"Thank you, Tetra. Keep me informed.” Gabe noted and returned the pleased nod Tetra gave before she signed off. Then he finally hissed the exasperated breath he'd held. His pulse again throbbed in his ears. Rage surged in the blood that pounded through his veins. He closed his eyes and drew in deep, even breaths. He hadn't been this close to losing himself in years. He forced himself to breathe deeper, draw in slower. Diplomacy. That's what Gabriel was good at. Perhaps, if—no when—he found Captain Scott, he could talk her into ... what? Exactly what did he want from her?
He didn't want a child. Never a child with his Chakkra blood. Gabe did want that exhausting sex with her again. No, he wanted more than sex from her. He needed to feel that blunting of outside interference, that muting of thousands of distracting, conflicting emotions. And for Soledad Scott—Gabriel wanted to join with her, hold her while she slept so that those painful shadows didn't creep back into her eyes. He wanted to still the restless, hot need she exuded. He wanted to kiss her warm, soft mouths—both her upper mouth and her lower, darker, and juicer one. A shiver swept over Gabe, and he licked his lips. He wanted to taste Sol again, to caress her smooth tight skin, tangle his legs with hers and slide into the delicious slick heat between her legs. He wanted to fight verbal battles with her until morning's light. And he wanted to do this until—well, until he got her out of his system. When would that be? He hadn't a clue. Perhaps he wished that she would want him for always—that she would forever feel a need only he could fill. Never had a female taken so much from him and, without even trying to please him once. The few who knew him distrusted his Chakkra temperament.
Suddenly, an awful thought occurred to Gabe. What if the captain found out what he was and never wanted him again? She'd said she had gotten what she came for—his sperm. What if she didn't feel the same attachment he felt for her? What, then?
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Chapter Five
"Gellico, I am telling you the truth. I-Do-Not-Want-Commander-Gabriel-Merriweather.” Sol glared at the ebony beauty who just smiled back at her in the mirror's image. Gellico de’ Marco, Sol's longtime friend as well as a consummate exotic dancer, applied more red sparkles to her wide lips, air kissed at the mirror and didn't comment.
"Well, I don't,” Sol insisted, not liking the sound of her whining voice or her pout. Galactic ship captains never pouted or whined. But, lately, she was doing a lot of things she had never done before—and liking some of them. Liking a lot of them. That thought made her angry enough to focus on the one thing she hated about Gabriel Merriweather. “The only thing I want to do to the commander is slit his throat for costing me my ship. Him and the Guild's damned age edict."
"I hear what you're saying, darlin'. And I see your pretty lips moving. I just don't believe you.” Gellico puckered again in the mirror's reflection, then smiled at Sol before she sprayed on more of the potent aroma that wafted around her in a fragrant cloud of hotly-spiced sensuality. A little something extra had been mixed with the normal fragrance. She stood, an exquisite black Amazon dressed in playful, sparkling silk scarves that exposed more than they concealed of her lithe, trim body. As an erotic dancer at Dante's Circus, another pleasure den in the Straits, Gellico topped Soledad's six foot height by another good four inches. The thought came to Sol that Gellico stood nearly as tall as the commander. Her heart rocked at just the thought of him curving over and around her. Prickly sensations ran the gauntlet of her insides. Moisture gathered between her legs. Sol shifted on Gellico's sofa, uncomfortable with the knowledge that just thoughts of Merriweather could make her wet.
The performer took the sting out of her words by placing gentle, long-fingered hands, painted with flashing red lacquered nails, on Sol's shoulders and air-kissing her lightly on both cheeks. Sol knew Gellico refrained from kissing her on the mouth, and that wasn't because the dancer feared messing up her new lip gloss. Genuine love reflected in the dark depths of Gellico's sloe eyes. But throughout the long years of their friendship, she had never done anything to make Sol uncomfortable. Her soft, warm gaze had so steadied Sol that she had never felt off center with Gellico, even though she knew Gelli wanted more than friendship.
Early in Sol's military career, they had met on the prison planet of Hydra, where, fighting back-to-back during a rescue of stranded playmates, they had saved each other's lives. Sol quickly shoved the dark nightmare of Hydra back under cover. She owed Gellico more than she could ever repay—or ever tell.
"What makes you think I want the commander?” Sol asked. She kept her face free of any expression. Again, the thoughts of what had happened that night with Merriweather made her insides dance. That was a night she would never forget. She had done and experienced pleasures she had never experienced before. Ye gods, on his husky whispered command, she had even licked her sexual fluids from his mouth and face! Shivers overcame her. Again, she throbbed between her legs. This was becoming a habit—think of Gabriel Merriweather and her ovaries clanged. Thankfully, Gelli didn't notice. Or perhaps she did.
The dancer grinned. “I hear you when you sleep, dear girl. You're restless and—” Gellico's grin widened, showing her brilliant white teeth. “—you moan, Sol. You moan a lot."
"I—Do—Not—Moan.” Heat crept up Sol's neck. Liar. She knew she moaned; she had even awakened herself with the noise, her body aching, pulsing against a phantom lover. On more than one occasion she had to use her fingers as a poor substitute to slack her raging desire.
"Oh, yes, you do moan. And don't say it's all due to that overload of lusty hormones. Those have worn off—long ago.” Gellico waved a graceful hand at Sol. “And ever since you discovered that the commander is looking for you, you've been as pleased as pie and as hot as Chin's volcanoes. I know the signs, girlfriend. You're in love or at the very least, in lust with the man. And why? I don't know. Let's see.” Gellico counted off on those long fingers of hers, “Big. Broad. Penis-wielding. Knuckle-dragging Neanderthal.” She grunted an unladylike groan then flexed her arms in a he-man pose, but the silk scraps draping from her bare shoulders ruined the effect that her sleekly muscled arms made. “He must have done you up good is all I'm saying. But, yeah, I guess the commander has a body that would please most—if you're into that kind of he-man thing. I'm not, but you give me a soft, sweet female, eweee—wheee!” Gellico expelled a long, exaggerated breath, and batted her enhanced eyelashes furiously, her fingers demurely tucked under her chin.
"Gellico de'Marco!” Sol choked out Gelli's full name. That heated flush rushed over Sol's neck and shoulders again, covering her face before she grabbed for her friend. She had to divert this talk somehow. Wrestling sounded good. They had engaged in the sport many times.
"Ha, got ‘cha!” Gellico leaped at her at the same instant. The dancer laughed a deep-throated rumble before she twisted and landed with Sol in a headlock. But not for long, Sol escaped with a wicked twist and grappled Gellico from behind. She spun and they danced until Gelli tripped her, then the two rolled on the floor, squealing and tickling each other. Neither really used their deadly fighting skills, as they so often had in the past. Both were very aware of Sol's condition.
A crystal lamp fell from a kicked table with a crash, and Sol grimaced. She had bought that lamp for Gellico on Rigel Three, and it had cost a small fortune. More furniture scraped the costly fake wooden floor before Gellico's door slammed open and bounced off the wall with a thud. Sol yelped as they were suddenly jerked apart. She couldn't see who twisted hands in their clothing and hoisted them off the floor and into the air. She barely heard the door crash open over the sounds of their laughter. In the dancers’ private quarters, rooms weren't soundproofed, more for protection of the playmates than for employee privacy. Sometimes, though not often, overzealous customers found their way backstage to private living spaces. Bouncers were always on alert to disturbances. Even though she couldn't see him from this angle, Sol knew who held them. She also assumed that Punch, the Circus's Rigelian bouncer wasn't happy.
>
"Put us down, Punch.” Gellico swatted ineffectively at the gigantic fist that gripped behind her neck. She still laughed, but the sound was restricted by one of her scarves that threatened to cut off her air. Sol didn't even try to speak.
Punch wrinkled his single bushy brow on his low forehead. He turned the girls to face him at eye level, their bodies hanging loose in his grip. His beady eyes searched their faces with puzzled intent. “No fighting allowed,” he grunted first at Gellico, then at Sol.
His massive fists eased his grip and dropped them so that they were on tiptoe, but he kept his hands tight on the backs of their necks. His touch was dry, rock solid and somehow reassuring to Sol. She sent a quick look at Gellico, swallowed her laugh and dipped her head. Gellico hid her grin with her hand. Punch frowned deeper, hunched in closer and glared nearly nose to nose from one female to the other, clearly upset by their laughter. Normally, his services were needed for violence not levity. Punch was clearly at a loss as to what was expected of him. Sol knew his distress was because he loved Gellico and was torn between the duty of keeping the peace and pleasing her.
"No more fighting, Punch.” Gellico swallowed her next laugh and swatted his massive shoulder heartily. He wouldn't have felt a lighter touch. “I promise."
Punch nodded, although his thick uni-brow remained knit. He was still confused, but he stepped back. “No like fighting,” he commented in grunted syllables before he lumbered out, closing Gellico's door softly behind him. Clearly, he was a gentle giant who loved peace and quiet.
Sol couldn't help it. When she looked at Gelli, they both dissolved into laughing fits, hiding the sounds with pillows over their mouths.
Gellico was the first to recover and said, “Now that I think of it, your Commander Merriweather reminds me a lot of Punch.” Her perfectly shaped brows arched, and she tapped her chin, a lacquered nail under pursed lips as if seriously thinking.
"He does not!” At the thought, Sol snorted before a deep, cleansing laugh started from her toes and rolled up and out her mouth. Commander Merriweather was nothing at all like Punch except for maybe his size, but somehow the comparison was funny. Sol glanced at Gellico, sputtered and continued laughing until tears surprisingly flowed.
Laughter had never come easy to Sol. Amusement had been even scarcer since her retirement. Now she laughed and cried ... all the time. Damned hormones. They were surely to blame for her mood swings and her indecision regarding the commander. Did she want him or not? Alive or dead? Only one way to find out. Sol would have to see Merriweather again just to satisfy her curiosity. Right? She had to make sure the commander wanted her for reasons other than filing against her child. Just let him try to force her to give up this baby.
Soledad sobered. She hadn't realized the depth of her commitment until that moment. She'd fight him to keep her baby. She'd fight the whole damned galaxy.
Gellico, always so attuned to her mood changes, gave her an intense look and a gentle shoulder pat. Sol dredged up a smile. “That's better.” Gellico hugged her, then pushed her toward the door. “Now, go on out and get a good seat in the shadows so no one sees you. It won't do for someone to recognize you. They'd try to collect that reward your caveman is offering in a microsecond."
Sol sobered further, her spine stiffening in defensive military fashion. “What reward?"
"Haven't you read the latest postings?” Gellico's dark eyes rounded, as if widening those large orbs was possible. “Now Merriweather's offering a reward for information about your whereabouts. It seems that the poor dear can't find you.” She snorted a delicate sound that was in direct opposition to her Amazon stature.
"Maybe I shouldn't go out tonight.” Sol frowned, torn between being thrilled and angered by the fact that the commander was still looking for her after all these weeks. She ignored the way her heart raced. That it did so made her anger dominate her emotions.
"But you always watch my show when you stay with me,” Gellico protested, taking Sol by the arm. “Really, honey, you'll be fine in the dark. I can even have Punch keep an eye out, if you like."
Sol hesitated, and then she nodded. If the commander got wind of her, she'd just find a new hideout until she was sure what she was going to do about him. And about how she felt about him. When she'd first learned her lover's identity, all she'd done was fume in a hot rage. Then, for days, she had read everything she could find on the “noble” Gabriel Merriweather, Commander of the Diplomatic Corps, the rat bastard who had indirectly cost her the command of the Icarus. Sol was impressed with his resourcefulness—among other things. But she still couldn't believe that there were no drugs in the wine they'd shared. She had discovered that the Dome only told customers that so they'd have an excuse for their loosened inhibitions and their lovemaking would be more natural. The commander's technique had been as raw and as natural as they come—and as healthy. Perhaps their attraction was their shared Chakkra blood. That thought made Soledad laugh, although she had felt a strange stirring inside—almost a draw to Merriweather. Was the attraction only because he was Chakkra? And what, exactly, did that mean? The Chakkra.
There was so little intel about the reclusive warriors. They hired out to warring worlds as mercenaries, but over time, fewer and fewer such incidents were recorded. Perhaps their culture was dying out due to more worlds reaching peaceful settlements. That thought brought her back to Merriweather and his damned Diplomatic Corps. Him and his message of peace. His records showed that he had an eighty-eight per cent success rate. Well, bully for him.
At the moment, Sol was more interested in their combined genes. She rarely gave her weak Chakkra bloodlines a second thought. No one in her family ever showed any talents or special attributes—at least none that she knew of. Most of the time, Sol forgot she was anything but Terran. Human to the core. Maybe she was a little taller than the average female, but that was it. A little taller and now getting a little wider perhaps. She touched her still flat abdomen; six more months to go. She smiled and wondered at her tender feelings. Tenderness was never one of her frequent emotions, and Gelli gaped in mock amazement at her. Sol made no comment, pointedly ignoring Gellico's open-mouthed expression and returning to her inner thoughts.
Despite losing the Icarus, life was creating new experiences for Sol, and with a Chakkra, no less. No one had seen or heard about the ancient warring race in years. They kept to their own world, almost religiously so. Few outcasts roamed the universe. She wondered if it was true about Merriweather being a half-breed. How had he escaped their confines? He hadn't acted any differently than any other arrogant male she'd had sex with. Liar.
Her internal jab startled her. She was doing that a lot lately, self analyzing. But who was she kidding? She had never had sex like that in her entire life. What happened between her and the commander was more than sex. It was ... ummm ... well, it was just more. Besides, taking an innocent life, even one that she hadn't bargained for, wasn't in Sol's makeup. Without conscious thought, her hand smoothed over her belly again. She had been right in keeping the baby, even if it wasn't the one she was supposed to have. She'd take a chance on it having Chakkra genes. She'd never be able to live with herself if she did anything to harm this child. She'd seen enough lost lives.
As if in agreement, a tiny flutter tickled her inside; a bubble like that of laughter roiled through her. Sol gasped and lost her breath in wonder.
"He moved?” Gellico's round eyes got bigger still. She reached a tentative hand out to touch Sol's stomach.
"You can't feel him yet.” Sol said, but she took Gellico's hand and rubbed a gentle circle. “He's here."
"When will you let me feel him move?” Gellico turned her palm and gripped Sol's hand in hers. Sol squeezed her long fingers.
"You'll be the first."
"Don't make promises like that, sweet thing. By then, your man will have found you."
"He's not my man."
"We'll see. Now go get your seat and watch the show."
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Chapter Six
Gabe watched the sensuous, drum-pounding, writhing dance of the long-limbed black vision with a distracted gaze. His Chakkra blood roared, and his body responded to the dancer's gleaming movements that stripped the teasing scarves from her curves. How could he not respond physically to the female's beauty and the aromatic sexual pheromones drifting down from the ceiling? The drug-laced sexual scent added to nature's call from all the enthralled watchers. One didn't have to be an empath or even a half-breed Chakkra to feel the sexual tension in the place.
Dante's Circus would certainly be a busy pleasure palace tonight, but the owners wouldn't be getting any of Gabe's money. He had discovered in the past few months that he didn't want anyone but Soledad Scott. No one else would do. The captain haunted him day and night. None of the universe's other beauties would satisfy him. Dear gods, but he had tried. He hadn't gotten any farther than the initial meeting to know he didn't want any woman but the captain. All paled in comparison. He couldn't stand their touch, and he longed for the captain's.
Dammit. What was wrong with him? Scott had made it more than plain that she didn't want to be found by him. And his damned empathic talents were no help at all in locating her. Damned tranq that she was, she neutralized his sensing abilities. Gabriel's human Marine sergeant was the one who'd spotted her. Gabe gulped the last of the heady drink he didn't want and slammed his glass down on the table. In the darkened room's throbbing noise, no one paid any attention to his muttered curses. No one spoke Chakkra outside the home world, so he was safe in spewing a few choice oaths. In fact, he was sure no one heard anything above the increasing pounding rhythm of the drums. The pulsating beat rose, gathering toward a crescendo. On the floating stage that drifted above the customers’ heads, lights gleamed off graceful curves that flexed and swayed in the shadowed lighting. Firm breasts jiggled enticingly; belly and hips undulated in a blatant invitation to enjoy forbidden female fruit. Silken scarves loosened, exposed their favors and wavered with their enticing smell above the crowd. The tempo reached its peak then the pulsing throb abruptly ended. A brief glimpse of sleek female nudity flashed. Darkness fell. The crowd gasped and thunderous applause filled the air.
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