Tales of the Shareem, Volume 2

by Allyson James

  “What else did you find while you were searching my place?” he asked.

  Her little, shy, sideways glance made his blood heat. “One or two things, in that wooden box. I didn’t understand what they were all for.”

  Aw, she was so cute when she blushed. Deanna had lost her businesslike stance, and had once again become the woman who’d asked him to show her how to bring him off. “Make an appointment with me, sweetheart, and I’ll teach you all about the things in my magic box.”

  Deanna’s blush deepened, and a for a moment, he thought she’d agree. But then she lost her smile and looked serious. “I wanted to ask you about your lifemate, Shela. She never had a child, did she? But obviously you can make one, and you wouldn’t have had the sterility inoculations on Sirius.”

  The delightful thoughts of watching Deanna sift through his box of accoutrements while he showed her what each plug, strap, ring, and clamp was for, fled.

  “No,” he said in a quiet voice. “Shela couldn’t. That was . . . hard on her.”

  “I’m sorry.” Deanna sounded like she meant it. “You stayed with her, though. I mean, you knew you could have kids, but not with her.”

  “Yes, I stayed.” He wondered what was going on behind those pretty eyes. “Not her fault, and I wanted to be with her. Why are you asking?”

  “No reason.” She swerved the car up the last of the hill to the double street where the coffeehouse lay. “We’re here.”

  Deanna pulled the car over, parking it behind hovercars in which Vistara women were driven half a block by their chauffeurs to go shopping. The coffeehouse was open and full, and the four young women sat at their table by the window.

  Justin sat back in his seat and slowly let out his breath. Deanna had parked closer to the coffeehouse than he usually got to stand. The car’s tinted windows hid them from the passersby on the street, but unlike Brianne’s car, its windows didn’t have so much shielding that they blocked out the windows of the coffeehouse.

  Justin saw Sybellie clearly. She laughed at something one of her friends said, her mouth open as she clenched her hands around her coffee cup.

  She was so beautiful. Justin saw much of Lillian in her, but her eyes were the same shape as the ones that looked back at him from the mirror in his bathroom. The rose color she chose for her veils suited her, matching her pink lips and . . .

  “She paints her fingernails,” Justin said in tender wonder. “Pink to match her veil.”

  “I see that.”

  He felt himself grinning like an idiot. “Am I supposed to say, that looks nice, honey, or tell her she shouldn’t spend all her time on manicures? Damn it, I don’t know how to be a father.”

  “I don’t know what you’re supposed to say. I don’t have kids either.”

  The sadness in Deanna’s voice tugged at him. “What did your mom say to you?” he asked.

  Deanna glanced at her fingernails, which were smooth but short. “I’ve never had my nails done, so nothing about that. She did once tell me, that’s a nice pistol, honey, but don’t spend all your time at the firing range.”

  Justin had to laugh, even though her voice had gone sadder still. He rested his hand on Deanna’s thigh, liking the wiry strength of it, remembering her in the shower, her skin soft and feminine.

  She was giving him a gift, he realized, letting him see Sybellie without interference. He was going to kiss her for that. And more.

  Sybellie was telling her friends something, her eyes animated, hands moving as she related whatever was the funny story. He wanted to hear it, wanted to see her roll her eyes and say, Dad! when he asked her about it.

  He wanted it so much it was killing him.

  “It’s a hell of a thing,” he said softly. “I want to see her, talk to her, hug her—just be with her. But I also want to protect her. And I can only do that by staying away from her.”

  He felt Deanna’s gaze on him. She was looking at him in understanding, sympathy even. No, she was definitely not like any other patroller he’d ever met.

  The girls were leaving. The four of them walked out, pausing outside the coffeehouse to talk still more.

  Justin couldn’t take his eyes off Sybellie. She was so young, so innocent and pretty. Lillian had been much the same, but Lillian had already been hardened when she was twenty, having to grub for a living. Sybellie was soft, unused to the world, untouched. Free. Happy.

  There was much hugging, and then two of the girls walked away, their arms linked. Sybellie and her other friend remained, still talking. At times, they both were talking at the same time without realizing it, and Justin laughed.

  He watched her, his heart full, his daughter three steps away from him, and she never knew it.

  Sybellie’s friend walked away, Sybellie waving. She scanned the street, as though deciding which direction to go. Her gaze swept over the car, not seeing Justin behind the tinted glass, not knowing he sat there, his entire being aching for her.

  Deanna’s fingers closed around his and squeezed. Justin clung to her hand, glad she was with him, knowing she’d done this for him.

  A man walked past the car, an off-worlder by his clothes. He stopped and looked at Sybellie. Justin noticed him only because the man took a few quick steps forward, put himself in front of Sybellie, and started talking to her.

  A growl rose in his throat. Maybe the guy knew her, friend of her parents, or something.

  But Sybellie was drawing back, giving him a look of distaste, and then disgust, then fear. She tried to turn away, but the man grabbed her arm.

  Justin was halfway out of the car when Deanna’s full weight landed on him. “Justin, don’t you dare!”

  Justin fought to untangle himself. “He needs to get the hell away from her.”

  “I know. But let me. Let me.”

  “Damn it, Deanna—”

  Deanna let him go but locked the passenger door at the same time she opened her own. “You stay there. This is my job.”

  Justin knew she was right. If he leapt out and accosted the man, he would be arrested, and Sybellie might be exposed. But he couldn’t just sit here . . .

  Deanna was around the car, her stun gun held casually in her hand, her patroller’s swagger in place. Justin held his breath, but at the same time he felt a surge of pride as Deanna moved to the man and got right in his face.

  That’s my girl . . .

  *** *** ***

  The off-worlder was the kind Deanna didn’t like—arrogant, superior-acting, so sure that Bor Narga, in spite of its advanced culture, was backward because it was ruled by women. Well, he was going to learn a thing or two.

  Deanna stepped to him and used a practiced grip on his wrist to make him open his hand. The man winced, and his eyes widened in sudden pain, but he let go of Sybellie.

  “What the fuck?” He had an accent, but he spoke Bor Nargan very clearly. It sounded like he’d practiced the swear words.

  “Bor Nargan women aren’t to be touched without permission,” Deanna said in her crisp, Patroller First Class voice. “That’s on page two of your Traveler’s Guide to Bor Narga, which was handed out to you on your transport. You read it, right?”

  “Hey, bitch, you shouldn’t touch me.”

  He was red with anger, and Sybellie started to edge away.

  “It’s all right,” Deanna told her. “He’s just a dickhead. Don’t disrupt your day because of him.”

  “You should be polite to me, sweetheart,” the man said, “or you won’t get anyone else coming to this backwoods planet.”

  “On page thirty-six, it says you can be arrested for being an asshole,” Deanna said. “Now clear off the Vistara before you tempt me.”

  He tapped a badge on his tunic. “Fuck you. This means I get to go anywhere I want to on this rock.”

  “That is a Class Three pass. Meaning you can go anywhere you want as long as you follow Bor Nargan law, which includes obeying any directive given to you by a patroller. If you disobey my directive, I get to stu
n you, arrest you, take you to detention, and then throw your butt off this rock.”

  “What are you going to do, sweetie, put me in cuffs? Maybe I’d like that.”

  Why when Justin teased her about handcuffs did Deanna blush and go hot, but when this man said it, she wanted to kick him?

  Maybe because she knew Justin wanted to play and to pleasure, to make her feel good. This guy didn’t like women at all.

  “I don’t need the cuffs.” Deanna stuck the barrel of the stun gun into his ribs. “If I squeeze this trigger, you’ll be out for a couple of hours. Maybe longer. When you wake up, you’ll be in a cell or maybe already on a transport. How long you’re unconscious depends on what setting I have my stun gun on, and you know, I can’t remember which it is now. So, you can either get off the Vistara and stay close to wherever you’re billeting, or I stun you and process you. Your choice.”

  The man glanced at her gun, then at the passersby who were frowning at him, clearly on Deanna’s side.

  He took a step back but pointed his finger at her. “I’m reporting you, bitch.”

  “Please do. I’ll be interested to read my stationmaster’s report.”

  With a final growl, the man turned on his heel and stalked off. He’d never looked again at Sybellie, which had been the whole point.

  “You all right?” Deanna asked her.

  Sybellie let out a shaky her breath. “Remind me not to visit his planet, wherever it is.”

  “There’s probably a sign posted to approaching craft—Warning, assholes ahead.”

  Sybellie laughed, her mouth quirking in a way that reminded Deanna of Justin.

  “Thank you for helping me,” she said. “I wasn’t quite sure what to do.”

  “You did fine. And never be afraid to call out for a patroller.” Deanna glanced at the car where Justin waited. She couldn’t see through the window, but she imagined Justin glued to the glass. “Would you like a ride somewhere? In case the guy doesn’t clear out fast enough?”

  Sybellie looked down the street, worried and hesitant at the same time. “If it’s not too much trouble . . .”

  “Not at all. It’s my job to make sure citizens of Bor Narga are all right.”

  Sybellie let out another breath. “I’m on my way to the university.”

  “Easy. Come on.” Deanna led the way around the car, opening the small back door for her.

  When Deanna slid into the drivers’ seat, Sybellie was settling herself in the back. Sybellie glanced curiously at Justin, who sat on the far side of his seat, against the door, looking poleaxed.

  “Don’t mind him,” Deanna said as she sealed the doors and lifted the hovercar. “This is Justin. I’m giving him a ride too.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Justin couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. Sybellie was sitting two feet from him, separated from him only by the seatback. Deanna calmly tapped controls to move the car quietly down the street, the air cooler kicking in to make the car a livable temperature.

  Sybellie’s hair was dark, her eyes a chocolate brown. She had Lillian’s nose, but the shape of her mouth was Justin’s. She wore the faintest scent, something powdery and lemony. It went with her, just like the rose-colored silks that whispered about her face.

  “Is he all right?” Sybellie asked Deanna. “You haven’t arrested him, have you?”

  She was a Bor Nargan female, all right. Men were creatures of inferior intellect—so Bor Nargans believed—and women often talked about men in the room as though they weren’t there.

  “No, no,” Deanna said. “I’m just giving him a lift.”

  Sybellie looked Justin over, as though trying to decipher what he was. “He doesn’t look Bor Nargan. Where is he from?”

  Justin opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Every word he’d rehearsed to say to Sybellie if he ever met her jammed in his throat.

  “He’s from Sirius,” Deanna said.

  Sybellie looked interested, and she directed the next question at him. “I’ve never been there. What’s Sirius like?”

  She wasn’t afraid of people, that was certain. But she’d probably never met anyone who’d been bad to her, excepting that jerk in the street.

  Deanna answered, because Justin’s mouth still wouldn’t work. “There’s lots of trees there, so I hear,” Deanna said. “And meadows. And farms.”

  “Are you a farmer?” Sybellie asked Justin.

  Justin cleared his throat. “No.” He coughed, trying to open up his gullet.

  “Well, they grow them tall on Sirius.” Sybellie laughed, ingenuous and innocent. “Bor Nargan cars must be uncomfortable for you.”

  She doesn’t know what I am. The words beat through Justin’s head. She doesn’t know about Shareem.

  “Yes,” he managed to say.

  “Here’s the university,” Deanna said. “Which side of campus would you like?”

  The far side, Justin willed. It’s too soon for you to go. Way too soon.

  “This is fine,” Sybellie said, and Justin’s heart ached. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  Deanna set down the car and pushed a control to unseal the back door. “It was my pleasure. Believe me.”

  Sybellie sent her another smile, gathered her skirts and robes about her, and climbed out. She bent back through the door and directed her words at Justin.

  “Good-bye. I hope you enjoy your stay on Bor Narga.”

  “Ungh,” Justin said.

  With one last radiant smile, Sybellie straightened up, turned with a swirl of silks, and walked off into the heat-shielded campus. An artificially generated breeze caught her skirts and veils as she waved at a group of approaching young women.

  Deanna sealed the door against the heat and quietly turned the car around, heading down the street and back toward the main thoroughfare.

  “Shit,” Justin said. He passed a shaking hand over his face. “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” He looked back, but the university was receding quickly, swallowed by buildings and hovercars. “What the holy fuck did you do that for?”

  “You wanted to see her,” Deanna said.

  She looked so calm, tapping the controls to put the car on autopilot, programming it to take them back to Pas City. Damn her for looking so calm. Justin wanted to explode.

  “Shit,” he said again.

  “I thought it was a good opportun—”

  Her words cut off when Justin grabbed her, hauled her half out of her seat, and kissed her—hard.

  “Justin, the car—”

  “Is on autopilot.”

  He kissed her again, silencing her with his mouth. He dragged her up to him, licking and kissing.

  Justin cupped her breasts through the coverall as she kissed him back, lifting them, full and warm. Her nipples became tight points under his thumbs, Deanna’s intake of breath telling him she felt what he did.

  He kissed his way down her throat as he ripped open the catch that held her coverall in place. He dragged the coverall down and pressed her upward to tongue the nipple that rose against her undertunic.

  The car’s console beeped. Deanna tried to extract herself, but Justin didn’t care. He suckled her, tasting silk and the heat of her.

  The console beeped again, more insistently. Justin’s body did not want him to let her go, every nerve screaming with need for her. He wanted to fuck her right here in the car and damn the consequences.

  “Justin, we’ll wreck—”

  Justin closed his teeth over her nipple before releasing her. Deanna grabbed the controls just in time to slide them into the narrow streets of Pas City.

  Her coverall gaped open to her waist, the silk inside clinging to her breasts. Her hair was a mess, her face flushed, as she guided the craft along the street to stop in front of Justin’s apartment.

  “You’re home,” she said.

  Justin reached over and killed the controls, and the car found the street with a thump.

  “You’re coming in with me,” Justin said.

 
“No, I have to—”

  He hit the controls, every door in the car opening. Justin locked his hands around Deanna and dragged her out with him through the passenger door to the bright, hot, empty street.

  The car politely closed up again as soon as they were clear. Justin pulled Deanna to his rusty apartment door and palmed it open.

  They nearly fell together into the apartment, and the door slammed closed behind them. Justin had Deanna against the wall, his body covering hers, before the door even hit the ground.

  Deanna tried to stop him kissing her, tried to speak, but Justin didn’t care. What she’d done . . . What she’d done for him . . .

  He wanted to kiss and kiss her. Make love to her, play with her, and make love to her again.

  He lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. The bed was rumpled, unmade from when Justin had crawled out of it earlier, and Justin set Deanna squarely on it.

  He pushed her open coveralls from her shoulders. Deanna made a token protest, but her eyes were warm, and she in the end helped pull the coverall from her body.

  Her silken tunic clung to her, a nothing barrier between herself and him. One yank and it ripped, giving Justin access to her bare body.

  Justin pulled and kicked his own clothes off, his skin itching to be out of them. He lowered himself on top of Deanna, and everything stopped.

  He was breathing hard, and so was she. They looked at each other, gazes locking, Justin holding himself over her, neither of them moving.

  Her skin was hot to the touch, warm with sweat, and Justin’s body was scalding. In silence, he lowered his head to kiss her again, slowing down from his frenzied need.

  Deanna parted her lips to take him. Their mouths met . . . and met again, slow in the midday heat. The sound of the kisses whispered in the room, the only touch in the silence.

  Justin slid one hand to her breast, the supple cushion welcoming his hand. The point of her nipple poked between his first two fingers, and he rolled it as he kissed her, bringing it to beautiful tightness.

  Deanna rested her arm on his shoulder, fingers finding and playing with his dark hair. Her eyes were languid brown, so dark he could drown in them. Justin kissed her lips once more before sliding his body down so he could feast on her breasts.