by Mel Teshco
“The bastard really set you up, didn’t he?”
A scratchy sensation formed behind her eyeballs and in her throat. “Yes, he did. But I was the one who agreed to become his lover. My refusal might well have signed my own brother’s death warrant.”
Jarred’s voice dropped, serious and commanding. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think that. You shouldn’t have been responsible for your brother’s wellbeing, not in that way. No one should. The elitist old jerk was taking advantage of a very bad situation. End of story.”
She nodded, buoyed a little by his reassurance. The guilt had been weighing her down for so long and it was a relief to get it off her chest. She should have trusted Jarred right from the start.
The band began to do a sound check in the background.
Jarred’s thumb stroked over her hand, his attention wholly on her. “Just one more thing?” he asked softly.
Something about his tone prickled her senses. “Yes?”
“What was the man’s name?”
She frowned, then half-joked, “Why? Are you going to avenge me when you go back to Earth?”
“Perhaps.” His smile tempered his deadly intent. “After I find out where your family is and if they’re okay.”
Hope caught her in its snare, sidetracking her from his other plans. “You’d do that for me?”
He nodded, his voice turning husky. “You must know I’d give you the whole of Solitaire if I could?”
If she’d felt lighter before, she was positively floating now. She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed some more of her beer, using the time to collect her frazzled thoughts. “I would be forever grateful if you really did track down my family and let them know I’m doing okay.”
“Done.” His head cocked to one side. “I only hope I can bring you back the good news you deserve to hear.”
Her heart lurched at the thought of her brother being dead, maybe even her parents. “So do I.” The way things were going on Earth, death was highly possible. Losing them would be unbearable, but if Jarred died too …
She closed her eyes and regrouped, then focused on Jarred. “Just promise me one thing.”
His eyes glinted. “What?”
“That you’ll stay away from Boarke.”
He pushed back against the booth seat, his posture tense and his eyes sharp. “Eton Boarke?”
She frowned. “You know him?”
“He’s an elite thug. There aren’t many who don’t know him.”
The band abruptly launched into song, no introductions apparently necessary. The crowd immediately cheered and clapped, buzzing with beer and energy.
Jarred stood, and shouted above the noise, “Enough talk now. Let’s dance.”
She tipped the rest of the beer down her throat and accepted his hand. She’d never really learned how to dance—there’d been no point when survival alone had been her focus for so many years. But she found her body swaying to the beat as she followed Jarred’s lead, his big hand on the small of her back, plastering her to him until it was as if they were one.
He wheeled them around and she tilted her head back, trusting him implicitly not to drop her. When she finally straightened, she was laughing and a little dizzy, her spirits so damn high she thought she might be on the verge of crying with joy.
The band broke into a slower number and Jarred pulled her into his arms. “Having fun?” he murmured into her ear.
“Hell yes,” she breathed. She pulled back a little to stare up into his eyes. “You make me happy.”
She pushed onto her tiptoes even as he bent his head. Everyone around them disappeared as his mouth captured hers. She sighed and wilted against him, their lips sealing and their souls bonding.
It seemed Jarred really didn’t have any desire to keep their relationship quiet. As she dropped back onto her flats and snuggled against him, she could feel the stares and hear the whispers, even over the music.
The pilot was a catch and a half, and she, a lowly prisoner, had managed to snare him. There would be many available women sizing her up and hating her right at that moment. Women who had money and looks, maybe even a career. But she no longer felt unworthy. Jarred reminded her in every way that she was special.
The song ended and a hard rock song pulsed into being. Jarred spoke into her ear. “Let’s get out of here.”
She grinned. Their date night was ending fast, but she didn’t mind a bit. Not if it meant he’d be taking her to his room, and to paradise once again. Then again, she didn’t want to be a total pushover. She could tease and provoke and use her feminine wiles with the best of them.
“Already?” she shouted above the music. At his darkening stare she added, “But you went to all the trouble of buying me this dress. I don’t want our date to end so fast.”
He nodded, acquiescing like the gentleman she’d discovered him to be. He lasted another handful of songs before he was more definite with his suggestion that they leave.
She nodded, catching her breath. But it wasn’t their dancing that meant she was suddenly short of oxygen. With his pained face and his obvious need to fuck her, her own body flared with returned lust, squeezing her belly and lungs with need.
She was probably lucky Jarred hadn’t bought her the lacy thong that had apparently been on offer along with the dress and sandals. There was no way a skimpy piece of lace would have absorbed the moisture going on between her thighs.
Nothing would absorb it except Jarred’s big hard cock hammering into her pussy, creating a friction that would burn up her moisture even as she burned up for him.
Jarred held her hand and pulled her through the crowd. They made it to the corridor before he pushed her against the wall and his mouth latched onto hers.
She closed her eyes and gave in to the wonder of the moment. How had she gotten so lucky? From lonely prisoner to lover of a goddamned pilot, of all people!
The bulge of Jarred’s erection against her belly told her that she wasn’t the only one affected. He’d restrained his desire long enough.
She pulled back, leaning her head against the wall as he stood over her. “I thought you wanted me for more than just my body, pilot?”
“I do,” he growled. “But watching you in that damn dress seems to have hard wired my brain to my dick.” He planted his legs wide and ground his erection against her mound to prove his point. “I can’t help but think extremely wicked thoughts about what I’m going to do to make you come.”
Her lashes fluttered. “You’re making me wet and you’ve hardly even touched me.”
His smile was slow and hot, his voice raspy with suggestions. “Imagine how wet you’ll be after I lick every part of you, worship your breasts, your pussy, stick my tongue into—”
“One-thirty-three. I should have known I’d find you here.”
A bucket of iced water couldn’t have destroyed the heat of the moment as quickly as Stokes’ voice did. She closed her eyes even as Jarred’s whole body tensed.
Not only was the guard’s timing lousy, he seemed to have no common sense in regards to Jarred’s volatile mood.
The guard took Jarred’s silence as permission to continue. “I’m sure the good pilot doesn’t appreciate you constantly hunting him down … Nice dress, by the way.”
Her teeth clenched. Even Stokes’ so-called compliment dripped with innuendo.
“Are you stalking my woman, Stokes?” Jarred asked quietly, but with a dangerous undertone that any fool would know better than to mess with.
“Your woman?” Stokes’ voice was caught between disbelief and scorn, his emotions evidently blinding him to the fury bubbling just beneath Jarred’s façade. “She’s a lemon drop,” he swept his hand toward her dress, “disguised as an … an expensive hooker.”
One second Jarred was leaning over her, around her; the next he was in Stokes’ face, a big hand wrapped around his throat. “Apologize to Lucinda.”
Stokes’ face paled, then mottled an alarming red. “I’m s
… sorry,” he choked out.
“Sorry … Lucinda,” Jarred added softly.
The guard’s eyes bulged, his breath laboring, but Jarred’s grip didn’t ease. “Sorry, Lucinda,” Stokes finally grated out.
“Good.” Jarred’s hands tightened. “Now you can explain how it is you know I was married. And I’m warning you now, I’m rarely wrong when it comes to reading a lie.”
Stokes’ face went from mottled red to purple. “I … I heard things.”
Jarred’s grip loosened fractionally. “What exactly did you hear and from whom?”
Stokes visibly swallowed, hacked out a cough, then said with forced bravado, “I knew one of the men who took your wife.”
“Go. On.” Jarred’s expression was eerily calm.
The guard’s words came out in a rush, as though he finally realized he was treading a fine line but didn’t quite know how to appease the pilot. “I knew him as Marko—it’s the only name anyone called him. Kill him if you want, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again. I’ll be stuck on Solitaire while Marko and his men fuck their way through—”
Lucinda put a hand to her mouth even before Jarred slammed Stokes against the wall. The guard slumped and slid to the floor, the back of his head leaving behind a crimson smear.
She reached out a hand to Jarred, as though she could get through his roiling fury. But there was nothing she could do or say to ease his pain. “Jarred, I’m so sorry.”
His hands worked almost of their own volition, opening and closing into fists, a muscle in his jaw flickering and the warmth in his eyes cooling to sub zero. “All this time Stokes knew about my wife. I should kill him.”
Lucinda’s breath hitched, unbearable pain lancing through her heart. Not because Jarred was ready to kill Stokes. Not even close. No, the hurt was at the way Jarred said my wife. Present tense. It was as if Lucinda was already forgotten.
Two off-duty guards stepped from the bar and out into the corridor. The moment they saw their colleague in trouble they rushed over, examined him briefly, then glanced at Jarred and Lucinda and quietly agreed to take Stokes to the hospital.
Lucinda stood frozen in place. Heaven help her, she’d been nothing more than a substitute for Emily right from the start. She’d been Jarred’s distraction, the second-best woman in his life. Even if he never found his wife, she’d always be the shadow haunting him.
Her eyes prickled with moisture. She forced her legs to move even as she blinked back her tears, refusing to let Jarred see her hurting.
She needn’t have worried.
Jarred didn’t even notice her leave.
He didn’t seem to notice anything at all.
Chapter Eight
It was only when Lucinda got back to her cell that she realized she was still in her bright orange dress and sandals.
So much for staying invisible.
A guard opened her cell door with a nod and a raised brow, his stare raking her up and down. But he’d obviously been informed by the hierarchy that she’d had permission to go out, and in something other than her prison uniform, because he kept his mouth shut.
She should have been relieved by that one small mercy, but it didn’t stop the misery filling her from the inside out.
God, she was an idiot. She’d taken a leap into the unknown and once again no one had been there to catch her fall. Now her heart was broken, her spirit. Hell, even her stupid pride.
“Damn girl, you look fuckable and wretched all at the same time. What happened?”
She blinked, dragged out of her preoccupation by her cellmate, Monique. She managed a wobbly smile at the dark-haired woman, then shrugged and said, “My date didn’t end on quite the high I’d hoped.”
Monique swung out of her bunk bed and plunked a hand on her hip. “You mean he didn’t thoroughly fuck you before you came back here?”
Lucinda laughed. She couldn’t help it, though her laugh carried notes of despair and hysteria, all in one.
Anna, her other cellmate, stayed on her own bed. “See, you should have stuck with a woman. Men have an awful habit of taking what they want and then discarding once they’ve had their fill.”
Lucinda shook her head. “Jarred didn’t discard me.”
Monique threw Anna a look. “Sounds like she’s in denial.”
Anna heaved out a sigh. “Sounds like she’s in love.”
Lucinda’s legs were heavy when she walked the short distance to her bunk bed and sat on the edge. “I think maybe you’re both right.”
She didn’t want to admit it, but she had been discarded—the moment Jarred had heard the word wife. As for love, she no longer had any doubts. She’d fallen head over heels for the pilot the moment she’d spilled a bag of dirty laundry and he’d helped her pick it all up.
Anna joined Lucinda on her bed. “Just so you know, I take great pride in making a girl forget about a man’s cock.”
Lucinda’s smile was wobbly. “Thanks for the offer—”
“But no thanks?” Anna finished. She shook her head. “Your loss.”
The last thing Lucinda had expected from either of her cellmates was them trying to cheer her up. Perhaps her whole theory on blending in and going unnoticed had worked against her? It sure seemed as though exposing her vulnerability had brought out their nurturing side.
Well, maybe not Anna. The brunette’s thoughts mostly centered on how much she wanted to dip her tongue into Lucinda’s pussy. She glanced at her cellmate, whose dark-brown hair gleamed under the lights.
Anna had always taken great pride in her own appearance. Add her bedroom prowess, and Lucinda could understand why she was so popular between the sheets—with both men and women.
Monique certainly didn’t complain, though Lucinda wasn’t sure how she felt about Anna’s many lovers. Monique didn’t seem to be the jealous type, yet she’d never been intimate, at least not openly, with anyone but her cellmate.
Lucinda sighed. She couldn’t begin to understand the complex relationship between Monique and Anna. What she did know was that Jarred was the only one she wanted in her bed and between her legs; the only person she wanted in her life.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All I want right now is to sleep.”
Anna stood and clucked her tongue. “Sleep might be the best medicine, but oral sex will make you smile again.”
Lucinda climbed under the scratchy sheets. “Thanks, Anna.” She glanced toward the dark-haired beauty, who stood near the cell door. “You too, Monique. You’re good friends.”
“Ouch.” Monique’s grin softened the sarcasm. “Guess we know where we stand now, Anna.”
Lucinda shut her eyes, too tired to defend her comments and too downhearted to care. Darkness was pressing in on her surprisingly fast. She finally managed to mutter, “You two should stick together … made for … one … another …”
*
Lucinda had never suffered from a hangover before, but it sure as hell felt like she had one now. Even though she’d slept like the dead, it hadn’t done a thing for her wellbeing.
No doubt heartache was more at fault than any of the beer she’d consumed. It was an ache that wouldn’t ease any time in the foreseeable future.
Aside from Boarke, she’d never wished for someone’s death before. And although it was likely Emily was no longer alive, until Jarred knew once and for all, it seemed impossible for them to move forward. He still had feelings for his wife, there was no getting around it, and knowing Jarred’s loyalty lay with someone else burned all the way to her toes.
She’d trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her, yet he’d un-bricked the wall around her heart and exposed her love for all to see.
It had been bad enough that he hadn’t come after her when she’d returned to her cell, but the next morning, he’d sent a guard with her uniform and footwear. She’d been gutted.
He hadn’t even had the decency to return her clothes in person. It would have been the perfect excuse for him to drop by again, de
spite the fact she had two other uniforms. Had Stokes’ revelation reminded him how much he still wanted to be with his wife? Or had he been using Lucinda from the get-go?
No, she refused to believe that. His feelings for her had been too serious, his emotions too sincere. His honesty was tangible.
She sighed, and pulled some hand-knitted socks from the clothes cleanser. One day she’d get around to attending a sock-knitting class. There were no shops where they were going—everyone would need to learn a whole new set of skills.
Basic survival 101.
She blew out a breath. Not even the pink and purple polka dot socks on a garish yellow background could make her smile. Hell, she was tempted to pair one of them with a plaid sock, just to piss the owners off.
Bettina cast her a quizzical look. “What’s up with you, Lucinda?”
Lucinda rolled the correct socks into one another. “Nothing.” How could she explain her feelings when she couldn’t even make sense of them herself?
“Bullshit, nothing.” Bettina wasn’t one to tiptoe around the truth. “You look about ready to scream, or break down in tears.”
Lucinda arched a brow. “I’m not about to scream, and you don’t have to worry about me crying on your shoulder anytime soon.” Her laugh held no joy. “I’ve already got a woman who wants to give me more than just her shoulder.”
Bettina snorted. “If you’re talking about Anna, she’s had the hots for you from day dot.” She arched a brow. “Maybe you should think about taking up her offer? I mean, a man can give you babies, but can he give you love?”
“I don’t think Lucinda needs to worry about that. Not with me.”
“Holy shit,” Bettina breathed. Lucinda jumped at Jarred’s voice so close behind her.
Losing her balance, Lucinda reached out to right herself. But the moment she touched the side of an active clothes cleanser, her breath hissed sharply. It was scorching hot. She jerked her arm back and Jarred immediately took action, leading her to the soaker sink and tap—one of the few with running water—to place her hand underneath.
The water spurted out and she distantly prayed it wouldn’t exceed their daily allowance. Even though it was recycled from human waste, water was a precious commodity. Wasting even a capful more than permitted could get all the laundry women into big trouble.