Time Raiders: The Protector

by Merline Lovelace

  Gulping, she suppressed the erotic images and shook her head. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Peony. I don’t, uh, ride his jade stalk.”

  Surprise stopped the maid in midstep. “Why do you not? I observed it this afternoon, when I massaged him. It has a most prodigious length and girth. Surely it would take you to the highest levels of joyous benefit.”

  Ha! So Cassie wasn’t the only one who’d gotten a rubdown in the bathhouse this afternoon. Interesting that Brody hadn’t shared that bit of information!

  “Thanks, anyway,” she told the maid, “but my colors don’t need harmonizing.”

  “Please, mistress.” A look of distress flickered across Peony’s face. “It is my duty to prepare you.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Ah, so.” She hung her head. Her shoulders slumped. “You do not think I am skilled enough to enhance your womanly essence,” she said in a small voice. “I will go to…”

  A violent shudder racked her.

  “I will go to Chief Eunuch Tai and beg him to send you a more worthy maid.”

  “You don’t have to go to Tai. We’ll just keep this between us girls.”

  “You don’t understand,” Peony whispered, glancing over her shoulder. “There are spies everywhere. The very walls have ears. If I shirk my duty, Chief Eunuch Tai will hear of it and have me whipped. As he should,” she added bravely, blinking back tears.

  Cassie caved. A little ground-up antler fur on her nipples wasn’t worth a whipping.

  “All right, already. Go get your paint.”

  Breaking into a grateful smile, the maid gestured to the sleeping platform. “Please to sit while I fetch paints and unguents.”

  “I didn’t agree to unguents. Peony! No unguents!”

  She should have saved her breath. The maid scuttled out and returned with two helpers and an array of bottles and brushes that would have sent a supermodel into throes of ecstasy. She also carried a razor and a pot of creamy shaving lotion.

  Spies or not, Cassie drew the line at having her pubic hair removed. Peony pleaded and went the teary-eyed route again, but Cassie finally convinced her that the harmonious red at the juncture of her thighs signified good luck. Looking doubtful, the maid signaled her helpers to hand her the paint pots.

  A half hour later, Cassie was painted and perfumed and sporting a narrow, exquisitely embroidered belly cloth that tied loosely around her hips. Its fringed ends just brushed her pubic mound.

  “I see now mistress speaks the truth!” Peony exclaimed as she adjusted the belly band’s drape. “The red of your womanhood hints at the heat within. Surely such a heavenly furnace will stoke the master’s fire.”

  “It better not,” Cassie muttered as two other servants draped a diaphanous nightdress of celery-colored silk over her head.

  As soon as the silk slithered over her hips, she saw the gown wasn’t just diaphanous. The damned thing was completely transparent.

  “I need a warmer nightdress,” she protested. “I’ll freeze in this.”

  Peony tsked and gestured to the furs scattered across the sleeping platform. “They will keep you warm. Until the master arrives,” she added slyly.

  After the other servants had folded Cassie’s daytime garments and put them in the chest, Peony shooed them away and departed with a final request. “Please to use neck rest. You do not wish to disturb beauteous arrangement of hair.”

  Lips pursed, Cassie eyed the curved neck supports positioned at the head of the sleeping platform. Last night she’d had a dirt floor and Max to keep her warm. Tonight it was a wooden block for her neck and rich furs. Until Max returned from his tête-à-tête with the empress, that was.

  If he returned.

  He would, she thought fiercely. He had to. He couldn’t risk getting too intimate with Wu Jao. Not while they still had no clue as to the whereabouts of the medallion. Until they did, Max had damn well better crawl into bed here. With Cassie.

  To her disgust, the thought made her painted nipples get tight and tingly. They popped to attention, two stiff little soldiers poking at the celery silk, while her heavenly furnace fired up.

  Okay! All right! She’d sworn off all men since the disaster with Jerry Holland, but she was only human. She couldn’t control her instinctive responses to the thought of lying next to Max’s hard, muscled body. She could, however, ignore them.

  Determined to do just that, she eased down, found a comfortable angle on the wooden headrest and dragged the soft furs over her.

  “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

  Bev Ashton glanced up in surprise to find Allen Parker studying her over the rim of his brandy snifter.

  “Not lately,” she replied dryly.

  This had to be the strangest ending to the strangest night of her life. She’d trudged through the frost-tipped desert landscaping separating her condo from Parker’s almost five hours ago. She’d planned to scarf down his bucatini à la whatever, plead the excuse of heavy work and then leave.

  To her surprise, Parker had proved a wonderful host. Amusing and astonishingly well read and only mildly swishy. Even more disconcerting, his swishiness seemed to diminish with each passing hour.

  “Your cheekbones,” he murmured as his gaze roamed her face. “So high and proud. Like Marie Antoinette’s.”

  When Bev gave a small snort, he smiled.

  “There’s a rather magnificent painting of her in the Gold Salon at Versailles. Perhaps you’ve seen it.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Poor Marie,” he mused. “She was such a vain, stupid woman. Your exact opposite.”

  The compliment gave Bev a dart of unexpected and completely irrational pleasure. For heaven’s sake! She was long past the age of being susceptible to a little flattery.

  Or not, she discovered when Parker lifted his brandy snifter in a salute. His eyes were as admiring as they were intense.

  “Like this vintage Armagnac, some women only improve with age.”

  “That,” Bev replied, pushing out of her chair, “is my cue to depart the premises before you find out differently.”

  Kentar surged to his feet. Instinct bred into him from generations of alpha stallions would allow no female to escape before he was done with her. Just in time he controlled the raw urge to dominate and subdue.

  He’d derived a vicious satisfaction from playing with General Beverly Ashton tonight. She thought she could defeat him. She, and this professor who had learned to harness the sine waves, thought they could retrieve all twelve pieces of the medallion and effect Earth’s entry into the Pleiadian Council.

  They would fail. But first Kentar would rouse everything that was female in this general, this commander of men. Then, and only then, would he show her what it meant to be mounted by a real male.

  With a deliberate sway of his hips, he retrieved her coat from the hall closet and almost laughed out loud when he turned to catch her rolling her eyes.

  “Good night, Beverly.”

  “’Night, Allen. Thanks again for dinner.”

  “My pleasure.”

  He held out her coat. When she angled to the side to thrust an arm in a sleeve, Kentar nuzzled her neck and concentrated all his force.

  She twisted away and looked up, startled. Her obvious confusion gave him immense pleasure. Riding its crest, he released his force and let it pour from him like a powerful ejaculation.

  The energy rolled over her in dark waves. Her lips parted. Heat rose like a crimson tide in her cheeks. Her breath shortened to gasps.

  Kentar didn’t bring her to pleasure. It was enough that she pleasured him. Reining in his force, he opened the front door.

  “We’ll do this again,” he promised with an unctuous smile. “Soon.”

  Bev walked back to her condo in a daze. She couldn’t figure out what had just happened. If she didn’t know better, she could swear Allen Parker had almost treated her to a mental orgasm.

  Allen Parker, of all people!

&
nbsp; Either she was in more need of a hot, young stud than she thought or she was losing her judgment when it came to the male of the species. Or…

  Her stomach knotted as another possibility burst like a mortar round inside her head.

  Good God! Was it possible? Could effete, pretty-boy Parker be one of the Centaurian sent to this planet to control its women?

  The notion was absurd! Where were the bulging muscles? The powerful haunches of an alpha stallion?

  Then again, what better way to get past Bev’s guard than to shimmy up to her like a playful gelding! Except that nip on the neck hadn’t been exactly playful. Her skin still tingled where his teeth had scraped it.

  Her jaw tight, she reached into her coat pocket for her cell phone and punched the lab’s speed-dial button. The officer on the watch answered on the second ring.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Get on the lab’s computers. Pull up everything you can on Allen Parker, age approximately thirty-five, hair light brown. He lives next door to me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Chapter 7

  Women’s nature is passive.

  —Confucius

  C assie lay with her neck cradled on wood as late evening deepened into night.

  She heard Peony murmuring to the other servants and the low clink of dishes being cleared from the other room. The oil lamp on the lacquered chest across from the sleeping platform flickered with a dim light. Somewhere in the maze of corridors outside, a door slammed. She dragged the soft furs up to her chin, sure she would remain a tight bundle of nerves until Max returned from his session with the empress.

  The next thing she heard was the raucous crow of a rooster. She blinked her eyes open, shocked to see light flooding the sleeping chamber. Even more disconcerting, her head rested on something that didn’t feel anything like wood.

  She had to admit Max’s shoulder was a lot more comfortable than the neck rest. She tilted her head, wincing when her complicated arrangement of braids and loops tugged at her scalp, and studied the profile only inches away.

  His jaw, cleanly shaved the afternoon before, had sprouted bristles. They glinted the same tawny gold as his hair and lashes in the bright light of morning. If he’d spent the previous night in sin and dissipation with the empress, it didn’t show when those golden lashes lifted and his gray eyes met hers.

  “’Bout time you woke up, Jones.”

  She shoved a lopsided braid out of her face and thrust herself off his shoulder. Propped on one elbow, she demanded, “What happened last night?”

  “Turns out I was the guest of honor at a private banquet for fifteen or so women and men.”

  Cassie’s stomach knotted. She was envisioning a wild orgy when Max relieved her mind.

  “The empress seated me between the general who commands the palace guards and Princess Mei Yin, her oldest daughter. Inspector Li was there, too. There was a lot of talking, a lot of eating, some poetry reading and this really graceful dancer from Thailand, or whatever it’s called in this century. I actually had a pretty good time.”

  “What about the medallion? Did you see any bronze pieces depicting various constellations?”

  “Not a one. The only zodiac signs I saw were those from the Chinese calendar. The dog, the sheep, the rat, the ox and so on. Those were everywhere.”

  Cassie hadn’t thought it would be that easy. Still, she had to swallow a lump of bitter disappointment as Max continued.

  “They wanted to know about the land I come from. And about you, of course. They’re all anxious to see you do your thing today.” His gaze sharpened. “You up for it?”

  “I have to get outside the palace first. I can’t get a fix on wind direction or velocity inside these walls.”

  “Not a problem. The general invited me to watch the guards perform a mounted drill this morning. It takes place on a parade field just outside the palace gates. The empress will be there, too, and commanded me to bring you.”

  “When?”

  “At the hour of the snake.”

  “That’s, like, 9:00 a.m.!” Cassie threw off the downy silk comforter, her mind racing. “Before we go, I need to see if the pond surface froze last night and check this yew tree in the garden to—”

  “What the heck is that?”

  “What?”

  “On the front of your gown?”

  She glanced down and made a face. Two large brown smears stained the front of the celery-green silk.

  “Ground-up antler fuzz.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wish.”

  She scrambled off the sleeping platform. This wasn’t the time to explain.

  Max’s low whistle reminded her the gown wasn’t only stained, it was completely transparent. Cassie threw him a nasty glance as she stalked toward the painted chest.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all,” he drawled, crossing his arms behind his head for a better view.

  Scowling, she yanked the chest’s brass latch, dragged out an armful of clothing and shoved her feet into the wooden clogs. The thud of her footsteps on the pebbled path to the bathhouse brought Peony darting out of the servants’ room. Hastily tying the sash of her kimono, she tripped after Cassie.

  “Mistress is up very early.”

  “I need to pee.”

  “What is this pee?”

  “Make water. Urinate.”

  “Ah, so! Why do you not use the slop jar under the sleeping platform? It is of the finest porcelain and we empty it regularly.”

  “I left the slop jar for the, uh, master.”

  Damn! She would have to try harder not to gag over that word.

  “Isn’t there another jar in the bathhouse?”

  “Of course, mistress. Will you dress there, too?” Peony asked, eyeing the bundle in Cassie’s arms.

  “Yes.”

  The maid looked a little shocked at this breach of protocol, but said only that she would bring her pots of paint to the bathhouse, along with mint tea to freshen the mouth.

  “And a comb,” Cassie called after her. “These braids have to go.”

  She’d had plenty of time to think about her command performance while Max was out carousing last night. She was supposed to be a Celtic princess. She’d arrived at the palace in the soiled garments of a slave, and she certainly wouldn’t create any special mystique by aping Chinese hairstyle and dress. She needed her own look.

  She had it set in her mind when Peony returned with her pots and a styling comb. “Never mind the paint. How many pairs of riding trousers did you bring Lord Brody?”

  “Three, mistress.”

  “Please, go fetch me a pair.”

  “Do you think to dress like a woman of Lo-Shun?”

  Cassie had no idea who the heck Lo-Shun women were or how they dressed, but took heart from the fact that Peony was more curious than shocked.

  “I think to dress like a woman of my own land. Hurry. I must be ready by the hour of the snake.”

  The maid returned with a pair of baggy black trousers and watched dubiously while Cassie used the pointed end of the comb to pick apart the cuffs banding each full leg. She then proceeded to rip one sleeve from a padded jacket of embroidered, jade-green silk.

  Peony protested this desecration with a small shriek. “Mistress!”

  “I must display the symbol of my power.”

  And be able to get to it, like, fast if things got dicey.

  Her silver armband flashing, Cassie shrugged into the jacket, pulled up the now wide-legged trousers and secured both by wrapping the red silk belly band from the night before around her waist.

  “There.” Smoothing the fringed belt, she took a few experimental steps. “This is what we call a riding skirt in my land.”

  “But your left arm is bare. You will take a fever from the cold! And your hair,” Peony moaned as Cassie attacked the braids. “That was the Four Waterfalls arrangement, made popular by Princess Shih, of the house of Chang.”r />
  “Not to worry. I’m going to show you a style made popular by Princess Angelina Jolie, of my tribe.”

  When Cassie strode back into the sitting area, Max did a double take.

  The bedraggled slave of the day before had disappeared. So had the painted courtesan who’d almost made him swallow his tongue this morning. This Cassie looked every inch the powerful seer from distant lands.

  Her hair was brushed back from her temples and caught with a cloisonné comb before rippling to her shoulders in fiery waves. The quartz crystal in her armband winked a half dozen colors in the bright sunlight. She stood tall, almost arrogant, in a silk, one-sleeved jacket that deepened the green of her eyes.

  “You going to be warm enough in that?”

  “Half of me will.”

  “If the other half gets cold, lean into me. Want some breakfast before we go?” he asked, nodding to the bowls on the lacquered table.

  She downed a gulp of tea and was spearing her chopsticks at fried dumplings dribbled with honey when Max went into the sleeping chamber to retrieve his sword. He belted it on, slung the wolf pelt over his shoulders and returned.

  “You’ve got honey on your lip,” he stated, jerking his chin in her direction.

  When her tongue darted out to snag the glistening drop, the punch to Max’s gut hit without warning. He stood there, watching her tongue make a slow circuit of her lips, battling the almost overwhelming urge to trace the wet trail with his thumb, his teeth, his own tongue.

  Then she looked up and caught him staring. Their eyes locked. The muffled sounds of the palace faded. For a crazy moment it was just the two of them, dropped together into an unfamiliar world, bound by their mission and the knowledge that they needed each other to make it back to their own century alive.

  “Cassie…”

  “Yes?”

  Max stifled the urge to tell her to err on the side of caution in her predictions. She knew the penalties for failure as well as he did.

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him a shaky smile and squared her shoulders. “Let’s do it.”