Secret Fantasies

by Elizabeth Lapthorne

  “Yeah, I had wondered that, particularly after Simeon insisted he hadn’t been able to contact Gav. I had hoped he was just playing something up, but you’re right, if he isn’t acknowledging even his own children, he sure doesn’t want to talk to me.”

  Vasili reached out and squeezed her shoulder in comfort.

  “We knew that Gav and Chandra had headed to Klampor. Rylan and Ruthie contacted Simeon and Clare early yesterday morning and they passed the message on to us. We’ve been here searching for references to it most of the day. You wouldn’t happen to know if it’s a planet, galaxy or solar system or what, would you?”

  Vasili watched as Lea shook her head sadly, and then looked at Michael strangely. Vasili turned to see what had caught her attention, and saw as a thought almost literally hit Michael between his eyes.

  His friend blinked, appeared stunned, and then put a hand to his head as if the idea had actually singed or hurt him.

  “Oh Goddess, I am so bloody stupid,” he said, agony in his voice. “We might not have heard of Klampor, but I know someone who would have.”

  Vasili frowned, casting his mind through his and the Montague’s friends, seeking through to find who it was Michael had recalled.

  The only person who had been on Michael’s mind all day had been Phoebe… Vasili grinned widely, his grin contagious when Michael caught it.

  Vasili understood his friend’s excitement and irritation at himself. Even if Phoebe had only been working as a merc for four or five years, chances were she knew where the planet or system was and how to get there. At the very least she’d have the contacts to find out how to get the information.

  And as a merc for hire, or some such equivalent, Michael could take her on, and spend a whole lot more time with her. Vasili chuckled to himself. Trust Michael to come up with a plan as purpose-filled as this one.

  It had the dual purpose of spending a significant amount of time in close contact with Phoebe, but he could also go with her and find wherever Gavreel had ended up.

  Vasili smirked and shook his head. A better holo-chess planner and strategist he had never met. Even Gavreel refused to play holo-chess against his eldest son now. No one stood a chance.

  Vasili turned back to Lea, knowing even now Michael was planning his strategy and trying to think of the best way to snare his woman. Vasili looked Lea up and down, even the boxy, dead-ugly Force uniform unable to hide the voluptuousness of her figure.

  Lust burnt brightly in his eyes.

  Vasili saw a momentary flicker of answering heat in Lea’s pale blue eyes, but just as he thought he caught it, she twisted her mouth and it was gone again. Vasili merely grinned wider.

  Now he knew she was well and truly above the legal age, there was no reason for him not to launch his own utterly sensual attack against her. Twenty-nine was a hell of a lot better than seventeen or eighteen in his mind. Although eighteen was fully legal, at his own well over three hundred years of age, eighteen still seemed like a veritable child.

  Life was certainly looking up. It hadn’t been exactly a pit of despair earlier, but somehow he felt better, lighter, happier than he had in an age.

  “Care to help?” he asked naughtily, fully appreciating he not only didn’t fully explain help with what, but also how it was she could help.

  He felt a shaft of lust rip through him as Lea bit her lower lip, worrying it gently. Damned if he didn’t want to draw her close and gnaw a bit of her full, pouting lower lip as well!

  Even with her hair professionally tied back except for the few loose strands, and her Force suit chastely covering her body, she still incited an almost unbearable heat inside him, and he knew he was years away from his heat and fertility phase.

  He remembered wondering a few times at Scooper’s why she was never seen going out back or upstairs with clients like all the other escorts did. He had thought it was her age, and her pickiness when it came to men and clients.

  Being brutally honest with himself, he’d been glad no one ever saw her firsthand leaving with clients. His gut had usually twisted with the thought of someone so young and innocent being an escort. Now he knew better.

  Vasili felt his cock harden at the picture of her with her pigtails and the tiny fake tartan skirt, the band that barely concealed her breasts. He imagined her kneeling before him, taking him into her mouth as she looked up at him with those clear, innocent blue eyes.

  He swallowed hard, saw the answering heat in her eyes. For a moment, he stared at her, wondered what it was she imagined he would do to her, what she wanted him to do to her.

  Before he could coherently think, form the question in his mouth, Lea had blinked and all the heat, the hunger in her eyes was gone. Vasili grinned. He knew she’d only managed to press her desire under the surface. He now knew it would be sitting there, ready to come forth once again when he attempted to incite it.

  He licked his lips, desperately hungry to taste her, to feel her come against his lips and tongue.

  “Sure,” she said huskily. It took Vasili a moment to even recall what he’d asked her. “This is my case, after all,” she added silkily.

  Vasili wrapped a warm, muscled arm around her shoulder, drawing her into the heat of his body. He turned to Michael, not surprised to see a grin on his friend’s face. Vasili made a childish face at his friend, mentally telling him to shove off.

  “You going to go contact your girl, Phoebe?” Vasili asked, his tone more than clear. When Michael merely grinned wider, Vasili decided on the more direct approach.

  You don’t tease me about Lea, he silently but clearly sent his friend, and I will stay off your back about Miss July.

  When Michael smirked back at him and nodded, they all turned to head out the door.

  “Who’s Phoebe?” Lea asked softly, trying to whisper in his ear. Even though he was a good six inches taller than her, he still heard her and grinned.

  “Ah, Lea,” he said deeply, a laugh caught in his chest. Michael would likely smite him if he pushed him too hard, or worse, embarrassed Lea. And so Vasili restrained himself.

  “That is a story, my sweet,” he continued happily. “Let’s sit up front and talk a bit.”

  Vasili heard Michael snort as he turned to head for Gav’s private quarters, likely to pick up his bag before he went and did whatever he planned to do to Phoebe. Vasili instead kept a tight arm around Lea, and steering her, headed for the front.

  They needed to head for the street, to walk out amongst the public, for at least as long as it took for his erection to subside. Considering the potency of Lea’s effect on him, likely they would never get to be in private, at least not for a while.

  Vasili knew if he was to retain some semblance of control and not strip the ugly suit from the delectable Lea’s body, they would both have to stay in public areas. Very public areas.

  At least for now.

  Vasili sighed, and led Lea to the public gathering spots. He had a feeling this would be a long afternoon.

  Chapter Five

  Phoebe gave up trying to read the documents she normally would have finished at least half an hour ago. She turned her neck from side to side, hoping to get the small crick out of it.

  She knew everything was just one excuse after another—she needed a hot drink to settle down, she needed to rearrange her chair and desk, she had a crick in her neck, she had a headache… Phoebe sighed as she pushed herself upright in her chair. Much like a pouting teenager trying to finish her homework, the harder her reading had become, the more she had slumped in her chair.

  Phoebe raised her arms straight above her head and stretched out her back. Still feeling itchy and slightly claustrophobic, she gave up and stood up. She carefully placed the documents on her desk, right in the center so anyone passing by would know she was at least attempting to work.

  Walking quickly, hoping no one would think to stop her if she looked like she walked with a firm purpose, she stalked over to the ladies room and slid the door open. As she entered
the room she set the ambience to tropical forest, something warm and musky, with the calming sounds of the waves to soothe her and help her clear her mind.

  Phoebe sat down on the ancient couch and sighed.

  She breathed in deeply and fully let the air enter her entire body. As she slowly let her breath out Phoebe let all of the stale air from the bottom of her lungs leave her, breathing from her diaphragm.

  Even though she had been trying to calm herself all day, keep her mind focused, which had never, ever been a problem before, Phoebe finally let her head drop into her hands. In the privacy of the bathroom, with no one for her to pretend for, Phoebe cradled her head in her hands and let out a groan of weary defeat.

  Why the five hells couldn’t she get Michael out of her head? Damned if she had ever had this much trouble with any male, great shag or not!

  Which begs the question, said the small intuitive voice that so rarely came out in her mind, what is so special about this man, and should you get back in contact with him?

  Phoebe groaned and massaged her temple. She didn’t have a headache, but she felt like she should have one. The back of her mind wrestled with the never-ending debate of whether she should try and find out more about the mysterious Michael.

  She knew a lot about his character, she knew him exceedingly well in the biblical sense, but she didn’t have a lot of his personal data. Worse still was her own seemingly exaggerated response to the man. No man had ever stolen her concentration to the degree where she couldn’t focus on work. Not even in her wildest teenage years surrounded by every temptation known in the galaxy.

  Phoebe wondered uneasily if, with a few hours and a bit more effort on her behalf, she would be able to get back to concentrating on work, or if this would be a semipermanent effect of her infatuation with him.

  Or maybe your initial assessment was correct, and he is The One for you, her mind whispered seductively.

  Phoebe pushed the thought aside, confounded as to how to deal with the mouth-wateringly tempting thought. She shifted in the well-padded seat, her worksuit, usually so comfortable as to being a second skin, now feeling tight and restrictive. Her body burned like it never had before with an aching need. Phoebe had the unpleasant sensation she craved Michael’s touch, and having been a sexually liberated woman for well over half her life, the almost palpable desire for one particular man shocked her.

  Despite the real excitement shimmering in her body and the interest she felt with these new, untried emotions and experience, Phoebe still felt hesitant. She had heard secret whispers in her model days of drugs that could enslave one, or other new narcotics which could heighten a sexual experience to the point where pleasure and pain intermingled, the resultant hormones and adrenaline proving literally addictive.

  Phoebe knew she had neither eaten nor drunk anything, and Michael certainly was not the type of man who would need to stoop to such levels. But still with the hyped-up way she felt, Phoebe wasn’t sure whether she actually enjoyed the uncomfortable feeling of literally burning for a man for the first time ever.

  Even worse than her body and hormones’ betrayal was the deeply ingrained feeling that her one night of rocking passion was not over. Phoebe had no idea at all why this thought niggled at the back of her head along with that usually silent voice which seemed to think she should get back in touch with Michael. Strangely enough, much of Phoebe’s subconscious seemed to agree, if not feel absolutely certain she had not seen or heard the last of Michael.

  Much as she tried to dismiss the thought, the feeling stuck there like a lurking animal in her mind. Phoebe had long ago come to fully rely on her instincts. Much as she might like to, she did not dismiss the thought out of hand.

  Phoebe’s internal instinct system screamed at her that Michael-the-sex-god was strongly wrapped up somehow in the monumental change she had been feeling, but she felt at a loss as to how she could fit the pieces of the puzzle together.

  While she and Michael hadn’t exactly sat all through the early hours of the morning talking, they had exchanged conversation. She knew he wanted to focus on his missing father and she respected that. The last thing she felt Michael would need was some clingy female dropping on his doorstep—even assuming he was home at this hour—and begging…for what? More sex? A commitment? To talk through the fact she thought he was instrumental in the next phase of her life?

  She snorted as she began to massage her temples once again with her hands, her head still downcast. She was not this pathetic, was she?

  Instead of being her ever-efficient self, she dreamed of large, warm hands covering her body, cupping her breasts and stroking down her stomach to rest at the tip of her shaven apex.

  Michael’s hands had easily, almost casually stroked her to a fever pitch. Phoebe stood up and began to pace, still instinctively fighting even the memory of the delectable man who had played her body as if it were his favorite instrument. And he had definitely been a master at strumming her tune.

  She couldn’t afford to have her mind sidetracked like this. Damnation, she couldn’t afford to have her body sidetracked like this! She was supposed to be working hard, not thinking about the sexy man whose bed she left earlier this morning.

  Phoebe knew she simply could not continue like this, and she refused to surrender herself to some man purely for a little bit of intense sexual gratification. That was what escorts were for, and heaven knew she had a truckload of toys to keep herself entertained.

  Phoebe laughed, placing one slender hand over her lips as the almost hysterical sound reverberated around the small chamber. That strangled, too high-pitched sound could not have come from her?

  Phoebe closed her eyes and began her deep breathing again. She seriously had to get herself under control. She held her own fate firmly in her own hands, no one else could do anything about that. As she finally began to calm down, she wondered how one simple man—even if she strongly suspected that man had been a vampire as no mere human could have had that much stamina—could turn her world so upside down.

  Concentrating on Michael being a vampire helped settle her somewhat. He simply had to be one, she insisted to herself, pleased for any new train of thought to distract her. A few times she had thought she might have caught his eyes burning red-hot, a typical vampire-in-lust trait.

  Also, Phoebe reminded herself, while an ordinary man might have been able to go three or four rounds in an evening, no man without enhancement or drugs could go that many rounds in a few hours with no break at all. Not even a sex-starved man.

  Phoebe paused for a few moments, listening idly to the sounds of extinct birds trilling, and of trees swishing in the wind. She wrinkled her nose, casting another sin at Michael’s door. She couldn’t believe the soothing noises weren’t helping to calm her or help her settle down. Phoebe paced faster, her boot heels clicking on the tiled floor.

  Thinking about Michael, however, in a hypothetical, analytical frame of mind, did seem to be calming her somewhat, and that fact alone annoyed her more than it ought. Something big was happening, or coming, and for once in her life Phoebe was not only unsure of exactly what it was, but she also felt strangely unsure if she wanted it to be coming at all.

  Taking one last, deep breath, Phoebe turned to head back out the door but before she could even reach it, the door swung inward, admitting a new woman. A dark head peered around, searching for someone. Thick black hair had been pulled tightly back into numerous braids and dark black eyes peered curiously and lightened upon finding her.

  “Phoebe? The Man wants to speak to you pronto. You’re being shifted assignments.”

  Confused by the message, Phoebe frowned at the woman, one of The Man’s pool of secretaries. John Brownridge, otherwise known to everyone who worked in the company as “The Man”, was an enormous man, six-foot-four and built like the proverbial tank. He had spent the vast majority of his years fighting other people’s wars, and enjoying it immensely.

  In those many, many years and skirmishes, h
e had learned practically everything there was to know about fighting, information gathering, and everything else that went hand in glove with wars and the politics surrounding them.

  Brownridge was commonly heard to point out the only thing he hadn’t learned effectively was when to call it quits. After his leg had been busted up for the umpteenth time, well…modern medicine could only do so much.

  His leg was physically intact, but he was no longer fighting fit, and in his more honest moments, he could admit his leg was barely even workable. Much of his movements were restricted, painfully so even in this modern day and age, and so he had set up his own merc company Phoebe had worked in for years now.

  “I’m being pulled, Rai?” she repeated, feeling slightly stupid as the world shifted under her feet once again. “Do you know why?” she asked, curious now.

  The dark-skinned woman shrugged, obviously not concerned now she had completed her task and passed along the message.

  “Client asked for it apparently. The Man has been in a meeting for close to half an hour now. From what I hear you’re just going on a leading mission. Some dead-sexy civvy asked for you particularly.”

  Phoebe frowned, but nodded. The Man’s pool of secretaries almost invariably had their finger firmly on the pulse of what occurred in The Man’s empire, and were the best bet for knowing exactly what was going down and when.

  It still made no real sense for her to be pulled from her current project, unless The Man was pissed at her vagueness today. Phoebe wrinkled her nose and quickly cast aside the thought. The Man might be tough as nails, but he was fair. One day’s shoddy research wouldn’t make The Man too upset, or not upset enough to pull her to help a civvy unless there was a hell of a lot more behind the situation.

  “Thanks, Rai,” she said idly, turning back to the mirror and checking her own hair was still pulled firmly back in its braid. “I’ll be right there,” she added, knowing how useless it would be to procrastinate any further.