Heart of a Smuggler

by Heart of a Smuggler (lit)

  “I don’t know how dangerous this could get—”

  “Did that ever stop us before?” Simon grinned faintly. “The men say ’tis time some wench caught you, Shamon, and they don’t want to miss you falling down that steep, slippery slope to matrimony. And they’re not adverse to a little intrigue and danger along the way. Heddam reckons ’tis the only thing that sparks up these trade trips, waiting to see which one of us will be the next to fall hard for some wild, unpredictable wench we’ll have to rescue.”

  “Gabie would not be pleased to hear herself described as such.” Shamon couldn’t stop a guffaw. “And if those other wild, unpredictable wenches you all wed heard that description, ’twould be you menfolk in danger!”

  “’Tis why we’re wise enough to say it only amongst ourselves.” Simon checked the coordinates once more. “We won’t get to the first two scheduled stops in time for you to meet Gabie, but by continuing while she’s stopping to refuel and restock, we should make up the time between our ship and the Larceny and land within a few hours of them at the third stop.”

  “I’ll let her know.” Shamon looked up as Simon stood. “Thank you. All of you.”

  “Don’t get maudlin on us, Shamon. It makes us ill.” With a grin, Simon clapped him hard on the shoulder and left the cabin.

  ~ * ~

  The people in the settlement shivered and gazed up at the towering mountains. Isolated from most of the other settlements, reviled, regarded with suspicion, they huddled amongst the poor remanets of their settlement and eked out a living of sorts amongst the craggy rocks.

  A ship zoomed low overhead and as one they withdrew into the shadows, following the ships progress with worried eyes.

  Worry and hate and despair.

  ~ * ~

  “What I’d like to know,” Gabie said, “is how you got my frequency.”

  “Lass, your frequency is all I can think about.” Shamon grinned at her through the viscomm.

  “Spill the beans, trader. Only a few people have my frequency.”

  “I had it. I tuned your frequency right in to my satisfaction.”

  “You have a one track mind, do you know that?”

  “Only for you, my little smuggler.”

  Gabie tapped the console sternly, fighting her answering grin. “Don’t tell me you shagged Illona for the information.”

  Shamon actually paled. “Nay!”

  “Kidding. How did you get it?”

  “I have my ways.”

  “Let me guess. Somewhere on your travels you picked up some hint on how to lock in.” Gabie’s eyes narrowed on a sudden thought. “You have illegal tracking equipment aboard!”

  “Lass, I’m wounded. We’re law-abiding traders.”

  “With some very dubious wives.” Gabie tapped the screen right where his nose was. “Someone has been doing little touch-ups to your equipment.”

  Shamon leered.

  Gabie grinned. “You know what I mean.”

  “No illegal touch-ups,” Shamon said.

  “Then somehow you got someone to give you my frequency.”

  He waggled his eyebrows.

  Yep, Gabie knew it. Somehow, Shamon had gotten her frequency from someone. And she could just about make a guess who. Sonja, now married to a Daamen trader, was once captain of the space pirates of which Illona was a crew member. No doubt Shamon had spoken to Red, who had spoken to Sonja, who had spoken to Illona, who had spoken to Shamon.

  What a nice little circle.

  “Sonja,” she said.

  Shamon just smiled innocently, though he looked anything but with those wickedly dancing eyes.

  “So, lass, we’re going to be on the same planet as you for your third scheduled stop, day after tomorrow.” His grin turned as wicked as the expression in his eyes. “Where shall we meet? My bed or yours?”

  “Oh, my goodness, you do know how to fluster me.” Fanning her face, she dropped her gaze in mock modesty.

  “I promise to fluster you even more.” He lazily ran his gaze over her. “Hmmm. You know, I can see you from the waist up, lounging back in that captain’s chair. And you’re wearing a nightgown.”

  Oh-ho. What is he up to? Gabie arched her brows.

  “How about you drop one of those little straps from your shoulders?”

  “You want me to strip for you?”

  “Aye, but I was thinking we’d start slowly. Sort of... you know...” He winked roguishly. “Stretch out the anticipation.”

  “Viscomm sex.” Resting her folded arms on the console, Gabie leaned forward, giving him the perfect eyeful of her cleavage under the silky bodice of her low-cut nightgown.

  Shamon’s gaze dropped to her very ample cleavage and boy, did he look hungry.

  Chewing her bottom lips lightly, Gabie ran a finger across the swell of one breast. “You know, I am really a good girl, Shamon. I don’t think viscomm sex is a good thing.”

  “Oh, trust me, ’tis very good,” Shamon breathed, and the heat in his gaze when he transferred his attention from her breasts to her face would have set her on fire if it could have touched her.

  Warmth shot through her, zinging from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. “How about we play show and tell?”

  “Sure.” His grin was all predatory passion. “You first.”

  “Tut-tut. I already showed you something.” She slid a finger beneath the bodice of the nightgown and rubbed teasingly. “Your turn now.”

  Cripes, teasing this giant sexually was such fun. She thought he was actually going to growl; his eyes glittered with banked lust and a touch of frustration.

  Mind you, she was teasing herself as well. Her nipples were pebbling, spiking against the silky bodice. Shamon’s heated gaze didn’t miss it.

  “Two things,” she said. “I showed you two things. Now off with your pants and stand up.”

  Shamon stared at her for several seconds then he grinned widely. “Hey, ’tis not fair. You showed me hints. I’d be giving you an eyeful.”

  She licked her lips. “Honey, you could give me an eyeful, but I’ll be imagining a handful.” Cupping her palm, she moved it as though weighing something.

  His strong cheekbones flushed slightly, but it was with desire, not embarrassment. “Lass, you asked for it.” Abruptly he stood up and edged backwards.

  Propping her chin in one hand, Gabie mentally rubbed her hands gleefully as Shamon moved far enough back that she could see him from his strong thighs to the top of his head. That long, shaggy hair spilled over his broad shoulders, and his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his pants.

  His smile was hedonistic.

  “Now, you’ll have to talk me through this viscomm sex,” Gabie said, her blood starting to flow heatedly even as her sense of fun tickled her. “I’ve not done it before.” And she couldn’t wait to try it.

  Stars, she was game to try anything with Shamon. How odd was that?

  “Oh lass, I can’t wait,” Simon returned. “But I’m going to break you in slowly.”

  Turning slowly to present her with his broad, muscled back, he looked over his shoulder and smiled wickedly. Slowly, so very slowly, he inched his pants down his lean hips.

  Gabie’s mouth went dry. “Is this where I start to yell ‘take it off!’?”

  “Yell all you want, baby,” he replied huskily. “Yell on the viscomm, because when you’re with me in the flesh, you’ll be screaming.”

  “Oh boy. Is this sex talk?” She winked. “Naughty talk?”

  “You wicked little wench.” He winked back. “It can get a lot naughtier than that.”

  “Do tell? And continue pulling those pants down while you tell.” Oh yes, please, take ’em off!

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such an impatient little wench.” The pants inched down slowly, revealing the beginnings of his hard, muscled buttocks.

  “You know,” Gabie said conversationally. “If you were doing that in front of me right now—I mean here in the cabin with me—I just might want to trace t
hat crease between those luscious buns of yours.”

  Shamon halted for second, and then he started laughing, low and deep. And he continued to lower those pants, and—

  “Hey, stop right there!”

  “Wanting to linger, lass?”

  “No. I want to get a closer look at that scar on your bum cheek.” Gabie raised her brows. “How’d you get that scar?”

  “In a very manly way,” he replied seriously, though a twinkle in his eyes told another story. “During a fight.”

  “Someone slashed you on the arse? Not very sporting.”

  “Trust me, a slash on my arse was the least of my worries right then. I’ll tell you about it someday.”

  “Okay. And someday I’ll kiss that scar all better.”

  The muscles in his back and arms flexed as he drew in a deep breath. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Gabie grinned widely.

  “And I can’t wait,” he almost growled.

  “You’ll have to,” Misha said from behind her.

  Startled, Shamon jerked up his pants, swung around and stared over Gabie’s shoulder. Red flushed his cheeks. Okay, now he was embarrassed. Aw, how cute.

  Gabie looked over her shoulder. “Go away. I’m being educated.”

  “Oh, you really want to come, trust me,” Misha said. “Turn off your sex object and let’s go.”

  Her albino friend might be smiling but her eyes were serious. Something was wrong, and considering what they were involved in, it could be very wrong. Play time was over.

  With a sigh, Gabie turned back to the viscomm, to find Shamon watching her, his expression now serious. “Sorry, Shamon. Duty calls.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Just something I need to attend to.”

  “Are you all right?” Shamon’s gaze shifted to where Misha hovered in the doorway.

  “Just a captain’s job,” Misha said, but her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied Shamon. “Nice arse, by the way.”

  Give the man credit, he didn’t flinch. Instead, he looked at Gabie. “Call me back.”

  “Depends what’s happening—”

  “Just call me.”

  “Shamon, I’ll contact you tomorrow.” Gabie reached for the switch. “Playtime is over, honey.”

  Stunned, his eyes widened. “Gabie! ‘Tis not the playtime I’m worried about!”

  “You’re worried about us?” She smiled. “Honey, you’re so sweet. Until tomorrow, then.”

  She flicked the switch and Shamon’s protests were cut short. The screen went blank.

  “This better be good.” Gabie pushed up from the chair.

  “Sorry to disturb your sex play,” Misha returned. “Some things are more important.”

  “Is that sarcasm I hear?” Gabie passed her, looking for the source of her concern.

  “What? From me?” Misha walked beside her, her own nightgown cut scandalously high, barely covering the tops of her shapely thighs.

  “Perish the thought. Now what’s the problem?”

  “Rose is sick.”

  “Rose?”

  “One of our cargo.”

  “You know their names?”

  “They are people, Gabie. Get over it.”

  “I try not to think of anything like that.”

  “Geez, you do head-in-the-sand really well.”

  “I try to perfect it.” Stopping before the door, Gabie sighed. “I’m trying not to get too involved with them. Involvement means trouble. Just do the job.”

  Misha sneered at her. “Is that why I saw you estimating the distance between the last stop and the Outlaw Sector?”

  “Hey, I was just thinking that if things went belly-up, a couple of them—like all five—just might happen to slip loose close to the Outlaw Sector and disappear.”

  “That’s you, Gabie. Big, bad smuggler. Thinking with your heart, not your head. What about us if things go belly up?”

  “Trust me, the Outlaw Sector estimation was for us, too.”

  Misha grinned at her. “You do love us.”

  “Just trying to be prepared.”

  “Prepare yourself for this, then.” The humour in Misha’s eyes disappeared and opening the cabin door she stepped inside.

  Following her, Gabie glanced around the cabin. One of the women was sitting on the edge of the bunk holding a damp cloth to the face of the woman lying down. The third woman was hovering besides her holding a bowl of water. They looked up when Gabie entered, fear clouding their eyes.

  Cripes, that fear made Gabie feel like a heel. Fine, she could have actually met them, tried to allay their fears, but she was trying to keep her friends alive as well. She didn’t want anyone to fear her, but nor could she afford to get too friendly with the... human cargo.

  Bugger Sabra! She could have allowed Gabie to tell them they weren’t going to be sold, but secrecy was more important. Security couldn’t allow any potential leak. She had to play the part.

  It was a bloody shame her crew couldn’t do the same.

  Oh, be fair, Gabie. That’s exactly why you refused to go near them! Because you’d end up befriending them and it would all go to Hell in a meteor.

  Well, now she had to be near the illegal slaves. Scowling, she strode forward.

  The women scrambled away from her, the fear in their eyes clouded with resentment.

  “Stay standing back,” Misha barked out.

  Gabie glanced sideways at her. Well, looked like Misha was playing the game still. Especially since she was holding a laser in the barely-there folds of her nightgown.

  “This is Rose.” Misha looked down at the woman lying on the bed, and the harshness of her tone belied the sympathy in her eyes.

  Okay, the tone was believable, but anyone getting a glimpse of Misha’s eyes were going to know there was something decidedly non-threatening about the pretty albino. Good thing the other two women couldn’t see her face properly.

  Mentally shaking her head, Gabie kept a stern look pinned on her face. “What’s wrong, Rose?”

  “I’m—I’m fine,” the woman gasped.

  She didn’t look fine. Frail, pretty, with black hair and blue eyes, and a small bulge at her belly.

  A bulge at her belly.

  Oh shit.

  “Pregnancy sickness,” Misha stated sternly.

  Oh shit, shit, shit. No one had mentioned a pregnant woman!

  Rose moaned suddenly and lurched to the side.

  Misha and Gabie acted without thinking, Misha supporting Rose while Gabie snatched up the bucket and held it while Rose dry retched.

  “Damn it,” Gabie whispered through clenched teeth. “Damn Raznin!”

  Rose trembled in Misha’s arms, tears and sweat slipping down her cheeks.

  Misha sent Gabie a warning look.

  Remembering who was observing, Gabie gestured to one of the woman, handing her the bucket to hold. “I’ll get Olin. He’s bound to have something for an upset stomach.”

  Olin was never the easiest to awaken, but Gabie shook him until he jerked upright.

  “Pregnant woman,” she snapped. “Have you got something to settle a pregnant woman’s stomach?”

  Olin’s eyes widened.

  “Have you got something?” Gabie ran her hand through her hair. Another complication she didn’t need. “Olin!”

  “Wha—who’s pregnant?” He looked at Gabie’s tummy.

  “Not me, you idiot. One of the women—Rose—is pregnant. She’s dry retching. Have you got anything to ease it? Something safe for the baby?”

  “Well, I—uh, yes. Sure.” Getting up, he stumbled over to the cupboard containing all his medicines and first aid equipment. Fossicking inside, he withdrew a bottle, poured a measure of the liquid into a little plastic container and handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” Gabie saluted him with the container and hurried back to the cabin.

  Rose wasn’t willing to take it, her haunted eyes showing her fear.

  “
It’s safe for you and the kid,” Gabie stated. “Honestly.”

  And how ironic was that? A slaver saying something was safe. Blah! Obviously Rose and the other two women had their doubts, from the fearful way they looked from the liquid to Gabie.

  “My job is to get you to your destination without harm,” Gabie told Rose. “You come to me pregnant, that’s the way I deliver you.”

  Eleven

  That seemed to ease Rose a little because she started sipping at the liquid. Once the container was drained, Misha eased her back down onto the bunk.

  “Bang on the door if she doesn’t settle,” Misha instructed them.

  Gabie followed Misha out, stepping over the mattresses on the floor. Obviously the women had been awoken by the dry retching. Misha shut the door behind them and in silence they went to the dining cabin.

  Sitting at the table, Gabie dropped her face into her hands. “Rose is pregnant.”

  “It would appear so.” Misha was grim.

  “Damn it!” Gabie projected from the chair and ran straight to the control cabin. Flicking on the switch, she went to the frequency Sabra had given her for emergencies. “Come on, come on, come on!”

  Misha hovered behind her, chewing her nails.

  It wasn’t long before Sabra was appeared on the viscomm. Her hair was in a braid, wisps of it floating over her shoulders. Her eyes were alert, but there was a sleepy softness about her face. She’d obviously just gotten out of bed.

  Good, someone else could have a bad night as well.

  “Report,” Sabra said.

  “Oh, and greetings to you, too!” Gabie snapped. “You have to get one of these slaves off my ship, Sabra.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s pregnant.”

  “And your point is...?”

  “My point is that she has an unborn child!”

  Sabra looked expressionlessly at her for several seconds. “Request denied.”

  “That was no Goddamn request!” Gabie yelled. “Rose gets off now!”

  “Nay.”

  “Listen, you.” Leaning over the back of Gabie’s chair, Misha jabbed one finger at the calm face on the viscomm. “We aren’t going any further with a pregnant woman onboard. Endangering her is a no-go, got that?”

  “Stopping you and taking this wench off endangers the whole mission,” Sabra said quietly and firmly. “She stays with you.”