She rolled her eyes at the sexy image staring back at her. Her pilot’s uniform was much better and far more her. The thought reminded her of everything she’d lost because of her stranding on Marchant. Somehow, she would make the captain regret his hasty decision. But first, she needed currency. This job was the only option she had if she wanted to clear her name at Coalition headquarters.
Cimmaron grabbed her room key, exited and locked up before she navigated the wide stairs leading to the ground floor of the boarding house.
“Ah, Cimmaron. Tamaki asked me to lend you a coat.” Lissa, her landlady, swept from her ground floor receiving room, her pale green robes fluttering around her lithe body.
Irritation flared in Cimmaron. There he went again, trying to organize her life. “Thanks, but I don’t need—”
“Lordy, luv! You can’t go out on the streets looking like that. You’ll cause a riot before you make it past the tavern at the end of the road.”
The woman—and Tamaki—had a point. “Thank you.” Cimmaron conceded, accepting the long black coat her landlady handed her. She slid her arms into the sleeves and wondered if Tamaki and Lissa had a personal relationship. Likely, she decided, recalling the greeting kiss they’d shared. “Thanks again. I’d better go or I won’t have a job.”
“Take care, luv. Make sure you stick to the main roads where there are plenty of security droids. Don’t be tempted to take a shortcut. The streets team with thugs on the lookout for easy pickings.”
“Thanks. No, I won’t.” Cimmaron wanted to screech but managed to keep a friendly smile intact. She wasn’t an underling and barely grown, with not a shred of commonsense. A being didn’t get past basic pilot training without learning street-smarts.
Cimmaron lifted one hand in farewell and left the boardinghouse, walking briskly down the well-lit lanes. She crossed the road before she reached the tavern, taking the landlady’s words to heart. The streets were quiet. A cool wind blew, chasing everyone indoors. It was mainly a residential area, a wealthy area judging by the number of security droids patrolling the streets. She passed a vendor with a smoked capon trolley. The delicious scents of the capon roasting over hot coals made her mouth water. She had to force herself to keep moving when hunger pangs started.
A flash of movement in her peripheral vision made her whirl in that direction. A being slinked into the shadows. The cowl and robe hiding identity. Cimmaron stared at the gloomy dark until a droid urged her on. Aware she’d be late if she didn’t hurry, Cimmaron increased her speed. On arrival at the club, she rapped on the front door. The door cracked open. St. Bridget’s ears. How did the customers manage to enter the club with the door firmly shut?
“It’s you,” Hulk said, moving aside to let her inside.
“In the flesh.”
Hulk jerked his head in the direction of the bar. “Rico is waiting at the corner of the bar for the new staff.”
Cimmaron stalked past him and headed in the direction he’d indicated. The club looked very different when it was full. Loud music pulsed through the large room. Strobe lights flickered, flashing across the faces of the dancers. Customers were three deep at the bar. Cimmaron couldn’t see an empty seat anywhere. Two bartenders served behind the bar, both females, and they wore uniforms identical to hers. They didn’t seem worried about the brevity of the outfit, but Cimmaron felt her naked belly and shoulders rubbing against the fabric of the coat her landlady had lent her. One of the bartenders stacked dirty goblets inside a cleanser unit while the other served a group of giggly females. Their pale coloring pegged them as Marchant, but their outfits, made of shiny black leather, were pure high galaxy fashion instead of traditional full-length robes. They’d changed their hair color from black and looked like a bunch of vibrant flowers. She pushed her way through the crowds, finally spotting Rico seated at the very far end of the bar.
Rico slid off his chrome barstool the moment he saw her. “Good, you’re here. I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
“I said I would,” Cimmaron said, her tone sharp. Talk about a character assassination. He’d hadn’t even given her a chance.
Rico ignored her flash of irritation. “There’s a small room out the back where the staff keep their belongings. You can leave the coat there. I need you to come through to my office to sort out the formalities.”
Cimmaron frowned. “What formalities?”
“We program all the employee fingerprints into our computerized system. That gives you access to the stock plus entrance through the main door into the club without waiting for security to answer.”
Cimmaron followed Rico into a small office that was only big enough for the desk and two chairs. Parchments and ledgers covered the desk. Rico shoved them aside and pulled a glass disc out of the desk drawer.
“Place your right finger on the middle of the disc.” Once Cimmaron complied, Rico flipped over a lid so it enclosed her finger. He tapped a sequence onto a keyboard and pressed a button. The glass glowed bright red. A flash of heat zapped her finger, and a microt later the color faded along with the heat. Rico opened the glass lid, and Cimmaron slid her finger free. “You’ll see wall scanners next to the stockroom and the bar entrance. Hold your finger up to the scanner and the door will open.”
Cimmaron nodded.
“I’ll take you behind the bar, give you a quick tour.”
Rico showed her where the various drinks were kept, where the chillers, the ice and goblets were stored, how to account for each sale, and introduced her to the other bartenders—Zara, a busty Pinkton with a head full of pink braids, and Melad, a petite bald Marse with tribal patterns covering half her face—before leaving her to it.
Cimmaron slotted into her job behind the bar as if she’d always been there. One bar was much like another. She served steaming blue mercury cocktails along with flasks of vroom and the hours flashed past. A purple haze of smoke drifted lazily toward the ceiling from the long, fat cigars many of the customers smoked. Chances to chat with the other bartenders were few since customers lined up at the bar and the drink waitresses kept her busy with orders.
“Hey, babe. Three vrooms over here.” The speaker was young and well-dressed in a slick silver suit. Another local.
Cimmaron leaned over to pull three vrooms from the chiller.
“Nice ass, babe.” He reached over the bar to grab her breast when she turned back with the drinks. Cimmaron was too quick for him and his hand brushed against her bare belly instead. His two friends sniggered, their highly scented perfumes making her nose tickle with the need to sneeze.
“Hands off,” she said, maintaining a pleasant tone despite her irritation. Typical chat-up lines. They had to flex their muscles, especially in front of their friends. “I’m here to serve drinks, not offer entertainment.”
His friends sniggered again.
His dark brows bristled above his slanted eyes. “But you’re a Dlog.”
“So?” Cimmaron knew what he was implying but waited for the usual crude comments about Dlog women and how easy they were.
“Do you have a male?” His pale eyes regarded her calmly, but the pinkish tips of his ears betrayed his discomfiture at his friends’ teasing reactions.
“Yes, I have a mate,” Cimmaron stated bluntly, immediately thinking of Tamaki. She quickly erased his visage from her mind to concentrate on selling her words to the customer. A lie of course, but if word spread about her being unmated, she’d never get rid of the lines of males wanting an easy lay. The rumors weren’t strictly true about them being free with their favors since their genetic makeup propelled them to mate. Usually, they mated within their own race, but they could mate with otherlanders just as effortlessly. She snorted. There was nothing easy about having a mate, especially a Dlog one since they tended to be dominant. Hell, she snarled silently. Why dress it up with niceties? Dlog males were bullies.
Cimmaron added shaved icicles to a silver container, secured the lid and pressed the mix button. That was why she’d decided to t
rain as a pilot— Shit, her pills! She hadn’t found a medicine man to replace her pills. Phrull. Appalled at her lapse, she cursed under her breath. She’d have to take care of the problem tomorrow. Already she was starting to feel the effects whenever she stepped too close to Tamaki Grierson. The mixer finished, but she paused a microt longer. Why wasn’t she reacting to her male customers in the same way? The Marchant youths hadn’t raised a blimp on her sexual radar, not like her new boss. She tried to think back to her visit to the blue planet. She couldn’t remember having this reaction to Earthmen during the layover there. Cimmaron handed the smoking cocktail to her customer.
“Keep the change,” he said, extending his hand toward her.
“Thanks.” As a test Cimmaron let their hands brush when she accepted the credits. Nothing. She dropped the tokens into her allocated currency box. Something in her genetic makeup made her susceptible to Tamaki Grierson. There was an obvious solution to the problem. She’d keep right away from Tamaki Grierson—it shouldn’t be too difficult.
Cimmaron worked for another two hours, mixing drinks and chatting with customers. The club became increasingly busy, and she noticed most clubbers didn’t need to knock for entrance. They appeared to have passes to allow them access. Surely they wouldn’t all have their fingerprints added to the club’s database? That didn’t make sense. There must be some other means of entry for new clubbers. Cynically, she wondered how much they paid for the privilege.
“Cimmaron, you can take a meal break now,” Rico called from his seat at the corner of the bar.
She nodded. “Thanks. Where do I go?”
Rico pointed her in the direction of the staff room. “Order whatever you want from the kitchen. Be back at twenty bells.”
Cimmaron was ready for a break. Her feet ached from working in the high-heel boots and hunger made her stomach rumble in protest. She wove through the clubbers, dodging the flailing arms of the dancers, and headed toward one of the spiral staircases that wound up to the second floor. As she reached the base of the stairs, a woman in a tight red gown brushed past her and sashayed up the stairs. Shortly afterward a Nolan male sauntered up the stairs, eye-catching in his tight leather trews and billowy white shirt. He disappeared into the shadows at the top.
An arm curved around her waist, making her start. “You on a dinner break?” Tamaki asked.
“I wish you wouldn’t creep up on me like that.” Cimmaron’s heart thudded erratically against her ribs. The warmth from his arm seared the bare flesh at her waist. It was a seductive heat, and she made herself pull away even though what she really wanted was to lean in to him and perhaps even rub against him. A purr rattled deep in her throat as she stared up at his sexy blue eyes and smelled his exotic scent, the one that reminded her of her home planet. A shaft of longing pierced her before his cocky grin registered. She huffed and drew herself up sharply. Phrull, this man kept pushing past her defenses. She had to purchase some pills first thing in the morn.
He chuckled, unperturbed by her irritation. “I’m about to get something to eat. I prefer to eat in company.”
Cimmaron found herself propelled through an unobtrusive door near the base of the stairs, his arm around her waist yet again. For a male, he was awfully touchy-feely, and she wished he’d stop. To counteract the desires he generated in her, she concentrated on the staff room. The room was smallish and connected to the club kitchen via a hatch in the far wall. A rough wooden table sat in the middle of the room, its top littered with a news tablet, a galaxy gossip zine, plus several dirty platters and goblets.
“What would you like to eat? I’m having the special. Buff steak stew, I believe.”
“The special is fine.” Cimmaron’s stomach let out an embarrassing rumble. Just about anything would do right now. She was that hungry. When he turned away to pass on their order, she couldn’t help but notice his muscular body. So much for shoving him out of her mind. Her stomach hollowed out and it wasn’t hunger for food this time. Every time she saw this man she wanted to touch him more.
Tamaki placed the order and turned around before she had a chance to rip her gaze from his butt. The male smirked, his dark brows rising. “Like what you see?”
Hell yes, but she wasn’t about to admit it. Acknowledging her desires was the path to ruin. “Why you don’t wear a uniform?”
His brows raised a fraction higher. “You’d like to see more skin?”
“That’s not what I meant at all,” she said, her tone testy. Any of the flight crew on board the Intrepid would have heeded the warning in her voice. Instead, Tamaki Grierson stoked the flames.
“I’m happy to take off my shirt so you can touch me.” He closed the distance between them and stopped an arm’s length away. She could practically feel her hormones snapping to attention, which frustrated her. It wasn’t fair that she should be slave to her Dlog hormones. Not fair at all.
“I don’t do that sort of thing,” she stated, crossing her arms across her aching breasts. The rest of her body was communicating readiness to mate as well. Cimmaron knew she wouldn’t get much rest tonight, not with her hormones hopping the way they were. “I’m not interested in sex.”
Tamaki wanted to prod for more information despite being her boss and despite the non-fraternization rules weighing heavy on his conscience. “Oh shame,” he said, positive she didn’t mean it. With her sexy curves and golden eyes, she was made for loving. His body tightened at the thought of sexing with Cimmaron. “You must get very bored. What do you do for pleasure?”
Her golden eyes widened momentarily and her luscious lips pulled to a tight line. Yeah, that had prodded her all right. Her eyes flashed amber warning lights while her skin took on a stunning golden glow. It made him think about what she’d look like during the sexual act. Would she glow a more intense gold and would the color spread across her entire body? The need to know was starting to consume him and yet he’d only met her.
“I have my job.”
But she didn’t anymore because her captain had ripped her security blanket from under her feet. “Why do you want to be a pilot? It’s not usual for a Dlog female.”
Cimmaron’s laugh was bitter. “I don’t want to be trapped with a mate for the rest of my life. I don’t want to be like my mother.”
There was a story there, but he wanted her to relax before she returned to work behind the bar. If she stalked out there with her golden glow, every male in the club would want to try their luck. The thought didn’t please him at all. Despite his reassurances to Rico, he could admit his desire to himself. He wanted her so bad he was tempted to drag her up the circular stairs to the level above where mates were chosen and loved three times to cement the irrevocable bond. But even more, he wanted to touch, to glide his fingers across her golden curves.
The need to kiss her pouty lips registered at the same moment he reached for her. His hands closed around her upper arms and he pulled her to him, his mouth covering hers before she had a chance to react. She froze but didn’t fight. Encouraged, Tamaki took advantage of her complacency. He nibbled on her lower lip and slipped his tongue inside her mouth the second she opened for him. The female leaned into him with a soft sigh, her breasts flattening against his chest. Funny, he hadn’t figured she’d give in to him so easily, but he’d take what she was willing to give. He sank into the kiss, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth to explore. She tasted just as sweet as he’d imagined. Addictive.
His hands slid down her arms and behind her back. Firm, resilient flesh met his touch. His hands lowered to cup her butt and he drew her closer, fitting their lower bodies together. Her hips rocked, forcing a pained groan from Tamaki.
Without warning, Cimmaron jerked from his grasp. Tamaki let her go, his gaze intent as he waited for a verbal reaction.
“Why did you do that?” Her skin glowed in a stunning shade of gold but her face remained impassive.
“Haven’t you ever done anything because you wanted to?”
Cimmaron frowned, an
d he wanted to smooth away the wrinkles between her golden eyes. She opened her mouth, shut it again then blurted, “I went to flight school.” She thrust back her shoulders in a show of pride, and Tamaki manfully averted his eyes from her bountiful cleavage. Time for that later. “I learned to fly a spaceship,” she said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I did that because I wanted to.”
A bell tinkled, signaling their meals were ready. Tamaki crossed to the wall hatch and carried them over to the table. A timely reminder for him even though the need to kiss her again thrummed through his veins. He sat and waited for her to join him at the table. He shouldn’t have kissed her, crossing the line between employer and employee, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry.
Chapter Three
“What’s up the stairs?” Cimmaron asked. Anything to avoid thinking of Tamaki and the kiss or the fact she’d like to repeat it soon.
Zara shoved flasks of vroom into the chiller, filling the top shelf before she turned to answer. “Private rooms, I guess.”
“What sort of private rooms?” Cimmaron frowned in the direction of the stairs. All night between serving customers, she’d seen male and female of different races going up the stairs. Not as many came down, but she guessed it was early if they were attending private parties.
“Two blooming venuses and a blue mercury.” Cimmaron turned to serve the customer while she puzzled about the mystery of the upper floor. She didn’t like mysteries. Straight up with no bullshit. That was her preference. She liked to know what was happening in her territory. The club constituted her territory until she saved enough currency to leave Marchant. She continued to serve customers and dodge wandering hands while she calculated how long it would take her to save sufficient currency. Her stomach turned a nervous flip when she came up with several solar cycles. Phrull. She glared at the spiral staircases. It looked as if she’d have plenty of time to solve the mystery.
Resisting Tamaki Page 3