Garden of Desire: 1 (2 page)

Her head rose and she latched onto his lips, eating his mouth, smoothing her full, sweet lips over his, suctioning to keep him glued to her.

Cantor gasped into her, and she finally let him come up for air. Her smile was wide and her gaze glittered with challenge. Suddenly uneasy, he thrust harder, faster—racing her to the finish.

Although braced above her body on his arms, she wrapped herself like a python around his body, her pretty, rosy-brown nipples tangling in his chest hair, her arms clutching his neck, her legs wrapped so tightly, he had nowhere to go but deeper inside her.

Worse, she never shut her eyes. Those large, shimmering pools reflected his destiny in their depths. The harness of his responsibilities cinched tighter. Sweat broke on his forehead. He shut his own eyes to close the woman out of his thoughts, concentrating instead, on her rising moans and the tightening grip of her fingers on his shoulders. Let her be some faceless, nameless creature of delight rather than a flesh and blood woman with emotions and needs he felt inadequate to meet. Gauging every thrust and twist and dip of his hips, he worked to bring her quickly to fulfillment.

“Cantor! Cantor!” she soon chanted, invading his head again, when he wished awareness of only the pulsing bands of muscles that clasped his cock, rippling along the sides of his shaft. Suddenly, she gasped and then mewled, her body melting to the mattress as her orgasm shuddered through her body.

Then he was free! His body jerked and spasmed with his release, while his mind soared. If only for a few moments, he was master at the helm, once again chasing after the stars.

A giggle from the woman beneath him brought him back to himself, and he realized he’d collapsed on top of her. Her hands stroked his back. It was a pleasant, comforting sensation—soothing,
binding
.

He reared away and their bodies parted. Rolling to his back, he stared at the rough plank ceiling of his cottage. Martha nestled her body close to his, resting her head upon his shoulder.

Feeling much more relaxed, Cantor pondered his present predicament. Martha was a sweet thing, but cloying and overeager. Every time he turned around—there she was. If he had to choose a mate, he’d prefer someone less needy, less clinging. Thus far, he hadn’t found that woman.

When he’d first taken on the job as the governor of their small colony, he’d seen only endless possibilities for the community’s growth and had reveled in the mating, sure he’d find a lass or two to serve as helpmates. When had the joy gone out of his job?

He reached around and slapped her ass. “Wench! Be off with you now. I’ve work to organize.”

Martha walked her fingers up his chest. “We could play hooky today. You’ve labored so hard, no one would blame you.”

Closing his hand over hers to prevent any further exploration, he infused his words with regret, “A transporter’s arriving from Arturia. I’ll have my hands full directing the last of the women to their new quarters and seeing to the disposition of the stores.”

She sighed loudly and sat at the edge of the bed, her back to him. “One of these days, Cantor Marlowe, I’m going to prove to you I’m what you’ve been looking for.”

Despite his troubled thoughts, Cantor couldn’t help admiring her firm, straight back and the feminine flare of her hips. Martha was a lovely lass. But too persistent. “Be sure to lock the door as you leave.” He needed a few minutes of blessed solitude.

Martha glanced over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose, then pulled her shift over her head. “Would you like me to come back later to wash the bedding?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t understand you. You want to keep this cabin and your bed all to yourself, when every other man on this planet is greedy for as many women as he can keep.”

He didn’t respond to her observations. They were too accurate. Her insight made him uneasy and restless. Why wasn’t he content? He had his choice of women—Martha being among the most beautiful—but all he felt was smothered by her desires and attentions.

Subdued, and with a shadow of sadness in her eyes, Martha walked to the door and turned the bolt. She opened the door a crack, and then turned back one last time. “If you lock the door tonight, I’ll consider it an invitation.” With a lift of her chin and a feminine flutter of her fingertips, she slipped out.

Alone at last, Cantor drew in a deep breath and sighed, flinging his arms wide over the bed. Solitude in paradise was a rarity, but even alone, the women left their mark. Martha’s sweet, floral scent filled his nose, overlaying Ulana’s cinnamon aroma and Pingat’s wildly erotic musk.

Cantor was drowning in femininity.

Perfumes assailed him morning, noon, and night.

And the voices! High and trilling when calling to attract his interest. Low and throaty when whispering dark and sexy promises in his ears. Loud and strident when bringing their never-ending complaints for him to resolve.

Who would have thought women would have so much to complain about in paradise? And his fellow ex-shipmates weren’t any help in the matter, either. They encouraged the women to take their problems to him, all the while laughing up their sleeves at his growing frustration.

‘Twas no wonder he itched to go a-pirating and was the main reason he’d built his cabin apart from the others. Yet even now he heard the echo of the women’s voices. They haunted him.

No, the voices were coming up the path to his cabin! Cantor jackknifed to a sitting position and scrambled off the bed, searching the floor for his clothing. If they found him as he was, he’d have a devil of a time avoiding a second round of morning sex.

Oh, the sacrifices he made to ensure the contentment of the inhabitants of the little colony.

Cantor slipped down the forest trail, having eluded the women at his door by sneaking out his private entrance. He’d built the bolthole beneath his woodbin himself to ensure it remained a secret.

Escaping the women’s clutches wasn’t quite the same as leaving a Dominion cruiser in his space dust, but it was enough of a victory to lighten his steps. He cut through the forest, pushing aside fronds from lacy ferns and kicking at the vines tangling with his feet.

Forging a new path through the forest’s thick undergrowth where no human foot had trod before, he followed a low ridge he suspected ran parallel to the trail leading back to the settlement, enjoying the quiet woodland and the ripe scent of vegetation made damp by the morning dew.

Alone, with only the sound of his footsteps crunching on a carpet of dead leaves and twigs to keep him company, he reached a promontory of bare rock overlooking the valley the colonists had claimed for their own. He paused at the edge to look through a thin mist at the place he was reluctant to call home. This place was placid, bucolic—not the prow of a cruiser slicing through clouds as it sailed toward the stars. Cantor wasn’t ready to drop his anchor at this shore—regardless of the beauty of the place before him.

A river ran through the center of the settlement. On the far bank were the rough-hewn longhouses and a few individual cabins that housed the inhabitants. Beyond the settlement stretched an open field ending in a bluff that looked over a sea of azure blue.

On the side of the river nearest him lay green, grass-covered meadows and brown patches of newly turned soil. Directly beneath him, massive Moldan yaks grazed alongside Earthen sheep and goats. The herds were small, but already several animals were heavy with the promise of the next season’s bounty.

“Hallo!” A voice drifted up and Akron, pirate-cum-shepherd, waved his staff. With his long bushy, red hair brushing the tops of his massive shoulders he looked like the ancient Highlanders of his heritage.

Cantor broke into a grin and waved back, then climbed down the rocky hillside to the meadow below.

“Good morrow, Governor!” Akron called out as he approached. “Did you lose yer way along the path?”

Cantor leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at his grinning friend. “I decided to do a little exploring.”

Amusement glittered in the big man’s eyes. “You must have just missed the women. They were headed yer way with new curtains for yer cabin. If you hurry, you might catch them.”

“Leave off!” Cantor said, giving the burly man a shove. “I’ve been given three sets of curtains since I finished the cabin. How many do they think I need?”

“Ah, but these are far superior. Kirsten made them,” Akron replied, his tongue firmly in his cheek.

Kirsten!
Bloody hell!
Cantor groaned, recalling the tall, amply built woman. “The curtains are probably made of leather she chewed herself to soften.”

Akron’s dark eyebrows drew into a frown. “Yer a lucky man to have a braw, hardy girl like that one.”

“She’s not mine,” he said quickly, feeling the need to nip that misconception in the bud. “If you’re interested, you’re welcome to her.”

Akron eyed him with disgust. “No woman will give me a second look with yer handsome puss around.” He pulled the waistband of his trousers and leered, “Now, if they could see me without me breeches, it’d be a different story. I didn’t earn the nickname ‘Bull’ for the size of me shoulders, alone.”

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your pride hidden in your pants all this time.”

“Ach! Leave off, yourself,” Akron said, flushing.

Cantor rubbed his chin for a moment. “But there’s your solution. You’ll have to let the woman see you starkers.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Akron asked, aghast. “I’m not like the rest of those randy boys. I wouldn’t want to show the whole planet me arse!”

“Certainly not all the planet. Let’s see…” Cantor gave his friend a speculative glance. “You’re a man of the land now. And a hunter.”

“Only of small game. I’ve set a trap or two.” Akron looked a bit worried.

“Well, you’ve got to become a predator. Stalk the woman night and day—but don’t let her see you. Or she’ll think you’re pervert.”

“Not me!” Akron bristled. “Why I don’t even polish me own rocket.”

“No?”

“Never mind that,” the blushing man said quickly. “Go on.”

“Get to know her habits. If she goes to the showers at a certain time, you be there first. If she washes her clothes in the river, you be there—”

“Takin’ a bloody bath!” Akron’s ruddy face beamed.  “Aye, lad. I think you have it.”

Cantor stepped back and let out a breath. Would that all the problems presented him today would be as easily solved. He just hoped the woman didn’t appear on his doorstep complaining of a stalker in their midst! In the meantime… “Do you think I’ve time to make it down the trail before they’re done?” Cantor asked, looking up the path leading to his cabin.

“If you hurry. Perhaps, I can distract them. Do you think it would look odd if I were to take off me clothes to get a bit of a suntan?”

Cantor blinked then bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. “I think they might be worried for the sheep, if you did.”

“Oh!” Akron’s eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Yes, well I’d better be off. Good luck to you.” He meant it. With Kirsten occupied, he’d have one less woman to avoid. He turned to walk down the hill.

“Wait, Cantor!”

Cantor glanced back, and then halted at Akron’s serious expression. “What is it?”

“I meant to tell you something before you sidetracked me.”

“I sidetracked you? You’re the one waving your ballocks at the sheep!”

Akron flushed, and then his face grew solemn. “I hate to lay another problem at yer feet, but I don’t know what to make of this.”

“Out with it.”

“Two of my sheep have gone missing in as many weeks.”

“Perhaps they wandered off,” Cantor said with a shrug.

“Sheep wander together, and I’ve checked all the gullies to see if any were injured or trapped. They’ve simply vanished.” Worry etched his face. Akron was devoted to his herd.

Cantor gave the problem a moment’s consideration before replying. “We’ve seen no sign of any wild animals large enough to take a sheep. So who the hell would steal communal mutton?”

“It’s a puzzle.”

Looking out over the green pasture brightened by the rising sun, it was hard to imagine anything disturbing this bucolic scene. “Have you found any signs of an animal being butchered?”