Runner: The Fringe, Book 3

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Even a blind man could see the pointed invitation of her words. He stood stock-still for almost two minutes, peering at her like an animal ready to pounce.

  Rather than back away from his intimidating gaze, she opened herself to his scrutiny by meeting his threat with the same statue stillness.

  “It isn’t going to work, Sweets.” He threw everything he had into the line. He really went out of his way to sound like the biggest asshole in the universe.

  “What isn’t?”

  Gritting his teeth, he refused to answer, because he wanted to yell at her, but she just sat there calmly waiting, so he said, “You’re staying in there. I’m staying out here.”

  “Strangely enough, Mr. Nash, the dream I had included the bars between us. We turned disadvantage to advantage.” She took another bite, chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and wiped her lips with the paper napkin. “Considering what we were doing, the bars between us helped a great deal. For balance.”

  It didn’t take long for him to put his brain into gear about how the two of them could use those bars. But he’d much rather have her in his bed. Her beautiful hair against those pewter-blue sheets as he took his time exploring every inch of her body.

  “Damn, woman.” He shook his head.

  Last night they played one-upmanship. She went ever more provocative in an effort to make him back down, but he’d matched her play for play until he’d dragged love in. He’d run right after he’d invoked the four-letter word of doom. Love. Not code or duty. Those watchwords did not hold the power over him that love did. They’d agreed reputation was a commonality between them, but before Jynx could discuss love with him, he’d turned tail and run.

  Duster had called him a coward over Scary Mary, and Foster had to admit he was. He didn’t want to go anywhere near that woman ever again. But Jynx was a whole new kind of scary. Jynx seemed so fragile, so easily subdued, but she was one of the strongest women he’d ever met. Because she honestly understood she could not be saved. Her calm acceptance, and her unfailing honesty in the midst of her demise, was something he deeply admired. There was a fierce beauty in her stance.

  “Looks like you had a bit of a problem shaving this morning.”

  Foster almost accused her of reading him, then remembered all the bits of toilet paper he had on his face. “Shit.” Swiping them off with one angry hand, he glared at the textured durosteel floor of the cell room.

  “Have you been working on the ship?”

  “What?”

  “Your shirt has grease all over it.”

  He looked down at his nasty mustard yellow T-shirt.

  “How strange,” she said with a throaty chuckle. “Your hands are clean.”

  He glanced up in time to watch her gaze drop to his jeans.

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth made a perfect O. “Are you aware there’s a hole in your pants, Mr. Nash?”

  “There’s holes all over the things.” White threads dangled from rips across the thighs, knees and seat.

  “I can see that.” Smiling, she finished her breakfast and rose to wash the tray. “It does answer one question I had.”

  “What question?”

  “I wondered if you wore boxers or briefs, and what color you preferred. I see red boxers. Silk?”

  He looked down. In his haste, he’d forgotten to button his pants all the way up. His red silk boxers poked through the partially opened fly. Groaning, flushing redder than his underwear, he buttoned up his battered jeans and turned to leave.

  “If you’ll wait a moment, you won’t have to come back for the tray.”

  Her trilling voice rubbed his already frayed nerves. He wished he could slam his way out the door, but he’d look like an even bigger ass if he did. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he waited for her to finish. He heard her brushing her teeth. Thinking he could pluck the tray up and skedaddle away without having to face her, he turned.

  As she leaned over the sink to spit out her toothpaste, her dress rode up along her back and gave him a spectacular view of her legs. That damn swelling in his pants came back with a vengeance. Trying desperately to keep his big head in charge, he yanked his gaze away. He heard the tray slide along the floor.

  “Finally.” He spun around and found a spectacular view of her breasts as she leaned down. “Damn it!”

  Jynx straightened. “What have I done now, Mr. Nash?”

  “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

  Coyly, she lifted her brow. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m not—just—you’re putting yourself in a dangerous position. A man only has so much willpower, and you’re taxing the hell out of mine.”

  “Am I?” Both eyebrows lifted innocently, but her eyes, that gleam in her knowing eyes, spoke to the primal part of his being.

  He decided to put an end to this right now and scare the hell out of her. Stomping to the cage, he kicked the tray out of his way, opened the door, entered and marched right up to her.

  Jynx didn’t back down. She kept her gaze locked with his.

  He got right up in her face. He loomed over her by almost a foot and easily outweighed her by two hundred pounds of bulging muscle.

  “Are you trying to intimidate me?” She didn’t even flinch. She looked up at him with a submissive flush of excitement.

  Swallowing hard against the animal thrill of knowing he could utterly subdue her, seeing that knowing in her eyes, he said, “I’m telling you to stop.”

  “It would help a great deal if you wouldn’t wear such sexy clothes.” She stroked her hand from the waist of his torn jeans up the length of his grungy T-shirt. “All that grease, the worn holes in your jeans that give me tantalizing glimpses of your legs. It’s as if you want me to be unable to stop thinking of you.”

  “I didn’t wear this for you.” He’d worn his ratty outfit thinking it would repulse her IWOG lady sensibilities, but apparently, his plan backfired. “I’ve got some repairs to make on the ship today. That’s why I wore this. Not for you.”

  With a delicate shrug, she settled her hands against his pecs. “Your reasons don’t matter. You look rugged and worn and dirty and dangerous.” She pulled a bit closer. “You didn’t wear aftershave today. Is it because I told you I liked it?”

  Traces of strawberry shampoo lingered on her still-damp hair. He loved that smell. He should take that shampoo away and give her something that smelled nasty. Determined to teach her a lesson, he grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. Rather than startling her, his aggressive move pleased her, given her sigh and the way her pupils dilated.

  “You’re gonna get hurt. And it’ll be your own fault.”

  “Just how rough are you planning to be, Mr. Nash?”

  She didn’t play him, yet she played the coquette. She didn’t want to get free; she wanted him. He could feel the truth and practically smell desire on her.

  He let out a grunting sigh. “How rough do you want me to be?” He couldn’t believe he just said such a thing. Moreover, he couldn’t believe she smiled and slid her hands up to grip his shoulders.

  “There’s a fine line between passion and violence,” she whispered, her breath smelling of peppermint toothpaste. Lifting up on to her tiptoes, she tried to kiss him.

  At the last breath before contact, he pulled away.

  “Oh, you were doing so well. Why pull back now? What harm could there be in simply kissing me?”

  “Every man you’ve ever kissed has found his way to your bed.” He pulled back a bit farther, but not far enough for her to drop her hands from his shoulders.

  “Afraid if you kiss me, you’ll seal your fate?” she asked coyly, tightening her grip on him.

  He wanted to tell her there might be a way out for her on the reader restriction clause, but he didn’t want to give her false hope, or worse, make a promise he couldn’t keep. Besides, it didn’t matter if he could find a way to free her. That didn’t give him any right to enthusiastically take her up on her offer of indulging the very last
depths of his passion on her compelling body.

  “I’ll find you something to do.” He offered the words almost as a plea for her to stop teasing him because his willpower was crumbling faster than cheap plascreat.

  “I already found something I want to do.” She stroked her hands from his shoulders down his chest, her fingers brushing across his nipples.

  A thousand lusty thoughts flashed in his mind. Wicked ways to occupy the lovely lady Jynx. Oh, yes, Doctor, this swelling in my pants, I just know if you put your mind to it, you could solve this problem. Well, maybe not your mind exactly, but your hands, your mouth, that wet and tight spot between your beautiful legs.

  Desperate to distance himself, his voice cracked when he asked, “Have you ever read a pleasure book?”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I have never read a pleasure book,” Jynx said, leaning closer to him. She was glad he hadn’t worn aftershave today because his soap-clean skin smelled wonderfully arousing all on its own.

  “Don’t even need to think about it, just…” He shook his head and looked down at her.

  “Never have. I’m IWOG consumer. You said you were too, and in the military. Eighteen plus four means you didn’t read your first pleasure book until you were at least twenty-two.”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “I’ve never read one. There weren’t many available on Banna. Once, when I was eight, I saw one. I found the cover fascinating. A man and woman ran from a lurking menace. I remember that picture to this day. It was called Death From Beyond. The title dripped bloody red letters over their heads. I have no idea what the book was about, but that cover is burned into my mind.” She stroked his chest again, teasing her fingers over his nipples.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled as if he were desperately trying to control himself.

  His worn T-shirt was soft as it stretched across his muscular chest. She really wanted to get her hands on his tattered jeans, but she knew he’d hit the ceiling if she put her hands anywhere near his weapon-riddled belt.

  “Stop it.” He grabbed her wrists and held her still.

  “Your mouth says stop, but your eyes say—”

  “I don’t care what you think my eyes say. My eyes aren’t in charge.” He strove for an emotionless tone but missed. Regretful wanting shone through.

  “How disappointing. We would have a lot more fun if they were.” She couldn’t believe she was behaving like such a tawdry wench. Having so little time left made her willing to throw caution to the wind.

  “This isn’t funny. You’re acting like it means no more to you than window shopping. I think I could be anyone and you’d still be all over me.”

  His accusation hurt. “That isn’t true. Haven’t you ever wanted someone just because you found them attractive? If I’m treating this too casually, you are treating it far too seriously.” Did he honestly think her made of stone? That she would not want him? He was a legend brought to life, right at her hands when she had so little life left.

  “Yeah, well, I’m a serious guy. I don’t get involved with women like you.”

  “Like me?”

  “You’re a package, Sweets.”

  She considered it for a moment. “You’ve never been with one of your prisoners?”

  “Never even came close.”

  A proud thrill tickled her stomach. “You’re awfully close to me, Mr. Nash.” She pressed her body against his. She couldn’t stop a knowing smile as she felt his erection, painfully confined in his battered jeans, against the plush of her belly. If she moved just right, she could cup the head of his penis with her bellybutton. When she did, he pushed her away, holding her literally at arm’s length for a few seconds before he crossed his arms over his chest.

  He swallowed hard. “I’m trying to teach you a lesson.”

  “What lesson would that be?” She stepped close, but he backed away.

  “I know you think it’s funny to tweak me around and mess with me to see how far you can push me, but I’m warning you—knock it off. It’s been a while. I won’t be responsible if you end up getting hurt.”

  Abruptly, he left her cell and clanged the door with a hard shove of his hip. He scooped up her tray and stomped off.

  His fanny shimmied with each forceful thrust of his legs. A worn hole, right above his left buttock, made his red silk boxers wink as he stalked off. Every muscle in his back and arm flexed as he stabbed at the com with self-conscious, jerky movements.

  Safe in her cage, she trilled, “Poor Mr. Nash. All sexy and sexually frustrated.”

  He didn’t bother to look back. He didn’t have to. He made his feelings perfectly clear when he grunted and kicked the door closed behind him.

  The more he warned her off, the more she wanted him. Something perverse about that. Thrilling to think that she could push him to the point he would, what? Explode? He made it sound like he’d get so excited, he’d throw her to the floor and take her with violent passion. Another delicious thrill ran through her body. He didn’t seem to understand that was exactly what she wanted. Or maybe he did understand and didn’t approve.

  “About those feelings in himself or me?”

  He said she should find it degrading, her so fully at his mercy, but she didn’t. Maybe he found being so fully in charge demeaning. Did he really think that any man at the moment would satisfy her?

  “Do you need to feel special, Mr. Nash?” She sat on her bunk, grateful for something to think about other than her own inevitable demise.

  Foster stomped about the ship mumbling to himself for over an hour. He was livid.

  “Trust is for suckers. Yeah, lot to be said about that.” He knew better than to trust anyone, but the money had been so good.

  “Damn my stupid, greedy hide.”

  Checking the contract one more time, he finally allowed himself to get his hopes up. He’d forgotten to put in the “dur-heys” of the contract, which meant he could bring them up now.

  Foremost was the reader restriction. He believed Roberts knew about her abilities before the contract was signed and hadn’t disclosed them. Effectively, it killed the contract.

  “But for the failsafe.” He shook his head. “No way would Roberts bring that up.” Not a chance Roberts would pay that much for Jynx. Since he was a triple-platinum Runner, the full amount of the contract was tripled three times, thus 10Mil became 30Mil, which became 90Mil, which became a whopping 270Mil.

  “And if I do cancel the contract, what then?” He looked out to the utter black of the Void. He couldn’t just set Jynx free. Someone else would pick her up in a flash. The only place she’d ever be safe was here, on his ship. How could he keep her like a prisoner for the rest of her life? It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t let her go, and he couldn’t keep her. What the hell would he do with her?

  “It’s not my responsibility.”

  It wasn’t his fault Jynx got herself into such a jam. Well, technically it wasn’t her fault either. He could blame Rotten Roberts for everything.

  This was precisely the kind of moral dilemma he hated. It gnawed at him. He couldn’t just think of only covering his own ass. Covering Jynx sprang to mind, but there was more than that to his longing. The fate of the Void could rest with him. If Jynx was right, that the IWOG had not only the source but the cure to the Tyaa plague, they would undoubtedly use both to their highest advantage. If she’d told him the truth, and he believed she had, the destruction of the universe as he knew it could be imminent.

  Sifting through his paperback book collection, he tried to find something to keep Jynx busy, and keep her mind off trying to seduce him. Because it was working. He felt responsible for her safety and resented the hell out of that uncomfortable feeling. He wanted to take her up on her offer, wanted to do things to her that made him feel simultaneously excited and guilty. But he felt the weight of even more pressing down on his head.

  He came to appreciate the name of his ship more and more.

  About two hours later, Foster returned an
d slid a book under the cell door. “Here.” He turned and walked away.

  Jynx picked the battered paperback up but hardly glanced at the cover. “You would be special to me, Mr. Nash.”

  “What?” he asked as he continued to hurry away. He seemed determined to get as far from her as fast as possible.

  “You seem to be under the impression that I would take any man as my lover at the moment, but I wouldn’t. If you were short, bald and pudgy, I don’t think I would be interested in you. But you’re not. You’re tall, blond and muscular. You are a walking erotic fantasy, a living legend from a thousand IWOG tales. You wouldn’t be my first lover, which would be very special, but you would be my last, and that is special too.”

  He stopped but didn’t turn to face her. She worried she’d said the wrong thing when his shoulders tensed.

  “Every time I think you’ve gone about as far as you can go, you amaze me and go even further. I don’t want to be special to you. I don’t want to be a—” He turned. “What did you call me?”

  Catching his azure gaze, she hesitated only briefly, then said, “A walking erotic fantasy.”

  “Yeah, that. If you think that strokes my ego, you’re wrong.” He pulled his hair back and blew out a harsh breath.

  “You don’t like to think of yourself as—”

  “I think of myself as a man. Not some fantasy. I’m not a whore or a stud or whatever it is you call a male prostitute.” Naked hostility filled his face as he glared at her.

  She recoiled, suddenly ashamed. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you were.” She’d thought her description would please him, but instead, she’d enraged him. Again.

  “Seems to me that’s exactly how you’re treating me. I’m just something for you to play with while you wait.” His hair fell into his eyes when he shook his head. “You accused me of reducing you to a sexual object when I wanted to watch you shower, accused me of behaving like an adolescent IWOG boy, but you are behaving even worse. You’re behaving as if I’m a pleasure slave, a thrall, on demand for your amusing afternoon of diversionary gratification.”