Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (43 page)

Zaë considered this. It didn’t seem quite right. “They could be, I suppose.”

Ringi twirled a loose auburn curl through her fingers, staring at Zaë with her lips parted and a strange look on her friendly face.

“Uh, just to say,” she said. “My daughter is named after Lady Elliane Braveling. Her parents are famous. They’ve been knighted for their work as peacemakers. And Lady Elliane, she’s traveled with them all over the galaxy.”

She nodded at Zaë. “And you look sort of like her. What I’ve seen of her in the holovids.”

“I do?”

“Well,” Ringi twirled faster. “She always wears cosmetics, and a fancy hat and all, in her public appearances. And she never really talks.”

“And ... she disappeared a month ago,” she finished in a rush.

Dano tipped his head and regarded Zaë with fascination. “You think it could be her?”

Unable to keep still any longer, Zaë pushed herself up onto her elbow and then sat up. Her heart was pounding with excitement. “I need to see one of these holovids—
now
.”

“We all do,” Dano said. “Let me bring up a news link.”

“No, the travel channel,” Ringi corrected. “That’s where I’ve seen the Bravelings.”

“We’ll both try,” Dano decided. “You do your thing, I’ll do mine.”

He made an excited face at Zaë. “We’re gonna find you, girl. This is stellar.”

No, this was terrifying. If her heart raced any faster, she might levitate right up off the bed without a hoverpad. She didn’t want to be this Lady Somebody, she wanted to be Zaë. She wanted to be the woman who made Joran Stark’s silver eyes heat up,
 

***

When Riley linked Joran, he was in the middle of going over the plan one more time with Qala and Haro. He looked up impatiently, but as Riley explained his concern, Joran shot out of his chair, fury burning so hot he was vaguely surprised he couldn’t see smoke.

He stalked through the camp, slammed into his tont, and confronted the woman who lay on his bed, pale and exhausted. Ringi and Dano stepped back, both looking guilty.
 

“You, out,” he said to them. “I’ll talk to you later.”

They hurried away.

“What the hells?” he demanded, stalking to Zaë’s side. “I leave you, and you go straight back to this shit? Does nothing I say penetrate? You could injure yourself, permanently.”

“I’m fine,” she said, reaching for him. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

That was insulting. “I’m not scared, I’m quarking
pissed off
,” he clarified, leaning over her with his hands braced on either side. “You don’t start listening to me, I’m gonna drug you myself.”

She smiled up at him, or tried to. “I...I know who I am.”

Fuck. She’d gotten through the veil, or paralysis, or whatever was affecting her brain. He closed his eyes, and opened them again.
 

“Lady Elliane Braveling,” he said, his deep voice merging with hers.

They stared at each other.
 

“How did you know that?” she asked.

“Logan’s people found you in the galactic database,” he told her. “But, you remembered that much?”

He sat down next to her, and took her hands. They were small and chilled in his. He rubbed her fingers to warm them.
 

“I made myself remember, a little at least,” she said. “But there’s not much—and it’s so patchy. I’m not even sure...”

He reached to touch the side of her face, and slide his hand underneath the silk of her hair to cup the back of her neck. “It’s you, all right. But don’t worry about that now. I have you, and you’re safe. So no more forcing it, please? You look like hells—all pale and tired. You didn’t look like this when I left you.”

They shared a look, remembering how he’d left her earlier. Her cheeks flushed again, and he grinned. There, now she looked better. Maybe he should warm her up all over. No penetration, she was probably sore, but nothing said he couldn’t make her feel nice.

Joran leaned down to kiss her soft lips, ignoring the ping of the surveillance holovid. An incoming craft, so what? He had people all over outside, on patrol and on watch. They were armed, they’d handle it. They’d call him if needed. He leaned down to kiss her.

Then she looked over his shoulder and gave a strangled gasp against his mouth, her hands clenching on his shoulders, nails biting through his shirt. He lifted his head.

“What is it?”

She wrinkled her nose at the holovid hovering under the ceiling. “That man...I know him.”

Joran drove his forehead into the pillow beside her head. “Fuck me.” Her life was back, with a vengeance it seemed.
 

Would it have been too much to ask for another half an hour?
 

Reluctantly, he pushed himself up, and pulled her after him, turning her toward the lav.
 

“All right. You go comb your hair, or whatever. We’ll go out, we’ll see what’s what. But later,” he said in her ear, his hand sliding down to cup her belly and press her bottom back against his groin, “we’re finishing this. And then you’re resting.”

She trembled in his grasp, her hands reaching to cover his and hold on. “Yes.”

***

Outside, a strange cruiser had landed on the plain just outside camp. Escorted by Ryder and Draz, both with weapons at the ready and unfriendly scowls on their faces, a slim man in a business suit and broad brimmed hat walked to the center of camp. He pushed up his sungoggles and squinted at Joran, then at Zaë.
 

A smile broke over his boyish face. “Elle,” he called. “I’ve found you.”

Joran’s hands twitched to grab the skinny academician’s neck and squeeze.
 

“David Woodby, I presume?” Would-be was right—he had a boyish, unformed look, like a kid playing dressup.

Woodby looked to him, his smile disappearing. “And you are ‘The Storm’?” His tone was just this side of a sneer.

Zaë moved restively, and Joran soothed her with a hand on the small of her back. “Call me Stark.”

“David?” Zaë said uncertainly.

Woodby’s gaze flew back to hers and he stepped forward. “Elle, darling. I’ve been searching for you for weeks. I’m so glad I’ve found you. Now I can bring you home.”

At this, she jerked back against Joran.

“Step back,” Joran warned.

Woodby froze, his eyes widening on Joran’s face. “But I—”

“Step.
Back.
She doesn’t want you this close; I don’t want you this close. If my men have to restrain you, you won’t like it.”

The man glanced at Ryder and Draz, both with a hand on their holstered weapons, at the crowd of interested onlookers gathering behind them, and stepped back, his face flushing.
 

“Elle,” he tried again. “I’ve come for you. Rented a cruiser and a pilot, all to find you. You’re safe now. You can come home with me.”

When she leaned back, Joran took her weight, his hand sliding around her waist to hold her. He gave her a little squeeze.
 

“I remember you, David,” she said. “And—and of course I have to go home, but...I’ll find my own way there, thank you.”

Oh, no she sure as hells would not. When the time came, Joran would take her in the Hawk, delivering her to her parents himself, thus making sure she was safe and had decent surveillance and maybe an armed guard before he left her there.
 

But there was no way under the sun and stars he was sending her off with this kid.

“Look around you, boy,” Joran said. “You think she’s safer with you than here, think again. You’re not taking her anywhere.”

Woodby’s mouth set mulishly. “Elle,” he went on, ignoring Joran. “I remember this man. He bought you at that auction, like a—a common prostitute. He has no right to so much as touch you, much less hold you here.” He held out one slender, uncalloused hand. “Come with me, Elle. Come home.”

“Whoa,” Joran called. “The auction? Why, Dr Woodby, whatever were you doing in an illegal flesh-peddling pit?”

Ryder snickered at this and a few of the other men grinned. Woodby’s face turned a deeper red.

Zaë tilted her head. “Why were you there, David? Why didn’t you come and find me?”

“I was there to save you. I received a tip, from an anonymous source and—and I went at once. To, er, purchase you. But
he
outbid me.”

“Yeah, and we’re all damn lucky I did, since the other bidder was a Serpentian brothel master,” Joran snarled. And there was something off about the man’s story. Anonymous tip? What were the odds of that? But he’d get into that later.
 

He bent his head to Zaë. “You wanna talk to him now, or you wanna save it?” he asked quietly.

“I’d better do so now,” she said. “There’s so much I don’t understand.”
 

She frowned up at him. “Such as, how you knew who David was. You did know, didn’t you?” Her eyes widened, and he realized his expression had given him away.
 

She stepped away from him, and this time he let her. “Joran?”

“Then he also knew that I am your fiancé,” Woodby burst out. “And that you belong with me.”

Zaë flinched, but continued to gaze at Joran.
 

Fuck, she looked sick and hopeful at the same time, like she was waiting for him to tell her it was all a mistake, that he was some kind of hero, ready to take up the shield hanging in his tont and charge to his death for her. Well, he wasn’t that man, and he never would be. Her pleading look chafed him like a too tight jacket.

“Yeah, I knew,” he drawled. “Don’t forget who I am, baby—a pirate. That’s what I do, take what I want. All that glitters.” He let his gaze slide down over her.

Her cheeks blazed with color. “You mean you
steal
what you want,” she shot back, her voice shaking. “Well, you can hide behind your pirate façade all you want with others, Il Zhazid, but remember one thing—you can’t steal anything that is freely given. And something that’s given can be taken back.”

He took that hit, put it aside to mull over later. “Can’t take back what you gave me, baby,” he pointed out, with a smirk.
 

She gasped, and then gave him that laser-hot glare. It was a relief—he’d rather have her pissed off than pleading, any day. She looked good with fire in her eyes.

“I can’t believe you said that here,” she whispered. “In front of everyone. Maybe you’d like to show them the holovid, so you can beat your chest and brag some more.”

His cheeks burned. Fuck, he deserved that. “No. Bunny, I—“
 

The surveillance system pinged, and Ilya spoke in Joran’s ear. “Incoming ships, five of them. Unmarked—except for our spybots, that is. Recognize some of them from the auction. ”

“How far out?” Joran demanded. He was already raising a hand to catch his crew’s attention—which God knew he had, thanks to the stupid scene he’d just staged.

“Eh, give or take forty minutes at present speed. They’ll have to slow to land...if they’re gonna land.”

Unless they were just planning on attacking the camp.

“All right,” Joran called. “We have incoming ships. Everyone, break camp and board the ships—now!”

The crowd broke instantly, everyone running to do what they needed. Mothers grabbed their children, his warriors headed for their weapons and crafts.
 

Draz grabbed Woodby by one arm and waggled his grizzled brows at Joran. “Where you want him?”

Joran didn’t waste another glance at Woodby. If it were up to him, he’d leave him here, but the man had a vested interest in keeping Zaë safe, so he could come along, watch out for her while Joran was busy.
 

“Escort him onto the Hawk.” Joran headed off, pulling Zaë with him.
 

“What’s happening? Where are we going?” she demanded as she trotted alongside him toward the Hawk, now moored just behind his tont.

“Safer on the cruisers. I’ll explain once we’re on board.” He signaled the Hawk, and the hatch rose to welcome them.

“We’re leaving? But what about the tonts?” Zaë pulled against his grasp. “I need my things. And we need food—you haven’t had your supper.”

His supper. He grinned wryly and gave her a pat on her sweet ass. “All right, baby. You have ten minutes. Then we’re folding up tonts, with or without your gear.”

“Don’t call me baby,” she retorted, and hurried into his tont.

He stopped outside the tont. Qala was right behind him.
 

“This is it,” he said. The slavers were coming to take the bait, and he’d have to play his part. They all would.
 

She nodded. “You sure about this? We mess up, we’ll bring down all the IGSF and the good citizenry of Frontiera around our ears. They’ll throw us on Deep Six and sell holovids of the feed as we freeze and die.”

Joran grinned at her. “Fuck yeah. Love a good fight with terrible odds.”