But he was so very proud of his daughter: Captain Makaiden Malloy Griggs. Except Kaidee’s life with Kiler was falling apart in great, shattering chunks.
So Nathaniel Milo did the unthinkable and unexpected. He turned the syndicate over to his brother and sister and, with financial help from a friend he called Sully, went legitimate, hauling freight and paying off the few fines the government had been able to levy against him. For almost two years, while Kaidee struggled with Kiler’s increasingly aberrant behavior, the Diligent Keeper was an honest freighter operation. And once Kaidee’s divorce was final, a slot waited for her and the Rider in her father’s new company, if she wanted it.
She did, but Kiler’s death and subsequent debts delayed her. These were her problems to solve, not her father’s. Plus, if Orvis found out she was a Milo, the amount of the debt would triple.
Then, six months after Kiler died, Nathaniel Milo was killed on Moabar Station. It haunted Kaidee that she wasn’t there. ImpSec maintained that her father had been part of a Farosian plot to free Sheldon Blaine. She knew that was a lie, but it didn’t matter. He had defended his ship with his life. The Keeper was still missing, even after almost a year. Kaidee didn’t want to think that his ship and what was left of his crew might be stuck in jumpspace somewhere, the ship malfunctioning. But if it had been destroyed, the Empire would have announced that. Gleefully.
Kaidee wiped the dampness from her eyes and focused back on the nav display in front of her. The Rider would have to take a heading away from Talgarrath upon exiting the gate in order to pick up the signal from the hidden trader gates smugglers preferred to use. Slippery space, her father used to call it, because the old gates were often unreliable, their guidance signals fluctuating. She’d have to transit one for a few hours in order to avoid detection by Imperial beacons.
Lufty’s had its own beacon, secreted inside a miners’ raft that orbited Talgarrath’s smallest moon. She prayed her access ping codes would work. It had been almost five years.
She saved the course to the nav comp, then entered an alternate using Uchenna’s data. It was always wise to have an escape hatch.
The whine of the lift doors opening, then closing, interrupted her work and had her turning just as Devin stepped over the hatch tread and onto the bridge. She’d left him—she glanced quickly at the time stamp on a nearby screen—two hours ago in the galley with Trip and Barty. She wondered if Devin had pressed Barty for more details on her father; he hadn’t seemed pleased that Barty knew who she was and hadn’t told him.
“Problems?” she asked as he swung around the chair at the closest console, then sat.
“I’m not sure. It depends on your answer.”
Her answer? She hadn’t even heard the question yet, but she could guess. “Did I ever steal anything from GGS or pass on proprietary GGS data? The answer is no. And not because I tried and failed or because your security measures stopped me. I never tried. I had no interest in trying. I loved piloting the Triumph. It was,” and she paused, drawing a short breath, “probably one of the best times in my life. A ship of that level of sophistication was, simply, a joy.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Then what do you want to know?”
He looked down at his hands clasped between his knees, then back up at her. “Are you still in love with Kiler?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it, his question so unexpected she had to stop herself from answering with a quick Of course not. Because Devin couldn’t possibly care whether she was in love with Kiler Griggs. Rather, he wanted to know if her love for her husband made her look the other way when he carried out his schemes.
“I had no idea whatsoever,” she said carefully, “that Kiler was using—abusing—Guthrie property. Those last six months we flew different routes. I rarely saw him. He was assigned to Mr. Jonathan and Mr. Ethan,” she said, falling back into the old GGS lingo. “I was assigned to you and Master Trip and, when needed, Miz Hannah and the children.”
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice was quiet, but she detected a note of tension. That wasn’t like him. Not Devin, perpetually calm and in control.
“You asked if I loved Kiler.”
“Still loved.”
She shook her head, puzzled. “Why would that matter?”
“Because I’m in love with you, Makaiden.”
Kaidee’s world suddenly went into free fall, as if her ship’s artificial gravity had shut off. Then she felt heat rushing to her face. She had to have misheard. She glanced toward the hatchway, expecting to see Trip or Barty laughing. This had to be some kind of prank. Or … she remembered their dance lesson, his kiss. Was this another attempt to collect “appreciation” for paying off her debt?
She scrambled to put her thoughts into words that wouldn’t insult the man who owned her ship. And who—damn it, yes—considered her a friend, ship’s papers notwithstanding. “You don’t … Okay, there seems to be a certain physical attraction between us. Right now. That can happen when people are thrown into tense circumstances like this. But that doesn’t mean … You don’t fall in love with someone in three days.” Her last words came out in an uncomfortable rush.
“It’s been seven years.” His voice was a deep rumble. “The five years you worked for us. The two where you disappeared from my life. Not three days. Seven years.”
Seven years? “When I worked for—You never said anything.”
“You were married. And so much in love with your husband that when he was fired, you quit your position in order to be with him.”
God, yes, that’s what it looked like, didn’t it? “He threatened to tell Mr. Jonathan who my father was if I didn’t.”
Devin frowned, then briefly closed his eyes. He opened them. “Is that why you stayed with him, bought this ship together?”
“Kiler always had some grand plan. He saw GGS as a stopping point on the way to owning his own fleet. I probably should have fought him on contracting for the Rider, but we’d been together almost ten years, and when things are going badly, you really want them to go right. It was a stupid thing to do, but I signed on the loan. I thought, I don’t know, maybe this would give him a focus. Settle him down.” She laughed harshly. “I filed for divorce right after he was fired. The marriage was over, but the ship tied us together financially. Neither of us could afford to buy the other out.” She looked pointedly at him. “Didn’t you notice the ship has two captain’s quarters?”
He lifted his chin as if he was about to say something, then nodded slowly.
It hit her again what they were discussing almost as calmly as suggested route changes: that Devin thought he was in love with her. And that she had fallen out of love with Kiler a long time ago.
But that was the Devin Guthrie she knew: restrained and in control. Not like Kiler, who was prone to sudden attacks of passion, usually in public places.
It adds to the excitement, he used to say when she felt embarrassed.
In contrast, Devin told her he loved her in that impeccable schooled accent of his, while sitting with hands clasped, elbows on his knees. Which was probably just as well. The idea of Devin Guthrie loving her bordered on the impossible. An heir to the Guthrie fortune did not fall for the daughter of a smuggler.
But it would be far too easy for a daughter of a smuggler to fall for Devin Guthrie. It would end up in heartache—hers—but at least this time she’d be going in with eyes open.
“Maybe when this is all over,” she said carefully, “and things calm down, if you still want to, we could spend some time together.”
“If I still want to?” He unclasped his hands, then shoved himself to his feet. Something sparked in the depths of his smoky-blue eyes. She straightened, unsure of how to read his face and his tone.
“After seven years of waiting,” he said, stepping toward her, “I think I know exactly what I want.”
“Devin—”
“Same rules as yesterday, Makaiden. If you order me off this
bridge, I’ll leave. I cannot—will not—ever make you do something you don’t want to. But damn it, woman, it’s been seven years.” He reached for her, his voice rasping. “If I let you go now, if I lose you now, I don’t know when I’ll ever find you again.”
No, not so in control at all.
She rose but didn’t touch him, the air between them positively alive with electricity. The restraints were off. Emotions colored Devin’s face, and there was a glistening in his eyes that had nothing to do with his glasses. His gaze searched hers, but the hand that reached for her fisted as if he was physically holding himself back. He was breathing hard. But so was she.
“Just tell me I have a chance.” His voice was a deep, pained whisper. “Tell me you’re willing to try.”
Heart pounding, she closed the small distance between them with one step. She touched his cheek with two fingers, her thumb resting on his jaw. God and stars above, this was insane. Worse than insane, because insanity was permanent and this, whatever she could have with Devin, would be at best temporary. And the parting painful.
But he leaned in to her touch, his hand covering hers, and she knew she was lost, stuck in an emotional jumpspace that made the trader gates’ slippery space feel calm by comparison.
She stood on tiptoe, brushed her lips over his, and shoved her fears—and common sense—out the airlock. “I think I’d like those dancing lessons. Now.”
Kaidee had the presence of mind—barely—to hit the palm lock on her cabin door as Devin pulled her inside. The door closed and he pinned her against it, his mouth trailing kisses down her neck, one arm snaking behind her. She arched into him. He groaned softly, then whispered, “I’ve dreamed of this.”
His words made her breath catch.
He pulled her away from the door, one arm still at her waist, almost as if they were dancing, then he turned her gracefully, and they were dancing—gliding, touching, caressing.
He brushed one hand up the side of her face, his mouth following the trail as they swayed into a half turn. Then the warmth of his touch on her skin was gone. He reached for something at his waist. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his Rada light up. Music—piano, strings, a lilting reed—filled her cabin. He slid the Rada onto the small table by the door to her bedroom, then cupped her face with his hand and kissed her with small teasing kisses, turning, swaying …
“Devin,” she breathed.
He stopped, his mouth taking hers, hard, his arms almost crushing her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his kiss with equal passion.
Calm? Restrained? Not in the slightest. There was a fire in Devin Guthrie—a fire that didn’t burn her out but made her hungry for more. Like the music he’d chosen, he could be gentle and teasing, sweet and tender, or demanding. Possessive. Needy. Giving.
She tugged at the seal seam of his shirt, then ran her hands inside, over the hard muscles of his chest and shoulders. Her fingers brushed against the med-patch and she hesitated. She’d forgotten he was injured. “Oh! Are you—”
He didn’t give her a chance to ask if the wound still pained him. He lifted her easily, sliding her up his body until his mouth found the hollow of her neck, then moved lower into the V of her uniform shirt front. She grasped his shoulders. He raised his face.
“Couch?” he asked. “Or bed?”
She knew what the question really was: trust. The couch would be toying with each other, kissing, touching. Not that she’d never made love on a couch. Not that they couldn’t.
But the bed—her bedroom—meant trust.
Truth was, she didn’t trust him. But that didn’t stop her from wanting him.
“Bed.”
His breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly, his gaze on her face. At the door to her bedroom, he let her slip down until her feet touched the floor, but he still held her. And he wouldn’t stop looking at her. In the background, the notes of a piano rose, fell, and rose again.
His arms loosened around her, his hands sliding toward her wrists. He lifted her right hand to his lips, kissed each finger, then her palm. His touch was gentle yet heated. She found herself shivering with anticipation. No man had ever treated her like this, as if she was the most precious thing in the galaxy. It was as intoxicating as a bottle of Lashto brandy.
She leaned into him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to steady herself, to bring herself closer. Her knees felt like jelly. Tingles danced over her body, pooling between her legs.
He pulled her the few steps into the bedroom, then lifted her onto her bed, kneeling over her as she lay on her back. She put her palm against his cheek and couldn’t help but smile. His glasses were crooked. She tugged them away from his face, but he grabbed them and tossed them in the direction of her nightstand. She heard a clink but didn’t bother to check where they landed. She was too busy looking at Devin Guthrie, who could no longer hide behind his glasses.
He was gorgeous, the smoky blue of his eyes even darker. The professional, reserved mien was gone. She traced his lower lip with her thumb. He groaned, eyes closing. He had beautiful long dark lashes. She raised her mouth to his, and he collapsed on top of her, all long, hard, hot male. Then she was pulling his shirt out of the back of his pants, and he was fumbling with her uniform’s seal seam. Clothing was tossed in various directions. Boots hit the decking with mistimed thuds. None of that mattered as his mouth found her breasts, and her fingers tightened in his short, thick hair.
But he pulled away, tongue trailing down her abdomen until he nipped at the soft flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped his name, then groaned in pleasure as his tongue stroked and teased, and tingles exploded into fireworks. She couldn’t help herself; she was whimpering, panting, damned near mindless. “Dev, please. I need you!”
His mouth moved up her body in a heated rush. She grabbed for him, wanting the feel of his muscles under her hands, the hard length of his erection against her thigh, and the hot slickness of him everywhere. He rocked against her in a primal rhythm and then, as the notes of a piano sounded with increasing intensity, he entered her, claiming her with a kiss that was almost savage in its passion.
“Makaiden.” Her name was a hoarse plea as he kissed her again, thrusting deeper. Her body went molten, her release coming with the sounds of strings and flutes edging her higher, Devin’s kisses leaving her gasping for breath but wanting more. He gave her more until his control shattered, his breath stuttering, his kisses frenzied. Chords from the piano rose, the melody of the strings expanded, and, “God help me, Makaiden. I love you,” rasped harshly in her ear.
She held him tightly, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his chest against hers. The music softened, slowing to the last wistful notes of a flute. He nuzzled her neck with his face. She stroked his hair, her heart still pounding. Or maybe it was his. She could no longer tell. Nor could she say the words she knew he wanted to hear, though it would be so very easy right now. But she didn’t know if she loved him. Or if she didn’t.
Trusting him with her body was one thing. Trusting him with her heart was another.
Devin woke to the knowledge that he was in Makaiden’s bed but that Makaiden wasn’t there. It wasn’t shipmorning; the illumination in the main cabin was on its lowest setting. He could barely make out shapes around him from the dim glow filtering through the bedroom’s open door, but then, he didn’t know where his glasses were. Two things missing from his life.
He’d settle for Makaiden. His glasses he could replace.
He sat up slowly, the sheet sliding down his bare chest. He brushed his palm over her side of the bed. It was cold.
Damn it. He scrubbed at his face. It wasn’t that he was inept when it came to understanding women—okay, he was inept. He was male and he was a Guthrie. He should come with a warning label.
But he thought she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. He knew she didn’t love him. But wanting was a good place to start, wasn’t it?
The soft sound of footsteps had him turning
toward the doorway. A female form, backlit by the muted glow from the lav. Makaiden.
“Dev?”
Dev. She’d called him that in the heat of passion. He found himself smiling in the darkness. There were some things a Guthrie male was fairly decent at.
She stepped toward the bed. “Did I wake you? Sorry. I usually check on ship’s status during the night.”
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he realized she was wearing his shirt. Open. That made his smile widen.
“You didn’t wake me,” he lied. “Everything okay?”
“I want to abort out of jump in five hours.”
His smile disappeared. Then he frowned. “GGS has a strict policy against aborted jumps—”
“This isn’t a GGS yacht. And I can do it. We have to do it.”
“There’s a malfunction?” Maybe his brain, still muzzy with sleep and lovemaking, had missed that part. Aborted jumps were dangerous, even fatal. He knew that. But a malfunction in jump could be doubly fatal. In that case, even GGS regs listed it as an option, though one of last resort.
“No. Yes.” She sighed and padded over to the bed, then sat on the edge. He scooted toward her, drawing his knees up. “There’s nothing mechanically wrong with the Rider. But there’s something very wrong with GGS, and the Guthries, and ImpSec, Orvis, Frinks, and whoever else wants you dead.”
“I don’t think it’s as bad—”
“I do. Dev, being with you has brought back five years of piloting your ships, five years of training in your security procedures. Up until this point, I’ve been thinking like Kaid Griggs, freighter captain. But that’s not what we have here. You, Trip, Barty—you’re not freight. You’re passengers entrusted to my care—that’s the exact phrase Petra Frederick used to hammer into us at security meetings. Entrusted to my care. Based on everything that’s happened since Trip left his university apartment, I have to assume someone is going to be watching all traffic coming out of Dock Five and heading to Talgarrath.” She faced him. “We filed a fight plan, remember? If ImpSec’s involved, they have the original plan and the amended one for Port Chalo.”
Rebels and Lovers Page 24