Heart of a Smuggler

by Heart of a Smuggler (lit)

  She blinked. “You’ll be waiting a long time. Like forever.”

  “’Tis right?” Oh, satisfaction was a smug feeling. Smiling slowly, he shifted one hand slightly to reveal the pair of dice that had been lying beneath his palm.

  “Hey, that’s my dice.” Picking them up, Gabie rolled them in her palm. “I couldn’t find them. Where were they?”

  “Torkra found them in the dining cabin after your visit.”

  “Oh, when I came to crow over my prize?” There was definite mischief in that full-lipped smile.

  “Aye. Now, you’re sure ’tis your dice?”

  “Absolutely.” She weighed them in her hand.

  “No doubt?”

  “I know my own dice, trader.” She tossed them onto the bench and they rolled and fell onto a four and a two.

  The wench had just trapped herself with her admission.

  She eyed him a little suspiciously. “What are you grinning for?”

  “Anticipation.” He couldn’t help it, he shifted his hips closer, his groin brushing against the generous curves of her bottom. Was it his imagination or did her bright green eyes just go a shade darker?

  Her voice was steady, however. “Cripes. Look, trader, I won that dice toss. My prize was you dissolving off your beard.”

  “True. And if I won, you agreed to give yourself to me. In my bed. One full night.”

  “So?”

  “Do you always stand by your word, little smuggler?”

  “Of course.” Her eyes flickered slightly, a slight tension in her body as she shifted closer to the table, seeking to remove contact with him.

  Ah-ha! Now she was wondering. Bending his arms slightly so that his chest came a little closer to her back, he smiled slowly. He could just about see those little wheels turning in her head.

  Reaching into the small pocket slitted on the inside of his vest, Shamon removed the tiny electronic wand and stroked it across the back of her hand before placing it down on the bench.

  “This goes with the dice, lass.”

  Her face might have been expressionless, but he felt her suck in a breath. When she made to step back, she came hard up against the front of his body, back to his chest, bottom pressed against his groin, ponytail tickling his chin. ’Twas the sweetest torture. He couldn’t wait to bury his nose in the silken strands and inhale the fresh scent.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said steadily.

  “Oh, you do.” Lowering his head slightly, he let his breath ruffle the silken strands near her ear and had the satisfaction of feeling her jump slightly in his caging arms. “You’ve been a naughty little smuggler, Gabie.”

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Oh, aye, you do understand. You cheated on the dice throw, Gabie.”

  “What? How?” She did the puzzled innocent so well.

  Picking up the electronic wand, Shamon shifted his hand under the bench and moved it near the dice, which obligingly rolled around the surface and fell onto double sixes. Putting the electronic wand down on the bench again, he shifted his hand to rest on her waist.

  The wench might be tense, but her body was so soft and warm.

  “I don’t know anything about it.” She also did the outraged really well. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

  “Stated fact. Misha helped you, but you didn’t get away with it, Gabie.”

  “Really, I don’t—”

  He leaned forward totally so that she was pressed between him and the bench, though he was careful not to crowd her so much that she hurt herself on the bench. “Let’s not lie about this. You know you cheated, I know you cheated. I know.”

  For several seconds there was silence. Stars above, that brain of hers was working overtime. Shamon chuckled inwardly.

  “So what?” Gabie finally said. “You lost your beard and it won’t come back for another six months. By the way,” she glanced from the electronic wand back to his face, which hovered not far from hers over her shoulder. “You look heaps better without the beard. I did you a favour. You owe me.”

  The cheeky sprite. He guffawed out loud, his chest pushing against her delicious, curvy little body, which was all his for the taking.

  “So, business finished, could you back off? I’m busy.” Was that a touch of breathlessness in her voice?

  Reigning in his humour, Shamon eyed her in amusement.

  She frowned back at him.

  “Business between us is far from over, lass.”

  “I don’t see how. It’s quite simple. Your beard is gone.”

  Oh, how he loved the satisfaction that just poured through him touched with molten heat. “I won the toss.”

  “What? You did not.”

  “You forfeited the game by cheating.”

  That had the wench speechless.

  “And so saying, I won.”

  Gabie stared at him over one shapely shoulder. “No...”

  “Rules of the game, honey.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and he didn’t bother to hide the heat in his eyes when he met her wide eyes again. “I won.” Sliding his hand from her waist to her stomach, he angled his palm up and slid it neatly between the generous breasts pushing against her loose shirt. Pressing firmly against her chest, Shamon straightened, bringing her easily with him so that she was standing full against his body, back to his chest, perfectly aligned. Bending down so that his mouth brushed her ear, he stated huskily, “You. In my bed. One night.”

  Five

  The heat of his body was unbelievable against her back. Muscular thighs braced behind her bottom, and there was an undeniable firmness pressing into the small of her back. It didn’t take a genius to know that Shamon was partially aroused.

  It didn’t take a genius to know that she wasn’t so unaffected herself. That broad palm between her breasts was like a brand of exotic sensation, especially when his thumb brushed against the curve of her breast.

  Shamon was muscled hardness behind her, his brawny arms enfolding her against him. His other hand was splayed across her stomach and stars above, that big palm almost covered her gently curving belly.

  And when he rubbed gently, she felt her knees go weak and had to lock them to stop herself sagging in his arms.

  Sensations spiralled through her. His clean, masculine scent filled her senses. The feel of his body against hers made all sorts of weird things go off in her system, like little sparks of fire that seemed to scatter throughout, carried by her heating blood.

  Cripes, and he was only holding her!

  “What say you, little smuggler?” His lips, so firm yet oddly soft as well, brushed against the side of her throat, making her breath suck in.

  You. In my bed. One night.

  His words resounded in her head. Oh God, she’d forfeited the game only because dumb luck meant her cheating had been discovered, and Shamon was now here to claim his prize.

  She should be screaming her lungs out, lying through her eye teeth, or trying to escape. So why didn’t she?

  Gabie turned her head to look back up over her shoulder, only to find his face disconcertingly close. He was so rakishly handsome, and his eyes, though hot, had a gentle light in them. A caring light. The big palm slid up from her belly to run slowly up her throat, and her breath caught at the sensation of the calluses abrading her skin lightly. She couldn’t say anything, trapped in the gaze of a man who wanted her. Desired her. It was plain to see and she marvelled at it.

  Sure, plenty of men had wanted her. Not the right kind of men, though. None had interested her, and none had made her heart stammer or her insides go liquid warm when they touched her. Unlike Shamon. His touch made the warmth inside her go sluggish, turn thick, curl through her.

  Resting his fingers against the side of her throat, he laid his forefinger against her jaw line, tipping her head back slightly. His thick lashes dropped over his brown eyes as he studied her lips, and slowly he moved towards her.

  She could have stopped him. She knew one word from he
r, one show of resistance, and he’d let her go. He was honourable, kind, good natured. A Daamen trader known for their kindness and gentleness with wenches.

  But she didn’t stop him. Couldn’t. She wanted to taste him. Wanted him to kiss her. And when his mouth came to hers, she parted her lips, inviting him in.

  He didn’t kiss her hard, didn’t give her the show of strength she expected. His kiss was light, gentle, teasing. A brush of sensitive skin on sensitive skin. A flick of his tongue across the seam, barely entering. He moved to the corner of her mouth, and then slowly moved across her cheek.

  His finger at her jaw angled her head more to the side, giving him access as he trailed his lips down the side of her throat, leaving a warm, moist path in his wake. Little splinters of fire licked along her veins, and when his lips fastened on her pulse and he sucked lightly, a spark ignited deep inside her and with a soft moan she reached up with one arm, curling her hand around his nape, the shaggy yet silken fall of his long hair sliding through her fingers.

  Gabie felt the path of his hand going from her chest to her belly with clarity. A shift of material and then that broad, warm palm was on her bare skin. Fingers kneaded lightly, one dipping into her belly button making her squirm and catch her breath.

  “Shhh.” The deep whisper against her damp skin made a hot flash pump through her.

  It was all he said, but it was enough for her to still, even relax a little. Until that warm palm slid lower, the tips of the big fingers sliding beneath the waistband of her pants.

  Her heart started to pound all over the place. Little flickers of heat were already starting to sparkle through her body, and Shamon had only been touching her lightly. Cripes, if he did anything else she was likely to go right on fire.

  Unconsciously she leaned back into his greater strength, his big body bending over her protectively, and she heard his murmur of approval against her throat as he shifted his mouth higher again. A little lick across her stammering pulse, an almost not there nip at the base of her jaw, a trailing of masculine lips across her cheek.

  Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the sensations. Cradled in his arms, supported by his strength, Gabie gave herself up to the moment. She couldn’t help it, her body reacting as it never had to any other man.

  Those strong fingers slipped from beneath her waistband and dragged up her side, making her shiver, and the husky laugh against her cheek was warm amusement and desire mixed, deep and dark.

  There was nothing amusing about those fingers shifting, that broad palm flattening on her sternum and moving upward. Shamon encountered her bra—what the Daamens called a support garment, Gabie hazily though for no reason—and he traced the lacy pattern, finding the bow in the centre. His fingers played with it, stroking the tiny satin ribbon.

  “Pretty,” he murmured against the corner of her mouth. “I can’t wait to take it off.”

  Hoo boy, that just had her temperature soaring, but that was nothing to the way it spiked when his palm suddenly cupped over one breast. There was no groping, just a gentle weighing, an exploring of the generous globe beneath the lacy bra cup. And when he pressed lightly against her nipple, massaging it, any last inhibitions Gabie had shattered.

  She wanted more.

  “Enough teasing.” Her husky words held a demand, an order, but she didn’t care. A faint throbbing had started between her thighs, and her skin felt like it was too confined in her clothes. She wanted them off, wanted only the heat of Shamon’s big body against her.

  In her.

  Hell yes.

  Turning her head, she met his lips and wasted no time in claiming his mouth, her hand at his nape prepared to tighten if he made a move to shift away.

  He didn’t move away. Instead, he welcomed her, deepened the kiss almost immediately, allowing her to claim his mouth and lick deep, but it wasn’t long and he was taking control once more.

  Within seconds it changed, the mood darkening, becoming more aroused. The firmness at her back hardened, and he pressed forward against her, encasing his rising erection between them.

  A cry of pain sounded dimly. Gabie barely heard it, but when the crash sounded followed by another cry of pain, it broke through the haze of desire, forcing the curtains of desire to part reluctantly.

  Shamon lifted his head. “’Twas that?”

  “I’m not sure.” Gabie was surprised she could hear anything over the blood singing through her veins.

  A shuffle sounded in the corridor followed by a thump.

  Instantly Shamon’s stance went from would-be lover to protective. He turned towards the door, placing Gabie at his back as he faced whatever was approaching.

  Placing one hand on his arm, Gabie looked around. Her thoughts weren’t exactly straight, and all she wanted was to press up against his back, slide her hands under that vest and explore every dip and swell of his muscled back. But self-preservation was made of stronger stuff, and she blinked as common sense forced itself to the fore.

  He appeared in the doorway, slumped over, his steps unsteady. Blood trickled from under the patch on his side. The sheet was around his waist, and he clutched it closed with one fisted hand. Dark shadows ringed his eyes, and his face was flushed.

  “Emet.” Stepping around Shamon, Gabie hurried forward. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  “They called to me. Shona was there.” Emet started to slump even more as he tried to move forward.

  “Shona’s not here, Emet, remember?” Moving close, Gabie tried to support him, feeling the heat of sickness scorching his skin.

  “I have to leave. She gave me the disc.” His eyes, over-bright with fever, seemed to look through her. “I’ve got it, Shona. I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He tried to focus on Gabie. “I just have to escape unseen.”

  “Emet, you’re running a temperature. You’re not well.” Catching him under the arms, Gabie nearly buckled when his full weight came down on her.

  Shamon was suddenly there, moving in to take the smaller man’s weight, and Gabie shifted back in relief. He didn’t try to just support Emet, but without effort swung the man into his arms and strode out into the corridor. “Which cabin?”

  Hurrying ahead, Gabie led him into the cabin which had previously been shut. “Just put him back on the bunk.”

  Laying Emet on the bunk with surprising gentleness, Shamon stepped back. Emet tossed restlessly and he quickly put out a hand to stop him from rising.

  “I’ve got something for him.” Crossing to the table, Gabie picked up the little sedation patch that Olin had left her.

  Crossing back to the bunk, she ripped the backing off and pressed the patch onto Emet’s arm. It worked fast, thank goodness, the topical application shifting through his layers of skin, absorbing into his bloodstream, and within several minutes he quietened.

  Shamon stepped back again, his arms folding, one hand stroking his hairless chin as his gaze swept over the smaller man.

  Aware of the last sputterings of desire still trying to reignite inside her, Gabie blew out a deep breath and went into the bathroom. Taking the coolpak from the little chill cupboard beneath the sink, she came back out and placed it on Emet’s forehead.

  Straightening she looked down at the man. He was flushed, running a temperature. Sick. Infection? Possibly. Bugger. She wished Olin was back right now.

  A movement behind her, then a big, warm body moved up beside her. “Who is he?”

  “Nobody.” She took a deep breath and that masculine scent just played havoc with her still sputtering nerves.

  “You have an injured nobody on your ship.”

  She looked up but Shamon was studying Emet. There was no sign of lingering desire on his face. Now he looked both curious and cautious.

  “Yep.”

  Emet shifted and the sheet came apart enough to show the brand on this thigh.

  Now the very air took on a menacing tinge, and it was coming from the giant trader standing so still beside her. He didn’t move an inch, b
ut she felt like he was about to come down atop her like a ton of stone.

  Gabie started to edge away but Shamon’s big hand reached out and clamped unerringly on her arm.

  “He is a claimed outlaw.” His deep tone held a bite.

  No point denying it. “So he is.” Gabie took a deep, fortifying breath and gave her arm a little tug.

  Shamon didn’t release her. “A claimed, wounded outlaw.”

  No sense denying that, either. “Yep. That’s correct.”

  “Is he yours?”

  “Cripes, no!” Gabie scowled. “I don’t believe in keeping slaves!”

  “Then tell me, Gabie.” Slowly Shamon’s head turned to face her, and his brown eyes sparked with suppressed anger. “Why do you have an escaped, claimed outlaw on your ship?”

  “Don’t sweat it, Shamon, it’s not your problem—” Gabie began.

  He was relentless. “Why do you have an escaped, claimed outlaw on your ship?”

  Well, hell. Gabie shrugged. “He was wounded.”

  “So why didn’t you turn him over to Michel? The peacekeepers?”

  “Because we chose not to.”

  “You can’t keep him here.”

  Irritated, she snapped, “It’s not your business what I do!”

  Shamon swung around on his heel and strode from the cabin. Gabie had no choice but to follow, for her arm was still in his grip. He wheeled her out of the cabin and into the corridor. Swinging her around to face him, Shamon frowned down at her.

  “Careful, trader,” Gabie said tartly. “You’re on my ship. Don’t try to throw your weight around here.”

  Though stars knew he could bounce her off every wall if he wanted and there was nothing she could have done about it.

  “You have a wounded, claimed outlaw on your ship and he doesn’t belong to you, which means he’s on the run,” Shamon grated out. “If the peacekeepers decide to search your ship, you are in deep trouble, wench.”

  “Ohhh, I’m so frightened.” Gabie scowled. “Mind your business.”