Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

"Hungry?” Simon smiled and reached back to pat him.

  Chels gave his hand a swipe with a rough tongue and jumped off the bed with an eager purr. Fuzz peered around the door and meowed.

  "Hungry,” he clarified.

  Not wanting the lycats to awaken Des, Simon slowly and carefully untangled himself from her, feeling a stab of disappointment as the cool morning air took the place of her warm body.

  She murmured in her sleep and turned over.

  Dropping a kiss onto the top of her head, Simon got out of bed and padded into the kitchen. It was still early, the sun not quite up over the horizon. The cool morning air blew fresh and clean through the open wall into the garden.

  After feeding the lycats, he poured himself a cup of hot una and checked on Des once more. She was sleeping soundly, so he tugged on his boots and vest, swallowed the una and hurried across the distance to his trading ship. It didn't take him long to have a quick shower and change of clothes.

  Aamun met him in the corridor. “I see you spent the night with the lass."

  "The stubborn wench was in more pain than she should have been.” Simon shook his head. “Had to dose her up with analgesia. She was still sleeping when I left."

  "You're heading back there now.” It wasn't a question but a statement.

  "Aye.” Simon stopped walking. “Do you need me for anything?"

  "Nay. Some trading still to be done when those two merchants arrive, so meanwhile we're all just resting and relaxing while we wait. Torkra and Mikal are busy with the tavern wenches, and some of the others are visiting friends and checking out new stock. We're fine.” Aamun patted Simon's shoulder. “Go see to your little wench."

  Simon walked to the platform lift. “You know where I am if you need me."

  Aamun grinned. “Oh, aye. Playing nursemaid and scoring points."

  "Jealous?"

  "Only if ‘twere my beloved Mina.” Aamun winked.

  "Your beloved Mina looks at no man apart from you.” Simon scratched his head. “Though I've never understood why."

  "She knows a good man when she has one.” Aamun rubbed his muscular chest. “And a damned fine looking man I am, if I do say so myself."

  Simon rolled his eyes.

  Entering Des's house was like coming home. The flowery scent, the fresh breeze coming in from the garden, even the lycats who purred upon seeing him, all felt like a home. His own home back on Daamen was big and beautiful, but he alone lived there, and somehow it had never seemed as homely as this.

  Checking on Des, he found her still fast asleep, and as he looked at her, the wealth of red hair spread on the pillow, the slow rise and fall of her full breasts under the nightgown, he realized now why his house didn't seem like a real home.

  It lacked a wife, a life partner.

  It lacked Des.

  It was no huge shock, but simply an acknowledgement of his true feelings. Leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, he watched her. He was falling in love with the hard-headed Head Peacekeeper.

  What ‘twas it about her that attracted him so? She was a shrew at times, bad mouthed and hot tempered. But she was also funny, courageous, with a sharp sense of humor and loyalty to those she cared about.

  Did she care about him? He thought so. She hadn't thrown him from the house, which he knew she considered her sanctuary. She'd trusted him to have her lycats when she thought she was going to die. She'd accepted his help and hadn't tossed him out of her bed.

  Did that mean her feelings were equal to his?

  He just didn't know, and frowning, he pushed away from the door and went back into the kitchen to pour another cup of una.

  Standing at the sink, he looked out towards the settlement. All was quiet in the early morning, with only a few people walking around. He saw Torkra and Mikal heading for the ship, and grinned to himself. They'd obviously spent the night with some tavern wenches, and knowing the hot-blooded brothers, no doubt they'd been busy with more than one wench each.

  The lusts of youth.

  'Tis not like you're that old, Simon. You're only thirty years old. And the wench he was lusting after was alone in the big bed in her room. Injured. But so warm and curvy in his arms. 'Tis a sick man you are, Simon.

  Chels suddenly looked up from where he'd sprawled on the sofa, his head turning towards the bedroom. Jumping off the sofa, he loped into the little corridor.

  Placing the mug down on the bench, Simon quickly followed. He found the bed empty, the covers pulled neatly into place.

  "Des?” Worried, he glanced around. Hearing the sound of the shower, he moved to the door and knocked on it. “Des? Are you all right?"

  "Fine.” The word was muffled.

  "You shouldn't be up."

  "I'm fine."

  "Do you need some help?"

  "No.” The rebuttal was firm. “I'll be out in a minute."

  Stubborn wench. “You have ten minutes, and then I'm coming in."

  There was silence for a few seconds. “Then enjoy your last ten minutes of life, won't you?"

  Grinning, Simon went back out into the kitchen and retrieved his hot drink. Sitting in the chair at the head of the table enabled him to see the door through which she had to come out. Sipping his drink, he waited.

  Des came limping through not long after. When he made to get up, she raised her hand. “I can walk. Don't mess with me in the mornings. I'm not a morning person and need a little while to come to terms with the world."

  "Do you want a drink or something to eat?” Though amused at her honest words, Simon observed her carefully.

  Her clothes revealed the self-adhesive patches on her thigh, shoulder and calf.

  Crossing the room in bare feet, her tall, curvy body was shown to full advantage by the short blouse and skirt she wore. The hem of the simple, sleeveless blouse just brushed her belly button, while the skirt hem stopped mid-thigh. The lass dressed very differently when not on duty.

  On duty it was pants, shirt and boots, uniform and nothing feminine. But off-duty, she favored tunics, skirts and blouses, in feminine colors and patterns. Even her hair was feminine, spilling around her shoulders and down her back.

  Intriguing. And titillating. Knowing she was so feminine when at home, when she portrayed such a tough exterior outside, made her intriguing. Desirable. Like a gem hidden beneath a rock. The feminine side only there for one man to see and touch and know so intimately and—

  "What's the matter with you?” Eyes narrowing, Des stopped at the kitchen bench.

  "You're beautiful,” Simon said bluntly.

  "Is that right?” She titled her head. “Wow, one night in my bed with no hanky panky, and you think I'm beautiful. What would I get out of you if I let you have my body?"

  Simon choked on the mouthful of una he was in the act of swallowing. Coughing, eyes tearing up, he saw the grin on her face right before she turned away and got a cold drink from the cooler.

  By the time she'd poured a glass of the fizzy drink, Simon had regained his breath. Munching on an apricot, Des took the chair opposite him and watched him with amusement.

  "Suns, lass, unless you want me to choke to death, don't say things like that when I'm drinking,” he gasped.

  "Just an observation.” She shrugged, the narrow ties on her blouse showing off her smooth shoulders. “Just wondering."

  "I'll be more than happy to turn the wondering into fact when you're well enough.” Simon leaned back again in the chair, taking in the healthy pink color in her cheeks with interest.

  Des slanted him a look but didn't reply. One fine brow arched, but whether it was in amusement or query, Simon didn't know. He returned her gaze boldly, but she still didn't give her thoughts away.

  Raising the mug, he took another sip while keeping his gaze on her.

  She took a bite of apricot and chewed slowly, her tongue flicking out to trace the juice from her bottom lip.

  Heat flushed through his groin almost immediately and his grip on the mug tightened. Those full lip
s caressed the roundness of the apricot before she took another bite.

  When Simon finally dragged his gaze from her lips to her eyes, he could see the flash of heat in her eyes, the pale brown seeming to be more yellow, and his breath caught.

  Desire flared through him. God above, one sultry look and I'm ready to throw her onto the bed right now!

  Des glanced down at Fuzz, who was bumping her head against her knee. Reaching out, she tickled her under the chin. “Hey, baby. I see Simon has fed you then, gorgeous girl.” Leaning down, she rubbed her cheek against the big hybrid's head, a smile of enjoyment spreading across her lips. “Have you been conning the trader into feeding you, sweet pea?"

  Simon wondered what it would be like to hear her call him by endearments. To have her stroke him. As she stretched out her arm, her blouse lifted slightly to show the self-adhesive patch on her side. Take it easy, you horny hound. The lass is still injured and certainly not well enough for the kind of lovemaking you have in mind. Any lovemaking.

  He managed to get his expression calm and his libido under control by the time she finished smooching up to her lycat and straightened. “You look and sound much better than you did when you came home."

  "I feel it,” she replied candidly. “Thank you for staying with me."

  "You weren't in any condition to stay alone."

  "I'd have managed."

  "You'd still be on the floor near the door."

  She grinned faintly. “Been there, done that."

  The thought didn't sit well. “Truthfully?"

  "Sure. A couple of times. But I manage to get myself to bed after a time."

  Simon didn't like what he was hearing. “Surely you could have called someone?"

  "If you're thinking Gracie, forget it. She'd come only if there was something in it for her. Dad's away somewhere, and he doesn't even live here, besides. Moresby would drag me to the medical clinic, and there's no way I'm having those ham-fisted men of mine trying to attend to me.” Finished with the apricot, she got up and limped over to the disposal unit next to the sink. Tossing the pip in, she turned and said matter-of-factly, “I'm a big girl and can take care of myself."

  The thought of her alone and wounded, hurting, with no one to help her made Simon's stomach clench. Standing up abruptly, he took the few steps needed to bring him almost against her. When she didn't move but simply looked at him, he braced his hands each side of her on the sink and looked down at her.

  "You don't have to be alone."

  "I'm used to it."

  Bending his head down closer to her, his voice lowered. “It doesn't have to be."

  Tilting her head back slightly so that she could meet his gaze, her eyes showed curiosity, then became searching. Silence fell between them as she studied him.

  He met her gaze steadily, allowing her to see what she would, to see how he felt, knowing his feelings were reflected in his eyes.

  The lass's reaction was intriguing on its own. Her eyes were intent, searching, then narrowed, and finally widened a little. “Simon..."

  Closing the small gap between them, he kissed her gently, capturing his name on her lips even as she breathed it.

  The taste of apricot on her lips just added to the sweetness of the kiss. Simon kept it light, controlled, a tantalizing brush of sensitive skin against sensitive skin. Only when her lips opened beneath his did he make it deeper, tasting the honeyed essence of her mouth almost before he entered.

  The touch of her hands was light at his waist, almost hesitant before she slid her palms beneath his vest and up the muscled hardness of his back, her fingertips smoothing and shaping as she went.

  Every touch left a flicker of heat on his skin.

  Meaning for the kiss to be an example of his feelings, a show of tenderness, Simon was unprepared for the rush of rapacity that swept though him with a carnality that had him claiming her mouth hungrily. His kiss changed, the tenderness turning to a coveting to taste more, drink more, claim more. Always more.

  One tender kiss wasn't enough.

  One hard kiss wasn't enough.

  Slipping one hand around her waist and the other cupping the back of her head, he pulled Des against himself and held her still for his kiss. Desire was climbing inside him with a steady relentlessness and his kiss became hungrier, carnal.

  His hand left her back to drop to skim the curve of her hip and partially down her thigh before trailing back up to lay against the bare flesh of her waist. Her skin was silky smooth, warm, beckoning to his heated senses to feel more, explore further, and shape the treasures hidden beneath her blouse.

  Even as he plundered her mouth, the heady scent and taste of her filled his senses. Hot sweetness like heated honey, fresh and clean, feminine and flowery. The combination of taste and scent was like a drug to him, and he inhaled deeply at the same time he drank her in.

  Skimming her slightly curving belly, Simon slid his hand up beneath her blouse, delighting in the silkiness of her skin beneath his calloused palms. His fingertips nudged the edge of her bra, trailed up over the lace, and he groaned into her mouth in pure pleasure when finally he was cupping the fullness of her breast in his hand.

  Heavy, round, the weight of her breast was a sweet torture behind the confining material of her support garment. Her soft moan when he pressed gently against her flesh was music to his ears.

  Leaving her lips, he trailed soft kisses down the side of her chin to her neck, using his hand to tilt her head to the side to give him better access.

  Through the material of her bra, he felt the budding of her nipple, and shifting the position of his hand, he rubbed her nipple with his thumb.

  "Simon...” She moaned.

  "Aye, baby?” Gently he scraped his teeth on the curve where her shoulder swept up into her neck.

  "Please...” She pushed her breast harder into his hand.

  "Please, what?” He teased darkly, lifting his head to look down into her eyes.

  Her irises were more yellow than brown now, hot desire making them brilliant, and her full lips were slightly swollen from his kisses. Thick red hair swirled around her shoulders, a long lock curving down to brush against her breast where his handed rested beneath the material.

  "Please, what?” Simon rubbed her nipple with a firm stroke, and smiled when her breath caught.

  "Make love to me."

  The simple words made his loins hot, his manhood harden. “'Twould be wholly my pleasure.” He slid his hand from her breast down her side. “Des—” The brief flinch in her face made him stop at almost the exact instance his hand registered the self-adhesive patch on her ribs.

  Cursing inwardly, Simon cupped her cheek in one big hand. “Nay."

  She blinked, then frowned. “Don't be silly."

  "Your injuries, remember?” With a sigh, he stepped back. “Nay. No lovemaking this time."

  The step she took forward brought her against his body again. Her eyes were sultry. “Yes."

  "Nay.” Taking her upper arms in a gentle grip, Simon regretfully held her in place while he took another step back. “I'll not risk hurting you."

  "I'm not fine china, Simon.” One brow quirked and her eyes held a decidedly wicked glint. “I can handle a bit of roughness."

  The thought made him groan. “Don't torment me, lass. The answer is nay."

  "Come on, Simon.” Des shook her head. “You didn't hurt me."

  "I saw you flinch.” Leaning forward, Simon gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stepped aside quickly when she reached for him. “Nay. When you're not hurting so much, then I'll make love to you, but not before."

  Giving an exasperated sigh, Des leaned back against the sink again. “You might not get the chance again, trader."

  It might have taken a bit of effort to get his libido under control, but Simon's sense of humor was never far from the surface. He raised his brows. “Trust me, lass, I can have you begging for me within minutes."

  "I might never know,” she drawled, her easy tone
belied by the nipples pushing so enticingly against her blouse, and the heat still burning in her eyes.

  Simon grinned lazily. “Oh, you will."

  Pushing away from the sink, she crossed the small distance between them and stopped in front of him.

  With his own desires safely under control, Simon looked down at her confidently.

  Placing her finger on his chest, she said huskily, “If you're so sure of yourself, trader, then you have a lot to live up to. All talk ... can you match it?"

  "A promise is a promise. Don't you worry, wench, I can more than live up to my words."

  "Then let's hope you get to keep that promise.” Her smile was darkly sensual. “I don't offer myself very often. You won't get many chances.” Her finger trailed down to his stomach, skipped over his belly button and stopped at the waistband of his pants. Hooking into the top, she gave it a small tug. “Be warned, trader."

  The words and the action, and the expression in her eyes, all combined with such a hedonistic undercurrent that Simon felt his control start to crack dangerously.

  "You're playing with fire, wench.” He made to step back.

  Des smiled carnally. “I like to see how much heat I can handle.” In one swift move her finger swept down from the waistband of his pants to skim across his semi-hardness and down to the apex of his thighs.

  Simon's breath caught in his throat, but before he could retaliate, she swung around and walked across to the bench, where she reached up and flicked a switch beneath the viscomm.

  He couldn't stop himself. With a silent swiftness, Simon moved up behind her, catching her waist to pull her carefully but firmly back against him. Her soft, taunting laugh made him want to wrap his hand in her thick hair and pull her head back so he could cover her mouth and replace that laughter with moans. The feel of her bottom pressing back against his groin made him want to bend her forward over the bench and lift her skirt, bury himself in her heat.

  Only iron control and the knowledge of her injuries made Simon lower his head to whisper hotly into her ear, “You've stoked the fire and trust me, lass, ‘tis the fire you're going to feel once you're able to handle it."

  "I say I can handle it now.” She looked up at him over her shoulder, the sultry heat in her eyes mixed with hedonistic teasing. “Try me."