“We went off to the side to talk privately, next to the garden door, a moment or two before the explosion happened. Blew us right through the safety glass.” Conor finished the story. “Listen, let me take a shower and change, and I’ll get right on the investigation into this.”
Opherra shook her head. “No need. I already know who’s responsible.”
He sat back in his chair as if her words carried physical force. “Who?”
“Framter. He’s jealous of the promotion I’m getting, and I think he’s trying to undermine me at the last minute. Rub out my team, make me look powerless.”
“Framter?” Conor rubbed his jaw.
“Yes, I need to talk to you about next steps, but frankly, you stink of smoke, and I can’t stand to see you in a tacky delivery-boy uniform shirt a moment longer. Go shower and change and get back up here.” She waved the guards off. “Give him his blaster and get out.”
Conor took the weapon and slid it into the holster as the other Combine soldiers filed from the office. “Will do, boss.”
“And leave the performer in your rooms. I don’t need her right now. The Bazin operation will have to wait while we deal with this. I may hand it off entirely to someone else, in fact, and her with it.” Opherra’s vidlink chimed, and she waved them away as she turned to deal with the incoming call.
Conor took Miriell by the elbow and led her out of the office. They were both silent until reaching the privacy of his suite, and even then neither spoke of what was truly on their minds, mindful of the eavesdropping devices.
“I’ll take a shower first, boss lady’s orders, and then you can grab a quick one while I’m dressing,” he said. “I’ll have to cuff you to the bed before I go back to her office.”
“All right.” Miriell shimmied out of the wretched dress, enjoying the gleam in his eyes as he paused to watch, but then he disappeared into the bathroom, and the water in the shower ran. She wrapped herself in a sheet and sat down to wait, pondering the scene in Opherra’s office. Did the boss really believe this Framter was behind the attack? Or might she have set up her own people as an excuse to frame and take down the other crime lord? It was odd the way she’d canceled out at the last moment and thus stayed clear of the attack, almost as if she’d had forewarning. Or planned it herself. Could she have been so devious? Probably.If I’ve learned one thing in my four years as a Combine prisoner, it’s how complicated and seemingly senseless the machinations can be. Conor’s apparent status as expendable concerned her. If I hadn’t been there, he might well have died. Everyone is a pawn to Opherra. She resolved to warn him not to take anything for granted where the crime boss was concerned, although she was sure he was well aware of the danger.
“Your turn,” he said, interrupting her reverie. “The hotel always has plenty of hot water, but make it fast. I’ve got to get out of here.”
As she went by him, he caught her for a long kiss, but said nothing.
She rushed her shower and was out in record time, clad in a towel. Fully dressed and as unflappably debonair as always, Conor sat on the bed, wearing an expensive blue suit with a subtle pattern in the fabric. He tugged the towel off playfully. “If only I didn’t have to stay dry and had more time. You present quite the enticing picture right now.”
Grabbing the towel back, she gave him a mock glare. Her drab gray tunic and leggings were on the end of the bed, along with the utilitarian underwear, so she got dressed as fast as she could and took her place, sitting calmly as he snapped the cuff around her ankle. Silently, she showed him she still had possession of the tiny key. He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“I’ll try to get some food sent up to you.”
“I’ll be fine.” Belatedly, she remembered the listening devices and added, “Thank you, sir.”
He leaned over to kiss her, and she whispered in his ear, “Be careful. Something’s off with Opherra.”
He squeezed her shoulder and left.
Miriell settled in to take a nap, feeling deliciously relaxed after the shower, tired and a bit sore from the long night of lovemaking. Whatever was going to happen next, she’d face it better prepared if she was properly rested. Sitting and worrying about Conor, which was her only alternative, would help neither of them.
Tamlu showed up in the middle of the afternoon with a tray of food. “Conor asked me to make sure you got something to eat,” she said. “Guess he really cares. Or at least he’s a nice guy. Busy day. This is the first chance I’ve gotten to stop by.”
Miriell didn’t comment but started in on the fruit and sandwiches.
Tamlu acted like a woman at loose ends and was definitely in the mood to talk. She wandered around the bedroom, peeking into drawers and the closet, which annoyed Miriell on Conor’s behalf, but she bit her tongue. The prisoner she’d been before falling in love with Conor wouldn’t have cared, so she couldn’t reprimand Tamlu now.
“Gonna miss Saviano,” Tamlu said, standing in front of the mirror and fussing with her own hair, trying out a variety of styles and pirouetting to check the effect of each. “He was Conor’s best friend, you know. Or at least the guy he trusted the most in this shark pack Opherra has. Things are getting weird around here, let me tell you. Do you know she asked me late yesterday afternoon if I wanted to tag along with you to the dinner? I never go to those things. It’d be a reward for all my hard work, she said, have a high-class meal, maybe flirt with some new guys. Saviano anyway. Him and me hooked up a few times.”
Goose bumps rising on her arms at Tamlu’s close call, Miriell broke her silence. “Why didn’t you come with us, then?”
Turning around, Tamlu leaned on the bureau and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. Sometimes I get a feeling in my gut, and I’ve learned to listen to it. Opherra wasn’t ordering me to go, after all, so I said I had a headache and I’d take her up on the offer next time. She laughed. She was in a super good mood last night.”
Miriell had many more questions, but remembering the listening devices, she bit her lip and stayed silent. “Lucky for you,” was all she said.
“Yeah. I was surprised she was so cheerful. I know she told Conor to fu—I mean, take you to bed, but now that he apparently has, I think she’s jealous.”
“You said the two of them were over as a couple a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean Opherra wants some other woman to have him for more than a casual one-night fling. And I don’t think Conor’s the kind of guy to do casual. I’d watch out for the boss, if I were you.” Apparently feeling she’d said too much, Tamlu changed her tone. “Hey, are you about done with lunch? I’ve got stuff to do for her this afternoon, and it’s not my job to babysit you.”
Finishing the glass of juice, Miriell pushed the tray away. “Thank you for the food.”
Tamlu took the ruined black lace dress, clucking her tongue in dismay over its condition, and the remnants of the lunch and departed.
Deep in thought, Miriell found she couldn’t go back to sleep, so she experimented with the trideo controls and settled on an all-news station. Although she let it play for hours, there was no mention of last night’s events at the restaurant, which struck her as an odd omission. But maybe the Combine controls the news here as well as other things.
No one came to bring her dinner, nor did Conor return. Eventually, Miriell turned off the trideo and the lights and let herself drift to sleep. The sound of the door woke her an indeterminate time later, and she sat up with relief, yawning as Conor came in. At some point, he’d changed clothes and was now wearing a military-looking green sweater, camouflage utility pants and well-worn combat boots. He carried a blaster rifle, which he stood against the bureau before taking off his shoulder holster. Walking to the bed, he bent to kiss her. “You okay?”
“Fine. No one bothered me, and Tamlu brought me a late lunch.” She studied his face in the low lighting. “Are you all right?”
He stretched one way and then the other before removing the sweater and throwing it on th
e floor. “Long day. You go back to sleep. I’m taking a shower.”
Obediently, she settled against the pillows, and she heard the water come on. It ran for a long time, and she became concerned. Unlocking the ankle cuff, she walked into the bathroom, afraid to knock lest the listening devices pick up the sound. A really smart eavesdropper would figure out she could release herself from the shackles any time, and she couldn’t risk discovery, remote though the possibility might be.
Conor stood in the shower, arms braced on either side of the controls, his head bowed. She shimmied out of the old T-shirt she was wearing and opened the enclosure door, slipping inside and wrapping her arms around him, her breasts pressed against his naked back.
He straightened and laid his arms over hers.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the running water. “You’ve been in here so long I was getting worried.”
“We wiped out the entire Framter operation today. It was a firefight, for the most part, worst combat I’ve seen in a long time.” He kept his voice quiet. “Parts of it were a slaughter, low-level people who didn’t need to die. I tried to avert some of the worst of it, but Opherra was unstoppable. She was drunk on the killing. I’ve seen murderous rage like hers in war a few times, and those people are insane, you know? I think she might have ordered the hit on us herself to allow her to take her ‘revenge’ on Framter. She’s always hated him, thought he was her biggest rival and obstacle, but today…today was something else.”
“Tamlu told me Opherra suggested she go with us to dinner last night.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Really? Unprecedented. Tamlu never attends any operational meetings. She’s personal support for Opherra.”
Miriell released him and picked up the soap. Squirting some into her hand, she soaped his back, lathering the tense muscles and massaging his shoulders until she felt the knotted muscles loosen. She stroked the soap over his lower back and then moved to his butt and the backs of his powerful thighs, coming teasingly close to his balls. She added a low level of her energy to the effort, hoping to relieve the tension thrumming through his frame. “Feel good? You need to relax, rest, be ready for whatever she does tomorrow.”
“You keep this up, and I guarantee we won’t be resting.” He turned to face her, and she soaped his chest, gliding her hand across his taut, chiseled abdomen and down to grasp his arousal. He leaned against the tiles as she playfully washed his balls and cock, taking extra care. Reaching out to cup her breasts, thumbing the nipples, he asked, “When is it my turn to wash you?”
“This bath is for you, not me.”
He gave an involuntary moan and pumped his hips against her hand as she wielded a washcloth to rinse the soap she’d been applying. “Yeah, tell yourself that, but I think you’re enjoying it too.” He lowered his head to lick her lips before pushing his tongue inside her mouth and pulling her hips against him. His erection was a hot, hard length against her stomach.
A moment later, he picked her up and instinctively she wrapped her legs around him. Holding her easily, his muscles more than equal to the task, he slid inside her, pumping with an intensity that signaled how close he was to finishing. She shut her eyes and did her best to match his rhythm, not caring that she wasn’t ready to orgasm herself. She’d meant what she’d said. This was for him, and she was pleased to give him release from the horrors of the day. The warm water cascading over them both was like rain on a spring afternoon on Tulavarra. She let herself pretend she and Conor were making love in a private spot on her homeworld, free of all the visible and invisible chains they both labored under.
He groaned and arched against her as he came, holding her so tight she could hardly breathe. She kissed his lips, and then he buried his face in her hair for a long moment before sliding from her body as he set her down on the tile floor.
“How did I survive without you all these years? I love you more than I can ever say.” His whisper was intense. “What would I do if I ever lost you?”
“You won’t.” Pushing his hair from his eyes, she held his gaze. “Any more than I’ll ever lose you, my heart. Thuun has brought us together, and no one can break us asunder.” She made her voice as reassuring as she could, although he knew as well as she did that nothing was assured in their perilous situation. Opherra and the rest of the Combine coiled around them in all directions like venomous snakes, waiting to strike at the first sign of weakness or betrayal.
“I want to believe that, but—”
She laid her fingers across his lips. “In this moment, what I said was truth. Worry about the future later.”
“Good advice.” He picked her up. “I’d like to get out of the shower now, Priestess, and worship you properly in a drier location.” Nipping at her earlobe, he gave her a wickedly mischievous look.
Miriell turned off the water, and he stepped from the enclosure. She snagged two of the huge, thirsty towels hanging on the wall, and he set her down, taking one for himself while she dried her own body. Suddenly, he tilted his head and focused intently on her hair, reaching out with one hand but not quite touching the strands. “Am I hallucinating, or do you have flowers blooming in your hair?”
Blushing, she stepped to where she could see herself in the steamy mirror. Tiny purple blossoms dotted her lush green locks as if sprinkled there by a careless hand. She touched a fingertip to one. “Only in the most extraordinary circumstances does a priestess of Thuun display the violamikri, the flower of true love. I thought them a legend.”
He came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms loosely over her stomach, kissing her cheek. “I’m honored.”
Leaning against his broad chest, she sighed. “And already the blooms disappear. But the important thing is that we both witnessed them, a clear sign of Thuun’s blessing.”
“Like flowers in the desert when it rains,” he said. He picked her up, towel and all, and carried her to the bed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hours later, she settled against him, drowsy and thoroughly satiated, using his shoulder as her pillow. Worrying over how many, if any, sounds of lovemaking the com sensors had picked up was fruitless. She’d made her decision to enjoy every moment with Conor and knew Opherra expected them to have sex, so Miriell was at peace with her choice. And perhaps no one was monitoring the data. She was drifting off to sleep when he whispered, “I’ve been thinking. Opherra’s acting as if she knows something none of the rest of us do, something giving her new power.”
“That can’t be good.” Then she swatted his shoulder. “And what are you doing thinking about her right after we made love for hours?”
“I’m sorry, and she certainly wasn’t on my mind while I was busy making you climax three times in a row.” He nipped her shoulder in return.
“I forgive you.”
“It’s just, you cleared my mind earlier, pulled me out of the complete funk I was in from the attack on the Framter branch. Now I’m back to thinking clearly, the way I need to be—”
As a cop. For a moment, she was afraid she’d said the words out loud, but apparently not since Conor didn’t react.
He kept talking, lips close to her ear, voice barely audible. “Especially at this late stage of the game, a change in how Opherra acts and thinks isn’t a good sign. We’re leaving in the morning on her private ship, by the way, going to the overlords’ management retreat.”
Swallowing hard, Miriell fought to control her nausea. “Do I have to travel in the cryo-sleep pod?”
“No, she agreed to let you share my cabin since it’s a short trip. We’ll be crowded—”
“As if I care about that.”
“Yeah, but the concession from her was too easy. I didn’t get a chance to explain why I was asking. She waved her hand and said whatever I wanted was fine.”
“Tamlu thinks she’s jealous we’re sleeping together.”
He was silent for a moment while he considered the idea. “Could be. Opherra doesn’t
like to share, nor does she appreciate any suggestion of divided loyalties. We’ll have to be even more on guard than usual.”
Early in the morning they were driven to the spaceport in the groundcar with Opherra and Tamlu, as well as a new Combine soldier up front next to the driver, where Saviano used to sit. Miriell wasn’t sorry to be leaving this planet, which she assumed she’d never see again, but the speed at which her life had changed here was terrifying. Equally daunting were the unknowns about where she was going. Closing her eyes, she breathed a quick prayer to Thuun. The presence of Conor, sitting so close and warm next to her, made Miriell think perhaps her deity was listening to his lost priestess. Maybe even granting prayers.
Conor was acting cool and distant, not giving her any special treatment after the long and involved kiss they shared in the hotel room before emerging into the hall and stepping into their expected roles. In a way, it was easier for her to slip into the passive-aggressive prisoner mind-set when he firmly stuck to his Combine identity. Her feelings weren’t hurt. She knew they were each putting up their shields for the next battle to come.
Opherra was in an excellent mood, humming a tune and reading something on her AI that obviously pleased her immensely. She left them without a word at the landing pad, Tamlu scurrying in her wake. Conor stared after her for a moment before turning to Miriell. “Follow me,” was all he said.
Opherra’s private ship was good-sized, but of course all Miriell had to compare it to was the Shemdylann slave ship she’d been transported on. Every other time she’d traveled, she’d been unconscious in a hidden cryo-sleep container. The corridors were a bit narrow, and when Conor opened the portal to the cabin she’d be sharing with him, she had to choke back a laugh. Close quarters indeed. She raised one eyebrow at him, afraid to speak until she knew whether they could be overheard, or even worse, observed.
Danger in the Stars: (The Sectors SF Romance Series) Page 11