Pleasure Dome

by L. F. Hampton

  "Please, mistress, please don't hurt Damien.” Cheri pleaded. It took both her hands to cover Gellico's thick wrists. “He's only following orders."

  "No, Gelli, she right,” Sol echoed the little dancer. “Don't fight the sergeant. It's not his fault. He really is just following orders. We started this."

  Sol gently tugged on the weapon's hilt. She didn't want anyone hurt over what she had set in motion, and she gave a relieved breath when Gelli nodded. The dancer's grip on the sword loosened, but her dark gaze still glittered hard as she watched Sol replace it back on the wall.

  "Well, what do you want to do, then? I thought you'd get an invitation from Merriweather, like a civilized person in his position would offer. But instead the great Commander has got to charge in with guns blazin'.” Gellico shrugged. “Diplomat, my ass."

  Sol sucked in a breath and pursed her lips. “You're right, Gelli. He could have asked me.” Unexpected anger flared, and heat flushed over Sol in a wave. She didn't know which irritated her more, her angry reaction to the Commander's methods or his rash action that made her heart pound. Was she really delighted that he'd come for her, or was her response just raging hormones?

  "Damned straight, I'm right.” Gellico emphatically nodded. “If not, why send in the guards and troops like he means to arrest you?"

  The idea that the Marines were being used so frivolously made Sol furious. Marines had better things to do than corner some sex captive for the Commander of the Diplomatic Corps. Sol held a lot more respect for fighting men than that. She'd never abuse her crew that way, at least if she still commanded a crew.

  The reminder of why she didn't command one made her angrier. “That sonofabitch! How dare he? He doesn't own me.” Sol glared and snatched down the same sword she had replaced just moments ago from the wall of ancient weapons. Gellico stopped her and laughed wickedly.

  Her dark eyes glittered. “No, dear. If he wants it this way, with no rules, two—or three—can play that game."

  Gelli pulled Cheri close to her, towering over the diminutive blond dancer. “Calm down, Cheri. I just want you to tell Dante that I'm taking my vacation now and that you'll be headlining for me for the next few nights."

  "You mean it? About me headlining for you?” Cheri's mouth hung open in a perfect O.

  Gellico smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “Yes, dear, I know you can do it. Now run along. Don't stop to tease with your big, bad Damien along the way."

  "No, mistress.” Cheri shook her head. “He won't talk to me now anyway. He's on duty.” Cheri nearly skipped out the door

  Gellico muttered after her, “That asshole sergeant was on duty the other night when he fucked her, but it didn't matter then.” She grabbed Sol and said, “Quick, down the delivery entrance. We'll catch the supply freighter to Faro's Hump. I have a friend there who'll hide us."

  "I'm still taking this with me.” Sol clung to the short sword.

  "Great idea,” Gellico snatched another lethal-looking, foot-long knife from the wall for herself. “But we'll need to hide them from the supply traders. We don't want to make our rescuers nervous, the poor dears.” She gave that twisted grin that showed her teeth to perfection, a fierce gesture that was ever the Amazon savage.

  Sol grabbed her in a quick hug.

  "What?” Gellico gave her a puzzled frown.

  "Thanks for being my friend, even when I don't know what I want."

  "Sword sisters.” Gellico lifted her weapon and nodded in all seriousness. Sol knew that neither of them would forget the day they had fought back to back against overwhelming odds on Hydra; the day they had forged a bond that would last a lifetime—a ship captain and a courtesan, but what a pair of warriors. A Diplomatic Corps commander with his team of Marine regulars didn't stand a chance!

  * * * *

  "What?” Gabriel growled at the jarring live feed on his com vid. “This had better be fucking good.” He stormed around the dancehall, kicking offending chairs out of his way. Futile rage simmered inside him. His Chakkra blood slammed in the red tint of his vision. He had to kick or punch something. The chairs worked off a little steam, but not enough. The bar was not where he wanted to be at the moment. He had expected to have his cock buried deep in the captain by now, and he couldn't believe Sol had slipped through his fingers again. Damn! He had been so close this time. Just where the hell had she gone?

  His com-link beeped, and when he glanced down at it, his snarl froze. Over the link, a red-haired vision snapped back at him. He had a flashback to his last dream and became rock hard in an instant.

  "It is fucking bad, Gabriel. Just what the hell do you think you're doing?” Sol's angry bronze stare glared at him, but she didn't wait for his response. “Most sensible people would have just invited me for a visit, but you? Oh, no, not the great Commander of the Diplomatic Corps. You had to storm a peaceful business establishment with military guards bent on my capture. Whatever were you thinking?” She huffed pink, flushed cheeks. “Diplomat, my ass. Dante would be within his rights to file for censure judgment against you."

  "I don't give a flying fuck about Dante,” Gabriel interrupted before she could continue, and he could tell that the captain had a lot more to say. Her kissable mouth, for once free of paint, hung open. She was right. Gabe hadn't been able to think like a diplomat since he had first met Captain Soledad Scott. She drove him to distraction, and apparently, he must do the same to her. He could almost see the steam rolling out her lovely ears. “Where are you?” he snapped.

  "I don't think I'll tell you.” Sol raised her chin and gave him a speculative look. “And don't waste your time tracing this call, Commander. It's blocked."

  "That figures,” Gabe snorted.

  "I just wanted to warn you about hurting anyone at Dante's. They are my friends, and I protect my friends.” The fierce look she gave would have wilted a lesser man. Gabriel read the truth without his empathy senses.

  "I wouldn't expect any less of you, Captain.” Gabe did his best to keep his injured pride that she would think he would harm her friends from showing in his words. They knew so little about each other to be so involved, and he was more involved with her than he'd ever been with anyone. Empaths were never allowed the luxury of sharing thoughts so completely. Chakkra warriors enjoyed even less sexual freedom. Their mates were chosen from birth—nothing more than a way to procreate and rut. Thankfully, his father had shunned his chosen mate and became a defiant outlaw in love with a gentle Terran ambassador. The captain was the first woman Gabriel had, known, outside of his human mother, who was so truthful. He read her without using his talents. The captain's thoughts lacked painful hidden agendas. Her every move told him exactly how she felt. And Gabe didn't like what she was thinking about him at the moment.

  "What makes you think I'd hurt anyone here?"

  "From the way you stormed in with your troops. Using Marines—” She shook her head. Light bounced off her tousled hair and touched her flushed cheeks. Had she been running or was she just angry with him? “I thought you, of all people, were diplomatic enough to ask me to come see you."

  "I am diplomatic ... most of the time,” he replied. “And I have waited for you to come to me. But some people—” Gabriel gave the captain his best narrow-eyed stare. “—some people push me too far, and I don't like being pushed. I push back."

  "People like me?” Sol shook her head again and extended that stubborn jaw. Gabe could almost imagine someone taking a punch at such blatant defiance and flinched at the thought of anyone marring that beautiful face. He'd kill any sonofabitch that ever hurt her.

  Surprise shattered Gabriel's ordered life with the depth of his violent, proprietary reaction. For the captain, he would release his Chakkra rage and shred any enemy.

  Gabriel felt his eyes widen. One thought filled his head: he had to find her—now. Oh, god, there was that protective streak again.

  "I want you, Captain.” Gabe lowered his voice and put his heart into his words. He hunched over his lin
k as if closing off the world. “I want you so badly I can't think straight. I can't eat, I can't sleep, and as you said, I'm a piss-poor diplomat at the moment. Don't torture me anymore. Please, tell me where you are, Sol. I'll come to you. I just want to see you, to talk with you, be with you."

  After a long moment, Sol softly said, “No.” She shook her head again, but Gabriel read real regret in her voice. “But I promise I won't send anymore vids.” Her voice dropped, matching his tone. “And I'll ... I'll think about coming to you.” She straightened. Her gaze and her voice hardened. “Now, go home and leave my friends alone."

  "Did you really think that I'd harm your friends, Captain?"

  Her head dipped. She sighed then raised her chin; her eyes glittered with unreadable emotion. “No."

  "Thank you."

  "Good night, Gabriel,” she whispered, and he closed his eyes, wanting to capture the sound of his name on her lips. With a click, she signed off. The dead screen mocked him with its blankness. Gabe knew without checking that he wouldn't be able to trace the call.

  * * * *

  "Let's go home, men,” Gabriel told his tired Marines. They were exhausted from their failed mission to Tantra, but Gabe hadn't been thinking of them when he had ordered this unscheduled stop on Dante's Circus. He should have known that Sol would take his unauthorized visit as an insult. He would have known better, too, if he hadn't been thinking with his other head. But sleep was in short supply these days. His wet dreams of the captain hadn't helped. What a blunder.

  "Commander?” Damien, the Marine sergeant that he'd stationed on Dante's Circus, vied for his attention. In the flood of outside emotions, Gabe's focus was wandering again, just as it had since the day—or rather the night—he had met Captain Soledad Scott. He knew from the riot of feelings that swamped him that Sol wasn't here. But his Marines were randy with the lousy pheromones of Dante's.

  "Yeah, Sergeant,” Gabe ran a hand through his hair. “What now?"

  Damien shuffled uneasily from one foot to the other, “Well—the men—you know, haven't had leave in a long while, and they ... uh—"

  "Oh, for the gods’ sake, Damien, just spill it."

  The sergeant snapped to attention, gulped and said quickly, “Since we're already here—at the Circus—the men would like a bit of R&R, sir.” He hurried to add. “If it's all right with you, I mean—Commander—sir."

  "Oh, by all means, take some time off. Get laid. Why not? I haven't slept in the gods know how long, but who cares?” Gabriel snapped then looked hard at the Marine who bore the brunt of his misguided anger. His empathic skills surged to the forefront of his mind, and he inwardly cursed. The sergeant actually felt pity for him, and Gabe didn't want anyone's sympathy. He was not a lovesick idiot. “Tell the men that we leave at dawn,” he muttered. “We leave, with or without them. They can all go AWOL for all I care.” When Gabe realized what he'd just said, he was glad that the sturdy sergeant was long out of sight and hearing.

  Gabriel suddenly wished that he was just a military crew member on liberty, not a half-breed Chakkra warrior, and certainly not the diplomat who was panting after a retired Guild captain who taunted him with sex one minute and denied him the next.

  Gabriel gave a disgusted shake of his head, deciding that he was either in love or in lust. Either way, he was in deep shit with the captain. Oh, yeah. Really, really deep shit.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  "I really don't think we should be doing this, Soledad.” Gellico's whisper floated in the night air, just loud enough to reach Sol's ear. Gelli only called her by her full name when Sol was making her do something she didn't like to do. And on her hands and knees, following Sol, Gelli obviously didn't like crawling around in the dark.

  Back again at Dante's Circus, they crept through a corridor that was nearly the pitch dark of midnight. Their pinpoint light gave poor illumination, showing only the three foot circle they moved in. The stiff woven-grass carpet they crawled over rustled a little too loudly for Sol's liking. And the floor smelled not only of the dried straw but of the hundreds of varied species who had passed this way. In other words, it wasn't the most pleasant thing she had ever smelled. By the way her stomach heaved, the baby didn't particularly like the odor either, so Sol refrained from breathing too deeply. She swallowed the thickness that rose in her throat. After all, this was her idea. She had again changed her mind about meeting the commander in a one-on-one. She snickered at the unintended pun.

  Thankfully, no sounds came through the proofed and fully occupied pleasure rooms; rooms filled with Merriweather's Marines. Sol kept her voice low anyway. “I know we shouldn't do this. At least, I think I know that. Anyway, the Marines are busy, Gelli. You heard Cheri's message. They're only here until dawn. I'm sure they'll be occupied all night, revved up by her dance and the Circus’ pheromones.” Sol slunk along the wall, feeling her way to the room Punch had said was Gabriel's. The bouncer had made Gelli promise that they meant the commander no harm before giving them the old fashioned master keys and the pen laser. Only Gellico could have gotten them from Punch.

  In the shadowed circle of light, crawling along on their knees, they wouldn't be easy to spot if anyone did happen to look down the long, dark hall. Sol didn't want to be captured by Gabriel's crew. If spotted and confronted, Gelli would certainly fight, and Sol wouldn't let that happen. Someone would get hurt, and Sol wasn't sure it would be Gelli. That would mean charges being filed and a whole mess of trouble. Trouble Gelli and Sol didn't need. No one needed to poke into their pasts. And she wasn't wasting any time. Even the trip back from Faro's Hump had taken longer than she had expected. Lumbering cargo ships weren't big on speed or comfort. She was glad that Gelli had come along without too many complaints about idiots who couldn't make up their minds. But she wished that for just this once her friend would shut the hell up. Her long, muttered, profane litany was becoming annoying.

  "Help me with the key,” Sol whispered in hopes of distracting her grumbling friend. The master keys felt all the same, or perhaps it was just her numb fingers that refused to move. Surely she wasn't scared of meeting the man in the room. Months ago, she had spent a whole night with him, sharing raunchy sex under the Pleasure Dome. This wasn't that different.

  Oh, hell, who was she kidding? On the Dome, she hadn't been Captain Scott, and he hadn't been Commander Gabriel Merriweather. They had been strangers who fucked without inhibitions. The slippery keys slid through Sol's grasp. It was her turn to curse the antiquated means of entry. The Dome was big on faking reality, and their keys were shaped to their rooms’ themes.

  "Here, give them to me.” Gellico took the keys with an exasperated sigh. “Once you're in there, what do you expect to do?"

  "What do you think?” Sol snapped.

  "I mean, besides fucking him silly,” Gellico snapped back. Then she gripped Sol's shoulder in the darkness. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

  "Yeah, you did, Gelli.” Sol sighed. “But it doesn't matter. I know how you worry. I'll be fine. I'll meet you here before dawn. I promise."

  "You're not going back to Delta Three with him?"

  Sol shook her head, then realized that Gellico couldn't see her in the darkness. “No. I don't think that's a good idea. The baby's due soon and my friends are here. And right now, I want my friends with me."

  "Thank you, dear. I want to be with you, too.” Gellico rested her forehead against Sol's. Sol felt her breath puff on her face. “Okay, this is the right one. Here.” She thrust the appropriate shaped key into Sol's hand.

  The shape of a snarling lion's head took form under Sol's numb fingers—the key to Gabriel Merriweather's room. Each key to the pleasure rooms of Dante's Circus was formed in the shape of a circus animal. How appropriate that Gabriel's key was her image of the man himself. How like a jungle cat he was. “Okay. I'm going in. Wish me luck."

  Gellico mumbled, “Luck."

  Sol barely heard her above her rioting emotions. Sh
e swallowed hard, and a shudder passed over her. She felt as if she were losing her old life by bits and pieces. “Are you all right?” Gelli asked out of the darkness. Sol felt her light squeeze on her shoulder. As close as sisters, it seemed as if Gelli knew Sol's distress. Sol's gaze misted. Gelli was always so protective, even when she thought Sol wouldn't know.

  "Yes,” Sol whispered. “I'm fine. I'll just go on in and get this over with. I'll be out here at dawn."

  "Okay.” Gelli's hushed whisper sounded like a commando's on a raid, and Sol felt just as jumpy.

  The turn of the key inside the lock made a soft click in the dark. Both waited with baited breath, but only the sound of soft snoring came back through the shadows.

  Gelli squeezed Sol's hand and pushed her forward. As the door closed behind her, Sol barely heard Gelli's profane curse. She also couldn't see a thing.

  * * * *

  Sol started rising from her crouch. From out of nowhere, a rough hand covered her mouth and finished jerking her upright. Damn it! She hadn't heard the snoring stop over the clink of the door latching or her heart's heavy thumping. A strong arm held her tightly against a definitely male body. Her teeth pinched her lips under a hardened palm. She didn't panic, she knew that scent.

  Sol blinked in the sudden light of a flipped switc as Gabriel said, “Well, well, Captain Soledad Scott. Fancy this. You certainly have kept me waiting long enough,” Gabe released her and stepped back so quickly he tripped over the tall woven basket that acted as a table near the door. His toe cracked against the fake marble vase next to it, and he danced around on one foot, swearing.

  Sol laughed aloud, her anger fading along with the pain in her lips. Merriweather looked so silly, jumping about in his blue and white striped shorts. Only a diplomat would wear such atrocious underwear. Suddenly her laughter died, and she stood gaping at the room's splendor. In all the years Sol had visited Gellico, she had never seen this room, or any of the Circus’ pleasure rooms, for that matter. She'd never used Dante's professional services.