Mercenary Instinct (a science fiction romance) (12 page)

“Perhaps not exactly,” he murmured. “I’d been
wondering what crime you committed against Felgard.”

It was the wrong thing to bring up. Her
sheepishness vanished, replaced by irritation. “I haven’t committed
any
crimes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you people.
I could be researching and trying to figure out
why
he wants
me, but I’ve been locked away without access to the net.” She threw
him an accusing look, and he had a feeling she had remembered her
destroyed ship. She pushed her plate away, clearly ready to
leave.

Viktor caught her wrist. It was silly when
she was angry with him, but he didn’t want to let her go—or escort
her back to the brig, as the case would be. A look of raw fear
entered her eyes, as if she thought he would strike her, and he let
her go immediately. “Ank—Markovich.” Why couldn’t he remember not
to use her first name? “If you’d—”

She stood, almost stumbling over the chair,
righting it, then rushing to put it between them, even though he
hadn’t taken a step toward her. “Captain, I know you’re busy and
have work. I thank you for dinner, but if you’re done asking
questions, I’d like to go.”

Viktor sighed. “As you wish.”

He walked after her toward the exit, but as
she was about to walk through the doorway, she stopped, turning so
quickly, he tensed, almost expecting an attack.

She surprised him, not by attacking but by
apologizing. “Wait, I’m sorry.” She lifted a hand, palm open toward
him. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry. I intended... I wanted to
thank you for sending our gear to us.”

“All right,” he said, keeping the suspicion
out of his voice, but her sudden change of attitude set off his
alarms.

When she had been chattering about her
background, that had been her, the real her, he’d sensed, but maybe
she had forgotten with whom she was having dinner and had
inadvertently let her shields down. The calculation was back in her
eyes now, along with that quiet fury she felt toward him. Her smile
wasn’t genuine, not the way it had been when she had been
discussing recycling businesses.

Of course, she was attractive whether those
smiles were genuine or not, and it didn’t escape his attention
that, because of the way she had turned so abruptly, they were
standing with only a few inches between them. And she hadn’t
stepped back to adjust that distance, to make it less intimate. The
scent of lavender and lilacs, ever so faint, drifted to his nose.
He swallowed, aware of the fullness of her lips, of the sleek line
of her neck running down to her collarbone. He would like to see
more of that collarbone, of all of her. Get her out of that dusty,
unflattering jumpsuit.

She was watching his eyes. Reading his
thoughts? They weren’t that original. She had doubtlessly attracted
enough men to know when one was thinking of sofas, or beds as the
case might be. Or dining room tables in empty rooms, late at night,
with nobody else around to hear them.

Dining room tables with handcuffs on them,
Viktor reminded himself. The handcuffs of a criminal. Although...
more and more, he was questioning if she was truly a criminal,
especially now that she’d spoken of her father as someone who had
raised her with honor—something he believed because of what he knew
about mashatui practitioners. But she didn’t know he was wavering,
and he wasn’t ready yet to tell her he believed her, to risk being
made a fool. Especially with that calculation glittering in her
eyes. But there was indecision there too. What did it mean? That
she was going to try and distract him so she could pickpocket him?
He remembered the way she had watched him put away the electronic
key. It wouldn’t open the brig force field, but she might not know
that. Or maybe she did and had a plan for that. He wouldn’t put it
past her to trick someone into letting her out again. The key
would
open the doors on the ship the rest of the crew
members had access to.

“Captain,” she said, and instead of backing
away, she put a hand on his shoulder and stepped closer.

She licked her lips. Yes, she was up to
something, perhaps the very something he suspected. But all he
could focus on was the way her tongue moistened her lips. He could
kiss those lips... and still pay attention to what was happening to
his pocket.

“Viktor,” he whispered.

“Oh? Are you always so familiar with your
prisoners?” She was trying to sound nonchalant, but it didn’t quite
come off. She might be attractive, but he either made her nervous
or she wasn’t a very practiced seductress.

He put a hand on her waist, and she tensed.
For a moment, he thought she might forget this mission she’d given
herself and turn to flee. She stayed, but she licked her lips
again, the pink tip of her tongue darting out before disappearing
back into her mouth. He couldn’t pull his gaze from her full
lips.

“You’re not in my command. You can use
Mandrake if you prefer.” He found her uncertainty more appealing
than brazenness would have been, though it bothered him to know she
wasn’t genuinely attracted to him, that she was working up the
courage to try something. It didn’t bother him enough to let her
go. “May I call you Ankari?” He was tired of thinking of her as
Markovich. Ankari was a much more appealing name. A more feminine
one.

She didn’t answer right away. She peered into
his eyes. Trying to figure him out in the same way he had been
puzzling over her? “If you want to,” she said.

“Good.” Viktor massaged her through her
jumpsuit, caressing her waist. When she didn’t pull away, he eased
his hand around to her back, rubbing her muscles and nudging her
toward him, as well. Or maybe he crept toward her. He wasn’t sure,
but noticed when her breasts brushed his chest. There were layers
of fabric between them, but the soft touch sent a charge through
him, nonetheless. His groin stirred. How far would she let him go
in her attempt to distract him? How far
should
he go... with
a prisoner?

Nowhere. This wasn’t wise.

Yet his other hand joined the first,
massaging her waist, the small of her back. He inched closer to
her. That alarm returned to her eyes, and she shifted one hip away
from him, almost bumping against the wall. He should release her,
end the game she was attempting to play, and take her back to the
brig. He was already going to be spending the night imagining what
might have been if he had shoved her up against the wall, kissed
her breathless, and torn that jumpsuit off her. With his teeth.

But she didn’t pull farther away from him.
“The doctor said you had another name,” she murmured.

“Huh?” he uttered, his mind elsewhere.

“Besides Viktor.” Despite that concern that
had flashed through her eyes, Ankari didn’t remove her hand from
his shoulder. She slid it to the back of his neck and scraped her
fingernails through his hair.

A hot surge of blood flowed to his groin, and
his trousers grew uncomfortably tight. They hadn’t even kissed, and
he wanted nothing more than to mash her against him and have his
way with her. “She tell you what it is?” he asked, struggling to
track the conversation.

“No.”

“Good.” He gave her a tight smile.

Ankari kept kneading the back of his neck,
her fingernails grazing his skin, and it was making him want to
descend upon those lips and kiss her senseless. She leaned her
chest against him, her other hand stroking his waist through his
shirt, her thumb slipping beneath his belt, teasing his stomach.
The muscles there shivered beneath her touch, and he wanted very
much for that hand to delve lower.

If it did, it would be to his pocket, he
reminded himself. And he would stop her when she reached for it,
but then this encounter would end. He should end it now, before it
came to that. His hands drifted from the small of her back down to
cup her butt. He should turn her around and prompt her to start
walking back to the brig. But she was tilting her face up toward
him, displaying those full shining lips that he wanted so much to
taste.

“I get Spero,” Viktor said, the words
surprising him.

Her hands stopped moving, and she stared at
him. Why had he said that? All he knew was that he wanted her to
not hate him. For this to be something besides some onerous task
for her. If that was possible.

“What?” she breathed, her lips inches from
his own.

“I know you were young, but I get how it must
have shaped your life growing up. I’m from Grenavine.” He could
have explained further, but he didn’t think he had to. There were
only two worlds that had been destroyed in the system. Everybody
knew about them.

She didn’t respond, didn’t move, barely
blinked. He wasn’t sure why he’d told her that; he didn’t tell
anyone. But he wanted her to know that
if
she wasn’t a
criminal, if this all had been a mistake or some play by Felgard to
get her business, he would be sympathetic to her plight. He just
needed time to figure it out. After this next mission was over,
they would have days in space and a stop for repairs before
reaching Felgard’s planet, plenty of time for research. So long as
she didn’t do something foolish in the meantime. No, escaping
wouldn’t be foolish from her perspective—wouldn’t he be trying to
do the same thing if he were the captured one?—but it was clear
that more people than just he knew about her bounty and would be
watching for her.

He ought to tell her these things, not simply
think them. Yes, that would be useful, but some of the calculation
had gone out of her eyes at his revelation, and she was looking at
him with... concern? Wonder? Understanding? Whatever it was, it
wasn’t loathing, and the new expression tugged at something inside
him the way the other one hadn’t.

It could still be a ruse. That knowledge
didn’t keep him from opening his mouth and welcoming her when she
melted against him, her lips reaching up to his. They were warm and
full, eager and sensuous. All he had hoped. He inhaled deeply, the
scent of her shampoo, of her skin—of
her
—making him heady.
He tasted her, nibbled at that bottom lip she had been licking all
night, understood the draw...

Her earlier hesitancy disappeared, and her
hands slid across his shoulders, down his arms, and around his
waist. She rose on her tiptoes, deepening the kiss, her mouth
hungry, excited by him. She leaned into him, rubbing against him.
Raw heat coursed through him, every part of him rigid where she was
soft.

He pressed into her, stroking her body,
exploring it more brazenly than before. His finger brushed the
corner of something in the pocket on the side of her thigh, and he
would have laughed if his tongue and lips hadn’t been otherwise
occupied. So
that
was what she had been nervous about.
Afraid he would discover that she had pilfered a tablet? It wasn’t
his; he could still feel the weight of his in his own cargo pocket.
He would have to watch for the key though. That was so small that
he wouldn’t miss it if light fingers made it disappear.

Right now, her fingers were a little higher
up, more interested in slipping under his shirt and stroking his
abdomen and waist. A very acceptable place for them. He let his own
fingers go back to roaming. The jumpsuit was problematic. He wanted
to touch silky flesh, not rough fabric.

As they kissed, Viktor followed the curves of
her body with his hands, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure when he
grazed the side of her breast. He found the fastener beneath her
collar and slid his finger down it. The garment peeled open. He
thought about pulling it all the way off her shoulders and dropping
it to the floor, but that would require her to stop touching him
while she lifted her arms out. He didn’t want that. A conundrum. He
settled for this new access. Only a lightweight camisole lay
beneath the jumpsuit, and she groaned when he stroked her through
it.

A ruse? Or was she genuinely enjoying
herself? It seemed that way, but he couldn’t forget that he was an
obstacle to her, one she had come here tonight to deal with. He
ought to check on that key—her hands had drifted lower—but she
seemed distracted from her mission. She had forgotten to keep that
outside hip away from him, and her whole body was molded against
his now, his heat mingling with hers like magma in a volcano.

He growled deep in his throat, needing less
clothing between them. One of her hands paused on his belt clasp,
and her lips stilled. She lifted her eyes toward his, a question
there. As if she needed to ask. He lowered his lips to her neck,
again breathing in the scent of her warm skin, tasting her, the
lingering dust from those ruins making him think of sharing a
shower with her later, but now... He tugged the suit off her
shoulders even as she fumbled with his belt.

He had to help that jumpsuit along, pushing
it off her arms and down past her hips. She stiffened when his
hands neared that pocket again. He almost snorted—as if he hadn’t
already noticed the cargo inside. She caught his wrists.

“I’ll get it,” she whispered.

He had removed enough of the jumpsuit that it
would fall to the floor on its own, anyway. He slipped out of her
grip, pulled her hands back to his abdomen, hoping she would go
back to taking
his
clothes off, and gave her a long, hard
kiss, willing it to drive thoughts of subterfuge and theft out of
her mind. But there was a stiff uncertainty in her stance that
hadn’t been there before.

“You can have the tablet,” Viktor said, his
lips refusing to leave hers as he spoke. She understood anyway; he
felt it in the spark of surprise that went through her body. “Not
the key,” he added.

Would she resent him for that? For realizing
what she was up to?

After a thoughtful moment in which he tried
to kiss all such notions out of her mind, she returned his kisses
again. She stroked his tongue with her own, running her hands
across his back, running her fingernails across his flesh, and
setting him on fire. A relaxed ardor guided her movements, as if
she was relieved she no longer had to worry about that tablet. He
wished he had said something before. Her hands returned to his belt
and finished unclasping it. Yes.