Heart of a Peacekeeper

by Angela Verdenius

  Simon didn't know whether to laugh or frown, so he took refuge in silence and sat down on one of the sturdy stool at the bench.

  "Your intentions are to make an honest woman of my baby, right?” Creed's eyes narrowed. “You're not just after a roll in the sack? Being one of the randy Daamen traders known far and wide as lovers of—what do you call them? Wenches?"

  Simon's fingers tightened on the mug. “I love her."

  "But will you make an honest woman of her?"

  "If she'll have me, aye."

  "Have you talked about it to her?"

  "Not yet.” It was the oddest thing, being questioned by a father about his intentions for the wench in question. The doting father figure didn't quite fit with Creed's hard-eyed appearance, and yet Simon could see the man was genuinely concerned about his daughter. “We haven't known each other very long."

  "Ah, that means nothing. Look at me and Gracie...” Creed paused and took a thoughtful sip of the una. “Actually, don't. Poor example."

  Sipping at the una, Simon watched him over the rim of the mug. And it hit him hard. This was his future father-in-law. God above. Undoubtedly the bounty hunter pack was like a second family to Des.

  His home would be open to the hunters.

  "Something wrong?” Creed asked sharply.

  "Nay.” Inwardly he shook his head. If it made Des happy, he'd put up with it. Him. Put up with Creed. The things I'll do for Des.

  Des walked into the living area, and both men looked over at her. Dressed in a short, sleeveless blouse and a small skirt that skimmed her mid-thigh, it showed off her long legs perfectly. Her hair spilled in a damp, red wave around her shoulders.

  She looked downright delicious to Simon.

  She obviously didn't think the same of him. She eyed him and Creed, her anger of earlier having cooled, though a warning still lingered in her expression.

  "No blood,” she stated, crossing the room.

  "Not at all,” Creed said cheerfully.

  "No bruises. No yelling."

  He held his arms out and beamed.

  Des looked at Simon.

  "I'm fine, lass,” he said softly, swiveling around on the stool so that he was side-on to the bench and facing her. “And I apologize. I had no idea ‘twas your father."

  Standing next to him, she studied him closely. Finally she nodded, and the softening in her eyes melted his heart.

  "So, Dad.” Des turned her head to look at Creed. “What were you doing sneaking around?"

  "Just testing the space shield.” He dug a small scanner from his pocket. “Did a scan of the outside to ensure it was holding well. A bit worried with the electronic problems you've had lately."

  Simon looked sharply at her. “Electronic problems?"

  "He means at the Enforcer Building,” she replied.

  Relieved that Creed didn't mean the house, Simon relaxed again.

  "Anyway,” Creed continued. “I tripped over Chels, and was picking myself up when your loverboy here ripped me up off the floor and threatened to crush my windpipe. Hell of a thing for a father to face, Des. You need to keep your toys under control."

  Rather than be indignant, Simon was amused at the faint blush that bloomed in her cheeks.

  "Thanks for that bit of advice, Dad."

  "Anything for my baby girl.” There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. “So, the Daamen comes around late at night often, huh?"

  "You're outstaying your welcome."

  "Now, baby, I'm just inquiring."

  "No, you're nosey."

  He winked, drained the mug of una and placed it in the sink. “Well, I'm going to wander off in search of an evening of entertainment. Maybe I'll go and visit Gracie's tavern."

  "Gracie's a little annoyed with me, Dad. If the man she blames for me breathing appears right now, she's likely to shoot the crap out of him."

  "Ah, yes, I'd heard you'd been busy shaking down the patrons and staff again.” Reaching over, he chucked her under the chin. “You make me so proud."

  "I'm sure.” A small smile played around her lips.

  "Anyway, I'll go and find a pretty lady for the night—"

  "Bloody hell. Too much information, Dad."

  With a laugh, he chucked her under the chin again and left.

  The silence in the kitchen grew, but Simon was content to simply sit on the stool and wait for Des to speak. Standing so close beside him, her flowery scent seeped into his senses and he could swear he felt the warmth of her body.

  Turning to face him she looked him directly in the eyes. “Well, you met my Dad, though not quite in the way I expected."

  "Aye.” He didn't feel the need to apologize again.

  There was a hush in the room, a feeling of waiting. Wariness. Expectancy.

  "So, my Dad is a bounty hunter, and my mother a madam and one-time whore. They never married."

  He could see that she was searching for something in his eyes, his expression. “Aye."

  "They hate each other's guts."

  "Aye."

  "And me ... well, you know a bit about me."

  "Aye."

  Her gaze didn't waver, and neither did her voice. “I'm their bastard child."

  Compassion swept through Simon, as well as tenderness. Reaching out, he laid his hands each side of her waist and pulled her gently into the space between his spread thighs.

  She didn't resist, but neither did she make any movement to encourage him. In the depths of her pale, beautiful eyes, he could see the wariness. The watchfulness.

  "Des.” He kept his voice low, trying to inflict how he felt into the tone. “I don't care about your background. I care about you. I love you. Stars know I'm not good at this sort of thing.” He drew her a little closer. “I've never told a wench that I loved her before. I've never loved a wench before. But you, sweet lass, you I do love."

  "How do you know, Simon?” she asked seriously. “We've known each other less than a week."

  "I know as sure as I'm breathing. I know in here.” He touched his chest in the vicinity of his heart before reaching out to gently push a lock of hair back over her shoulder. “And I'm willing to wait for you to recognize what ‘tis between us."

  "Simon, I feel something, but I don't know if it's..."

  "I understand."

  "And yet, knowing I'm uncertain, you don't get angry."

  "Love comes at different times to us all.” He shrugged. “I would never force you, nor lose patience with you on this matter. I'll wait for as long as it takes."

  "It's easy to say when we're together, but what about later? When you go?"

  Admonishingly, he smiled. “Lass, don't think ‘twill be that easy to escape me. I'll be back to visit, to be with you, every chance I get. Until you know how you really feel."

  "You're very sure of yourself, trader."

  He drew her closer, sliding his hand up her back. “Aye. But then, I'm always sure when I know the truth."

  Placing one hand on his chest to stop him when he started to lean down towards her, Des asked simply, “And how would you explain me to your family, Simon?"

  "As my wife, the love of my life.” He locked his gaze on hers. “I could never be anything but proud of you, Des."

  "And what about my coarse ways and swearing? What about when I embarrass you?"

  "You don't embarrass me, Des. I admit you infuriate me at times, but no doubt I do the same to you.” He smiled. “Sweet lass, I love you. Every bit of you. I accept you for who and what you are, and I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks."

  Finally he felt her start to relax.

  Her fingers drifted over his chest and came to rest above his heart, and her eyes softened. “You're a sweet talker."

  "Aye, that I am.” He kissed her forehead caressingly. “And I mean every word, now and forever."

  "So I can remind you of that whenever you have the urge to strangle me?"

  "Feel free.” He winked. “It won't stop the urge."

  "So I'd h
ave to find another way, hmm?” Her hand drifted higher, moved to the right, and her fingers brushed across his nipple.

  Immediately a flare of heat went through Simon, and he took a deep breath as she continued to lightly rub his nipple with the tip of one finger. The simple motion seemed so ... erotic. Especially when her eyes held a wicked gleam, a mischievous light.

  Leaning in closer, she brushed her lips lightly across his chin, bit gently and moved higher until she flicked her tongue across the seam of his lips. At the same time she brought her other hand up so that both her thumbs were flicking across his male nipples, making them bud and harden.

  Snaking sensations pulled from his nipples down into the pit of his stomach, making his muscles tighten, and he made to kiss her

  "Nuh-uh.” She dodged his lips, moving her head around so that her breath, hot and moist, fanned his ear, making him shiver.

  No wench had ever made him shiver. It was a new and titillating experience. His hands tightened on her waist.

  "Des,” he whispered huskily.

  Leaning forward, she lowered one hand and placed it on the stool directly in front of the heat of his stiffening manhood. Her fingertips just brushed the material at the apex of his thighs, making his breath catch.

  "Yes?” Her lips were now on his throat, her fragrant hair spilling over his broad shoulder as she moved slowly down, leaving a damp trail that only seemed to ignite little sparks under his skin.

  Closing his eyes, he gave himself up to the sensation of her satin lips and silken hair against his skin.

  Convulsively his hands jerked on her waist when one of her fingertips flicked against the front of his pants, and she laughed softly. Tauntingly.

  "Des.” Her name was a hoarse groan on his lips.

  "Mm?” Her mouth was on the pulse in his throat when she hummed the query, making her tongue vibrate against the pulse that leaped more erratically.

  "God above, you're a tormenting wench. We have to stop...” But he couldn't bring himself to push her away. Not yet.

  "Why?” The word was almost purred.

  "Your injuries."

  "Bugger them. They're fine."

  "I don't want to hurt you...” His breath caught again as her finger boldly stroked across the bulge growing in his pants. If she didn't stop...

  "I'm tough, trader. I'm tougher than you give me credit for. Look at me."

  Opening his eyes, Simon looked directly into brown eyes so pale they were almost yellow, a color that fascinated him. Those remarkable eyes were now filled with an inner fire, and determination.

  "Des—"

  "I want you, Simon. I want you in my bed, naked. Does that shock you?"

  Hell, nay. It only made the fire in him flare brighter. But he had to try once more, at least. “Des, I can't just ignore what you've been through. You need rest, not rough sex."

  "Oh.” Those full lips titled in amusement. “Rough sex, trader? Is that what you have in mind?"

  "God, Des—"

  "Put it this way, Simon. Right now, I want hot sex. Wild sex. Rough.” Thick lashes swept down to cover her eyes as she pressed a light kiss to his lips, drawing back when he would have deepened it. “Are you going to give it to me?"

  Never before had he had a wench be so forthright, so carnally honest with him. Every word that fell from her full lips seared into his mind, eliciting sparks of lust inside him. Deep inside. Deep down inside.

  "If you won't satisfy me, then I'll do it myself."

  The words were a shock, hitting him with their raw earthiness. Her eyes held a primitive emotion.

  Grabbing his wrists, she drew his hands from her waist. “Make up your mind, Simon. Do me, or I'll do myself."

  Turning, she walked away towards the little corridor leading to the bedroom.

  Stunned, his heart starting to pound, Simon stared after her. The short skirt swayed against her bottom with every sure step she took. Her back was straight, the dark red hair swirling down her back.

  Make up your mind, Simon. Do me, or I'll do myself.

  The words beat inside his brain with salacious challenge, and there was no way he could ignore that challenge, for her very words, her actions, her taunting, were calculated to strip the caution from him. He knew it even as he stood up.

  "Stop right there, wench."

  "You know what to do.” The reply was offhandedly tossed over her shoulder as she continued walking.

  By now she was halfway across the room.

  An archaic emotion swept through him and he moved forward quickly, his steps light, predatory. Matched with a strong-willed wench, challenged so openly and hedonistically, the need to claim, to pursue, capture and master, ripped through him with a primal force.

  She hadn't made it to the little corridor before he was upon her, his hand on her shoulder swinging her around.

  The provocative quirk of her fine eyebrows and the dare in her eyes called to the male predator inside him. “Think you can handle me, trader?"

  "You're about to get burned, wench."

  "Is that right?” The words were low, mocking, her laugh openly goading.

  He held on to the last thread of sanity, gave her one last chance. “Be sure ‘tis what you want, Des. Be very, very sure."

  "If you've got it, Simon, then give it to me.” Her eyes gleamed dangerously, almost recklessly. “You've said before that you'll burn me. Well, I'm waiting."

  The last thread of control snapped, and Simon welcomed the tide of concupiscence that, finally unleashed, tore through him. In a swift move he bent down and threw Des over his shoulder, straightening to carry her to the bedroom.

  Her husky laugh merely stoked the flames hotter inside him, made the male beast roar for supremacy.

  At the foot of the big bed, he set her on one foot, harder than he normally would have, but not hard enough to cause discomfort. Hard enough to cause a flash of surprise in her beautiful eyes, though, and it was his turn to laugh low and almost threatening.

  Her leg with the injured calf he kept up, his hand under her thigh, fingers gripping as he held her leg up, held her open against him, keeping her off balance so that she had to cling to him.

  Holding her prisoner by the simple act of supporting her leg, he tangled his fingers in her hair, tipping her head back and holding her for his pleasure.

  Demanding entry, refusing to allow her to gain the upper hand, he ravished her mouth, claiming her essence and replacing it with his own, mingling their flavors so that it was hard to know where she began and he ended, and that was just what he wanted.

  Feeling her hands smoothing up his chest, Simon released her leg, dragging his short nails lightly against the back of her thigh as he did so until her foot touched the floor and his hand cupped one firm, rounded buttock. He squeezed it lightly, tracing his finger in the dip of her underwear between the rounded cheeks before shifting his hand.

  Her muffled moan gave way to a gasp of surprise when he reached up and captured her wrists, bringing them around behind her to hold in one big hand. As he held her wrists prisoner, so he held her mouth the same way by the simple act of continuing to kiss her, ravishing her, taking control.

  He had other plans for this strong-willed wench.

  Sliding his hand under her blouse, he cupped one breast, pleased to find that she wore no support garment, no bra. Her nipple was already hard, begging to be touched. Denying her that, he traced his fingertip around the edge of the areole instead, delighting in the silky skin.

  Delighting even more in Des's throaty moan of arousal, of longing, as she strained towards him.

  Releasing her mouth, he pressed his lips against her ear. “Do you feel hot, wench?"

  "Simon—"

  "Do you?” He squeezed her breast carefully but firmly.

  "Yes."

  He laughed quietly, tauntingly. “'Tis just the start."

  "Please..."

  "I like hearing that from your lips, Des. That little wispy cry."

  "I don't be
g.” Turning her head a little, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. “Ever."

  "You just did."

  "Slip of the tongue."

  "I'll make you beg again, Des."

  "Try it."

  A darker lust swept through him, the predator rearing its head again at the challenge.

  "Don't tell me you're going to give me yet another chance.” Her smile was mocking.

  The wench was getting control back, and there was no way Simon was going to allow that. No way in heaven or hell.

  Using her captured hands behind her, Simon jerked her full length against him, capturing her mouth once more, his kiss hungrier, harder, more demanding than previously. Taking everything she had to give, mastering her when she tried to take control.

  Grabbing the back of her skirt, he gave it one hard yank, feeling and hearing the fragile material rip. With one flick of the wrist, he tore it right off her and tossed it aside.

  Des didn't even flinch in his arms.

  The wench could take a lot, and that made him mentally roar with primal lust.

  Spreading his palm across her bottom, he felt the lacey underwear, and the very femininity of it fed his male hunger. Hooking his fingers in the back of it, he ripped through the lace and tore it off as well, tossing it aside to join the torn skirt.

  Skimming his fingers across her bottom, he found the dip that separated her rounded buttocks and with firm pressure traced the dip downwards. Thrusting his thigh between her own, he opened her up to his questing fingers as he continued downwards until he found the moist heat that coated his fingers almost immediately.

  His own heat was filling him, fire torching through him, his staff stiff, hard, almost throbbing. His pants were suddenly tight, confining, and he ached to release himself.

  Angling his hips back, he reached down between their bodies and pulled his pants down enough to release his staff, which immediately sprang up hard and hot, the tip almost searingly against his abdomen.

  Feeling his manhood against the nakedness of her own stomach, Des arched forward, blindly seeking, even though he continued to plunder the depths of her mouth. She pulled at her wrists, but Simon wouldn't release her.