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he could smell Bridget through the solidity of a titanium door. He could hear her heart

beating from twenty feet away. Sense the heat of her blood pounding through her veins.

Almost taste the saltiness of that red liquid coursing through her jugular—

"Computer?" he grated, reaching for his shirt. He flung it around his shoulder and

jabbed his arms into the black sleeves. "Call the Ancillary and tell them I'm on my way."

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"Yes, Sir," the Vid-Com agree and he could have sworn the vile thing had actually

sighed with relief.

"Where is Bridget?" he demanded.

"She is in her room."

"Lock her in until I get back."

BRIDGET PUT down the book she was reading and listened to him moving about

in the eating area. She stood, went to the door. "Captain?" she called to him and was surprised when her door shushed open and she found him standing in the opening, his

hands braced to either side of the frame.

"Aye?" he asked, his expression blank.

She thought he looked none the worse for wear for having spent two months in a penal

colony. If anything, he looked more powerful than when he had left. His complexion was

deeply tanned, although there was an unnatural ruddy glow to his cheeks and lips.

Involuntarily, her gaze traveled over his thick chest and down the heavier muscled area of

his thighs before crawling back up to his astonishingly beautiful male face. Her scrutiny

settled on the hungry glow in his dark chocolate eyes.

"Like what you see?"

"What if I do?"

That stopped him cold. He stared at her, unable to believe he had heard her correctly.

She smiled at him.
What the hell?

"Want what you see?" Bridget felt a quiver deep in her womb and her knees went

weak. When she ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips and watched his heated gaze

fall automatically to them, she let out a little moan that snapped his attention straight back to her eyes.

"Yes, Captain," she whispered. She held out her arms to him. "I want—"

She got no further for he swept her up in his arms with such force, with such powerful

intent, he crushed the very breath from her body. Her arms went around his neck, his

head swooped down, and their mouths came together with a bruising fusion. His tongue

invading her mouth was all she remembered until she felt his body pressed heavily atop

her own on her bed, the stabbing steel of his manhood straining to be free of his trousers.

"Cree," she groaned against his mouth, taking his kiss, tasting his tongue, wanting much, much more.

"I want you," he mumbled against her throat where his tongue was lapping at the salty moisture of her flesh, striking at the spiral of her inner ear, slipping inside to send shivers of delight throughout her body.

"I want you," she returned, burying her fingers in the sleek darkness of his unbound hair and dragging his mouth back to her own. She raped him with her tongue: thrusting

into his mouth, claiming him as possessively as he had claimed her. She ran the tip of it

over his teeth, across his lips, probing at the sensitive corners and felt him shudder

violently.

"By the gods, woman, don't!" he begged, jerking himself off her as though he were

being sucked out of an air lock.

Bridget started to protest, thinking he meant to put a stop to this dangerous business,

but then she realized he was ripping off his uniform, tearing the material when it resisted

his efforts.

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"Hurry."

"You don't think I am?" he growled, rending his trousers.

She held her arms up to him. "Come here!"

A snarl of pure animal lust erupted from Kamerone Cree's throat and he bent over her,

putting his hands on the front of her blouse. The silk ripped as he dragged it from her

body, half lifting her from the bed as he jerked it free. Her skirt followed, the sound of the material being rent making her quiver. Her silken panties and lace bra were no obstacles

to him at all and came away with a satisfying zip of sound that made his avid gaze widen

with appreciation.

"Sweet Merciful Alel," he whispered, looking at her nakedness. "You are beautiful."

"Kam, please!" He fell on her, although he kept most of his weight from crushing her.

The possessing knee that wedged between her legs and thrust her thighs apart—its mate

driving her legs wider still in preparation of his penetration—made her cry out with

mindless arousal.

"Say it again," he ordered, his shaft paused at the hot center of her.

"Say what?" she moaned, wiggling her hips, needing the hot steel of him buried inside her.

"My name," he insisted, not about to give her what she wanted until he got what he

needed. "Say my name again!"

"Kam," she rasped, bringing her legs up to clasp his lean hips.

"Again!"

"Kam!" She arched toward him.

He drove the tip of his penis into her body. "Again!"

"Kam"

Cree rammed the shaft of his blade to the hilt inside her and held it there: deep, lodged

tightly against her womb.

"Again," he whispered, straining to keep the seed from spewing forth until he heard her just once more. His arms were trembling as he held himself above her. "Say it again."

"Kam," she whispered. She met his look. "Kam." She felt the quivers beginning. "My Kam."

Hot spurts of semen shot from him and flooded into his woman: branding her, claiming

her, making her his for as long as they both lived. His mate. His woman. His love. The

acute sensation that he had never fully experienced; the complete fulfillment of burying

himself in the warm, loving body of a woman whose body and soul needed his as much

as he needed hers, drove him into the realms of purely physical pleasure. Not just

physical relief. Not just the satisfying of his lust. But the pure, unadulterated release of all the pent-up sexual frustrations he had ever known.

When it was over and he lay spent against her bosom, his lips gently drawing on one

rosy nipple, she stroked the long brown hair from his forehead and planted the softest kiss

on his brow.

"Can we do it again?" he asked.

"I certainly hope so," she answered and smiled as he lifted his head and looked up her.

He smiled, too.

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"YOU LOOKED pleased with yourself, Captain," she told him the next morning as

she woke to find him lying on his side in her bed, his head propped on his fist as he stared

down at her.

Cree grinned. "Exceedingly pleased, milady."

Bridget stretched, allowing the sheet to pull away from her breasts. Out of the corner

of her eye, she saw his gaze drop automatically to where she had intended it go and was

rewarded by a soft chuckle from her companion.

"You are shameless, woman."

She turned her head and smiled. "I know."

Cree reached out to tug the sheet lower. He studied the perfection of her right breast,

leaned forward to study the other one then placed his hand on the mound of her left

breast. "This one is larger," he declared. "Why is that?"

"It's just the way a woman is made," she replied and sighed softly as he stretched his fingers out so that only the center of his palm was in contact with her breast as he ran it

delicately over her nipple. When she frowned, he stopped, thinking he was hurting her in

some way.

"What is wrong?" he inquired.

She took his hand in hers and turned it, looked down at the thick calluses then ran her

thumb over the horny protrusions. "I am sorry, Kam."

"For what?"

"For what you had to suffer on—"

Cree shushed her with a finger. "Something good came of my stay on Helios Twelve."

"Really?"

"I brought two warriors back with me: a Necromanian and a Serenian. Though both

noblemen had been given long sentences, I freed them."

Bridget blinked. "How did you manage that?"

His grin became predatory. "You know better than to ask."

Before she could comment, the Vid-Com clicked on. "Captain, Lord Anthos Korr from

the Ministry of Justice is demanding to speak with you."

Cree sat up in the bed. "Demanding?" he echoed.

"Also, Dr. Dean, the Director of the Behavioral Modification Unit is requesting a

moment of your time, as well," added the Vid-Com.

Cree felt Bridget stiffen beside him. "What does she want?" he asked Bridget.

"I have no idea," she replied and also sat up, reaching for her robe.

"Did she say what she wanted?" Cree asked.

"A moment of your time," the computer repeated with just a hint of exasperation in its clipped voice.

"You gods-be-damned—" Cree began, but Bridget calmed him with a gentle touch on

his cheek.

Despite her growing unease, Bridget laughed. "You really need to have a little talk with Helen."

"Helen?" Cree questioned.

"The Vid-Com."

His brows drew together thunderously. "You named that acid-tongued bitch?"

"I named her after my best friend back home: Helen Louise Portas."

Cree snorted. "You did not compliment the lady, Bridget!"

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"Captain!" the Vid-Com intruded, seemingly insulted by his remark. "Lord Korr is growing impatient and Dr. Dean is waiting for you answer."

"Did she ask a question, Helen?" he sneered, putting emphasis on the name his lady

had given the interfering AIU.

"Captain," the Vid-Com sighed, "your attitude does not compute. Should I schedule you for a visit with Admiral Kahn's office?"

At the mention of the Commanding Officer of the Rysalian Fleet Academy, the OIC for

all military assignments, Cree sobered. "I do not believe that will be necessary," he answered, somewhat chastened. "Tell Dr. Dean I will call her back and connect Lord

Korr."

The stern visage of a man in his late eighties flashed immediately onto the Vid-Com

screen. "I do not like to be kept waiting, Captain," Lord Korr snapped.

"My apologies," Cree forced himself to say. "What can I do for you, Your Grace?"

Anthos Korr appeared to be looking past Cree, into the expanse of Bridget's bedsuite.

When Cree realized the old man was trying to get a look at Bridget, he moved to block

the view. As he did, Lord Korr scowled. "Did you enjoy yourself last eve, Captain Cree?"

Cree felt a warning shudder go down his spine. "I received permission to have a live-in

companion, Your Grace."

There was a snort of derision from Korr. "Aye, but I can not find anywhere in our

records where it states you were granted permission to mate with this female or any other

not sanctioned by the Ministry."

The Reaper had to grit his teeth. "I believe the permission was implied, Your Grace."

"Not so! And because you have once again flagrantly disobeyed orders, you are hereby

ordered to report to Be-Mod 9 within the hour!"

"Disobeyed orders?" Cree shouted, forgetting to whom he was speaking. "What gods-be-damned orders? What the hell have I done wrong now?"

"Do not use that tone with me, boy!" Lord Korr thundered. "You will do as you are told or I will have you dragged into Be-Mod 9 in shackles!" The Vid-Com disconnected.

Irrational fear shot through Cree and he turned to face Bridget. "What did I do that was so wrong?" he whispered. Before she could tell him he had done nothing to warrant such

treatment, the Vid-Com clicked on again.

"Captain? Dr. Dean insists on speaking to you, now."

"Put her on," Bridget commanded. She slipped her hand into Cree's and when Dr.

Dean's face appeared on screen, it was Bridget who wanted to know what was happening.

"They have informed me that we are to do active reinforcement on the Captain this

morning," Dr. Dean reported.

"Merciful Alel, no," Cree breathed. He hung his head, shaking it from side to side in denial.

"Why are they doing this to him?" Bridget hissed.

Dr. Dean did not answer. Instead, she turned her attention to Cree. "Captain," she

stated, "if you would like, and if she is willing, I can arrange for Bridie to assist with the therapy."

"I most certainly am not willing!" Bridget snarled. "And there is no reason for him to have to be put through that torment again!"

"We have no choice, Bridget," Dr. Dean stressed. "This has been ordered by the Tribunal. The instructions come from—"

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"Onar," Cree whispered.

"Lord Onar," Dr. Dean finished and saw Cree nodding as though he already knew the

culprit's name. "It will only be three sessions, Captain. We can accomplish that in one

day."

Cree looked up at this woman whose lover had provided half the equation for his

existence and wondered what she thought of him.

"Bring him in, Bridget," the Director said. "He will need you with him."

IT WAS THE longest fifteen minutes of Bridget's life as she accompanied Cree to

the Be-Mod 9 Unit. She had resisted the urge to take his hand in the elevator although