Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) (5 page)

 
Nikk, the office manager/mine secretary worked at the desk behind the counter, and beyond that was Creed’s office, in which he spent little time except when the weather was bad. At this late hour the place was empty and quiet. But even when busy, it held beings in drab, working clothes, dressed for their tasks.

He felt as if someone had opened a portal and let in a creature from some alternate, magical universe. One in which the denizens were enticing, sexual creatures. With delicate digestive systems.

He inhaled, then grimaced down at his utility boots. In a small ante-room, he unbuckled them, yanked them off and dropped them in a cryo-cleaning unit usually reserved for his clothes after a hard day of work. He tossed his socks in after them. His plain khaki utility pants had been spared, so he cleaned his hands with gel and walked barefoot back out into the foyer.
 

While he waited for his mystery visitor, he linked the man who could illuminate the situation. His big brother, Logan Stark. Self-made man, owner of his own space cruise fleet and numerous other businesses including a share in Creed’s irridium mine. Space magnate, head of LodeStar Enterprises, and master manipulator.

As long as he could recall, Creed had watched with admiration, increasingly mingled with exasperation, as Logan played beings like chess pieces. The man had a genius for getting events to turn out the way he wanted, because he had a genius for getting the beings involved to do what he wanted them to do. Logan didn’t know much about his ancestry, but Creed wouldn’t be surprised to learn his adopted brother had some Indigon blood.

He was not above playing his own brothers, either. For their own good, of course. Usually Creed was merely irritated. If what he now suspected was true, he was ready to shoot straight back into the same anger that had sent him storming out of the mine today instead of methodically loading droids and supplies. Except that it might land him in another mess.

Stark’s face appeared before him in holovid. Handsome, urbane, relaxed, lamplight gleaming on his short brown hair. In a rustic lodge, so probably still at the Masterson place in New Haven.

“Creed,” Stark said. “How are you?”

“Puzzled,” Creed said dryly. “Any idea why one of your pilots thought she was supposed to deliver a female here to LodeStone?”

Stark merely smiled. “She’s there. Good. She’s a gift.”

Creed’s eyes narrowed, his brows shot up. “Come again?”

His older brother took a sip of his drink and fingered the glass, watching Creed. “For you. A courtesan.”

Creed’s head went back, his body tightened. “You sent me a
whore
?”

It was then that he saw movement from the edge of his vision. His gaze snapped right. The blonde was watching him from the hallway. She had one hand braced on the corner of the wall, her gaze fastened on him. She was still, but he’d seen her flinch of distress. She’d heard him, hadn’t liked what she’d heard. Hadn’t liked it at all.

“Taara’s not a whore,” Stark corrected him. “She’s a very high-class courtesan. There’s a galaxy of difference, Creed.”

Creed heard him, but he didn’t look away from the blonde. Couldn’t look away.
 

“Not really,” he muttered.

She was beautiful. Even with her face pale, hair tousled, expression closed and wary, she was female sensuality personified. Under her curtain of pale blonde hair, her face was heart-shaped, with big, tilted green eyes, short straight nose and a mouth that was sweetly curved, even when she was biting it, sucking one side of her lower lip between her teeth. Maybe especially then.
 

The little motion was a tell. She might not expect warmth from him—that was good, because he was not ready to give it—but she definitely had emotions of her own. She was real.

“Of course there’s a difference. She’s trained in the sensual arts, but she’s also a lady. And, don’t worry, she knows better than to expect any emotional involvement,” Stark went on relentlessly. “You’re a man in your prime, yet you live in a world populated by mine techs. You’ve no females around, except a few employees—whom I’ve seen and who are
not
enticing—and another man’s wife. You won’t come to the city to meet any women, so I’ve sent one to you.”

Creed’s gaze drifted down, over a slender frame clad only in a strappy little red dress that revealed the curves beneath. High, round breasts, a small waist and those round, lush hips tapering into slender legs that went on forever. Small feet in red sandals that revealed manicured toes.
 

Toes that were currently curling, digging into her sandals so hard they were white with pressure. Another tell.

His gaze went back up, noting her hand digging into her hip, the tips of her fingers white as well. A pulse hammered in the delicate hollow of her throat, and the look in her green eyes said she was waiting for him to toss her out into the night. Which he should. Put her back on that cruiser and send her wherever the seven hells Stark had found her. Let her get busy seducing some other man. He wasn’t some fool who couldn’t find a woman if he was in the market for one—which he was not.

“I don’t need you to pimp for me, Logan.”

“Taara’s not only experienced at showing a man how to find pleasure, she’s a nice woman. You’ll enjoy her visit in more ways than one. Even chat, something you can use more practice with.”

He didn’t want to chat with this enticing creature. Unless it was with hand signals, like ‘Come here’ or ‘Lift that short skirt and show me what’s underneath’. Which was not going to happen.

He’d been trained in celibacy. It was what he knew and what he understood. Females and how to deal with them except as employees or business equals, he did not understand. Also, he neither wanted nor trusted physical intimacy—it carried the promise of darker things to come, of pain and humiliation.
 

Creed opened his mouth to argue with Logan, but his throat had gone dry, his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.
 

His body too was frozen in place as surely as if he’d been cryo-flashed. Except it wasn’t ice slithering down through him, as insidiously and with as much intent as a sand viper, it was heat. Burning through his chest, every beat of his heart sending licks of fire out through his arms, hands flexing at his sides. Down through his legs, the muscles bunching, ready to pursue, to spring. And especially down into his groin, curling lazily in ever tightening spirals that were at once pleasurable and painful as his cock twitched and then began to stiffen, his balls drawing up tight.

The heat of arousal. He’d felt it before, had been battling it back for years with meditation, with physical exercise so demanding it took all his strength, leaving none for temptation.
 

But in his sleep, he was helpless against the demands of his strong, virile body. He’d awakened many a time, sweating, trembling, his belly wet with his release, from a dream of some nebulous female.

The woman standing before him was the embodiment of his every craving. She was
real
. All too real. With a mighty effort, Creed reached inside and found his calm, drew it around him. Although somehow he felt as if even that could not protect him now.

“I’ll give you two a chance to get acquainted,” Stark said. “Treat her well.”

Creed’s head snapped around, but his brother had already broken the link. Creeds took a deep, slow breath, forcing the tumult of anger, want and need deep down inside him, cloaked it in silvery calm and tied a knot. He was definitely gonna get Logan for this—later.

He turned back to his visitor. “You can stay the night,” he said, pleased that his voice betrayed none of his disquiet. But then it never did. His training with the Zhen Monks had taught him nothing if not the appearance of control. “Leave in the morning.”

She let go the wall to wrap her arms around herself, her green eyes now wide with ... fear?

“I’m so sorry about—” she wrinkled her nose. “You know. Your boots.” Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. He went barefoot a fair amount, so his feet were nearly as tanned as his head and torso.
 

“Not a problem,” he said. “They’re in the cryocleaning unit.” He was still focused on her voice. Soft. As soft as the tops of her breasts. As soft as her skin looked, gleaming in the lights like pale gold satin. His hands twitched, craving a touch.

“So, can I bunk here tonight?” Coy asked from the doorway. Her gaze flickered between him and the blonde, but her expression was bland. “Or I could sleep on the cruiser.”

“We have plenty of rooms,” Creed said instantly. He didn’t want to be alone in his house with the blonde. She was walking, talking, breathing temptation. And if he gave in to her siren call, he was unsure if he would ever find the tattered shreds of his control.

The pilot nodded. Then she bent and hefted two bags, one expensive looking red leather with gilded fasteners, the other utilitarian, scuffed. “Lead the way.”

Creed reached for the red bag, and she handed it to him without a word. Carrying it, he led the way along the passageway and through a set of wide, double doors into the passageway to his house. All the buildings were linked with passages wide enough for a hovie cart, so that in bad weather or if they were under attack, no one had to go outside to get from one to the other unless they chose.

“Thank you for bringing in my bag,” the blonde murmured behind him. Taara, Stark had called her. A name as pretty and fluid as her curves.

“No problem,” Coy said. Her voice lowered, not meant for his ears. “You’ll be okay. Creed Forth’s good people. But I’ll be nearby tonight. You can link me if you ... y’know. Need someone to talk to.”

Creed’s shoulders tightened. What did the pilot think he was going to do, jump the blonde the minute he got her into a room?
 

A pause, then a whisper. “Really? That’s so sweet.”

“Hey, we girls gotta stick together, you know?” Clearly meant to make the blonde laugh, and it worked. A little chuckle whispered over his skin, leaving behind the sensation that he’d been stroked
 

“You gonna be okay?” the pilot added.

“I don’t know,” the blonde whispered. “I—I was supposed to stay here for a while.”

Creed’s shoulders tightened, along with his jaw. Damn Logan to the seventh hell. He’d chosen the worst temptation of all. Had he sent a bold, confident female, or one who oozed sensual aggression, Creed could have turned her away easily.
 

This woman made him want to protect her, to reassure her that nothing and no one would be allowed to hurt her. Made him want to keep her, at the same time he knew he must push her far away.

At least this was what he thought he knew.

Chapter Four

Creed dreamed again. And this time, when his nighttime muse came to him, she had a face and a definite form, as well as a voice he now recognized.
 

‘Come to me,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll take care of you.’

And he rose and went to her, his body hard and aching with desire that was centered in his groin, his cock so hard it pierced the air before him like a weapon.
 

‘You’ll take this?’ he asked her, palming himself, showing her. Praying desperately that she wouldn’t turn him way, wouldn’t find him wanting.

Her eyes never left his. ‘Yes. I’m supposed to be here.’

She walked toward him and his body shook with the force of his conflicted emotions—want and need, anger and fear. Fear that if he broke the bonds on the years of aching desires, the storm would sweep him into the maelstrom, destroy him. And take his hard-won self-respect with it.

‘Hey, wait,’ cut in a new voice.
 

He looked over and saw the pilot in the door of his room, frowning at him. She shook her head.
 

‘Don’t give in,’ she said, her voice sliding into the deeper, serene tones of his Zhen master. ‘Temptations of the flesh will destroy you. You must control them, or they will control you, you know this.’

‘But I’m supposed to be here,’ Taara repeated. And when he looked back at her, tears welled in her green eyes and slid down her face.

He froze. Fear, he understood and anger. But tears? They were messy and complicated.
 

He shook his head. ‘No. No crying.’ His own voice rumbled in his ears, filled with the echoes of other, uglier voices from deeper in his past.
 

‘No crying, boy. Do what we tell you, or else.’

“No! Leave me alone. Get away from me!”

The sound of his own hoarse shout woke him. Creed opened his eyes and lay there, listening. He took a deep breath, and let it out, waiting for his thundering heart to slow. It had only been a dream. By far the most vivid of those that plagued him lately. And no wonder, with
her
under his roof, even at the other end.

His house was simple but it was big. He liked space around him, craved it. With credit, a man could have rooms and a house as big as he wanted, especially here where there were no other buildings crowding in, no skyscrapers towering over dirty, wet streets. No constant din of traffic, commerce and voices. No stink of too much humanity crowded in.