“The way you explain it, the Bride Market doesn’t sound that much different than the dating sites that were on the internet before the war. So, what’s with Roark? Why hasn’t he put a bride in his shopping cart? Is he too cheap or are the brides too smart?” Mira knew she sounded flip, but she didn’t want Ahnyis to know how important the answer was.
Ahnyis either missed the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. “Roark’s family is one of the wealthiest and most socially prominent in the Confederation. If he chose to, he could probably strike a bargain with any bride on the market.”
“Even with his tattoos?”
“Blood markings,” Ahnyis corrected, “They would cost him but yes, even with the markings.” She shrugged. “He kept his name out there for a few years when he was young, but he says the women they paired him with were boring. Vochem says it’s more than that, but I agree with Roark. They’re probably females who spend their whole lives preparing to be a wealthy man’s wife.”
Interesting. “Is that why you aren’t parading down the Bride Market runway? I mean, you’d fetch a pretty good price wouldn’t you? You’re beautiful, intelligent, and you’ve got that sexy little tail.”
“Katarans aren’t GCP, but have no fear, we have our own kind of bride market. Our matchmakers are called mothers. I’m a big disappointment to mine. They spent all that money on my education and what did they get for it?”
“A healer. What mother wouldn’t want a doctor in the family?”
Ahnyis giggled. “I was supposed to marry one, not be one.”
~*~
Mira needed some time to prepare for her date and when the time came, she asked Sergeant Mohawk to leave a little early.
“I’ve been invited to dine with the First Commander and I can’t go looking like this.” He didn’t take the hint, so she spelled it out. “This is special, Mohawk. I don’t have time to go home and come back, so I need your office to change in. I can’t very well do it in mine because there’s no way to cover the windows. I can sit at your desk to fix my hair and makeup, and...”
The sergeant’s grin made her pause. She was sure she’d never seen him grin before and she wasn’t sure she liked it. He looked as if he’d eaten something fat and juicy. And still alive.
“Took him long enough. I was beginning to wonder what kind of First we’d been stuck with. Man of action my Hahnshin humpin’ ass, him tip-toeing through the meadow with all those silly games. I tried to tell him, but he just gave me some crazy talk about catching flies.”
He took his new hat from the peg and took it to the washroom. Standing before the mirror, he settled it over his horns and pulled the forward brim low. He admired it for a moment, turning his head from side to side, still wearing that evil grin.
“Looks good,” he said of the fedora Mira bought for him from Mrs. Pulaski. “But I doubt I’ll be wearing it much. Now that the First has settled it, I can quit playing nursemaid and get back on the line.” He gave Mira a jaunty salute as he passed her and headed out the door.
“Wait! What silly games? What do you mean nursemaid?” she called after him and when he didn’t turn to answer, she called again. “Don’t think you’re getting away with this Mohawk. I’ll see you on Monday.”
That’s when he laughed. “If Roark’s all they claim he is, you won’t be here on Monday.”
Mira washed, primped, dressed and rolled her hair up six different ways before she was satisfied with the loosely coiled bun at the top of her head with the tendrils of curls framing her face. She was reaching for her coat, ready to walk across the compound, when a light shined in the window and a skitt pulled up in front of the door. Roark stepped from the rear seat, spoke to the driver and stepped to the door. Mira opened it before he could knock.
“I was just about to walk over,” she told him, smiling. It had been a long time since a man picked her up at the door. It had been a long time since a man did anything at all. Men were in short supply. Most of the able bodied had gone off to fight at the beginning of the war and never returned. Those that remained were either boys like David or old men.
Roark’s body filled the doorway, making the frame appear far too small. “A woman should never walk the base alone at night. These troops are good soldiers, not necessarily good men, and they’ve been without female company for far too long.”
He started to say something more, but suddenly stopped. He smiled as he slowly took in her full length from head to foot, eyes lingering on the sparkling heels before travelling up to her face again.
The Commander was dressed in the tight fitting leather trousers that Mira had come to think of as Godan jeans. He wore a snowy white shirt with soft, billowy sleeves and while the leather vest he wore bore the insignia of his rank, it was the same vest worn by many of the foot soldiers, a casual uniform. The outfit suited him and accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
“I guess I’m a little overdressed,” Mira apologized. “The invitation sounded formal.”
“It was, and the fault is mine. I did not think,” he began as he held her by the shoulders, moving her back into the room and closing the door behind him with his foot.
“Think what? That I could clean up this well?” she asked, but the answer didn’t matter.
Roark had eyes only for her and the look in those eyes told her the dress was perfect. Nervously, she reached for her coat hanging to the right of the door, but his hand stopped hers.
Bowing his head until his forehead touched her own, he spoke in a voice that was as deep and dark as the night. “Ah, Miramiku, I was fully aware of how well you clean up.”
Miramiku. Mira mine. She liked the sound of it.
His free hand looped around her waist and he moved her as if they were dancing. Mira followed his lead until her back was pressed against the door. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Her breasts rose and fell with her breath, creating a slight, but delightful friction against the leather of his vest.
“If you remember, I found you covered in mud. I thought that woman lovely and lovelier still once she was clean. I didn’t think that woman could be lovelier, and now I find that I was wrong.”
With his finger, he traced the deep vee of the dress’s neck to the knot in the strand of pearls. Running his fingers beneath the knot, he used it to pull her closer until his breath danced across her slightly parted lips.
“I will admit, however, that seeing you in such a dress makes me think that you are indeed overdressed and I should like to see you without it.”
Mira’s eyes snapped open.
It was a good thing he didn’t wait for response. With his hand at the knot of pearls, his eyes locked onto hers, and his lips just inches away from her own, Mira couldn’t think of one. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and then his were there pressing against them.
Warm, soft, and hungry, his mouth consumed hers. When he pulled slightly away to readjust his position, she craned her neck to follow him. This wasn’t how she planned to begin the evening, but like the dress it no longer mattered.
“Miku Mirasha is hungry, too.” He smiled against her lips before he kissed her again.
His mouth was like a drug, addictive once tasted. He demanded and she gave. When he ran his tongue along the seam of her mouth, she opened and invited him in. The touch of his tongue against hers sent a warm and delicious shiver through her body. The touch of the back of his hand, still wrapped around the knotted pearls between her breasts, made them ache for more.
Her hands roamed over his shoulders and down the firm muscles of his arms. Through the soft silkiness of his shirt, his skin burned beneath the clutch of her fingers. Her knees felt weak, and without his strength to keep her steady, she would have melted to the floor.
Roark broke the kiss and with his hand cupping her cheek, stroked her bottom lip with his thumb.
“Our dinner will grow cold,” he said softly and then he chuckled. “And my driver’s imagination is growing wild.” He took her coat fro
m the peg on the wall and helped her into it, buttoning it down to her waist.
“He’s not the only one,” Mira mumbled as he led her out the door, which earned her Roark’s self-satisfied laugh.
Chapter 12
This woman fascinated him. Her body as revealed by the dress she wore, confirmed everything he’d dreamed, yet she was so much more. He knew she was intelligent. What he hadn’t known was that her intellect lent itself to a fanciful imagination.
On the short ride across the compound, she’d closed her eyes and rested her head against his arm which he’d draped across the back of the seat behind her. She wasn’t sleeping, yet her face retained a dreamy quality that made him wish to share her secret thoughts. When they arrived, she took his hand and daintily stepped from the skitt, looking as if she was stepping from a grand sedan. She then turned and bowed her head to his driver.
“Thank you, and I’m sorry you had to be the horse. You’re really much too handsome for the role.”
His driver looked thoroughly confused, but being well trained, he smiled and said, “You’re welcome, ma’am.”
“A horse?” Roark asked once they’d entered the building.
“My fantasy,” she laughed. “Doesn’t the Ash Maiden have a pumpkin carriage driven by a horse in the magical shape of a footman? Our version does.” Her feet, in those magically alluring high heeled shoes, tapped out a little dance in the hall. “I’m Cinderella on the way to the ball.”
He knew the story of the Ash Maiden and so asked, “What role then is mine to play?”
“Fishing for compliments?” Her twirling circle ended in a curtsy. “Prince Charming, of course.”
Mira showed her humor again when she entered his quarters for a second time.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” she laughed when she saw the massive leather sofa pushed up against the wall opposite his desk. She turned to the small table set for two in the dining area.
A pristine white cloth fell to the floor of the circular table. The china and crystal sparkled in the glow of the Theresian glass lamp at the center of it. Roark touched the button on the wall and soft music played in the background. They were the same recordings his mother played when she served dinner to guests. Another button notified the mess kitchen that they were ready to be served.
Mira turned back to him, her eyes bright and shining with mischief. “I’m getting the vibe now. Your decorator has changed her design from minimalist to Seduction Central. Are there rose petals leading to the bedroom?”
“No, but the bed is made and the sheets are clean,” he said.
“Why First Commander, you do know how to win a girl over.” She laughed and then stretched up on her toes to kiss him. When she released his lips, all humor was gone. “It really is beautiful. Thank you.”
One sweet kiss and he wanted more. The hovium dens of Bejon could not be more addictive than the lips of the woman before him. Unsatisfied with that small dose, he pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. Her response was immediate and seductively pliant. She melted into him and he felt his cock strain against the leather that confined it. His hands ran down her sides and his thumbs slipped beneath the silky fabric that covered her breasts. A tiny moan of pleasure slipped from her mouth to his when his thumbs reached their goal. Her nipples hardened under the rough skin that caressed them.
He would have taken her then and there, dinner be damned, if it wasn’t for the knock on the door announcing dinner was served. He silently muttered a curse. Mira voiced hers aloud. She was very good at it, but it seemed she was good at whatever she did if her kiss was any indication. She slapped two fine boned hands against his chest.
“Whoever it is, tell them to go away,” she pleaded.
“It’s our dinner,” he told her. “Cook has gone to great deal of trouble to find dishes he thought would please you.”
Her forehead thumped into the center of his chest in defeat. “It would hurt his feelings if we turned it away, wouldn’t it?” She pushed away and straightened her dress. “I guess you’d better let them in.”
Once seated at the table, she smiled at the servers and graciously complimented each dish that was offered and thanked them again as they left. She, who had so little, understood how much such little things meant.
Over dinner, he’d learned more of her courage and strength, though she saw neither in herself. She’d lost her parents, her home, her job, and yet, she persevered. She praised her sister for all she’d done to make a home, but it was Mira who found ways to support it. She understood her foraging was dangerous and yet she refused to share that danger with anyone, even her brother who was old enough to take some of the burden from her.
She spoke of the children with so much affection, she sounded as if they were hers. He almost wished they were, though he knew they couldn’t be. Vochem reported that she’d never borne a child. He wondered if it would bother her that he could never give her one.
The testing results from the previous Chief Healer, the one who’d disappeared with Roark’s predecessor, showed that these females, in spite of their genetic similarities, could not bear Godan sons.
“Your sister’s husband must have been proud to have so many children to his name.”
“Oh, no, they’re not...” she began and then stopped, flustered. Her eyes dropped to the table and she turned her head away. “Yes, if he was here.”
It was a lie. He almost called her on it, but she looked so stricken, he couldn’t do it. Perhaps her sister was one of those women who’d had multiple partners and she was ashamed. Almost all races had such women, all except the Godan.
He stood and reached across the table offering her his hand. When she rose and took it, he led her around the table, retook his seat and brought her to his lap.
“You’ve heard about my family and I’ve heard about yours. Now, I’ll tell you a little secret. My brothers hold no love for me, nor I for them. They think I’m a fool for following the old traditions of military service. Their friends find my markings ugly and my lifestyle primitive. They tolerate my presence because of family loyalty and nothing more.”
“Then they’re fools,” she grumbled with a pretty and very kissable pout. “Your tats have meaning. I like them. I like the man who wears them, too.” She snuggled her rear end deeper into his lap and relaxed against his shoulder, her nose burrowed into the crook of his neck.
His cock sprang to attention, an occurrence that would be hard for her to miss. He felt her lips move against his skin and knew that she was smiling.
“While I appreciate your support,” he chuckled, “I tell you this so that you’ll know I understand. You love your sister no matter the circumstance. This is an admirable quality, one I wish I shared with my brothers.” He began to pull the pins from her hair. “There isn’t much I haven’t seen or done, Miramiku. There is no need for you to shield me from the truth.”
Then and there, Mira wanted to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t. Not yet. Her heart told her she could trust this man, but could she trust her heart? It had betrayed her several times before. She was willing to risk it again for herself, but she wouldn’t risk the children. So instead of lying to him again, she said nothing.
She kept her head where it was as pin after pin was removed and her hair fell free. Roark’s combed his fingers through the waves and let them cascade over her shoulders and down her back. He whispered close to her ear.
“Dessert is waiting for us in the kitchen, but I have a taste for other sweets.”
From beneath the fall of her hair at the nape of her neck, he gripped a handful and forced her head back to look up at him.
“Dessert can wait,” she whispered in response and welcomed his kiss.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been aroused by a man, but it was the first time she’d felt like this. Roark’s kisses were intoxicating. They made her head whirl. He stood and suddenly her body was whirling too, as he spun in a circle with her in his arms. Once,
twice, and on the third spin he laughed.
“I do not dance. This will have to do, but I promise next time there will be rose petals leading to the bed.”
As understanding dawned and all the silly things he’d done began to make sense, Mira started to laugh too.
“You can’t just say ‘Hi there, I think you’re cute. Let’s have sex’,” she’d told the officers in her class. “If you find a woman you’re attracted to, ask her out for coffee and conversation first. Women like to be courted. Take it in stages. After coffee, you might try bringing her a little gift, nothing expensive, just a little insignificant thing you think might make her smile. Move on to candy and flowers, and then maybe dinner and dancing. I know you’re eager, but take it slow.”
She knew her recommendations were a little old fashioned by modern standards, but she didn’t want these men thinking they were going to sleep with the first woman they met. They already had the wrong idea about her and Roark. She didn’t want them thinking that all women of earth were easy.
She also wanted to give the women of the town time to adjust to the presence of these alien males and after the hardships of the past six years, these women had earned the right to a few romantic gestures before things got down to business.
In his own way, Roark had followed her instructions to his men. Almost.
“You forgot to take it slow,” she giggled as he carried her down the hall to the double doors that opened into the master suite.
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