by PJ Schnyder
“You’re like a magnet, man. Why dodge them?” He knocked back the last of his drink and signaled for another, craning his neck to eye up a passing girl. “Enjoy the good life.”
Beautiful women, those butterflies, floating around the bar in expensive silks and sparkling accents, every word they whispered as artfully intended to ensnare a man as their painted eyelids and crimson-stained lips. What those butterflies took from a man cut deeper than creds from his account and left behind scars on his soul, not just his skin.
Rygard shook his head. “Maybe I don’t see what I’m looking for yet.”
“Well, you keep looking, my man. I’m going to go get some. I’ll let you know if there’s a crime scene to clean up. Ha!” DeSarto shoved away from the bar with a stumble. He took a second to right himself, and then staggered after the girl who had snagged his attention.
Hard to cut a man if he anesthetized his heart with copious amounts of alcohol.
The girl would trigger an issue. Rygard knew it right away. That particular butterfly had flitted from a pack of mercs, having been leaning against the shoulder of the largest mutt, and now stood at the bar to order a drink. Yet the smile she gave DeSarto as he came sniffing around definitely communicated a come-hither.
Butterflies and dogs. Women and men did the damndest things to each other.
Rygard signaled for another drink when the fight broke out. The bulldog merc from the table had finally noticed his missing butterfly. DeSarto moved in, fondling the goods with irreverent hands. A couple of words, some grunts and an angry bellow sparked the conflict. When several mercs from the table joined in, a couple of servicemen came to DeSarto’s aid on principle. His friend held his own without issue, even seemed to dive in with enthusiasm, so Rygard continued to enjoy his drink.
“This gets much bigger and I’m calling security.” The bartender kept a practiced eye on the brawl as it escalated. More servicemen and mercs jumped into the fray. The bar had been built sturdy, the furniture fused into the floor. Firearms were locked away in storage at the entryway, limiting fights to hand-to-hand combat.
“Give it another minute, Syn.” Rygard lifted a chin toward DeSarto. “He’s about to take down the main opposition.”
A new commotion started at the entryway. Even the techno-geeks in the corner stirred from their holo-game to peek over the booth and get a good look.
Mercs and servicemen alike fell like downed logs. It took a minute for Rygard to see what cleared a path through the minefield of fighting men, and when he did, he wondered if he’d had one drink too many.
Lightning quick, a little package of curves dodged a drunken punch, grabbed the merc’s arm and used his momentum to send him over a table. She brushed dark waves of hair out of her eyes before planting a hand in a serviceman’s back, helping him into a pile of his friends. Two other servicemen focused enough to rush her, but crouching low she delivered a powerful leg sweep. A sharp elbow to the sternum rendered each of them out of commission. Straightening, she continued her course, heading directly for Syn and the bar. By the time she made it, unconscious and groaning men lay in her wake. Her left hook was a thing of beauty, and she had a wicked right slanted kick.
The heat of her feral glare seared through Rygard as she passed, moving on when he didn’t offer any threat. Had he ever seen such a deep blue before? She chose the very last stool, sitting with her back to the wall. When she ordered a scotch, he thought he’d died and found the perfect angel.
Syn placed a glass of amber in front of her. “On the house. You saved me the trouble of calling security.”
Rygard chuckled. Men picked themselves up off the floor and it seemed they’d forgotten the whirlwind who had passed through them. A wonderfully mind-numbing thing, alcohol. They probably wouldn’t want to remember they’d gotten their asses handed to them by a pint-sized explosion of sexy anyway.
Well, maybe they would.
He watched her swirl her scotch, inhaling slowly before taking a long sip. When she set the glass down, it became obvious she would need a refill in short order.
Without lifting her face, she glanced up, her fierce gaze locking on him through a dark veil of thick, long lashes. He realized he’d better say something or she might take offense at his regard.
Lifting his drink, he nodded. “Mind if I buy you another?”
Kaitlyn studied the man for a beat before the question popped out. “Why?”
Not what he’d been expecting, probably, because he blinked, caught without a response. The light from the bar top caught gold highlights in the man’s hazel eyes. Not a pretty boy, which won him points in her book, his features too strong for the beautiful boy toy look and his build too massive. Terran military, by uniform. Skuld would call him ruggedly handsome, with the stubble across his jaw and barely regulation haircut.
He shrugged. “You look like you could use one, or more.”
True. Before she could answer, he left his stool and walked toward her. A fighter, and a fast one, despite the bulk suggested by his expansive chest and shoulders. She didn’t mistake the potential in the way he moved. Unlike the rest of the males in the room, he wasn’t inebriated to the point of slowed reaction time.
He also seemed aware of her assessment, holding his hands out to his sides in a sign of no threat as he sat on the stool next to her. His gaze never left hers. The challenge he offered had nothing to do with a fight and everything to do with her.
“Maybe.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say.
He smiled, the flash of white almost predatory. “Maybe usually means yes.”
“Maybe means maybe,” she snapped. She didn’t like word games.
Dark eyebrows shot up and those hands opened wide again. “Okay, maybe.” He shifted to lean on the bar, not closer to her but not farther away either. “Let me know when maybe turns into a yes or a no.”
Despite her ire, she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The soldier exuded a familiar charisma, an attitude she hadn’t encountered in a long time. Not since Katzer.
And wasn’t that a funny kind of ironic?
She drew in a long breath.
Anger, fear, joy, arousal, all of the strong emotions carried on the air. The scents gave her hints the panther aspect could read. They told a story. He carried them all, faint and faded with passage of time, but enough to catch her attention. And over it all, a pleasantly masculine musk blended with the smooth aroma of scotch.
Well, Dev and Skuld had effectively marooned her on the station for two freaking days. No use chewing on useless thoughts and wasted experiments. She could spare the time for a second drink. Besides, a long-forgotten part of her wanted to see what the soldier would do next, curious about him.
In the days before the attack on Triton, she’d never made time to flirt. Only Katzer had caught her up, made her curious enough to pay attention. And their time together had been a stolen kiss and a promise, ended with his death.
She finished her drink in a smooth pull. Too many ghosts haunting her lately. Carefully setting the glass down, she looked over to see the soldier watching with appreciation and approval.
“I guess…” What the hell did normal girls say? “Yes?”
“Sorry, can you repeat that?” He turned completely toward her, leaving himself open as he leaned in closer. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
For the first time in years, a male’s proximity didn’t set off her temper or cause a spike of fear. Instead, her pulse quickened in a few uneven skips and heat rushed to her face. Kaitlyn turned to look at her empty glass. Damn it. Girls did this all the time. She could speak, really she could. “Yes, you can buy me another.”
Silence. She peeked up. He grinned, a twinkle in his eye. Without taking his gaze off her, he jerked his head at the bartender and tapped her glass. “The lady will have another, on me, and I’ll have the same.”
She took the reprieve to focus on the bartender as she thanked him for the drink. The bartender looked
from her to the soldier and then back at her. A slow smile pulled on one side of his face and he simply said, “You let me know if you need anything else.”
Great. Even the bartender found her amusing. Skuld and Dev would probably have paid to see what transpired. In fact—Kaitlyn shot a careful glance around the bar area—she wouldn’t put it past them to pay for the surveillance feed. Fantastic.
“You going to drink it, or warm it up in your hands?”
Heat rushed across her cheeks again. His voice sounded pleasingly smooth too, a touch light, considering his heavy build. He must be younger than most soldiers she’d encountered on the edge of the solar system. Like the scotch, his voice hadn’t yet taken on the smokier tone that came with age. Lifting her glass, Kaitlyn took another sip, letting the mellow hint of toffee spread across her tongue. She liked the flavor better without the extra years.
His smile flashed readily and the spark in his eyes turned from amused to wicked in a picosec. “Mind if I have a sip while I’m waiting for mine?”
He caught Kaitlyn without words again. He’d bought her the drink, after all. She started to slide it over. He met her halfway. Warm and strong, his hand closed over hers, lifting the rim to his lips as her skin tingled under his light grip. She could have snatched her hand back, but she would’ve dropped the glass.
She turned her head away again, sure he’d laugh at her awkwardness.
Instead, he leaned a touch closer after he’d had his sip. His proximity burned all along her side, the heat of him seeping right through her uniform. One arm on the bar and the other along the back of her chair, he effectively bracketed her and every nerve vibrated with anticipation, not fear or aggression. What was he doing to her?
“Normally, men suffer bodily damage getting this close to me.” The words popped out before she could filter them. She cringed inwardly. Definitely not something a normal girl would say, especially if she wanted him to hang around.
He choked out a laugh. “I can believe that.”
She looked up, surprised when he didn’t move away. The intensity of his gaze met hers with enough force to steal her breath.
He leaned in until he hovered a whisper away from her cheek. “Am I going to suffer bodily damage?”
His voice did naughty things to her. Kaitlyn swallowed past the catch in her throat. She needed to find some of the metal usually strapped to her spine and reinforce it, or she might melt right there, in the curve of his arms. Tilting her head to one side, she let her hair fall in a curtain between them. “Maybe.”
She felt his smile against her hair. Just when she thought the tension would kill her, he backed away—not far enough to open up the bracket he’d formed, but he’d given her space.
She sucked in air as if she’d been held underwater. Then she took another long sip from her glass. Things fuzzed into a pleasant blur after another minute or two. Good scotch took the edge off a girl.
“Before I risk excruciating pain, do I get a name? I’ll want to tell my medic where the damage came from.” His words came out light, but held a stronger note than curiosity.
“Kaitlyn…” she stuttered as he gently brushed her hair away from her face, his fingertip running along her cheek. She kept her eyes fastened on her glass of scotch. “Kaitlyn Darah.”
“Kaitlyn.” He more than said her name, it was as if he tasted it, savoring the way the word formed in his mouth. “I’m Chris Rygard. Or just Rygard.”
Now there was something she could focus on. “Lieutenant Rygard.” She jerked her chin towards the epaulettes on his shoulders. “Commissioned officer.”
He didn’t get arrogant the way most officers did, only nodded. A fact, nothing more and nothing less. She liked him better for it.
As if she needed more reasons to like him.
“I’d rather you leave off the rank.” He raised one eyebrow as he held out his drink to her.
Hers proved empty again. Fancy that.
She risked lifting her head and instantly regretted it, her face passing too close to his mouth. Needing fortification, maybe to restart her pulse, she reached for the proffered glass. Instead of passing it to her, he held it closer until the complex aroma of the scotch filled her nose. Hesitantly, Kaitlyn rested her fingertips over the back of his hand as she took a sip. Electricity zinged all the way up her arm.
She wanted more, wanted to rub against him and feel skin against skin, purring the whole time. Confused, she took a hefty gulp, the scotch burning down her throat and into her lungs. Better the burn than to make the mistake of purring again.
“How long have you been a merc?”
She blinked at the question, absently running the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip as her mind tried to catch up.
Rygard chuckled. “Do it again, sweetness, and I can think of a lot of things I could do to your lower lip.”
“Only the lower one?” Now where had those words come from? Didn’t matter, she’d finally delivered a good comeback.
He only grinned, his focus on her mouth.
Kaitlyn cleared her throat, biting the lip in question. Suddenly, her mind filled with thoughts of what it would be like if he kissed her. Which would be a train wreck. It’d been a long time since she’d kissed and she probably sucked at it, abysmally.
And wasn’t that a buzzkill? Still, she rallied, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. She didn’t take the opportunity to widen the space between them.
“A few years.” There, she’d finally managed to answer one of his questions with something other than a maybe or a stuttering mess.
“A few years is a long time for a merc.” He said it as if it was fact.
She shook her head. “My captain’s been a merc a couple of decades. I’ve got plenty of time to be me.”
“That so?” He tilted his head to one side. Damn, even if she ducked he would see her blushing now. “And what are you?”
Loaded question and he didn’t even know it.
“A lot of things.” She should have gotten defensive. Normally she shut down, usually walked away. Instead, she sat there feeling giddy, with a smile tugging at her lips and a suspiciously bubbly sensation in her gut. Like she’d turned eighteen all over again.
She was enjoying herself.
Skuld would never let her forget it.
Fascinated, Rygard continued to watch her. Beautiful Kaitlyn Darah presented so many shades of contrast, he didn’t know where to begin. He only knew he wasn’t going to leave the bar without her.
Sleek and black, her merc’s uniform fit her luscious curves like a second skin, her movement not impaired in any way. He’d seen the fluid speed she possessed when she’d plowed her way through the bar brawl. The harnesses she wore across her shoulders and thigh were high quality. The combat knives he could see matched the kind his unit used. He bet she had boot knives too and maybe a couple of hidden blades. Gear of such quality spoke of a successful mercenary.
Seasoned, profitable mercenaries capable of wreaking the kind of damage he’d seen, just to get to a glass of scotch, did not sit tucked up on a bar stool blushing like schoolgirls. But here she perched, sleek as a cat and cute as a kitten.
“Where are you staying?” He wanted to be able to find her, needed to know if she wanted him to.
Her cheeks flamed and her chin dropped at the question, a few locks of dark hair falling across her face. She stuttered again over the name of the hotel, an expensive place and a damned sight better than the tight quarters he shared with DeSarto.
“And you’re on station alone?” Hard to fathom, but then, hard to believe she was even real. So different from the worn, garish women floating around the bar.
She shrugged, her lips twisting into a wry grin, reminding him she was a down-to-earth mercenary despite the sweet face. “I piled up too much unused R and R. My captain left me here with direct orders to have a little fun.”
She might not have realized she’d given him the opening but he seized it. “I think I can help you
with that fun.”
Those big blue eyes blinked at him. Her lips parted, but no words came out as he caught her speechless, again. He almost groaned. His cock had been straining in his pants for what seemed like forever. Damn but he wanted her, and he didn’t want lightly—not with the scars he had in his memory.
“Last call.” Syn cleared their empty glasses. “You two want another round before I close up?”
Little Kaitlyn nodded and the bartender poured her another scotch. He had to give it to her. She’d drunk enough to put a man twice her size under the table and yet her hands remained steady. The only speech impediment she suffered was in reaction to his teasing. And hell, but he could entertain himself with that all night.
As Syn poured him his glass, Rygard held out his wristband to settle the tab. The bartender leaned over the counter and spoke in a low voice for Rygard’s ears only. “You hurt this girl, I will kill you.”
Rygard didn’t laugh at the other man. Patently obvious from her earlier performance, Kaitlyn could handle herself. But when she smiled…like Syn, he would have ripped any man to shreds who took that light away.
If he lucked out, he’d see a different kind of pleasure take over those delicate features. Soon.
Please, for the love of God, soon.
He might not survive being this turned on otherwise.
Chapter Three
Kaitlyn figured she might not survive the next five minutes.
Her heart wasn’t going to make it. It kicked into overdrive at the bar, stopped a couple of times in the lift when Rygard leaned in even closer and currently threatened to pound through her chest.
Rygard. In her room.
Alone.
Well, not alone. She stood there, trying to pull her courage together. Not a panic attack, not the debilitating memories of her capture and torture. No. This felt more like being caught in a swarm of fluttering birds, scattering in every direction and tugging her with them.
And damn it, a hard-core merc like her didn’t flutter. She’d been through hell and back again the past three years. With her enhanced reflexes and strength, she could probably take him if she felt threatened. Probably.