Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “No?” he prompted and when she continued to stare at the bed, he added, “Have you other ideas for meals?”

  “No to all of it.” She looked up at him then and no armor could protect him from those piercing gray eyes. “What did you think? Poor girl in her worn out clothes living in a hole in the wall, all I have to do is show her a beautiful apartment and my great big bed and she’ll jump right in it?” She waved an imperious hand at him. “I command it, so it shall be,” she intoned. “Must be nice to be King, but I’m not the kind of subject who will drop to her knees before a guy she doesn’t know.” She turned her on heel and marched from the room.

  Roark followed her. Just as she reached the front door, his hand shot out over her head and pushed it shut. She turned beneath his arm and looked up at him. She was furious.

  “You will explain that, since I am not a King and I have not commanded that you drop to your knees before me.” Although the thought had its appeal.

  “I thought I made myself pretty clear. I’m not interested.”

  “That is a lie. You are interested. You find me attractive.” Ahnyis had assured him of it.

  She closed her eyes and made a noise in her throat that sounded a bit like a growl of aggravation. “Yes, I find you attractive, but I also find sexy pictures of men in magazines attractive. That doesn’t mean I hump the pages.”

  “I’m happy to hear it. There are several acts a female can perform that I find sexually arousing. That isn’t one of them.” He offered her his most charming smile. “You see? We are already finding commonalities.”

  Chapter 7

  Mira didn’t return his smile. “You know nothing about me, my likes or dislikes, so here’s lesson number one. I’m not for sale.”

  “I know that, and for your family, it is a pity for you would bring a fine price on which they could live well. High soft breasts, a narrow waist, flared hips, and an enticingly rounded bottom all bring good prices in the Bride Market. Together in one female, they are worth a fortune. Add to that the color and silky shine of your hair, if it was allowed to flow freely and not be tied in a rope along the back of your head,” he added as a qualification before he went on, “your white, evenly spaced teeth, as well as your intelligence, and the bidders for your hand would be lining up. Your Bride Price would skyrocket, though that scowl you’re wearing would diminish the price considerably.”

  Her eyes closed, her cheeks colored, and her breath puffed out between her lips. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  There was a whole lot about the situation that she couldn’t believe. Backhanded though it was, she was pretty sure she had just received one of the nicest compliments she’d ever had. She was also being offered the chance to live in a luxurious, even by prewar standards, home with a gorgeous hunk of manhood and she was turning it down. In spite of what it might mean for her family, she just couldn’t do it. The war had taken almost everything she had. She couldn’t let it take her dignity, too.

  “What do you find hard to believe? Has no one ever told you how beautiful you are?” He watched her with an intensity that made her heart beat faster.

  “Dear God, why couldn’t you have made him look like Mohawk? And why did you put a tarnished silver tongue in the mouth of a golden Viking? I could use a little help here,” she silently prayed.

  “Why?” she asked aloud though she knew it was a mistake. “Why me when we both know the world, this one and probably every other one, is filled with better looking women than me?”

  “Those women did not touch my heart.”

  Damn, this guy was good. The flat way he said it, as if stating a fact and not a pick-up line, made her want to purr, “Aw,” and melt into him. She fought the temptation and won. “Thank you, God.”

  “When did I touch your heart? How, when this is the first time we’ve really talked since I met you?”

  Roark lifted her hand and held it against the left the side of his bare chest. “Like this, when I lifted you from the ground and into my arms.”

  His hand was atop hers and she could feel the warmth of him and the slow, steady thump, thump of his heart beneath her palm. He ran his thumb along the length of hers and she felt that, too, travelling to places that had lain dormant for a long, long time.

  “Did you really feel something?” she whispered and didn’t care that it sounded like a purr, because damned if she didn’t feel something, too, and she had no idea what it was.

  “I did.” His voice was a quiet rumble that also transferred itself through her palm.

  Mira closed her eyes. “Dear God, if I go to hell it will be all your fault.” The Good Lord must have been listening and decided to save this poor sinner from perdition, because she suddenly thought of Ahnyis. Her head snapped up.

  “Is this heart thing like Mason stroking Ahnyis’s tail and turning her on? Because if it is, we need to know about it and get the word out there or we’re going to have a lot of misunderstandings to contend with.”

  Roark’s face clouded over and became thunderous. “That potatek healer touched her tail?” He stared over Mira’s shoulder as if he could see Mason through the door and might just leap through it to kill the poor shithead doctor. “He dares?”

  “No! Wait!” Mira put her hand to his cheek and drew his eyes back to her. “That’s my point. I’m not sure Mason knew what the action meant. By touching you there, did I send some inadvertent signal?”

  “Hundreds of females have touched me there.”

  And wasn’t that just what every girl wanted to hear? Next, he’d tell her how lucky she was to be chosen from the cast of hundreds.

  “None have touched my heart.” He said it in that same flat, statement-of-fact tone.

  Holy crap. If he kept talking, she was going to lose this battle. She had to get out of there or she wouldn’t have to worry about the First Commander working his way into her pants. She’d be stripping them off and handing them to him.

  The comlink vibrated on the little table next to the door. Roark swore a word she couldn’t translate before he hit the transmitter button.

  “Saved by the bell,” she mumbled inanely, not sure if she was pleased or not. She smiled and wiggled her fingers at him with one hand as she reached for the doorknob behind her with the other. “I’ll just toddle along now. I know you’re busy.”

  She didn’t make it three steps before his big hand grasped hers and she was being dragged along beside him.

  “We will walk,” he said.

  She was about to protest, but one look at his angry face changed her mind. It was best not to provoke an angry bear or an angry Viking, either.

  For the first five minutes, he walked and she trotted beside him in an attempt to keep up.

  Finally spying one of the little hovercraft zipping along the roadway nearby, Roark put two fingers of his free hand to his lips and blasted a whistle. The driver brought the car to a halt and exited when his Commander motioned with his thumb. Mira was lifted over the low door and into the seat. Why waste time opening a door?

  “Thank you,” she said a little breathlessly and when she received only a curt nod in response, “Are you angry with me?”

  “No.”

  “All righty then,” she said since she didn’t know what else to say. She folded her hands in her lap as they skimmed over the ground. Two minutes later they were walking into the hospital.

  The furious looking Harm met them at the door. “He’s in there.”

  Mira saw a tall and lanky officer through the glass surrounding the waiting area and assumed it was Suto. A Godan like Roark, though not nearly so handsome, the man was sweating profusely. On seeing Roark, the Field Marshal raised his finger in the air and began to walk toward the door.

  Mira pointed, too, toward a hallway at the back. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll wait back there. Bloodshed isn’t my thing.”

  At Roark’s nod, she winked at Harm, and fled. It wasn’t far enough. She clearly heard a thump and grunt and quic
kly moved farther away. Wards, huge rooms with dozens of warriors filling the beds lining either side, opened from wide double doors along the hallway. She glanced through the first set of doors and saw a familiar face. It was the humorless, but handsome young officer from class.

  He caught her eye and nodded in recognition. She had no choice but to stop and say hello and she struggled to remember the young officer’s name.

  “Hey Lege, good taste,” a soldier called.

  This was followed by a grunt as the men in the bed next to him punched the soldier’s wounded arm. This was followed by a warning hiss of which Mira only recognized one word, Commander.

  She closed her eyes and sighed. At least the exchange reminded Mira of her student’s rank.

  “Legion Officer Petrark, how are you feeling?”

  His arm was bent and bandaged from wrist to shoulder. “Better than I did a few hours ago, thank you, ma’am.”

  “How did it happen? I thought you had a clerical position. Records, communiqués with Headquarters, that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, ma’am, CST, Communication and Security Technologies, but the First came to see me with the transfer I requested months ago.” His shoulders straightened and his chest puffed out. “He said he was looking for men of intelligence and integrity to lead his troops. He asked if I would do him the honor of serving under his command. Can you imagine it? A warrior of his stature asking if I would do him the honor. It was what I always wanted and now that I’m here, I understand what he meant.” He looked over the men surrounding him. “I’m honored to have them serving under me.”

  “Lege took a hell of a hit in the arm, ma’am. They had him in the Knitter for close to an hour. He was right out front with us and took it just like us. Wouldn’t let them put him in the officers’ ward. No sir, he’s sticking with us.”

  “The Knitter?” She’d heard the word before, but couldn’t remember where.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the Legion Officer explained, “It’s a device designed to repair bone and tissue. It hurts like a son of a...um, quite a bit, but my men tell me that will pass in a week or two.”

  “Going to leave a hell of a scar,” someone called and the others laughed.

  “Ah, I see. Does this mean you’ll be getting a...” Mira stopped, remembering what Roark had said about officers and tattoos.

  “A blood marking? Yes, ma’am, I am.”

  “He’s got to, doesn’t he, ma’am. He’s one of us now.”

  “He is indeed,” Mira laughed. “But I have news for you guys. If you don’t stop calling me ma’am, you’re all you going to be sporting new blood markings. My name is Mira, not ma’am.”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” Petrark said with a slight emphasis on the offending word, “but it’s protocol. You are Commander Roark’s...”

  Mira raised her finger in warning as she cut off what he was about to say. “Legion Officer Petrark, if you finish that sentence, you’re going to be covered with more blood markings than the old man himself. My name is Mira.”

  There were a few snorts and snickers as she patted their Legion Officer’s good arm and smiled. “You take care of yourself now. I’ll see you in class as soon as you’re able. As for the rest of you,” she offered a smile to the rest of the men on the ward, “I like your markings, but there’s no need to earn them all at once.”

  They called goodbye as she left, but none called her Mira or ma’am.

  Once back in the hallway, she found a young man with the black and red armband of a medic and asked him if there was a way out of the building other than through the front doors.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered and pointed out the way, “Though I’m sure the First Commander would insist...”

  “Thank you,” she cut him off and had to remind herself to walk as she exited the building.

  She was wearing a label she didn’t ask for and gave no one permission to use. They’d all decided what she was before she’d decided for herself.

  Like a thief in the night, Mira ran, stopping only long enough to retrieve her purse. As luck would have it, the man who pedaled her to and from work in his homemade cart was already parked by the gate. There were several others running similar carts, but Ollie always managed to be there when she needed him.

  “Thank heavens and thank you, Ollie. I’m a little early and I thought I was going to have to walk.” She climbed up into the seat, admiring the new cushions.

  “No ma’am, no walking for a special customer like you.”

  Ollie, an older man with a wife, two daughters and two grandchildren living under his roof, had built the two-seater passenger vehicle from a picture in a magazine of the rickshaw conveyances so common in Asian cities. Mira wondered what he thought of the contrast between his rickshaw and the Godan skitt. She hadn’t thought about it until today.

  She leaned forward so he could hear her. “I like the new cushions. They’re comfy. Business must be picking up.”

  “That it is. Got my daughter driving now. She runs a regular route up and down Main Street now that it’s cleared. My other daughter’s got a job working on the towers. Do you know they got a machine that does all the brick laying for you? It’s run by some fancy computer. The foreman said he put her name in to learn how to run it. She worked in IT before the war, so she’s got some skills.”

  “There’s plans for a school and clinic, too.” Mira was hoping Ollie would help spread the word.

  “Not sure how folks will take to that. My daughters would rather stick with home schooling for now. Their kids are registered, but you never know. Sure wish we knew what they done with those other kids. It would settle a lot of nerves if people knew those kids were safe and happy. Don’t see why they had to take them the way they did, neither. It’d scare the hell out of me seeing those helmet heads come banging on my door. Can you imagine what the sight of it does to those kids? You ought to tell that to that Commander feller you’re um...uh... working for.”

  “I will,” she said, though after today, she wasn’t sure she’d be working at all.

  Ollie stopped in front of her building and gave her a wink as he took her money. “And you be sure to tell him how much I appreciate the extra he’s paying me to take care of you and for giving my daughter a leg up on the work list. It’s made all the difference to me and my family. You have a good day now, ma’am.”

  Mira climbed the stairs to the apartment feeling marked as clearly as the soldiers lying in those beds.

  Chapter 8

  “I can’t do it, Wynne,” she said yet again.

  “You don’t have to, honey.”

  They were sitting at the small round table where they ate their meals in shifts. The children were asleep and David, as usual, was out with his friends. Mira had told her sister everything.

  “But what if I lose my job? We won’t be able to afford that apartment you’re looking for and you deserve that kind of place, Wynne. And when was the last time you remember being full? We’re eating again and it feels good.”

  While Mira had cut back on the amount of food she ate, she knew Wynne had cut back more. She could see it in her face and the sunken cheeks that were starting to fill out again.

  “I command it, so it shall be,” she quoted. “He means it and he has a temper when it’s ignored. What if he turns that temper on me? We’ll be right back where we started.” She dropped her head to her hands. “It wasn’t even what he said, because he sounded like he was complimenting me, but I can’t get past the idea that he was offering me goods for services rendered.”

  Wynne shared out the last bit of beer from the bottle. One bottle of beer wasn’t much, but it was another treat they would no longer be able to afford if Mira lost her job. She giggled a little as she shook out the last drop. After only a half bottle of beer, quiet little Wynne was tipsy.

  “Tell me again what he said,” she said after setting the bottle aside to be returned to the man who bottled the brew in his kitchen.

  Mira looked up. �
��Those women did not touch my heart.”

  “Aha! You just did it again,” Wynne said with a satisfied smile. “Maybe you should rethink this, Mira.”

  “What did I do again?”

  “You said the words and then you sighed.” Wynne demonstrated, fluttering her eyelashes like a silent movie star.

  About to take a sip of her beer, Mira put her glass down. “I did not do that,” she said indignantly.

  “Did too.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.”

  Both women started to laugh.

  “Now tell me the other one. The whole thing,” Wynne ordered, and when Mira clamped her lips shut, she added, “Go ahead, chicken, I dare you.”

  Mira knew what her sister was doing. Wynne had used this tactic hundreds of times over the years. Mira had gotten into trouble more times than she could count because Wynne had dared her to do something they both knew she shouldn’t.

  “Hundreds of females have touched me there. None have touched my heart,” she quoted and as much as Mira wanted to, she couldn’t deny it. At the end of the quote, she sighed. “Oh, shut up,” she said to her sister’s satisfied snicker.

  “You may as well admit it. You’ve got the hots for the Godan Viking.” Wynne raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to Mira’s Viking. May he be even hotter in bed.”

  “Fine sister you are, ready to whore me out to the nearest alien,” Mira grumbled.

  Elbows on the table, fists to her cheeks, Wynne leaned forward. “If it wasn’t for all that other stuff, would you sleep with him?”

  Mira shrugged and admitted, “Maybe.”

  “Then it isn’t whoring.” Wynne started to laugh again. “Unless you’re planning to line them all up and bang the lot of them. Now that would be whorish.” She laughed even harder. “Just think of the stories you can tell your grandchildren. I slept with an alien who had a shlong fourteen inches long.”

  “Oh my god,” Mira cried, horrified. “I didn’t even think of that. Do you think it’s possible?”

  “Only one way to find out.” Wynne laughed so hard she almost fell off the chair.