by T C Archer
Brent’s eyes shifted to her face. “I didn’t run out on you. I was chased away.”
“How about an explanation, then.”
“Explain what?”
Anger rose in a mix of adrenaline and stupidity. She knew her reaction was as much about the fact she’d been looking for a reason to be angry ever since leaving Rigil IV as the fact that his actions ran on the eccentric side. But knowing didn’t bring reasoning into the mix.
“Taxi, take me the Hotel Baba Ghanoush,” she said; then she narrowed her gaze on Brent. “Explain why you were running naked through Spacer Jack’s? Explain why shock troopers blew down a door to get to you? Explain why you ran away after I let you fuck me?” Ah, there it was. She hadn’t had a man in her bed in over a year, and the first one after her sex hiatus had bolted.
His gaze bore into her. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
A moment of silence passed, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what he was thinking.
“You’re telling me you’re not part of the Rogue Agent package?” he asked.
She blinked, then frowned.
“You chased me into the alley and—” He looked confused. “You invited me into your room and—” Regret washed over his features. “Fawn, I never dreamed—”
Understanding hit like ice. “You never dreamed a stranger who wasn’t paid would chase you into an alley and fuck you.”
Brent laid a hand on hers. “I never dreamed I’d get that lucky with someone as smart and beautiful as you.”
She wanted to laugh. He thought she was a prostitute. She thought he was an escort.
“I’m just a warp engineer,” he said. “I spend months in deep space, troubleshooting some glitch or aberrant behavior in the ship’s main drive.”
“You’re not built like any engineer I’ve ever known.”
He grinned. “You like me.”
The cab slowed to make a turn.
She eyed him. “You really paid money to run naked through the streets?”
“I did have a towel. The Lauren Bacall back at Rick’s was the woman I’d tried to burgle yesterday. She caught me and made me strip. I thought she was going to seduce me. When she called the troopers, I ran. It’s strange, her showing up at Rick’s, though.”
The cab picked up speed.
“What do you mean?” Fontana asked.
“Lauren Bacall doesn’t belong in Casablanca. They must know that.”
“Did she expect you to be somewhere else, somewhere Lauren Bacall was supposed to be? Like on Key Largo? From the looks of things, you forced her to come looking for you.”
His brow furrowed. “I guess I did, didn’t I?”
A car horn blared up ahead.
“How does a warp engineer afford a luxury fantasy?” Fontana asked.
“I don’t drink, do drugs, or buy expensive toys. Getting away from my mundane life and playing a secret agent for a week is my reward at the end of a year in deep space.”
She grimaced. Sounded too much like her real job.
“What do you do?” he asked.
“I work for the Coalition’s Office of Customs and Immigration,” she said and couldn’t help wondering who was now the liar? “I’m a courier, and I do other miscellaneous tasks.”
“Like saving men like me?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Like letting Corps members get killed, she silently said, but replied, “What is a man like you?”
“A boring engineer, who doesn’t usually get the girl.”
He could get this girl. “Well, we’re all dressed up and nowhere to go,” she said.
He slid closer and traced circles on her calf with a forefinger. She shivered.
“I would like to make up for my mistake,” he said. “This time, it’ll be the real thing.”
Fontana blinked. “Was the last time a dream?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Not a dream, but now we know we’re two people who want to enjoy one another.”
Enjoy one another. That was the best idea she’d heard in over a year.
He slid his finger farther up her leg. “If you cancel your last order, the cabbie will drive until we instruct it to stop.”
She shifted her gaze out the window to the car keeping pace beside them. If the cab drifted closer, the passenger, a man in his early thirties, would get an eyeful. By the time she and Brent were finished, they could have a caravan following them. Fontana almost laughed. She was willing to ride his cock in an alley where everyone on the arounder could have watched them. A cab was far more private, yet she was having an attack of modesty.
A finger curled around her chin and turned her face back toward him. They passed beneath a streetlight, and she discerned his blue eyes were dark with desire.
“You promise to make it worth my while?”
“Yep.” His mouth covered hers.
He slid one arm around her neck and wound the other hand into her hair. His fingers twisted through the locks; then he tugged her head back. She remained motionless as his tongue traced the seam of her lips. Then he plunged inside. His groan reverberated through her. Her clit throbbed. Damn, how could an engineer with this much talent stay locked away on a ship for months? And how could he possibly not have a woman at every port? She didn’t care if he had a harem. He was here with her right now, and he made her feel like she was the only woman in the world.
Fontana opened his jacket and flattened her palms against the thin fabric separating her hands from his body. His kiss turned more heated, his tongue twining with hers. She tugged the Velcro buttons open on his shirt and slipped her hands inside. Muscles quivered beneath her fingers. The feel of the silky-soft chest hair made her want to rub herself all over his body. That would drive him to the edge. She would make sure he wasn’t thinking about any other woman for a long, long time.
He broke the kiss. “Taxi, cancel the last order. Just drive.”
She stroked his cock through his trousers. Brent covered her hand with his. The steel beneath the fabric was just as she remembered. He pressed her fingers closer as he undulated his shaft against her fingers.
“You’ll drive me crazy,” he muttered.
That was the plan. God, she’d forgotten the thrill of driving a man insane. He pulled her legs over his lap, then grasped her skirt and shimmied the fabric upward. Fontana lifted her hips, and he pushed the skirt thigh high. Then he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her knee. She spread her legs as wide as the dress allowed. He gently sucked with his mouth while tracing lazy circles on her inner thigh. Her heart pounded.
Fontana lay back on the seat and closed her eyes, lost in the feeling of his mouth and fingers moving on her flesh. The knuckles of the hand moving upward brushed her swollen pussy lips through the lace of her panties. She gasped.
“What are you wearing, Fawn?”
She snapped open her eyes. “What?”
He stared at her face. “What are you wearing?”
“Black lace,” she whispered.
His gaze locked with hers as he pressed a finger against her clitoris. She sucked in a breath. The black lace rubbed against the sensitive nub in an obscene fashion that sent jolts of pleasure through her. She had the sudden urge to pull up her skirt and massage her panty-covered pussy into climax while he watched.
His gaze shifted to her face as he slid a finger beneath the panties and into her channel just far enough to tease her. The cab slowed. His thumb massaged her clit. She pulsed against his hand. God, she wanted him deep, needed to come hard and fast.
“What do you like?” he asked.
“I-I like that,” she breathed.
“Show me your panties,” he said.
Warmth flushed through her. She’d worn the panties hoping he’d like them. It hadn’t occurred to her he would ask to see them. She pulled the skirt up to her abdomen. A car horn blared.
He looked down. “Black.” His gaze came back to her face. “Show me.”
She frow
ned.
“Show me what you like.”
Her heart sped up. Damn, had he read her mind? “I—”
He grasped her hand and pressed it to her mound. A corner of his mouth lifted. “An attack of shyness? Maybe I can help.” He pulled free the fasteners on her blazer and spread the jacket open. His brows rose, and he looked at her face. “Going commando, I see. You read my mind.”
Fontana nodded, unable to think, the warmth from her pussy seeping into the hand covering her flesh. Brent cupped a breast. They passed through a light, and his face receded into shadow. He grazed the nipple with his thumb. She shivered.
“Show me, Fawn,” he whispered.
Fontana started to slip her finger underneath the panties.
“No.”
She stopped at his abrupt command.
“Through the panties.”
Her mouth went dry. She hesitated. He pinched her nipple. Desire streaked through her. She tentatively slid her fingers along the top of the lace. A tremor rippled through her stomach when she grazed her clit.
He covered her other breast with his palm. “You’re so soft. I love it.”
She began massaging her clit. Pleasure started in a slow roll through her. Brent twisted both nipples. Her clit tightened.
“Make yourself feel good, Fawn. I want to hear you cry out.”
She massaged herself harder. Vibrations of need thrummed through her. The patter of the rain that had started against the roof of the car made her think of him with his tongue against her sex and the gentle, insistent flicks he’d made. A moan slipped from her mouth.
“Yes,” he urged.
Her thighs trembled. Pleasure spiked through the sensitive buds he flicked. She reached with her free hand, yanked aside her panties, and shoved a finger into her wet channel. The sound of Brent’s sharp intake of breath filled the small space. She bucked against her fingers.
“Brent,” she cried.
“That’s it, sweetheart.”
Heat flowed through her; then her skin cooled. She clamped her thighs around her fingers. He kneaded her breasts. Cream gushed from her channel. Convulsions tightened her walls around her fingers.
“Come hard for me, baby,” Brent ordered.
Fontana shattered from within.
When she floated back to reality, Brent pulled her upright and against his chest. The rain had settled into a gentle patter against the roof. He tipped her face up toward his and kissed her slow and gentle. Her heart slowed back down to a normal rate. She’d just fucked her own brains out, but she needed him. She really had forgotten how much she needed a man’s touch.
The rain faded to an occasional tap-tap on the rooftop.
He nuzzled her ear. “It’s a little cramped in this backseat. Let’s go somewhere where I can pay more attention to your body.”
Wow. The man really did read her mind.
She wouldn’t mind more of his attention. She had the unexpected desire to ask about his opinion on the Emperor’s plans to deregulate ship building and licensing.
A strange quiver radiated through Fontana at the thought that she might care what Brent thought on politics or books…family. Ray had wanted a family, but when he’d been assigned to the criminal defense division, they’d both known she wouldn’t be able to live with the idea of him fighting to free the assholes she’d worked so hard to convict.
There had been other men after him, but she just hadn’t had the heart for it. Why get close to a man when it was only a matter of time before she’d have to give him up? No, there would be no discussion of law or politics with Brent. He was a good time—a damn good time—and she was thankful for that. When she left Sagitariun, she would have to deal with her next assignment. She had no time to be worrying about a man.
Fontana stroked his chest. “I heard of a place where we can rent a private Roman bath. It’s outside the main district.” She glanced through the window. “Looks like we are too.” She leaned toward the robot driver. “Where are we?”
“In colony D, neighborhood 14, in the Ancient Rome sector,” a deep masculine voice replied.
“How far to the Stabian Baths?” she asked.
“Ten minutes,” the deep voice replied.
“Take us there,” Brent ordered. He stared down at Fontana. “We have ten minutes.”
Her stomach did a flip.
Chapter Six
The cab pulled up in front of the Roman baths. Outside the rain-streaked cab window on Fontana’s side, a Parthenon-style building hunkered in front of a mock Coliseum. A sign chiseled in the imitation marble marked the building BATHHOUSE in thick Roman lettering.
“Have you been here before?” Brent asked.
She shook her head. “I saw an ad that promised the time of my life should I choose to come.”
“I’ll make sure of it.” Brent was already out the door and around on her side of the cab when she stepped out, hat in hand.
The rain had stopped, and the sidewalk teemed with people. The fantasy resort Sagitariun was always busy. Being a space station, the weather was controlled specifically for human comfort, complete with a warm rainfall now and then. There was no tourist season on Sagitariun. Every day was perfect.
“Are you going to feed me grapes?” he asked.
“I’m buying. You’ll be servicing me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed and hugged her close, causing her to walk crooked.
Fontana’s attention snagged on a woman as she stepped into the lit entryway of the Roman dining hall to the right of the bathhouse. The woman passed behind a pillar, then reappeared on the other side. Fontana thought back to Rick’s and the Lauren Bacall who had come looking for Brent. Was that her?
Fontana kept her gaze on the woman. “Brent, is that the Lauren Bacall from Rick’s?”
He looked in the direction Fontana subtly nodded. “Sure looks like her.”
They’d driven about forty-five minutes, well out of the Moroccan district.
“What would she be doing here?” Fontana asked.
“There’s no one with her, so I guess she’s not doing the same thing we are.”
Fontana jerked her gaze to him with the intention of giving him a condescending look, but the twinkle in his eyes reminded her that he wasn’t paid to be suspicious. She was.
“You don’t think it’s weird seeing her?” she asked. “You thought it was strange seeing her at Rick’s.”
“Yeah, Lauren Bacall doesn’t belong in Casablanca. If she were a tourist, it would be different, but she works for Sagitariun. They should stay in character and not mess up a simple movie set by dressing as another actress.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
Fontana stared in the direction the woman had disappeared. “Maybe you’re not.”
“You think she’s following us?”
Fontana silently cursed. Dammit, she’d been acting like a law enforcement agent when she shouldn’t be. She laughed. “All couriers go through training that teaches us to be suspicious. We handle sensitive documents. Industrial espionage is bigger business than prostitution.”
He slid an arm around her waist. “Really?”
She nodded. It was the truth. “Governments have toppled as a result of their big private-industry corporations losing sensitive information to the wrong people.”
“Sounds a lot more exciting than my fantasy package.”
Fontana laughed. “It probably is for some of the top couriers. That’s not where I’m headed, though. Too much stress, too dangerous.” She wondered if this wasn’t true. She could live with getting herself killed. Could she return to the Corps, knowing another agent might get killed as a result of her actions?
Fontana led Brent between two great architectural columns on the facade of the Roman temple. They entered a white marble antechamber. Togas hung from pegs on the right and left sides of the hallway and alongside doors marked DRESSING ROOM. Some pegs were empty, with neatly folded clothes beneath them. Straight ahead, two archways stood side by
side. A male stick figure was chiseled into the marble above the left archway and a female above the right one.
“Grab a toga.” Brent veered left, and Fontana followed.
He pulled a toga from the nearest peg, and she grabbed the one in front of her. Brent winked at her, and her stomach gelled as he disappeared into the dressing room to the left of his empty peg. Fontana stepped into her dressing cubicle and slipped out of her clothes. The toga was of a fine weave and shone like the threads were made of metallic crystal. The fabric felt cool to the skin, even a little tingly. Brent exited at the same time she did, and they placed their folded clothes and shoes under their empty pegs, then faced the His and Her entryways into the pool area. The pool beyond looked deserted.
“How do we know we’ll get a private pool?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I guess when we walk though, our pool shifts left or right, and another pool will move into place beyond those doorways.”
“Why the His and Her doors?”
“Beats me. Here, you go in the guys’ door, and I’ll go in the girls’. Come on.” He started toward the women’s dressing room/entrance area.
Fontana caught his toga. “What if they kick us out for going through the wrong door?”
“Come on.” He tugged her forward, then planted a palm between her shoulder blades and gave her a gentle shove toward the men’s door. “Live a little.”
She took a shuddering step, waiting for him to step through the women’s door, and they plunged through at the same time. A slight tremor beneath her feet made her think the building had moved another pool into place just as Brent had suggested would happen. A sensation of free falling made her stomach flip, and she felt dizzy. She found herself frozen, unable to move even to catch herself from falling. Her feet felt like they were part of the marble she stood on.
Her vision blanked out so that all she could see was white. Then, suddenly she found herself in a room with a pool almost big enough to swim laps, not the intimate tub she’d expected. Steam curled up from the water’s surface. Royal purple silk pillows lay in piles around the water’s edge. She felt a little tingly when she moved and—her gaze caught on the big feet protruding from the hem of her toga.