His Virtual Bride

by Dee Brice

  Keely grunted and muttered, "I still don't know why Paris sent us here. We should be looking for Le Roi in seedier places--ones like you frequent. He's more likely to hide out on Io than in Earth's embassy. And I thought only Jupiter had rings."

  Geoff didn't bother to correct her misconception about The Embassy or about Jupiter's rings, but went on in a tour guide voice. "Thanks to human ingenuity, the weather is temperate and humid."

  "Which means we're going to sweat like pigs."

  Geoff grinned. "Unless we go native."

  Keely quirked a brow. "I'm sure I can find something to wear. Resorts usually have a bunch of fancy boutiques with lots of fancy, pricey clothes. And you're paying," she reminded him.

  Geoff grunted and listened to the controller's voice instruct Keely where to land her No-Name.

  "Bet the mooring fees will eat up most of your half of our reward, Geoff," she sniped, following him down the gangway and into a blast of humid air. "Jonathan Jacob Jones, it's hot!"

  "Perfect for swimming." A tall, dark haired, dark eyed, dark skinned young woman smiled an added greeting. "If you will follow me, I'll show you to your transport."

  Keely poked Geoff's ribs, whispering, "Ask her how much she'll take for her skirt and top. I'm roasting."

  "Are you staying at The Reef?"

  "And I want her sandals, too." Keely added, wondering how the woman managed to walk in such high heels.

  "We're at The Embassy."

  Keely didn't know what to make of the woman's assessing look. But she and Geoff followed their escort along a wide pier. To their right, fifty or more couples waited to board several yachts. To their left, a small speedboat awaited. The driver smiled up at them, then reached up to help Keely down. Small gold letters said this small vessel belonged to The Embassy.

  "This is nice," she said. "Reminds me of No-Name."

  "Yeah," Geoff groused, "nice and small."

  "Mister, missus like fast trip or scenic tour?"

  "Scenic." Keely suddenly wanted to avoid staying anywhere with Geoff--especially without someone from Paris' staff around to chaperone.

  "Fast," Geoff countered in his flight commander's voice. "The missus finds the heat unbearable."

  "Then the breeze will cool her." With that, their driver started the boat's engine.

  Since she'd done nothing, but complain about the weather, Keely couldn't argue with speed. She sat, holding her case to her chest. After casting off, Geoff settled in the stern beside their driver and folded his arms over his chest.

  Like a quarter horse, the little craft surged forward. Feeling her stomach lurch, Keely laughed. This was almost as much fun as taking the No-Name through a wormhole. And the breeze did cool her.

  She glanced at Geoff. He, too, seemed to enjoy the reckless speed, the sun on his face, the breeze riffling his hair. He smiled at her, genuine warmth in his eyes. Her heart fluttered, making her feel like a schoolgirl experiencing her first infatuation. Hoping her foolish heart wasn't in her eyes, Keely looked toward the nearing horizon.

  On the crest of a mountain rose an ancient castle, its tall walls gleaming in the sunlight. Brilliant copper slates on the rooftops made her eyes hurt.

  Their driver reduced the boat's speed and her prow settled. Moments later she bumped against the pier. "Enjoy your stay," he offered as Geoff sprang out, his pack slung over his shoulder.

  He reached for her case, but Keely held on tight. With a growl, Geoff picked her up, case and all, and set her on the dock.

  Turning away, she groaned and pulled at the neckline of her flight suit. Without the breeze, her skin felt sticky. She eyed the steep flight of stairs before her. Jutting her chin, she started up.

  Geoff passed her, his long legs carrying him easily up the steps. When Keely finally reached the top, she found him relaxing against a narrow gate, his entire body in blessed shade.

  Jove blast him! He could have taken her case!

  Can't have it both ways, Keely girl. Either you're an independent woman or a wimp. She hated playing helpless, but there were times when she wished she could. This was one of them.

  "We're in a private bungalow on the beach."

  "We need to check in," she protested, trying to regain her breath. She'd thought she was in pretty good shape, but the stairs had had nearly destroyed every muscle in her legs. Her thighs were still complaining when Geoff took off across the stone terrace.

  "I've already checked us in," Geoff called over his shoulder before he disappeared.

  Reaching the spot where he'd vanished, Keely looked down. And down and down and down. A set of stairs descended through a tunnel of trees that seemed ominous to her. But the branches might provide relief from the heat and humidity. At least she hoped they would. Seeking shade, she descended. When she reached the bottom of the endless stairs, she spotted her partner.

  "Welcome to Saturnalia," Geoff greeted, sweeping his arm over the wide expanse of sand and water. Light waves kissed the shore, then rolled away like merry maidens flirting with their sand-bound lovers.

  Awed by the breathtaking scenery, Keely said, "You must be rich, rich, rich."

  "I do all right."

  When the door to the bungalow opened--seemingly of its own accord--Geoff quickly retrieved his personal blaster from his ankle holster.

  Keely shot him an impatient look--one that said, Are you paranoid or just crazy? and peered around the door. Calling out, "Hello the house," she sauntered inside. "Nobody here except you, Chicken," she added, casting him another disparaging look.

  "I'll just look around anyway. Le Roi is nuts. I wouldn't put it passed him to have planted traps in here."

  Planting her hands on her hips, Keely glared up at him. "If there are any traps, you should look closer to home."

  "Closer? Like where?"

  "At your precious queen Paris. After all, she sent us here."

  Geoff ignored her. Striding across the enormous living room, he opened the single interior door. "Bedroom," he announced before going in. Returning few minutes later, he grinned at Keely. "You're gonna love the bathroom."

  Keely went on her own reconnaissance. When she came back she pulled the cushions off the couch. "There's just one problem." She flung throw pillows and cushions in the general direction of the couch as if she intended to return them to their proper places.

  "What's that?" Geoff went to the freestanding bar in one corner. "Hey! Saturnalian brandy."

  "Duh. We're on Saturn. Sorta," she amended before Geoff corrected her. He just grinned. "The problem is there is only one bedroom. And only one bed."

  "So? That bed's big enough to hold a dozen of you plus four of me."

  Keely threw a pillow at him. "If I didn't know Paris has the hots for you…"

  Geoffs placed the brandy bottle and two snifters on the bar. "Kiki--I can't get used to calling her Paris."

  "Which is by way of saying you've known her a long time." Plopping on a chair, Keely pulled off her boots and wiggled her toes.

  "A couple of years. We met when her grandfather was Mars' ambassador to Earth."

  "This carpet's so thick I think I may never wear shoes again."

  "A circuitous way of asking if Paris and I ever hit the sheets."

  Keely frowned. "Spare me the details. If you said you'd had a torrid affair, I wouldn't believe you."

  Holding up a bottle of what looked like orange juice, Geoff asked, "Why not?"

  Shrugging, Keely replied, "Dunno. Probably woman's intuition."

  "Meaning you don't have a clue."

  "Meaning she looks at you like a woman who's never tasted chocolate and you are the first bite she wants."

  Geoff chuckled. "What about you? Do you like chocolate?"

  "Don't know." She blinked and looked away. "I still don't understand why Paris sent us here. If her great-uncle is running away… I'd pick a less conspicuous place to hide. And if she truly wants to help you find your spaceship, why send us off to search for Le Roi at all?"

&
nbsp; "I guess Paris thinks Le Roi may know where The Honey is."

  "Why would he know? Unless… Maybe she thinks he stole your ship."

  Stepping into Keely's line of sight, Geoff held out a glass. "Have some juice before we go for a swim."

  "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a redhead. Redheads burn."

  "Guess you didn't notice the tube of the sunscreen in the bathroom."

  "Guess you forgot I don't have a swimsuit. Or much of anything else to wear--except this flight suit. Which stinks."

  "Doesn't."

  Keely sprang to her feet. "I knew you'd cheap your way out of buying me something to wear." Starting for the door to outside, she glared over her shoulder. "Bet your precious Paris will take a pound of your flesh when she gets the bill for my clothes."

  "I think you're confusing your Shakespeare," he countered, stopping her in her tracks.

  "I wasn't even thinking of Shakespeare."

  "I know."

  "Then why bring him up?"

  "Just imagining you in one of those tunics you'll find in the bedroom closet."

  * * * *

  "What has The Merchant of Venice got to do with--? Oh, I get it. Portia."

  "Shylock," Geoff countered, stretching as he stood. "We have dinner reservations for nineteen hundred hours. Then we'll cruise the casino for a few hours. See if we can spot our missing despot."

  Eyeing him warily, Keely circled around to the bar. "You'd think a place this fancy would have cafftea."

  "Most resorts that have casinos don't. They want you gambling."

  "Then why…why Paris?"

  "Huh?" Geoff peered at her as she poured a glass of something yellowish and thick.

  "Shakespeare's plays--four of them--have characters named Paris. None of them is a woman. So why would the Queen of Mars choose Paris for her name?"

  I'm more interested in how you know how many plays have characters named Paris, Geoff thought. "I guess she wanted to honor her French ancestors."

  "Hmm. You'd think she'd choose something more feminine. Like Marie or Jeanne. Or…Coco. After all, your queen is establishing Mars as a fashion center to rival--"

  "Paris," Geoff interrupted. "Ki--she'd enjoy the irony in that. And she's not my queen."

  "Guess it's kind of hard--er difficult--being a queen's unacknowledged consort."

  Feeling his anger flare, Geoff gritted his teeth. Keely seemed to delight in provoking him. He, on the other hand, fought against showing how deeply she burrowed under his skin.

  "If you're not gonna shower," he growled, "I am."

  Keely scampered toward the bedroom, snatching up her boots on the way. "I hope whoever saved you from buying me something to wear included shoes. Or those tunics you mentioned are long enough to cover my feet."

  "Coming up on eighteen hundred hours, Shrimp." He unfastened the top fastener on his flight suit.

  For a long moment Keely stood perfectly still, her eyes going a stormy gray–green. The tip of her tongue peeked out, then disappeared. Geoff's cock hardened, a clear picture of Keely's tongue playing over and under and all around it popping into his mind. And she just stood there. Waiting. Daring him to make the first move. He unfastened the next fastener and exposed more of this chest.

  She fled.

  * * * *

  Why was it that when she most needed to hurry, nothing worked? Keely stared at the enormous glass enclosure. It looked as if it could hold a dozen Geoff-sized people and still have room for a dozen of her. He had called the enclosure a shower, but she had no clue how it operated. On her little No-Name she just opened the door to a dinky opaque tube, stepped inside and the tube blew some kind of cleaner over her before blowing it away. The whole operation took about thirty seconds. She'd tried the same routine with this shower thingy, but it hadn't worked.

  Rocking from heel to toe, she hummed her frustration. She thought about asking Geoff for help, but thought she was probably safer if she didn't. He'd want to shower with her and she didn't trust him to keep his hands off her. More important, she didn't trust her own sense of modesty when he was around. She could just as easily attack him and modesty be damned.

  "Well hell," she muttered.

  "Right idea. Wrong words, honey," a disembodied voice offered.

  Keely nearly jumped out of her skin. Clamping her hands over her mouth, she smothered her shriek and spun in a slow circle. Unless that voice came from a ghost, she couldn't see anyone.

  A figure appeared in stages. A mop of blonde curls. A piquant face with merry blue eyes and tilt-tipped nose and perfect rosy lips. A voluptuous body encased in a lime green jumpsuit that covered the female from the swell of her breasts to the tops of her slender thighs.

  "Tinker Bell," Keely muttered, convinced Geoff had brought her to Never Land.

  "Herma," the pixie-like woman corrected, looking down at her own hazy form. "Excuse my ectoplasm appearance. Frodie and I are usually more substantial."

  Keely grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her naked body. "F-Frodie?"

  Herma giggled. "He's not here, honey. I think he's still on Earth, trying to straighten out this lack of substance problem. We're usually physically nearer to each other than we are right now which keeps us from looking like ghosts." She held out a dainty hand.

  Keely wiped her damp and trembling hand on her towel, then shook Herma's. A frission of instant recognition jolted through her. She jerked away. "D-do I know you?" she asked, hating her shaking voice.

  Ignoring the question, Herma told her, "Step inside, honey, and just say 'On'. The shower will do the rest."

  "Okay, b-but--"

  "I won't peek. In fact, I'll leave the room."

  "Thanks."

  "When you're done just say 'Off'."

  "Thanks again."

  "Later--when you have more time--you should try the bathtub. 'Bye."

  Keely waited for the sound of a closing door. Hearing nothing more than her growling stomach, stepping into the shower, she dropped her towel

  "On," she whispered--as if that ephemeral being Herma might hear her and come back. "Blessed be. Water. Honest-to-Goddess water."

  It came from every direction and felt like a thousand little fingers all over her body. Cool at first, it gradually heated and those thousand little fingers seemed to focus on her nipples and between her thighs.

  Sweet Goddess! She'd read hundreds of books--sex manuals and what Paris called pornography--but none of them had stimulated her senses like this. This felt even better than the first time she'd launched her No-Name into a wormhole. Her brain swam with images of couples making love in all sorts of impossible ways. She felt their tension rise, rise, rise to the sweet release of climax. She reached for that same release, but it slipped away.

  Weak-kneed and frustrated, she slumped against the shower wall and craved that giant wave to soothe her to total relaxation. Seconds, minutes, hours later resentment seeped into her mind. Jove blast it! Those couples had had partners, while she was alone. As far as she could remember, she'd always been alone. Would always be alone.

  "If you cry, your eyes will get red." Herma sounded both sympathetic and stern.

  Keely hiccupped as she swiped at her cheeks--tears or water she neither knew nor cared. "Off," she commanded.

  The water stopped, but the shower wasn't done with her yet. It blew soft warm air over her until she was dry from head to toes. It slathered lotion over every inch of her, and seemed to pat her back as if saying Well done!

  Wrapping her towel around her, she padded into the bedroom. And took that depressing feeling of loneliness with her.

  "Damn! Forgot my clothes." She should have taken underwear into the bathroom, just in case--

  "You mean these?" Geoff's voice came from the deepest shadows.

  She almost jumped out of her skin, he scared her so badly. Still, she'd kind of expected him to sneak in. "I locked the door. How did you get in here?" And where did you find those panties and that skimpy bra?

  "One o
f the tricks of the trade I'll teach you. You never know when a good set of lock picks might come in handy."

  "Ropes don't need keys or picks."

  "Handcuffs do." He stepped from shadow into light.

  Keely almost swallowed her tongue. "You…you're naked!"

  "About as naked as you are."

  He strode toward her like a lazy cat. Only this cat had an erection that made his skimpy skivvies look several sizes too small.

  "If you'd waited, we could have showered together."

  "Nuh-uh."

  "I figured you'd say no." He touched the tip of her nose with the tip of his finger. "Next time, Keely."

  She was slipping her feet into open-toed sandals when she heard Geoff's shout.

  "Jove-blasted hermaphrodite! Get outta my shower!"

  Chapter Three

  Paris' Private Quarters

  "That spaceship--The Honey--is costing us a small fortune, Paris."

  Paris blew a perfectly round smoke ring. She seldom indulged, but this particular cigar was a gift from a very special friend. "The Honey's protection will net a tidy profit, Grandfather. Trust me."

  "I do, but I still can't see where the tidy profit will come from. You've put a dozen or more booby-traps inside her and another dozen droids outside. Droids aren't cheap."

  "But they are key to my plans. I don't want certain people to board her too easily. Besides, that spaceship is invaluable.

  "Is she?"

  Blowing anther perfect smoke ring, Paris permitted herself a grin. "We'll find out, won't we?"

  "Soon, I hope. Very soon."

  Chapter Four

  She's a duck. Wakes up in a new world every morning, Geoff thought, watching Keely carefully deposit a single credit chip into the one-armed bandit she was playing. Before she pulled the handle, she patted the machine's colorful belly and cooed something under her breath. As she watched the dozen wheels spin, Geoff could almost see the wheels spinning in her head, willing the cogs to stop just where she wanted. The Jove-blasted machine came up blank across its entire face. Bells went off. Credits tumbled into the already full tray. Lights flashed.