Warlord

by Angela Knight

  At her height Jane had never had a man pick her up and carry her. Baran did it as easily as if she weighed no more than Octopussy. Perversely, she found the sense of helplessness arousing.

  And that pissed her off. She squirmed. “Put me down, dammit!”

  He looked down at her with a slow, dark smile. “No.”

  She glared into his eyes. Her nipples were hardening, and that made her even madder. “Are you going to rape me, you son of a bitch?”

  Stepping into the living room, he spilled her back onto her feet. “Would you like me to?”

  “Asshole!”

  “I think we just covered that,” he said, stepping in closer as she backed away until he crowded her against the wall. She would have ducked aside, but he extended both brawny arms to cage her between them. The sense of being surrounded by heat and masculinity was dizzying.

  His voice dropped. “I also think you know me well enough to know I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.” He met her eyes, his gaze steady. “Are you really telling me no?”

  She looked up into those glowing eyes and felt a quiver roll across her skin. “No.”

  His face shuttered. He pulled away.

  Jane reached out and cupped his face in both hands. “No, I mean—no, I’m not refusing you.” Slowly she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.

  When she drew back, a hot white smile spread across his face, and the glow in his eyes leaped into a blaze. “Good.”

  Before she could pull her hands away, his hands flashed up and wrapped around her wrists. He stepped fully against her body, pinning her to the wall as he lifted her arms over her head, around a curving light fixture that thrust out from the wall above her. Trapping both her hands in one of his, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the gold cable.

  She gasped out a laugh as he bound her wrists to the fixture. “Do you carry that for a reason other than tying me up?”

  His mouth flattened, and something deadly leaped behind his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Oh.” Wide-eyed, she decided she wasn’t going to ask him to elaborate.

  He gathered the hem of her knit shirt in both big hands and jerked it up over her head and behind her neck, leaving her torso bare but her arms still in the sleeves. Deftly he reached between her breasts and opened the front catch of her bra. Her breasts spilled free into the cool air and the heat of his gaze.

  She blinked at him. She could feel herself getting wet.

  He reached down to unbutton her jeans, then caught the tab of her zipper. The hiss of its descent sounded loud against the counterpoint of their rough breathing. Dropping to his knees, he caught the waistband and began to pull it down over her hips, taking her panties with it. The legs of her jeans were just wide enough that he was able to drag them off without removing her boots.

  He threw them aside. Jane looked down at him, twisting her bound hands together, feeling the cool air on her nipples. She’d never felt so deliciously, erotically helpless.

  Sitting back on his heels, he was eye level with her sex. He inhaled once, sharply. “God, you’re wet.” He licked his lips. “I can smell it.”

  Swallowing, she set her feet a bit farther apart in silent invitation. He took it, reaching between her thighs, touching the soft nest of hair. A long, thick forefinger brushed the tender seam of her lips, slipped between. Inside.

  She moaned and let her head fall back against the wall at the delicious sensation.

  “I was right.” His voice was rough, deep. “Wet.”

  Slowly, gently, he pumped his finger in and out of Jane’s tight entrance. His thumb found the erect nub of her clit, stroked delicately. She whimpered. He drew out his finger, added a second, screwed them deep inside.

  “God, Baran,” she moaned, arching her back against the wall. The plaster felt cool and smooth against her bare back. “You make me so hot.”

  “Just wait.” He leaned forward. She inhaled sharply as his breath gusted warmly over her wet sex.

  His tongue slid across creamy flesh as a third finger joined the ones delving deep inside her. “Baran!” Her body pulled into a hard arch over his head. He reached up a hand and cupped one full, shivering breast.

  Barely aware of what she did, she lifted a leg and hooked it over his brawny shoulder, spreading herself more thoroughly for him. He gave her exactly what she wanted, fingering, stroking, licking, thumb and forefinger working her desperately hard nipple until her heart thundered in her ears and the heat coiled tighter and tighter and…

  She screamed, coming in long, endless waves, drowning in fire.

  The silken pulses hadn’t even begun to fade when he growled, dragged her leg off his shoulder, and rose to his feet with the speed of a man in rut. She heard the hiss of his zipper. Then he grabbed her thighs, spread her wide, and stepped between.

  “Baran!” she gasped.

  He impaled her. It seemed he drove his entire massive length all the way to her belly button in one stroke. She yelped and grabbed the light fixture over her head.

  “Now,” he said against her mouth, buried in her to the balls. “Let’s find out how fast I can make you come again.”

  He drew out of her slowly, the plunged back in again. Jane could feel his massive shaft stroking its way up her core. She shuddered and gasped, wrapping both hands around the light fixture.

  He pressed against her, all heat and working muscle as he rolled his hips, pulling out, plunging in, fucking her mercilessly. “That’s it,” he said, tightening his grip on her butt and angling her so he could reach even deeper with his long, hard cock. “Let it go. Surrender to me.”

  He picked up speed, bucking his shaft in and out in powerful, dizzying strokes. She could only wrap her calves around his muscled ass and hold on for dear life as pleasure battered her like a storm.

  “God, you feel so good,” Baran gritted. “So wet, so tight.” His voice lifted into a roar. “I’m coming!”

  He shoved deep and stiffened. She screamed as the long, hot orgasm she’d began under his mouth trip-hammered to an explosive finish. “God, Baran,” Jane cried, “I love you!”

  It was minutes later as they rested against each other in the exhausted aftermath that she realized what she’d said.

  Sixteen

  Baran was trying to remember if anyone had ever said the words to him before. He finally decided they hadn’t, which might explain why such a simple sentence held such dizzying power for him now.

  As a child, he’d been raised in the Warrior’s Creche by paid caretakers who stayed only a few years before leaving. They had too many children to oversee to get emotionally involved with any of them. His relationships with the other cadets had been no warmer; the Creche was an environment where competition was as ruthlessly encouraged as discipline and achievement. Open affection was nowhere in the curriculum.

  Baran’s emotional horizons had expanded when he’d joined the team. With only five members, his unit had bonded with the kind of desperate intensity combat can foster. Then he and Liisa had become sex partners, and he’d fallen for her as only a sixteen-year-old can. Yet he’d never told her he loved her. Somehow it wasn’t the kind of thing one warrior told another.

  The closest he’d been able to come to admitting his feelings was giving her the necklace. In turn, Liisa had presented him with a locket embedded with her trid, then added one of him to her own. For both of them, it had been a silent declaration of love. It was the best they could manage.

  After she’d died—after they’d all died—Baran had been left feeling that a hole had been scooped out of his chest. He had sex with women when his Warlord body demanded it, but he never slept with the same woman twice. In the end, he’d become a skilled fucker, but he was coming to realize he’d never been a lover.

  Until Jane. Who’d just said she loved him.

  Even in the midst of a shattering orgasm, it had felt as though that gasped, “I love you!” had lodged in his soul. He’d almost felt the words expan
d inside his chest.

  Who’d have thought such a simple phrase could hold such majestic power?

  He should say something. He knew he should say something, but he had no idea what. Opening his mouth, Baran started to say “I love you” back to her, only to realize he couldn’t. The phrase felt too naked, too vulnerable.

  Besides, he wasn’t sure it was true. Surely it would be worse to say such a thing in error than to fail to say it when it was expected.

  And he would be leaving soon. There was a promise implied in “I love you” that he wouldn’t be able to keep.

  So instead he stood there, breathing hard as he cradled her slim, soft body against him. Like the words she’d given him, she seemed so fragile, so precious.

  And she was in so much danger.

  Well, that, at least, he could do something about. He had no intention of letting Druas take this woman away from him. He’d kill the bastard first.

  The thought held an odd, serene certainty, as if there was no longer any possibility of failure.

  Resting his chin on the top of her head, Baran closed his eyes. And for the first time in his life, let himself just feel. Feel the silken brush of her hair, the soft, sweat-slick skin under his hands, the full breasts pressed into his chest.

  For the first time in decades, another human being cared if he lived or died as other than a military asset. The euphoria of that thought was stronger even than the sense of invulnerability riaat always gave him.

  She stirred against him. It came to Baran suddenly that he reeked of smoke and soot, and she was still tied to the light fixture. Somehow that embarrassed him, as if he’d rewarded a precious gift with boorishness.

  “Let me get you down from there,” he said softly, and lifted her so she could pull her linked arms from around the light. When he put her on her feet again, her legs trembled visibly. The sight sent a curious male satisfaction through him.

  Never mind that his own muscles were jumping just as hard.

  Odd. Normally in the aftermath of a long session in riatt, he wanted only to collapse in a quivering heap. Now he felt energized.

  Carefully Baran unwrapped the cable from Jane’s bound wrists, rubbing his thumb over the indentations it had left in her delicate skin. “I’m sorry about that,” he said.

  She shrugged.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Fine.” Her tone was brusque.

  He frowned and silently ordered his computer to do a sensor scan. He’d taken her hard; he knew she’d been ready for him, but had he hurt her anyway?

  No, according to the comp’s readings, she was probably a little sore, but that was all. Baran relaxed. Everything was fine.

  Caught up on a wave of buoyant pleasure, he bent, swept her into his arms and carried her toward the stairs.

  Jane stiffened in his grip. “Wait—what are you doing?”

  “I don’t know about you, but I could use a shower,” he said, smiling down at her.

  “I don’t…I’m not—not really up to making love again right now,” Jane said. “I’m a little sore.”

  “I know.” His smile broadened. He suspected the tenderness he felt showed in his eyes, but for once, he didn’t try to hide it. “Don’t worry, I’m not planning to attack you again. I just thought you’d feel better after a bath.”

  And it would give him a chance to pamper her, he decided.

  It was the least he could do.

  Fifteen minutes later they were soaking in her big garden tub together. After examining her collection of bath oils and bubble baths, Baran had picked one and dumped so much into the water that they were now surrounded in a cloud of foam.

  Unlike every other man of Jane’s acquaintance, he evidently felt no qualms about smelling like Passion Peach.

  Now he sat slowly rubbing a cake of soap over and around each one of her fingers as she lay back against his powerful chest. She’d expected another flaming seduction; instead he gave her such tenderness, she felt her heart swell in her chest.

  Too bad all that pretty warmth didn’t mean anything.

  It was obvious he’d taken her at her word when she’d blurted that she loved him. Any other man would have assumed she’d gotten carried away in the throes of orgasm, particularly given that they’d only known one another three days. Baran evidently believed she’d meant exactly what she’d said.

  Worse yet, Jane suspected he was right. Oh, this was just not good. “I don’t think we should do this anymore.”

  Having rinsed off her hand, he’d begun slowly rubbing his soapy palms over her breasts, cupping and squeezing with a breathtaking tenderness. “What, bathe?” He smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t we get a little smelly after a while?”

  “No. I mean, make love.” She swallowed and corrected herself. “Have sex. We shouldn’t have sex again.”

  He went still. “Why not?”

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Funny,” he said, his tone going so chill that despite the warmth of the water, she shivered. “You seemed to think it was a very good idea when you were screaming that you loved me.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Jane started to pull out of his arms and sit up. For a moment his hold tightened until she thought he wasn’t going to let her go. Then he slowly released her. She stood, water sluicing around her naked body, and stepped out of the tub.

  “We’re getting too involved with each other,” she said, reaching for one of the towels she’d hung over the rack. “You’re going to be leaving after this is over, and—”

  “Did you mean it?”

  Jane turned to look at him. He lay in the bath surrounded by a cloud of bubbles. Yet somehow, he’d never looked more masculine as the delicate white foam provided an intense contrast to his big, tanned body.

  “Mean what?” she asked carefully, though of course she knew.

  “Did you mean it when you said you loved me?”

  “No.”

  His nostrils flared and anger flashed in his eyes. “You shouldn’t lie to a man with sensor implants. It’s a waste of time.”

  “Baran, it’s only been three days.” She wrapped the towel around her body, using the process of tucking it in as an excuse to look away from him. “Nobody falls in love in three days. What I’m feeling—I don’t even know if it’s real. And you haven’t—” She broke off.

  “What?”

  Jane swallowed. “You haven’t said you loved me.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tile.

  “And why should you?” she added hastily. “It’s only been three—”

  “Nobody has ever said they loved me.” He didn’t open his eyes as he spoke. “Ever.”

  That stopped her. She fought to regroup. “Liisa…”

  “…Never said the words. Our culture doesn’t exactly encourage romantic attachments. Especially not in the middle of a war. It’s bad luck. If the woman you love is in danger, you’re going to be thinking about her instead of the mission and the safety of the unit as a whole.” He smiled, but the expression held no humor. “In fact, my lieutenant lectured me on that topic more than once.”

  “Oh.” She blinked rapidly. “Your mother and father…”

  “Mother,” he corrected. “A Femmat genetic designer who constructed my DNA and grew me in a uterine vat with ten other fetuses. I’ve never even met the woman. Well, once. She came to my graduation from the Creche when I was twelve, but somebody had to point her out to me. I got to shake her hand.”

  Jane winced. She realized that despite his cool tone, his bland expression, she had somehow managed to find the one spot of vulnerability he had. “Baran,” she said softly, miserably, “you’re going to leave.”

  “Yes.” He looked at her steadily. “I can’t stay. The chance of a paradox—”

  “I know. But every time we touch, what I feel gets stronger.”

  A silence spun between them, so intense the faint foaming pop of the bub
bles sounded loud. “So you’re saying if we don’t have sex again, you’ll be able to stop loving me.”

  “No, it’s not going to be that damn simple.” Looking into those rich brown eyes, Jane realized she had to be honest. Somehow he needed it, and she needed to say the words to him. “I’ve had lovers before, been in love before, but this is different. You’re different. I don’t know if it’s because you’re…what you are, but this is so damn intense. It scares the hell out of me.”

  “It scares me, too.”

  She blinked at the revelation, then fumbled to go on. “I’ve been telling myself this relationship is just the equivalent of a shipboard fling—that we’ve bonded so fast and so intensely because of the danger we’re in.”

  “I’ve been in danger before,” Baran told her. “I’ve protected women before. It was never like this.”

  “So…” She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and asked, “You do feel it. Are you in love with me?”

  He rose from the bath in a sudden rush of restless power. Water sluiced down his hard contours, trails of bubbles sliding along ridges and hollows. She had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling she’d remember the sight of Baran rising from his bath when she was a very old, very lonely woman.

  “I feel…something,” he said as she mechanically handed him the towel she’d hung on the rack for him. “It’s different than it was with Liisa. It feels deeper, a little less…giddy.”

  Jane couldn’t help it. She grinned. “Giddy?” Somehow that wasn’t a word she associated with Baran.

  He shrugged. “I was a teenage boy.” Flipping the towel over his head, he began to dry his damp mane. She watched the muscles and tendons shift in his round, hard biceps. “My computer says there are biochemical changes in my brain, but I don’t have a baseline to compare….”

  “Damn, Baran, you are a romantic.”

  He lowered his towel. She could tell from the bewilderment on his face that he had no idea what she meant.