts to rise mouth-wateringly and brush against his chest.
Heat immediately flared through Simon, so hot and quick it took him by surprise.
Then her soft lips, instead of thinning in anger, pursed up, and that was his undoing. Seeing those soft lips rounding, their plumpness only accentuated by her facial expression, the desire to taste them, to feel their texture, swept through him, and without another thought Simon took one long step forward, forcing her back against the wall. Bracing one forearm against the wall just near her head, he caught her chin in the other hand and angled her head expertly.
There was a flash of surprise followed by fury in her beautiful eyes right before he lowered his mouth to hers.
Her plump lips were amazingly soft, warm, silky-smooth. Damp. It was like a touch of paradise, and when Simon moaned in appreciation, those amazing lips opened slightly.
Taking immediate advantage to deepen the kiss, Simon slid his tongue past the plumpness to the warm cavern beyond. She tasted like warm honey, rich and sweet and so, so delicious. He felt like he could drink from her forever, and wallow in the hot richness decadently.
Simon's thumb stayed under her chin, but his fingers spread out slowly across her cheek to cradle it gently.
He was feeling anything but gentle. Desire was filling him, heady and carnal, and his kiss became more firm, more demanding, more rapacious. Their surroundings didn't cross his mind, the fact that any of his friends could have seen them. All he was aware of was the wench he was pressed against, Des's softness, her strength, and her so hotly sweet lips.
Sparks sizzled to life inside him, and his hand slid down from her cheek, over her collarbone in a gentle glide, and down further to where the swell of her breast pressed against his chest. Moving back a little to allow his hand room to explore further, Simon lifted his head to gaze down at her.
Her eyes were closed, her lips red and slightly swollen from his kiss, and when her thick lashes lifted he could see the languorous expression in them, and the way the pale brown of her irises seemed to have darkened to a deep yellow/brown that made him want to gaze into their startling depths forever.
"Des...” he breathed huskily.
And that was a mistake he registered almost instantly when she blinked, and the languorousness of her eyes sharpened into awareness then outraged anger. Those soft, swollen lips pulled tight, and Des swore.
"Lass—” he began, every wary instinct springing to the fore.
"Get back from me!"
"Now, lass, calm down—” He stopped when he felt a hard jab in his side. The wench had pulled a laser on him. Somehow he wasn't surprised, and with a little sigh of resignation, he stepped back. “Des, ‘tis no need to be hasty—"
"I ought to blow your Goddamn head off!” She raged. “What kind of stunt do you think you're pulling, trader?"
"'Twas just a kiss—"
"No one kisses me!"
I just did and ‘twas damned sweet. “I'm sorry.” Not. “I just—"
Des's nostrils flared, her cheeks tinged with red. To say she was furious was putting it mildly. “You stay out of my way, Daamen. You come anywhere near me, and I'm going to blow a bloody great hole in you so wide your trade ship can pass through it. You understand?"
"I understand you're angry."
"You want to know how angry I am?"
Going by her expression, Simon wondered whether he should even answer. “Er—"
Then he didn't have to, because she moved fast. Kicking one heel behind his knee, she reached across with her free hand and grabbed his vest. Using her weight and the momentum of the movement, she yanked him around while he overbalanced. In seconds he found himself back against the wall with her forearm pressed across his throat, and the laser barrel pressed into his crotch.
The wench was practically breathing fire.
* * * *
Standing on the ridge, Tyson watched the fight happening in the middle of the settlement far below him. Peacekeepers were managing to hold the group of outlaws back, but it was taking its toll on them. Four peacekeepers were dead or injured, he couldn't rightly tell from where he stood, but he knew they were down on the ground.
So were six out
laws. That left five outlaws still standing, and four peacekeepers. Unfortunately, the four remaining peacekeepers were wily and seasoned, and stayed under cover.
Lowering the visual viewers, Tyson rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It wasn't time to go in firing all lasers from both hand and spaceship. He hadn't got the word yet, which meant it still hadn't been found.
Touching the communication receiver in his ear, he said, “Ruan, the peacekeeper numbers are down. Any word yet?"
"It's a no-go,” Ruan's voice answered. “Pull your surviving men out."
"He hasn't found it yet?"
"False reading."
Tyson cursed. “Every time we attack then cut and run, it makes the peacekeepers all the more suspicious!"
"Then we need to work on that suspicion.” A new voice cut in.
"And what do you suggest, Levi?” Tyson raised the visual viewers back to his eyes.
"Back off for a while until we get a definite go-ahead."
"I think that's wise,” Ruan agreed. “This constant hit and run is causing unnecessary problems."
Tyson nodded. “About time. You'll tell him we're not moving any further until he's sure?"
Ruan laughed dryly. “Like anyone can tell him anything?"
"I'm not risking my men or getting caught because he can't get a fix on it.” Tyson scowled and tossed the visual viewers to one of his waiting men. “He can stick the whole thing up his arse if he doesn't like it."
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Levi spoke gravely. “I think we're in too deep to tell anyone anything like that."
Silently agreeing, but not about to admit it, Tyson growled, “Just tell him to hurry up. We're holding off until he has more positive news.” Touching the communication receiver in his other ear, he gave the order. “Pull back. We're lying low."
* * * *
"They're pulling back,” Zared stated.
Canute raised one brow. “Is that right?"
"They don't want to risk increasing the suspicions of the law any more than they've already done."
Canute laughed, the red wine in his glass catching the light as he whirled it around.
Pouring himself a glass of the wine, Zared sipped at it silently, his expression stoic as usual.
Lowering himself into the big armchair, Canute crossed his legs and contemplated the depths of his glass. The time might not be yet, but it was coming, of that there was no doubt.
* * * *
Furious, Des glared up into the roguishly handsome face, the mildly quizzical expression making her want to punch the trader. Just for the hell of it, she put some more pressure against his throat.
"Now do you know how mad I am?” she grated through clenched teeth.
"Aye,” Simon just managed to croak out.
"You're lucky I don't blow your precious manhood right off.” There was a flicker in his eyes. It wasn't fear, unfortunately, but what else it could be Des didn't know, and didn't care. “You ever try to take advantage of me again, and I'll ensure your line doesn't continue, trader. Understood?"
"Aye,” he said again.
She stared at him for several seconds, and he eyed her back with a mixture of wariness and that other unknown emotion he was hiding so well.
Stepping back, she moved her arm from his throat and watched as he lifted up one big hand to rub the red mark she'd left there. The muscles in his massive chest and arms bunched powerfully, but she ignored it. Strength had never scared her, or made her feel awe. It just meant she had to be wilier in her dealings with the owners of the brute strength.
It was something she'd rarely had to do. Able to hold her own in a fist fight with most men, there was only one other man she'd been forced to use cunning against, and that one was a bounty hunter. She had cursed him at the time, much to his amusement, but she was grateful for it now.
Slapping the laser back into the holster at her side, she gave Simon one last glare before she swung on her heel and stalked down the corridor. “Don't bother seeing me to the cargo hold. I'll do it myself."
"Des—"
"Shut up."
Silence greeted this, and she stepped up onto the platform lift and hit the descend button. Turning, she stood with legs braced against the lurch and looked back down the corridor.
Rather than being uncertain of her, Simon was watching her with a thoughtful expression. His weight on one hip, he had one arm folded across his chest, the other arm resting upon it as he stroked his jaw consideringly.
She felt the heat of his gaze, and scowled.
Just before the sight of him was cut off, he flashed her a roguish grin. A darkly roguish grin, and his pale eyes seemed to brighten with ... Des's breath caught in her throat as the floor passed from sight. Had she imagined it? Was there a promise in that grin? A threat?
Even as the thought entered her head, she shook it away. Ridiculous! The bloody great lout was just trying to appear unaffected by his brush with her.
Which was more than she could say for herself. The very taste of Simon was in her mouth—clean and masculine. She could still feel his lips on hers, his tongue plundering the depths of her mouth, the hard heat of his body as he pressed against her.
A tingle went through her at the memory. No man had ever been able to press her back against a wall and kiss her that way. The last one to try had been when she was a teenager, and he'd lost three teeth for his efforts.
No man had ever tried to seduce The Demon since that day. The fact that she towered over many put them off, as did her sharp tongue, coarse words and bad temper. No man apart from her father had ever seen her softer side. Even her one and only lover, a bounty hunter now long dead, had never really seen her softer side.
Simon had done what no other man had dared to do, and the memory of it seemed to burn into her. For just a few seconds, she had felt smaller, softer, wanted ... desired.
Bloody hell! Shaking her head, she clenched her jaw as the cargo hold came into view. A group of Daamen traders were lolling about in various positions in the cargo hold, and three of them were sitting around a crate playing a hand of poker.
Looking up, they greeted her with wide smiles. Hells bells, the cargo hold is a place full of male testosterone and women's fantasies! The thought made her scowl even more, and she strode past them with nary a word.
"Nice to see you again, lass!” The one named Aamun called out cheerfully.
With a grunt she strode down the ramp and back towards the settlement. She'd just managed to put the delicious memory of the kiss from her mind, when she felt a sensation of someone watching her. Instinctively knowing it was Simon watching her departure, she resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and continued into the outskirts of the settlement.
Resolutely turning her mind to the work that lay ahead, Des strode to where the warehouse had once stood. The owner was staring morosely at the rubble.
"So, what are you going to do about it?” he demanded as soon as she was within hearing distance.
"Investigating,” she replied.
"Investigating? I don't see anyone here doing that."
"I know you're upset at what happened, and I don't blame you, but—"
"How could you know?” he burst out. “Damn it, Demon, this was my livelihood!"
"Not your only source of livelihood, Sol. You have two other warehouses. Anyway, some of this stuff wasn't wrecked. You can salvage it."
"Salvage it?” His face was red. “Salvage it? Your man told me I couldn't touch anything until you lot had finished investigating it!"
"That's true. We may find something that will help reveal who did this and—"
"Outlaws did it, Demon! Outlaws! Any idiot can see that!"
"I agree.” She was starting to get irritated. “After all, you figured it out."
He glared at her.
She glared back.
Sol was the first to look away. “When will you be finished here?"
"When I'm finished. Got a problem with that?” Her
temper was starting to rise.
"Fine.” He walked away.
Dismissing him from her thoughts almost immediately, Des started to walk around the ruins, studying it from every available angle, as she'd already done once that morning. It still looked exactly like what it was, a pile of rubble.
Shoving her hands into her pockets, she toed a piece of crating aside to reveal the shattered glass beneath it. Slowly she pushed aside more pieces of crating, timber and assorted pieces, all the time using her booted foot.
Each section revealed she studied intently.
A pursuit craft slid through the streets and came to a stop on the side. Aiken got out and sauntered over to where she stood contemplating the mess. “Find anything?"
"Would I still be standing here staring at this mess if I had?"
He shrugged.
"So, any sign of the mystery spaceship?” Des glanced at him.
"No. Did the Daamen, Simon, know anything?"
He knew how to kiss. Bugger. Don't think about it. “No."
"I'd have thought he'd know something.” Aiken rolled his shoulders, easing out some kinks.
"Haven't you got something to do?” she asked sourly.
"I've patrolled the skies until my eyes have crossed. I'm about to go and have a break. You coming?"
"No. I'm going to continue on here. Send a couple of the others back here to help me sift through this stuff.” She scowled. “Am I the only one working, or what?"
Aiken grinned. “Huxley is going through the data systems trying to ID that craft, and Raf is talking to one of the peacekeepers about some happenings in the other settlement."
"Bugger the other settlement. I'm interested in finding out what is happening in this one. Tell Raf to get his hide down here and do some real work."
"Righto, Boss.” He went back to his pursuit craft and left for the Enforcement Building.
Des resumed carefully shifting aside the rubble with her foot, her hands still in her pockets. Ten minutes passed before Raf and Orde arrived.
"Hell,” Des said upon seeing Orde. “You're on foot. What happened? Someone take your pursuit craft?"
Orde shrugged.
A man of few words, Des had a fondness for him. “C'mon, you can tell me."
Heart of a Peacekeeper Page 7
