Heart of a Smuggler

by Heart of a Smuggler (lit)

  The smile on his face when he drew back to look at her was totally decadent.

  “And,” she added, straightening up, “I won, not you, and lovin’ wasn’t part of my prize.”

  “So let’s just forget the dice toss and go to bed anyway.”

  The man really was outrageous. “You’re a sex fiend.” Feeling a little more in control of herself, Gabie arched one brow and looked at him. “So unless you intend to try and force me, I’m wanting off this table.”

  “I’m not into forcing wenches.” Grabbing her suddenly about her waist, Shamon hoisted her off the table with ridiculous ease, making her gasp, and held her up to eye level. “And one day, little smuggler, I will have you in my bed.”

  Cripes. Gabie stared at him, her mouth dry, her heart pounding. Feet swinging well above the floor, she swallowed. “In your dreams.”

  “Oh, you’ve started invading my dreams, little wench. ’Tis made the nights so delicious.” Carnal heat was still burning in his eyes, but the promise that gleamed in them was like a banked fire. Slowly he allowed her to slide down his body. “I’ve got plans for your luscious little body.”

  She swore she could feel every hard swell of muscle, every dip of hard plane, as she went down. By the time she was on her feet, she was looking at his massive pectorals, the skin so warm and tanned and beckoning between the lapels of his sleeveless vest.

  Looking up, she saw that Shamon was no longer smiling. The usual humour was gone, the easy-going trader seeming to have faded. His face without the softening beard looked almost dangerous now in its handsomeness. Piratical with that long, shaggy hair and that small, silver hoop that glinted in his earlobe.

  Pure prurience was reflected in his hot, brown eyes. The man was walking desire.

  “I have to go.” Straightening her shoulders, Gabie took a deep breath and sidled away from him.

  He didn’t stop her, but she halted at the door when he said her name in a low, deep voice that just ran over her skin like silk. “Gabie.”

  She closed her eyes. “What?”

  “I won’t apologize for wanting you.”

  Warmth crept through her and she gulped mentally.

  “One day you will be in my bed.”

  Good God, was he coming closer? Her skin prickled with awareness.

  “And you will enjoy it.”

  Oh yes, he was closer. She could feel the heat of him at her back, even though he wasn’t touching her.

  “You might have won the dice toss, little wench.” His breath was warm on her ear. “But I don’t leave what I really want to chance.”

  She took a step forward, her heart hammering in her ears, trying to ignore the sudden wash of dampness at the apex of her thighs.

  “One day, little smuggler, you’ll be screaming out my name.” The promise was accompanied by the brush of firm lips against her nape.

  That did it. Gabie left fast while she still had her wits about her. She was lucky she remembered where the platform lift was, her thoughts were in such a muddle. She was still stepping onto it when she reached around and hit the descend button. As the lift lurched, an unknown force dragged her gaze back up, and she saw him.

  One brawny shoulder leaning against the door frame of the dining cabin, Shamon had his arms crossed, his biceps bulging mouth-wateringly. He looked the picture of complete relaxation, and anyone would be fooled by it, except for the hot promise in his eyes as he looked at her and the hard bulge in the front of his pants.

  The man wanted her and he meant to get her.

  Oh God. Be still my pounding heart.

  The platform lowered and the disturbing sight of a sexually aroused and determined Shamon was gone from sight. Gabie took several deep breaths, managing to don a carefree expression before the lift rattled to a halt in the cargo hold. It wouldn’t do for the traders to see her so rattled.

  Mikal looked up from where he was kneeling and fastening cables around a crate. “What did you think, lass?”

  I think I’m about to go up in fire. I need a cold shower. “He scrubs up very well,” she replied cheerfully. “I must remember to bet more on the dice next time.”

  He laughed. As she left the ship, Heddam, Etol and Findel gave her a friendly wave from where they stood at a hover tray loaded with more crates and barrels.

  Gabie didn’t have to look up to know that Shamon was watching her every step as she forced herself to walk sedately back to her spaceship. She could practically feel the lick of fire from his heated gaze.

  “Gabie!”

  She looked up.

  Paz ran up to her, skinny legs eating up the distance. “Our visitor is awake.”

  “Really?” Glad of the diversion, she forced the tingling experience with Shamon to the back of her mind. “Then let’s see what he has to say for himself.”

  She found their visitor lying in the bunk, his head and shoulders propped up on a pillow. His face was ashen but he was sipping from a mug of hot soup and looked a bit better than when she’d seen him earlier.

  Misha was sitting in a chair nearby, studying the man over a glass of juice.

  “Hello.” Gabie perched on the end of the bunk. “Who are you and what happened?”

  The man didn’t look too happy.

  “No messing around, now,” Gabie said cheerfully. “Or I’ll toss your arse to the peacekeepers, outlaw.”

  He took a deep breath. “You saw the brand.”

  “Yeah. Care to tell me about it?”

  “The woman who claimed me has... died. I didn’t want to be passed on to her kin.”

  “Really? And who would this woman be?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Okay. Paz!” Gabie called towards the door. “Call the peacekeepers!”

  “No!” The man sat up quickly, his gasp of pain echoing in the cabin, the soup slopping over the edge of his mug. “Please!”

  “Hold that order, Paz!” Turning back to the man, she arched one brow. “Let’s start again, first with your name.”

  “I’m Emet.” He eased back slowly against the pillow. “And I risk capture and being returned to the kin.”

  “Paz!”

  Paz appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Gabie?”

  “Check on the claiming list for Emet. Bring me the information on the handtronic.”

  Paz nodded and disappeared.

  “Please, you won’t notify anyone?” Emet looked at Gabie desperately.

  “Well, that all depends on your story, Emet. Did you murder your mistress?”

  “No! No, I would never hurt her.” He wiped at his mouth with a trembling hand. “She was kind to me.”

  “Where are you from?”

  She knew he didn’t want to tell her but he really had no choice.

  “Once I find out from the claimed outlaw register, Emet, I’m going to know anyway. So spill your guts, there’s a good lad.” Gabie leaned forward. “I have all the odds on my side and you have zilch. So you don’t really have a choice, do you?”

  He looked at Misha, who raised her brows at him.

  “We’re not exactly running on the law side,” she informed him.

  “Private enterprise.” Gabie smiled. “Nothing illegal about that.”

  Emet frowned for a few seconds, and then his face brightened a little. “You’re the smuggler, Gabie.”

  “We’re famous,” Gabie remarked to Misha. “How about that?”

  “And we do prefer the term private enterprise,” Misha added.

  “This ship is the Larceny, isn’t it?” Emet glanced around.

  “That it is,” Gabie said proudly. “But enough about us. Tell us all about yourself, Emet. Where are you from?”

  He looked at her for several seconds before replying quietly, “My mistress was Shona of Brcyton. Her husband is Mellar. I carry a message from Shona, though she was dying when I left. I know she is dead by now.”

  “You don’t like Mellar?”

  “Mellar is... a cruel leader.”

&nbs
p; “Who is this Mellar?” Gabie scratched her head, turning to look at Misha. “I seem to have heard his name somewhere.”

  “Mellar is a settlement leader, I think.” Misha leaned back in the chair and grinned.

  “Really?” How intriguing. “Being on the run from a settlement leader could bring some interesting people looking for you. So, Emet, what is this message you carry and who is it for?”

  “I-I’d really rather not say.”

  “And I’d rather you did, especially if we’re harbouring you on our ship.” Gabie looked up as Paz entered. Taking the handtronic from him, she studied the information and found that so far Emet was truthful in what he’d told her. Except for one thing.

  And oh boy, that was really interesting.

  Gabie rubbed her chin thoughtfully with the edge of the handtronic. “You’re not reported missing, Emet. Now why is that?”

  He was bewildered. “What?”

  “You’re a claimed outlaw, wounded and on the run, scared of being turned in to the law and returned to Mellar. Yet you’re not registered as escaped and being on the run. Now I find that strange. Don’t you find that strange, Misha?”

  “I find it strange. How about you, Paz?”

  “Oh my, yes.” Paz nodded energetically. “I find it strange.”

  “Thanks for concurring.” Gabie smiled at Emet. “Your turn.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t you find it strange that you’re not registered as missing?”

  “Is this true?” Emet stared at the handtronic.

  “See for yourself, honey.” She tossed the handtronic on the bunk near his hand.

  Picking it up, Emet scanned the contents on the screen. When he finally returned his gaze back to Gabie, she could see that his bewilderment was no act. The man was genuinely puzzled.

  “Yep, it’s totally strange.” Leaning on one arm, she gestured into the air. “Mind you, I reckon most settlement leaders are a couple of brain cells short of any kind of intelligence. So, Emet, the question is, what message do you have and for whom?”

  “I... I...”

  “Come on, it’s not such a hard question, is it?”

  “It is.” His blue eyes had a haunted look about them, the dark shadows beneath lending him a washed-out look. “If I tell you and it gets back to Mellar or anyone in his employ, then it’ll mean the possible death of a whole settlement.”

  Gabie digested this bit of information in silence for several seconds. She looked at Misha, who shrugged. Getting up, she paced slowly around the room, running her fingers across the desk and the back of Misha’s chair. Stopping before the mirror, she gazed at the reflection of Emet lying in the bunk.

  Was he lying? What if he wasn’t? How much did they want to get involved in all this? The fact was, he was a claimed outlaw running around wounded, yet he wasn’t registered as missing. And she remembered something on the galaxy news about someone called Shona being dead.

  The only thing that was true was that he was a claimed outlaw, he was wounded, he had been claimed by Shona of Brcyton, and Shona was now dead. If he’d killed her and run, why hadn’t he been registered as on the run and a murderer?

  Emet was no murderer, not according to the claimed outlaws register. Emet had been claimed at a young age by Shona after being caught stealing from the palace and branded by her husband, Mellar. Only a real arse would brand a ten year old boy.

  Mellar and Shona had no children, so it was likely that Shona had treated Emet more like a son. Maybe.

  But it didn’t solve the mystery.

  Turning around, she asked bluntly, “Why won’t you tell us?”

  “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

  Okay, fair enough. He didn’t know them. They didn’t know him. And Gabie didn’t really want to get involved in anything shady that might jeopardize her private enterprise. But neither could she turn a wounded man away.

  “All right, Emet, here’s the deal.” Gabie walked briskly to the doorway and stopped. “You don’t know if you trust us, and I sure as hell don’t trust you right now. However, something doesn’t smell quite right so I’m not going to turn you over to the law just yet. You have two days to recover and then you can take a hike away from my ship. Two days, Emet. Understand?”

  Face pale, Emet nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Yeah. No worries. However, if you bring trouble to me and mine, I’ll pin your arse to the outside of my ship and take a flight into space with you flapping in the breeze. Understand that?”

  He nodded. “If you tell no one I’m here, nothing will happen.”

  “Okay then. You’re confined to this cabin. Take one step out of it and we’ll know. So sit tight and get better and all will go well.”

  Emet nodded again.

  Leaving the cabin, Gabie stretched and headed to the control cabin. She had some contacts to make in regards to her goods and now was as good a time as any to get some things done.

  ~ * ~

  Shamon studied himself in the mirror. He was still getting used to being without a beard, but Gabie had seemed to like him just fine without it.

  Gabie.

  Suns, he couldn’t believe he’d lost it over her. One look at her sitting on the table chewing her fingernail, and he’d come over all hot and bothered. His libido had cranked up a hundred knots and if the wench had been willing he’d have dragged her off to his bunk without hesitation.

  He could still taste her mouth. Sweet heaven, it had been like hot honey. And the wench had kissed him back quite enthusiastically.

  Shamon quirked a brow at himself. Right, he could be as shocked as he liked over his dominating behaviour, so unlike his normal easy-going, happy self, but damn, he wasn’t going to lie to himself. He wanted her. He wanted her under him, on him, bent over for him. He wanted her a hundred different ways, and then he wanted to start all over again.

  “What ’tis wrong with you?” He rubbed his brow with two fingers.

  Never before had he gotten so fixated on a wench. And to be fixated on a cheeky smuggler who enjoyed thumbing her nose at the law and baiting men almost twice her size was madness. The man who got tangled up with that lass was going to spend most of his life getting her out of scraps.

  I’d like to be that man.

  Oh nay! Nay, you do not. One night in her bed and you’ll have her out of your system.

  Not happening. That wench is in your system like poison. She’s an effect that will last forever.

  Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it.

  Shaking his head, Shamon strode from his cabin to the platform lift. One night in his bed, that’s all he needed of her. One night to work her out of his system once and for all. He wanted her, and by God, he’d charmed any wench he’d wanted into his bed within minutes. She’d be no different, and then they could both go their merry ways.

  Aye, that would do it.

  Right.

  Stepping out into the cargo hold, he saw Simon, Heddam, Mikal and Torkra standing near a crate and chuckling. Curious, he strode over to them.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked cheerfully.

  His friends looked at him and chortled even louder.

  “What? What did I do?”

  “I found Gabie’s dice in the dining cabin.” Torkra held them up. “They must have fallen out of her pocket.”

  “How do you know they belong to her?” Shamon took them, almost fancying he could feel her warmth on the dice.

  He’d sure like to feel her warmth somewhere else.

  “No one here has dice and I found it right after she’d left.” Torkra couldn’t suppress a guffaw.

  Uh-oh. Had they seen him kissing Gabie?

  “You know how you lost the dice toss?” Heddam chortled.

  “Aye.” Damn it.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  “The wench cheated.”

  “Cheated?” Puzzled, Shamon looked at the dice. “How? We both threw the dice. I didn’t see her cheat.�
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  “Watch this.” Mikal took the dice from him and walked over to the bench in the corner. Shamon followed, Simon, Heddam and Torkra gathering around as well.

  Mikal threw the dice and they rolled to land on a two and a three.

  Shamon looked questioningly at him.

  “Now watch.” Mikal nodded to Torkra, and threw the dice again.

  It rolled, but as he threw Torkra slipped his hand beneath the table and the dice spun and clattered down onto double sixes.

  “How did you do that?” Shamon looked at the brothers.

  “’It’s a trick.” Torkra withdrew his hand from under the table and held up a little electronic wand, no bigger than a matchstick. “It sends a signal to the dice and rolls it onto double sixes every time.”

  “But Gabie kept her hands above the table at all times.”

  “Misha didn’t.” Mikal laughed. “When Heddam told Torkra and me about the toss I remembered the trick. We asked a few more questions and right at the moment Gabie threw the dice, Misha went under the table.”

  “That cheating wench!” Shamon felt a flicker of indignation. “My beard!”

  “Aye, you lost the beard and it won’t grow back for six months thanks to that dissolving gel.” Heddam nudged him. “But you probably won the toss.”

  “Probably?”

  “Actually,” Mikal informed him, “If she cheated, she forfeits the toss. So you did win by fact of her cheating.”

  “That little—wait a minute. Win?” Shamon stood stock still. I won. I won. That means...

  “Didn’t you bet your beard against her?” Heddam nudged Simon this time while still watching Shamon.

  “Aye.” Aye, he surely had. Swinging around on his heel, Shamon stared over towards the Larceny. “Aye. And that means I won her.”

  “Good luck with the claiming of your prize,” Simon laughed. “I doubt she’s going to make it easy.”

  Oh aye, he’d be successful all right. Shamon felt that heat wash through him, topped nicely by eagerness and determination. That wench had forfeited the toss and he’d won her. In his bed. For one whole night.

  Four

  Coming down the ramp, Gabie caught the sound of laughter coming from the Daamen’s trading spaceship, and she glanced curiously across to see Mikal, Heddam, Torkra and Simon looking at something in Torkra’s hands.