Backing out, he looked around. He didn’t want Gabie on the trading ship. He wanted her to himself. If he had her for one night—the first of many, anyway—he wanted it to be special. He wanted her to be unselfconscious, he wanted to make her scream with need without anyone else hearing.
Shamon wanted privacy for them both. This was going to be a special time.
Stepping down off the veranda, he strode across to the trade building to see one of the merchants the traders had dealt with earlier. He found him entering data on a viscomm.
The merchant was more than pleased to help out a Daamen trader, and when Shamon left he had the security lock code to a little rental dwelling in a side street. Inspection showed it to be small and cozy, with a fireplace in the living area, a small kitchen, a spare bedroom and a small bathroom. The furniture was sturdy and plain, but everything was clean. More importantly, the bed in the main bedroom was big and comfortable.
Shamon reported his approval to the merchant, who promised it would be ready with clean linens on the bed and in the bathroom, the fire going, and some tasty food in the kitchen cooler for Shamon’s occupancy for the night ahead.
Satisfied, Shamon returned to the trade ship. Anticipation filled him at the thought of the night ahead, and he grinned. A cozy little getaway and a luscious wench with curves to make his mouth water, and a sense of humour that made him laugh. Aye, he’d be a fool not to look forward to being in Gabie’s company.
Swinging into the dining cabin, he was surprised to see one of the armchairs occupied. The woman in it studied him with cobalt eyes, her pretty face smiling at something Simon had just said. A thick blonde streak shone out amongst the rich brown of her hair, which was pulled back in a loose ponytail.
“Sabra?” Recovering himself, Shamon moved forward eagerly.
She rose to meet him and he hugged her close. A childhood friend who’d had a hard life, Sabra was a favourite of them all.
“Shamon.” Stepping back, she smiled up at him. “How goes it?”
“Fine.” He tugged her ponytail. “Des here as well? Simon will be pleased.”
“Nay. She’s working elsewhere, just cleaning up a few loose ends and then she’ll be heading for home.”
“How about Cam?”
“He’s trading back near home. I’m working.”
“Oh?” He had a sudden bad thought and glanced at Simon, who shrugged.
Sabra perched on the edge of the armchair, her gaze sharp and steady. “Problem?”
“Nay, not at all.” Folding his arms across his chest, Shamon eyed her back. “The job is here?”
“The job is everywhere, you know that.” She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Aye, he did know that. The security worked behind the veils of secrecy, fixing problems that threatened the Lawful Sector before anyone even knew anything had happened. And sometimes no one ever knew, except the security officers. Shamon wondered sometimes if the Intergalactic Peace Ship Council for which the security worked even knew what went on all the time.
“Who else is here with you?” Shamon asked, keeping his voice light.
“Freeman.” She smiled.
Freeman. ’Twas Freeman who’d kept company with Oriel, the little soldier, until she’d been branded traitor and set out for the outlaws to hunt. Shamon’s mouth tightened. ’Twas for certain Freeman had helped give Oriel her freedom to wed Jase, but still, he’d not stepped in to help her when she’d needed it yet he’d professed to have been her friend for two years before then. Because the military had just been a job. He’d infiltrated it to find a traitor and it hadn’t been Oriel, though she’d nearly been shot for a spy if it hadn’t been for Freeman’s and especially Sabra’s intervention.
’Twas for that reason alone that Jase hadn’t punched Freeman’s face in for him. That and the fact that Sabra would have been furious. The wench had a vicious tongue when she chose to use it.
What concerned him, however, was the fact that Sabra was here now. And so was Gabie.
“Job here?” he queried.
“Just passing through,” she replied. “Stopped in to visit the peacekeepers, check things out.” Her smile betrayed nothing. “Heading on shortly.”
Just passing through. So she wasn’t here for Gabie. Besides, Gabie was small game. Security wouldn’t be bothered with a small-time smuggler like Gabie. The little wench wouldn’t even register on their radar.
Relaxing, Shamon sat down on one of the stools and turned the conversation to idle chit-chat about home, friends and relatives. It turned out that Sabra hadn’t been home for over a month, and he wondered how Cam coped with that. His friend was besotted with Sabra, his wife and childhood friend. Mind you, Shamon thought to himself, when Cam and Sabra did get together they disappeared for days on end. Time might be spent apart but every minute together wasn’t wasted, and he’d never seen a happier couple. He had seen shadows in his friend’s eyes, worry when his beloved returned with healing wounds, but he never questioned her.
Shamon had his own certainties that Cam knew more than he was supposed to. He certainly knew when she was going to be on the Intergalactic Peace Ship, or close to where he was trading, and often managed to meet up with her. Unless she was working, in which case he didn’t see her or know her whereabouts until whatever mission she was on, was over.
’Twas the same with Simon and his security officer wife, Des. ’Twas the very reason Cam and Simon were such good friends. They shared a common worry. The safety of their wives, yet not once did they ask their wenches to leave the security.
Shamon wasn’t so certain he could accept it if a wench he loved was out on dangerous missions.
So saying, Gabie shouldn’t be on dangerous missions. The wench was bound to end up in trouble one day. Bad trouble. ’Twas not a pleasant thought.
Sabra stayed for several hours, joining the traders for the midday meal, laughing and chatting easily with them before she finally left. As she passed Shamon, she gave him a steady look but didn’t say anything. Then she gave a small smile and walked out the door.
“She knows Gabie is here,” Simon said.
Shamon looked sharply at him. “Gabie’s small-time. What would Sabra want with her?”
“She never said that,” Simon replied. “She just saw you spending time with Gabie and said she hopes you’re not getting too involved with a smuggler.”
’Twas it? Relief filled Shamon. “I can look after myself.”
“Famous last words.” Simon leaned back in the chair. “And Sabra will rip your ears off if you fall for the wrong sort.”
“Cam needs to take Sabra in hand.”
Simon laughed so hard he nearly fell out of the armchair.
Shamon shook his head then started laughing, too.
~ * ~
Ensconced in the shelter of the forest just on the outskirts of the settlement, Freeman waited patiently and watched. Twilight was just starting when he saw three figures appear in the Larceny’s cargo hold.
They spent several minutes talking. Even though he couldn’t make their features out clearly, he knew who they were. One had a long, white mohawk. That was Misha, the albino, an interesting female. The stooped figure was old Olin, a small-time outlaw who spent most of his time sleeping. The fuller-figured woman with the bouncy walk was Gabie herself. Of the skinny youth, Paz, there was no sign, so he was obviously inside the ship.
Misha was waving her arms around, and then Olin must have said something. A light tinkle of laughter carried faintly on the wind. Then Gabie broke away and strode down the ramp and towards the settlement. She disappeared from view. Misha and Olin stood for several minutes before returning back into the depths of the ship.
Freeman settled back to wait. Rain started to drift lightly in the wind, but he wasn’t fazed. Pulling the hood of his waterproof coat up, Freeman kept his gaze trained on the Larceny.
~ * ~
Stepping up onto the veranda, Gabie glanced out at the light mist of rain
and hoped it would stop before Olin and Misha set out at midnight for Raznin’s ship. Misha wasn’t in the happiest of moods when she’d learned that Gabie intended to spend part of the night in Shamon’s room. Even though Gabie had explained that she was going in only to appease Shamon and then when the time was right, she was going to go and stay in another room, Misha was still dubious.
Olin had thought it was a great idea for an alibi, as long as she was sure she could handle the giant trader.
Cripes, Gabie had no doubt she could handle Shamon. He wouldn’t force her, she knew it instinctively. He wasn’t that kind of man. All she had to do was keep him occupied long enough, then turn on some tears and be scared and he’d spend the rest of the night soothing her and rubbing her back and then she could leave and go to another room when it was late enough that no one would notice. Everyone would have seen her go upstairs with Shamon and not come back down, and that was a great alibi.
There was no way Raznin, if everything went wrong, could pin anything on her. Come early morning while it was still dark, Paz was going to slip a message under the door of the Enforcement Building. She calculated that Michel would hear the news within minutes and then things were going to happen fast. And Raznin’s ship would have been disabled by then, with Misha, Olin and Paz safely on the Larceny and, as far as anyone knew, herself in Shamon’s bed.
She had to admit to herself, though, that she felt bad. Tricking Shamon wasn’t something that sat well with her. Cheating in a game of dice was one thing, leading him on knowing she wasn’t going to go through with anything was quite another.
To be honest, she felt lousy. She just had to make sure she didn’t lead him on too long. She almost had second thoughts and backed away from the tavern door, but a picture of her crew and herself at the mercy of Raznin made her take a deep breath and stride right on in with her head held high.
There was no sign of Shamon anywhere, which was good, because it meant that she could announce her presence and what was going to happen to the barman, who was well-known for gossiping.
She didn’t like gossip, didn’t like that everyone was going to think she’d slept with someone, but then again no one really cared in a place like this and it was either that or risk being throttled by Raznin’s cronies.
She could take the gossip. After all, it would be a two second wonder and then something much more interesting would take over—such as Raznin’s arrest.
Crossing to the bar, she opened her mouth only to have the barman shove an envelope in her hand. Heck, he hadn’t even opened it. Eyebrows raised, she watched as he hurried away. The crowd was busy.
“From Shamon the Daamen trader!” he shouted back when she raised her hand.
Oh. Okay. “Did he say what room he wanted to meet me in?” She roared back.
God bless shouting. Several patrons around her gave her the eye, two tavern whores scowled, and one drunk leered at her.
The message was going around. She and Shamon were sharing a room. She blushed just a little at the thought and the drunk leered even more, the tavern whores’ scowls grew thunderous and several men smirked.
“He said it was all in the note!” the barman shouted, and then ignored her.
With a shrug, Gabie pushed her way through the crowd and started up the stairs. Several whistles accompanied her ascent and she pretended to ignore them. All in all, it was good advertising for her alibi.
Once on the landing, she leaned back against the wall and ripped the sealed envelope open. The note was short and written in a bold, masculine scrawl. Holding it up to the light, she squinted. Hell, the man had to learn how to write legibly. But she made out the address.
She knew the street name but it wasn’t the tavern.
What the hell...?
Gabie rolled her eyes. Great. She had to go somewhere else. She couldn’t believe it.
Mind you, she could just sneak into a room and everyone would think she was with Shamon... though what if the barman knew what was in the note? Maybe Shamon hadn’t even written it, maybe the barman had taken the message. Someone would no doubt watch to see if she took the trader up on his invitation.
Bugger.
But she didn’t want to go down the stairs in front of everyone in case the barman didn’t know about the new address. There was only one thing for it. Out the back.
Sometimes being near the bottom of the smuggler food chain was damned inconvenient.
Grumbling beneath her breath, Gabie stalked to the back door, flung it open and started down the rickety stairs. She’d be really pissed if she slipped and broke her ankle. Now wouldn’t that be a hell of an alibi?
She grinned, then chuckled, her humour reasserting itself. Shame she hadn’t thought of that earlier.
Pulling the hood of her cloak up, she moved out into the misty rain and made her way to the side street. It didn’t take long before she stood in front of the little dwelling. It looked cozy, the lights glowing dimly behind thick curtains making it look inviting.
Inside that little house was a giant of a man waiting for her.
Hoo boy.
Showtime.
Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode down the path. Stepping up on the little veranda, she pushed the hood back and knocked on the door.
It swung open and the warmth of the fire immediately beckoned to her. The only light in the room beyond was from the fire.
She expected Shamon to drag her inside but instead he stepped back and gestured with one hand. Arching one brow she walked past him and the door clicked shut behind her.
The lock snapped into place.
Whoa, that made her stomach do a slow flip.
Turning around, she looked up at him. “Locking me in?”
He grinned. “Just ensuring some privacy.” He lifted his other hand and held out a thornless, vibrant pink rose. “For you, sweet lass.”
Surprised, she took it. “What, no deep red?”
“You’re not the deep red kind of lass,” he replied, moving behind her to slip the cloak from her shoulders.
“I only warrant pink?” Amused, she sniffed the fragrance. “Nice.”
In an expert toss he caught the cloak over a hook next to the door. “You’re all sunshine and brightness, light and airy—”
“Cripes, Misha calls me an airhead!” Swinging around to face him again, she shook the flower. “Are you calling me an airhead, too?”
“You’re making this difficult, wench.” Laughter sparkled in Shamon’s eyes. “I’m trying to be romantic.”
She tapped the flower against his broad chest. “Calling me an airhead isn’t romantic, let me give you the tip.”
“I never called you an airhead.” Reaching out, he chucked her beneath the chin. “You missed the sunshine and brightness part.”
“Hmmm.” She rubbed the rose against her chin and eyed him thoughtfully. “What does deep red signify, then?”
“Mystery. Smouldering. Heat.”
“Oh, so I’m what, a chill?”
Taking the rose from her, Shamon traced the petals across her lips. “Nay, you’re a breath of fresh air.”
“There’s that air mention again.”
The flower was batted lightly against the tip of her nose. “If you’re spoiling for a fight, wench, ’tis a waste of time. I don’t argue much—”
She laughed outright.
His eyes sparkled with mirth. “At least until I met you.”
“You’ve met me before. I don’t remember you arguing with me then. In fact...” She took the rose from him and smacked him on one massive pectoral muscle with it. “I do remember that you preferred to ignore me. Not nice, trader, not nice at all.”
“Ah, but I had no idea what a delightful little sprite you are.” Taking the rose back from her, he slid the rose petals down her cheek and under her chin.
“So you’ve discovered what a barrel of laughs I am, now what?”
The sparkle of laughter in his eyes changed, dying down to be
replaced with a spark of something... hot. The atmosphere changed as he gazed down at her, and she felt her own merriment fade, pushed back by the sudden awareness between them.
The room seemed suddenly smaller. The fire snapped in the fireplace, the flickering flames picking out the strong lines of Shamon’s face, the orange glow highlighting the dips and swells of the powerful muscles in his arms and chest that bunched and stretched with his movements. Even the ribbed muscles of his abdomen were traced by the flickering flames.
He stood straight before her, towering over her, making her feel small and fragile, a notion she’d have roared with laughter at, at any other time. The rose he held in surprisingly gentle fingers trailed down her chin and throat, his gaze following the movement of the soft petals.
The petals might be soft, but Gabie felt his gaze as though it left a scorching trail on her skin. She knew why when he lifted that brown-eyed gaze back up to meet her eyes... the heat in them was like a banked fire.
Mentally she fanned herself. Her heart was starting to pound all over the damned place in her chest and if she didn’t get some control on herself, she was going to jump the trader’s bones.
God, what was wrong with her? She’d never felt like jumping anyone’s bones—ever.
“Now,” Shamon drawled huskily and God above, his voice was like hot honey, “Now I’m going to do some more in-depth exploring of the delightful little sprite.”
Her knees nearly turned to jelly and she had to lock them in place to stop herself from melting into a puddle on the floor. Hells bells, his voice was like honey, all right, and she had honey gathering elsewhere, too.
Suddenly she didn’t feel so in control of her own emotions anymore. Cripes, even her breathing had changed, picking up tempo, and when she parted her lips to let out an uneven breath and Shamon’s gaze dropped to them hungrily, something inside her started to sizzle.
Without taking his eyes from her mouth, Shamon reached out to the side and dropped the rose onto the bench that ran along one wall. His big hands came up to rest lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs lightly caressing the base of her throat, before he scraped his calloused palms softly up the column of her throat. By the time his hands framed her cheeks, Gabie was breathing fast.
Heart of a Smuggler Page 14