Heart of Stone (6 page)

When the new sat-com system was up,
there'd be nowhere on this rugged, newly settled planet that was
not covered by a net of visual and oral communication.

Branch had even given her a gift at
their last dinner together: a lovely new comlink. She fingered the
small jeweled attachment on her ear. So that was why he'd grinned
so widely as he gave it to her, and explained its capabilities. It
even had a universal translator, capable of translating any known
dialect in the galaxy. She'd had it attached the next day, at the
local med-tech center, but every call she'd made, locally or to
friends on Earth II had been static-ridden and fuzzy. All the time
Branch had known that would soon change.

"But … he didn't tell me he's
involved," she said. "Or that—you're in charge of it, aren't you?"
She couldn't see him being just one of the players.

He stroked the underside of her chin
with his finger. "I am. I brought together the principal investors,
and made the purchase. The technology's been delivered to a holding
point while the techs finish up the preparations for
installation."

Realization exploded in her mind. Far
from involving Branch in theft or worse, Masterson had put him in
charge of a security team, a very important one. And she'd sailed
up here, full of righteous indignation, to drag Branch from his
clutches. She pushed his hand away and ducked her head under his
chin again to hide her burning cheeks.

"You—you let me believe—"she choked.
"And I let you—"

He snorted, his chest rising
and falling. "
Let
you—no one lets you do anything, lass. You charge in, all
reactors full ahead. Although I will say I very much enjoy the
result."

Strangely, his lack of sympathy was
just the tonic she needed to dry her tears. But she was still angry
with him, and with herself. She felt as if she'd surrendered a
piece of herself to him this last time—and she wasn't sure she'd
gotten it back. Or that he cared enough to keep it safe.

She shoved at him. "Well, if you hadn't
kept it such a big secret, Branch could have at least told me what
he was doing."

He let her go this time, simply
crooking one arm underneath the back of his head to give her a
look. "No, he couldn't. My people have been under a strict order to
say nothing, even to their mates. There are plenty who'd love to
get their claws on the sat-com and prevent it going
online."

She supposed that was true, but still …
she didn't like that Branch had kept secrets from her. She wiped
the last of her tears away with the damp handkerchief and
sniffed.

"Family is more important than your
precious security." Family was what one clung to when one's entire
world was blown apart.

"Really? How long do you think your
precious families will last here if the pirates continue to maraud?
On this side of the galaxy are beings such as you've never seen on
Earth II. Jangoes, Mauritanians—they don't care who they maim or
kill to get credits. I used to steal from others more crooked than
me, and the only family I had left paid the price."

His family had paid the price? How
horrible. Rose opened her mouth to ask him what he meant by that,
but he held his hand up, palm out, the look in his eyes forbidding
her to pry.

"Enough. You'll have your brother back,
after he's done his job. A critically important job."

Perhaps he had a point, but she wasn't
going to admit it when he was giving her that superior look, as if
he couldn't believe how ignorant she was.

She had one more burning question. "If
my brother is up there guarding your precious site, why are you
here?" She gestured at his snug bedroom.

His face tightened. "Business as usual.
We've managed to keep the location secret until now, but the
pirates will be watching me. So I've stayed away from the site."
And from that look, it pricked his pride sorely to be here instead
of there. He wanted to be in the center of the action.

"But won't they just follow you when
you go for the installation?" she asked. "They—the pirates could
attack you then."
He shook his head. "We've a bit of help coming. Intergalactic Space
Forces," he added at her frown.

Oh. That sounded secure. The ISF ranks
were full of hardened Solar Wars Alliance veterans. They would take
care of any pirates who tried to interfere.

"Any more questions?" he asked with
exaggerated courtesy.

She eyed him, wondering if by any
chance he'd let her go along and watch the installation, see the
Space Forces in action.

But as if he'd read her mind, he shook
his head once, decisively. "Better get some sleep. We leave in just
a few hours." He rolled over, giving her his back.

Rose stared at his broad, bare shoulder
for a moment and then flounced over in the bed, her back to him as
well. She pulled the comforter up around her ears and huddled into
the soft mattress, staring into the darkness as the glow-lamps
dimmed and went out.

"Good thing you're not trying to cuddle
again," he drawled. "I wouldn't get a wink of sleep with you
hanging all over me."

She stiffened in outrage. "I didn't—oh,
just be quiet."

He laughed, a horrid, beguiling sound
in the darkness. "Want to come over here and make me?"

Yes, she did, but she was humiliatingly
aware that any such move on her part might well end up with her
underneath him again.

And if they did that even once more,
she wouldn't be able to walk tomorrow.

# # #

"Rose. Rose! Wake up!"

Rose startled awake to find herself
being lifted up in powerful arms and borne away from her warm bed.
She peered through her tousled hair at the man carrying
her.

"What? What is it?" She clutched at
Stone's shoulders. They were leaving his

shadowed bedroom. His arms were warm,
but the air around them was chilly, raising goose bumps on her bare
skin.

"Time to wake up." He set her on her
feet in a capacious shower-dry enclosure and moved to stand under
one of two streams of hot water spilling from spigots high on the
wall.

"We're leaving in thirty minutes, so if
you want to wash, this is it."

He turned away from her, a living
statue of wet cerametal. He scooped a handful of something from a
basin, smearing it on his chest. Soft soap, smelling of herbs and
evergreens.

"Leaving?" she echoed, squinting in the
lights. Heated, sensual memories were flooding back. She stared at
his broad back. Had they really …? Oh, merciful heavens.

"For Adamant. Lord, you always have
this much trouble waking up, or was it just that good fucking I
gave you?"

Rose growled with anger. She wanted to
smack that gorgeous, tight ass he was showing off. She looked away
as his soapy hand slid between his legs.

"You listen to me, Stone Masterson,"
she said, loudly so he would hear her over the rushing water. "I
will not be spoken to that way, by you or any other
man."

He turned, eyeing her with interest.
"What way?"

She looked up into his eyes and tried
to pretend she was not a small naked woman scolding a very large
naked male. "Disrespectfully." So he'd cozened her into things she
preferred not to remember right now, that didn't mean he could
treat her like a minion, or worse, like one of his
mistresses.

He considered this, soaping off his
tautly muscled belly and continuing down to his genitals. She kept
her gaze resolutely on his face. He looked so handsome with his
hair sleeked back from his angular face—younger somehow.

He shrugged. "Fair enough. I'm sorry.
Anyway, I tried to wake you, siren." Now he was frankly grinning at
her. "You wouldn't stir. Reckon something tired you
out."

And that, it seemed, was her apology.
Fine, then. She was using him as a means to an end and then they
were through. So what if he had given her four orgasms, each
succeeding one the best she'd ever had?

Not that she had that many
to compare. In fact, last night had
more
than doubled her pleasure. And
when his eyes twinkled like that, it was all she could do not to
lean against the wall and smile invitingly at him.

"I've been under a lot of stress
lately," she said loftily. She turned her back on him and took a
handful of soft soap from the wall basin. Closing her eyes, she
began to wash her hair. Let him stare at her ass. She supposed it
was a little late now to be shy.

"Aye, I like the effect stress has on
you," he agreed.

She whirled, ready to scold him again,
but he was already disappearing around the corner of the enclosure.
She yelped as shampoo slid into her eyes, and stuck her head under
the water to rinse.

The hot water felt wonderful, but Rose
didn't doubt Masterson would leave her behind if she wasn't ready,
so she hurried through the remainder of her washing. She looked
back regretfully as she stepped out into the heat of the vent
tubes. She would like an hour to enjoy the luxury of all that hot
water. Branch's tiny shower-dry did not encourage
lingering.

She let the flow of warm
air
dry
her hair
into a reasonably tame swath, then found lotion in a bottle on one
of the counters and used it liberally, enjoying the smooth
suppleness of her skin. She noticed various twinges and even
bruises on her inner thighs, and blushed as heated memories swept
over her. Those were from a pair of hard male hipbones pounding
her. The mark on her throat must have come from his
mouth.

She stared at herself in the mirror.
She looked … pretty. Her lips were swollen, her skin flushed, eyes
heavy. 'Lovely,' he had called her. Of course it sounded like
'loovely' when he said it.

Rose had no intention of him finding
her mooning over their sexual encounter, especially when he was
already so full of himself. Large, velvety towels hung from
cerametal bars on the wall. She wrapped one around her sarong style
and marched into the big bedroom in search of her dress. It was
certainly not travel wear, but it would have to do.

To her astonishment, she found clothing
laid out for her: soft leggings and a long-sleeve top of caramel
cashmere, and even delicate undergarments. As she stood staring at
them, Masterson appeared in the open doorway, dressed in a similar
outfit, although he wore a vest bristling with utility pockets and
fitted chaps strapped to his legs. His long hair was tied back, his
expression remote, giving him the look of a warrior.

"Good, you're out," he said. "Go on,
then. Those things are for you. Get dressed."

Then he was gone and she heard him
speaking in the other room. She could see the flicker of a holo-vid
message around the open doors.

Rose dropped the towel and
hustled into the clothing. She drew on the outfit with equal
measures of guilt and pleasure. She knew when she saw the tiny
Earth II label that the ensemble would cost more than a year's
wages for her. Even she had heard of
Maitresse
. Was some woman going to be
angry when she discovered Masterson had given away her expensive
imported things? Or was she long gone, merely the latest in his
reputed string of lovers?

Rose shoved away that unpleasant image.
For now, she was going to enjoy being warm and pampered. She
slipped into her own soft boots, sitting beside the bed. Her cloak
was there, as well.

The gun was not.

Rose walked into the big
kitchen to find Masterson working with a sleek countertop machine.
It hissed loudly as it emitted a nearly forgotten aroma. She
sniffed. "You have
coffee
?"

He shot her a look of amusement, and
she flushed, realizing she had sounded positively reverent. But
coffee was one crop they'd yet to grow on Frontiera, so it was as
valuable as medicine. She couldn't recall the last cup she'd had of
the fragrant, reviving brew. And she could use some now. It figured
Masterson would have coffee, garnered straight from incoming
freighters. Come to think of that, they were probably his
freighters.

"I do have java." He pulled a tall pot
from the middle of the machine. "What'll you give me for
some?"

Her sense of humor asserted itself.
"Practically anything."

He crooked one brow at her and suddenly
the room was full of the memory of their naked bodies locked
together, her breathless cries urging him onward. Rose bit her lip,
unable to look away. Her knees weakened and her nipples peaked
beneath the soft cashmere.

"I'll remember that." He slid a sleek
travel carafe across to her. At first the logo engraved on the side
appeared to be a bold, stylized 'M' with a small curve riding above
the center, but then the design resolved itself into a man's upper
body, head turned to search for any threat, both hands holding
weapons.

"Very appropriate," she said,
suppressing the giggle that threatened. At least he wasn't holding
something else in his hand. Men were so proud of the size of their
weapons. Although he certainly had a great deal to be proud of. She
looked anywhere but at him, supremely relieved he couldn't read her
mind just now.