He took a sip of his wine and considered the next couple at the table. Tryon and Calla Jag were both full-blood Tygeans. With the golden skin, hair and eyes of their people, they exuded sensuality. Jag was a big man, about Stark’s size, but Calla was much smaller. About Kiri’s size and weight. When she gave her husband a sultry glance from under her lashes, something clicked into place in his mind. She bore more resemblance to Kiri than size. It could only be hoped Calla did not share the same moral compass.
Jag narrowed his eyes at Stark. “I assume you’ve a good reason for staring at my wife.”
Calla gave her husband a look of reprimand and looked apologetically at Stark. Jag laid a long, heavy arm over the back of her chair.
Stark smiled briefly. “As a matter of fact, I recently met a ... woman and wonder if she might share some of your heritage. Calla reminds me of her. Although Calla is much more attractive.”
“What’s her name?” Calla asked.
“Kiri te Nawa.” And why in the name of the great God beyond had he brought her into the conversation? His gut knotted, and Stark pushed his plate away, revolted by the food remaining on it.
Both Tygeans shook their heads. “Te Nawa is not a Tygean name,” Jag said. “But Kiri could be.”
“I went to school with a Kiri,” Calla put in. “So yes. Where does she live?”
“Earth II,” Stark said. “Port of New Seattle. But she was only a ... passing acquaintance, really.” He caught an odd look from Captain Craig and glanced away. Of course Craig had seen her on holovid, so he may have gotten the wrong idea about Stark’s relationship with her. No matter.
The Pangaean waitstaff appeared to clear their plates and offer coffee with dessert, a narrow sliver of cheesecake drizzled with plumquot sauce on a dark chocolate crust. Stark refused the dessert but nodded his thanks as the waiter filled his cup with hot coffee. Then the fragrance reminded him of sitting at his breakfast table, a flirtatious smile beaming at him from over another cup. He reached for the wine instead.
“Hear the rioting’s worse there,” Craig said. “Are your holdings safe, Logan?”
The others listened as Stark answered. “As safe as anything in the area. I’ve armed guards and laser security.”
“I don’t know how you can bear to be so close to fighting,” Commander Mra said. Her green hair curled tightly about her throat.
“Your own planet is one of the few that manages to remain peaceful,” he told her. “Pangaeans could teach the rest of us about negotiation as opposed to fighting.”
And he had no intention of giving up all his holdings on Earth II. There was savage satisfaction in each and every flight over the dirty, dangerous city in one of his sleek, high-tech craft. Too much triumph every time he took over a business thriving on forced labor and turned it into a viable piece of LodeStar Enterprises, with the former slaves now free employees, and the dark alleys in the area cleaned and well-lighted.
Yes, he would always maintain a presence there, even if he was uncertain he wanted to set foot back on the planet for a very long time
“I regret your complimentary words about my race are not always true,” Mra said, darting a look at the Tygeans. A Pangaean with a bio-bomb had attempted to thwart the Orion’s maiden voyage. Jag was forced to pilot the huge ship through the deadly Cattarus meteor ring without her sophisticated nav system.
The Tyger smiled lazily at her. “A few bad gremels in every crop, eh, Commander?”
“The work you and your interpreters do,” Stark told Mra, with a bow to Calla, who had worked for her until the birth of her first child, “has saved LodeStar from many a difficult situation.”
Although Galactic was spoken as a universal language, and translators were implanted in the comlinks most sentient beings wore, the interpreters’ work was still crucial, as it involved steering Orion’s staff through the nuances of dealing with other races and their differing protocol.
Mra nodded primly, but Stark noticed her hair relaxed. He turned to the Serpentian on his right. Raile was a lean, intense Serpentian who had been promoted to acting commander of the guard.
“Any news from the Dragolins?” Stark asked.
Raile set his coffee cup down. “As a matter of fact, the royals do have an announcement they said I could pass on.” His handsome, golden skinned face lit with sly amusement as everyone turned to him.
“And?” Tessa Craig demanded eagerly. She narrowed her eyes dangerously as Raile grinned at her. “Tell or I’ll link her myself.”
“The prince has done his duty,” he told them all with mock solemnity. “And the princess has been impregnated.”
A collective sigh emanated from the women at the table. Stark caught Steven Craig’s eye and they both raised their brows. Craig grinned. The legendary seductress, pregnant? Nearly as hard to believe as the fact that she was mated for life. But Stark had no doubt that her huge, smoky-voiced husband would keep her close and probably pregnant as often as possible. One way to keep a woman from straying, he supposed.
For himself, he had no such plans. And if he suddenly pictured a slim, dark-haired beauty swollen with his child, all the more reason to reach for the wine decanter again, and wash the vision away. In fact, he needed something stronger.
“Speaking of babies,” Calla said with a reluctant sigh. “Ours will be waking soon. I’d better get back to the stateroom.”
“And this one seems to be doing training moves,” Tessa Craig said, wincing as she pressed a hand to her swollen belly. “So I believe I’ll walk for a while.”
Her husband helped her from her chair and patted her back. He watched her walk away with Calla Jag.
Jag chuckled. “Captain, you look as smug as a Tyger after his mating moon. Enjoy it, because in a few weeks your wife will barely remember your name. It will be all ‘the baby this’ and ‘the baby that’.”
Craig gave him a wry look. “Yes, you’re clearly suffering greatly, Jag.”
Jag smirked, his golden eyes gleaming. “I manage to get my wife’s attention now and then.”
Craig turned to Navos and his wife. “Watch out, Daron. You’ll no doubt be next.”
Nelah’s pale cheeks flushed a pale lavender, but Navos merely raised his brows. “Should that eventuality occur, I assure you we will not present it for dinner table amusement until it is absolutely necessary.”
Craig chuckled. “A wise choice, my friend.”
Stark refilled his wine glass. He needed something stronger, like moon brandy. Of course he wished all his crew commanders well with their progeny, et cetera, but as he had no intention of following suit, the talk was beginning to bore him.
“Did the two ex-soldiers get home all right?” he asked.
“They did,” Craig said. “Both seem to be doing well, no ill effects. I don’t think they’ll be drinking with strangers anytime soon.”
Stark nodded, already moving on. “How’s the new autonav?” he asked Jag. “Working well?”
Jag nodded. “It is. Thanks for installing the new multi-level sequestered type. Much more secure.”
Stark nodded. “And with fail-safes built in, should they be needed.”
“A fail-safe is a wise choice in any situation,” Navos said.
“Unfortunate that beings don’t come equipped with them,” Raile said. As if on cue, his comlink chimed, and he rose, bowing politely to Mra and Nelah. “Excuse me, I believe I’m needed in the lido lounge.”
Stark watched the guard captain glide away through the tables, a striking figure in the golden uniform of LodeStar ships guard. After sparring with the Serpentians, he knew the power and explosive speed coiled in that lean, lithe body.
Raile had taken him down with skill and precision and then shown Stark how he’d done it, while informing him regretfully he’d never be fast enough to take on an opponent other than human. Stark had assured him in that case, he’d keep his laser weapon handy. Eyes twinkling, Raile had agreed that was best.
Stark didn’t mind be
ing chivvied a bit by his employees. They were the elite, and they knew it. Only the best for LodeStar.
Speaking of which, he’d noticed a particularly attractive young woman in the ranks of the Serpentian guard during their sparring session. And there she was, just rising from her table, tossing her long blonde hair over one shoulder and smoothing her sleek gown over her very fine ass. She’d provide an excellent diversion and drive away all thoughts of other women, at least for the moment.
“Excuse me,” he said to the others and rose, following her from the dining room with purpose in his stride.
He caught her just at the doors and smiled down at her. “Raava, isn’t it? Have a drink with me.”
Steve Craig watched his employer with a frown creasing his handsome face.
“What is it?” Navos asked quietly.
Craig shook his head. “None of my business, I suppose.”
But later in the spacious captain’s quarters he shared with his bride, he adjusted the body pillow under her knees for her in their big bed, and then lay back beside her.
Tessa snuggled into her nest of pillows, and sighed. “What’s wrong, Captain? You’ve something on your mind, I can tell.”
“This is just between you and me, baby.” He told her about the holovid meeting with Stark, and the lovely woman who had appeared.
“I could have sworn he was bowled over by her. The guy is an ice man, business all the way, but you should’ve seen the look in his eyes.”
She smiled. “Oh, you mean the way you look at me?”
He smiled back. “Yeah.” But then he frowned. “And she was on this ship’s roster, too. Supposed to fly out with us. But she didn’t show. And somehow I don’t think he’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”
“Let me guess,” she said dryly. “One of my fellow guard?”
He nodded. “Raava.”
Tessa yawned, her eyes drooping shut. “Too bad,” she said sleepily. “Stark should be happy, like us.”
Craig turned onto his side, and laid a protective hand on the swell of her belly, smiling as his son moved under his touch.
“Yeah,” he murmured contentedly, gazing at her lovely face. “Like us.”
Chapter 32
Stark stiffened over the blonde in his stateroom bed, shuddering with completion.
When he opened his eyes, his body replete, she smiled languorously. “The great Logan Stark lives up to his legend.”
He smiled back. “You may be a legend in your own right one of these days. Thank you.”
He moved off of her and she stretched. “Would you like me to stay?” she invited.
“No, thank you. I sleep better alone. And after the workout your guard put me through today, twice is my sexual limit, I believe.”
She sat up and gave him one last admiring look before sliding off the bed. “Well, they were two very fine efforts.”
Stark watched her slip into her gown and out of his room. She’d been an agile and inventive lover, and he’d come twice, she many more times. But instead of his usual mental glow of pleasure, he felt like something that had been used up and should go into the recycler. He wasn’t sure why—wasn’t as if he was cheating on a faithful lover.
He lay back in the bed and stared at the Serpentian fireglass sculpture in the niche across the room. The glass captured the lamplight in myriad shades of golden brown.
He looked away, his jaw tightening. He’d have someone remove the sculpture in the morning. He couldn’t stand to look at that color. Reminded him of a pair of laughing eyes. Even in the midst of the mess her life had been in, she’d laughed with him. And at him, a time or two. Such as when he’d warned her not to fall for him. Not much chance there’d been of that, with Darkrunner in her other hand.
With a muffled curse, he swept the covers back and vaulted out of bed. Stalking across the room, he grabbed the sculpture from the niche and held it over the recycler opening in the wall. He’d purchased the piece himself only the year before. What the hell had he seen in it?
He tossed the priceless piece down the chute and turned away. Crossing to the minibar, he splashed a generous amount of moon brandy into a glass, and took a long drink. He pulled on his lii silk robe and belted it.
He was relaxed, sexually sated, his life and his business on track. He would enjoy a drink in the privacy of his luxurious stateroom, followed by a night’s well-earned rest.
He wished a certain faithless little hellcat a night of peaceful rest herself. She did sleep well after a good fucking, that was certain.
Stark refilled his glass and then took the bottle with him to his chair.
He dreamed of her. He walked down a dark, dirty street, with threatening creatures lurking in the shadows. He was young again, vulnerable, and yet in charge of the safety of the only other beings who mattered to him.
But instead of his two younger brothers, when he turned it was Kiri at his elbow, her golden eyes haunted with fear.
When he turned on her, she looked up at him. Then her face changed, and she shook her head, smirking at him.
“I don’t need you, Logan,” she said. “I never did. You needed to save me, to feel strong and successful.”
The last sight he had of her, she was running away, toward someone waiting in the black at the end of the street.
He woke panting for breath, his face wet with perspiration and something else he refused to acknowledge. He swiped the back of his hand over his eyes and turned onto his stomach, burying his face in the clean, soft pillows.
She was just a woman, easily replaceable. He’d been more than kind to her and had nothing to regret. Anyway, he was not a man to keep a woman around too long, and certainly not the kind to believe in the heart-rending emotion wept over in love songs and romantic holovids.
No, he’d wanted to possess her, that was all. Just another acquisition, another sign that he was a wealthy, successful man. Light years from the frightened boy who’d run those streets, his wits and fists the only balance between survival and a descent into degradation and death.
He owned the bed in which he lay, the ship that surrounded him, and land and businesses on three planets. He was content.
It was only then that he realized he’d just echoed her dream words.
***
He had the limber Raava the next two nights and then lost interest. None of the other lovely women on the ship roused his desire, either. He slept restlessly. When he realized he was turning too often to the moon brandy, he ordered a sleep gesic from Dr. Tentaclar, the ship physician.
He spent the fourth evening out on holovid with his brothers, each in turn.
Creed was hard at work on his mining claim, supervising the crew of laborers and mining droids working the titanium.
“Logan,” he said, nodding. He sat alone on a verandah hewn of rock and wood, a wild mountain range in the distance. “How’s the voyage?”
“Fine.” Creed was alone too much. Stark could still see the solemn, wide-eyed little boy he’d been, hanging close by his older brothers’ sides, always hungry as his thin body fought to grow into the tall, lean man he’d become.
“Is your new, ah, lady with you?” Creed asked.
“No,” Stark said shortly. “That didn’t work out.”
Creed frowned. “What happened to her?”
“She left. Saved me the expense of a parting gift, so I’m counting my blessings. What about you? Been to the settlements lately?”
Creed didn’t answer for a moment, watching his older brother. But finally he shrugged, letting Stark change the subject. “You know I don’t frequent the settlements much. I’m busy here.”
“You’re alone too much,” Stark said. “How are you ever going to meet a woman to share that huge house you’ve built, if you don’t go anywhere?”
Creed gave him a look. “I’ll order one in with the next shipment of supplies,” he said dryly.
Stark grinned as he was meant to, but the idea had a grain of truth to it. Perhaps that’s w
hat it would take, was presenting his youngest brother with a woman. One so enticing he couldn’t resist her.
They talked about the new mining droids that were scheduled to arrive soon, and Stark signed off.
Joran he found lounging in his tent, playing holodice with two of his band of nomads. A sloe-eyed temptress hung on his shoulder.
“No woman with you,” he said to Stark, cocking his head with interest. “She turn out to be more interested in your credit than you?”
“No, in another man,” Stark said. “Did you get the new tech I sent you?”
“I did, thanks. It’ll come in very handy when we’re hunting … wild game.”
Stark nodded. Joran couldn’t speak of the intended use of the tech in front of the woman, or perhaps the men. He let very few into his confidence.
When he was alone again, Stark kept his thoughts focused on his brothers. They were both nearing thirty years of age. The time in a man’s life when he should be settling down, starting a family. He meant to see to that for both of them.
Creed first, as he was completely alone. Might take a bit of manipulation behind his back. Getting past his formidable personal barriers was the problem. His youngest brother might be a deadly fighting machine with the eerie calm of the monk he’d trained to be for a time, but he was lonely. And Stark would fix that, one way or the other.
Joran, on the other hand, spread his favors freely among the women of his band and those he met in gambling tents and brothels. The trick would be convincing him to choose a woman of quality, with whom he would want to raise a family.
The fifth evening, Stark spent playing holodice with Navos and Craig and drinking the ale Craig favored. Stark was in no hurry for his bed. The gesics turned out to be a questionable aid—he slept, but now he was unable to wake from the bad dream that continued to plague him.
The sixth evening he wandered the paths of Orion’s arboretum. Somewhere a waterfall splashed softly into a pond. Overhead, birds warbled and tweeted in the luxuriant tropical trees and vines, and outside the huge windows lay the panoply of space.
Stark Pleasure; the Space Magnate's Mistress (The LodeStar Series) Page 26