Fontanas Trouble

Fontana’s
Trouble

T.
C. Archer

Copyright
© April 2014 by T. C. Archer

All rights
reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written
permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of
fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual
persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is
entirely coincidental.

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First
Publication Loose Id as Trouble at the Hotel Baba Ghanoush

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Chapter One

Fontana spotted trouble when the
man first burst into Spacer Jack’s Bar and Grill. It wasn’t his chiseled jaw
and blond hair or the way he scanned the joint with his intense blue eyes. No,
the trouble was—he was naked. The towel wrapped around his slim hips had
snagged on the swinging bar door when he entered, and he didn’t look back in
his sprint toward the kitchen. He shot past where Fontana sat at the bar, his
muscular ass bunching with the effort of his long strides.

Her pulse jumped.
If that's trouble,
I want some.

The naked man disappeared through
the kitchen doors. A collision of bodies sounded.

Fontana straightened. How was a
woman to mind her own business when a nude man was in trouble? She shoved off
the corner stool and dashed after the naked man, swiping a man’s trench coat
off the coatrack standing beside the kitchen door. She pushed through the
swinging door and halted centimeters from where the naked man lay sprawled on
top of a waiter. A tray of pasta entrées hovered on its anti-grav suspension,
where the waiter would have been holding it in his upturned hand before the man
rammed into him.

In all her years of undercover
work, she had never come across a situation quite like this. And probably
wouldn’t again.

Fontana seized the naked man’s
arm, hauled him to his feet, and threw the coat over his shoulders as she
bolted with him toward the rear exit. She dragged him through the back door,
and they practically fell into the back alley by the dumpsters. A furry rodent
skittered from nearby tin cans and disappeared behind a stack of pallets. She
couldn’t help a smile. The alley was a replica of mid-twentieth-century Earth,
complete with robo-rats and all.

She grasped the man’s shoulders
and shoved him against the restaurant wall. Her pulse sped up when the steely
muscles beneath her fingers tensed. How was it possible for his hard body to
get any harder? She’d seen Aslothian gladiators with less muscle. His blue-eyed
gaze locked on to hers.

Fontana ignored the tremor that
rippled through her, pressed her body against his solid two meter frame, and
demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

His cock pulsed against her
abdomen and began to thicken. This diversion was exactly what her superior,
Colonel Stephaney Lyons, had ordered.
“Find a man and reaffirm life. Let him
fuck your brains out.”
The colonel wasn’t usually one for getting quite so
personal or so crude, but she knew how angry Fontana was about Jenny’s death
and the failure of the mission on Rigil IV.

The naked man grasped her
shoulders and drew her closer. “Who are you?” His drawl belied the intensity of
his stare.

Well, well, a man who knew how to
pace himself. Fontana slipped a hand between them and wrapped her fingers
around his erection. Her mouth went dry. He was hard as a rock. She squeezed
the thick rod. He hardened even more beneath her fingers.

“I’m asking the questions.” Damn
if she didn’t sound like Detective Friday from the twentieth-century series
Dragnet. Dragnet’s brand of law was before the Criminal Rights Act of 2141.

The naked man gave a low laugh.
“Oh, tough girl.”

“Who are you running from?”

“Maybe I should be running from
you.”

“Not while I have hold of this.”
She yanked his cock with just enough force to keep his attention.

He sucked in a breath.

Now she had him. “I can play
yanky-panky all night.”

His shaft throbbed, and his warm
hands slid down her arms, stopping to rest on her hips. Long fingers flexed
against her carbon-fiber parachute pants. That and the halter she wore were a
woman’s standard garb in Spacers. She released him when he rolled her mound
against his rod. Fontana grasped his arms and angled her hips so that the
steely length slid along her clit. He groaned, and the sound sent butterflies
skittering across the inside of her stomach.

While she imagined the tingle of
excitement was caused by her Corps-issued bionanobots readying to attack
foreign fluids and infection and sperm, she had attended enough briefings to
know she would never feel the microscopic robots’ activity. The warmth was
old-fashioned arousal, and it made her feel alive.

“A little more of this and I’ll
make a mess all over you,” he growled.

Fontana splayed her palms across
his broad chest. Fine, silky hair covered the tanned flesh. A man this
good-looking, good feeling, and so ready for a woman had to be from one of the
dozens of brothels on the space station Club Sagitariun, the final destination
for the fantasy of your choice. She couldn’t have planned a better fantasy if
she’d tried. No fuss, no muss, and, most importantly, no strings.

She lifted her gaze to his. “Why
are you running naked through the streets?” She repressed a laugh. Maybe the
brothel he worked for wanted him to service an ugly, smelly woman, and he’d
decided at the last minute fucking her wasn’t worth a day’s pay.

“I had a towel,” he said.

Fontana raised a brow.

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I
was in the shower and… Your eyes are an unusual shade of amber,” he murmured.
“They match your hair.”

He fingered a lock of her long
brown hair. She usually war her hair in a tight bun, but Retro was in,
especially on the early twentieth-century corner of Club Sagitariun, so she’d
left it down. He bent and kissed her, his full lips teasing in a feather-light
caress before covering her mouth. His tongue flicked at her closed lips. She opened.
He plunged inside and pulled her hips closer. The velvety head of his cock
contacted the exposed section of her belly, then slid up until the full length
pressed a groove into her skin—warm, hard, and throbbing.

She kissed him back, sparred with
his tongue, then broke the kiss. Her heart was beating like a Mandorian Racer.
Except for the two times when she and Jenny had taken solace in one another’s
arms, she’d remained celibate during the year they’d spent in the jungles of
Rigil IV. Mixing work and pleasure seldom turned out well, and losing Jenny was
more proof of that. Fontana had been ordered to rest while on Sagitariun. She
always followed orders.
Almost always
.

“You going to fuck me right
here?” she asked.

Fontana ran her gaze up the
alley, which traversed a complete circle inside the resort. The architects had
built the entire habitable area on the inside of a huge tube over a kilometer
in diameter. Streets ran along the length and around in circles. The alley
where they stood was an
arounder
, meaning the alley curved up in the
distance like an ever-steepening hill until the street headed straight up and
overhead. It continued around the circle, then down a slope to meet up behind
them in one continuous loop in a four circle.

When Fontana arrived three days
ago, looking up had produced a sharp case of vertigo. The buildings seemed to
tilt toward her at an increasing angle with distance. Even from a short
distance, the tilt became so severe, it looked like everything would fall out
of the buildings and off the roofs and tumble onto her. It had taken two days
for her body to accept what her mind knew: everything remained securely in
place because the whole resort was spinning. The apparent gravity operated on
the same physics that held a roulette ball in the rim of the spinning wheel, so
everything got forced against the round floor and everywhere felt perfectly
flat.

The strangest part about the
design of Club Sagitariun was that everyone on the arounder streets could see
what was happening along that street if they looked up in a great circle,
except directly overhead, where the bright sun-tube along the axis of the
resort blocked the scenery directly opposite. At the moment, few people were in
sight, and even those who were out and about would need binoculars to observe
her and the naked man. She wasn’t into voyeurism, but maybe he was.

Fontana met his gaze again and
traced his jaw with a finger. “I’m open to new things.”

He grasped her hand and gave it a
gentle squeeze. “I’d love to satisfy you now, my lady, but I’m in a hurry.
Where are you staying? I’ll look you up.”

She blinked. His raging cock was
digging into her stomach, yet he was promising to call her? This wasn’t her
fantasy, after all.

“Maybe next time.” She turned.

He grasped her wrist. “Where are
you staying?” He actually looked hurt.

“Be careful—”

Blam!

The back door of Spacer Jack’s
blew off its hinges. Fontana whirled and, through the dust and smoke, saw the
door sail across the alley. It hit the opposite wall with a crash and rebounded
toward them. She turned to shove the naked man out of the way, but he yanked
her aside, hugging her in a protective embrace as twisted metal slammed into
the wall where they’d been standing. It thudded to a rest, kicking up a dust
cloud.

He held her close. Her heart
thumped against his chest and reverberated through her before she lifted her
head and met his gaze. “Was that for you?”

He grinned. “Gotta go.”

Releasing her, he whirled and
sprinted down the alley, the coat flapping around his ass. She stared. He
hadn’t been the least bit afraid or surprised by the blown-up door.

Five men in black body armor
piled though the wrecked doorway, grunting and cursing. Fontana tensed. Shock
troopers. What had the naked man done to piss them off?

The lead man turned his gaze on
her. She would have concluded this was part of the naked man’s fantasy, but the
excessive force of blowing off the door while two people stood near enough to
get killed was a crime. Didn’t galactic law limit how far a reality vacation
could go? The naked man had to be in serious trouble and, according to the
Galactic Coalition, she was one of those people who went after troublemakers.
Still…

Fontana stepped in front of the
leader. “What the hell are you doing?” she demanded. “You could have killed
me.”

The trooper shoved her aside and
started down the alley. His men followed. The last man stumbled past her, and
she realized he was trying to clear his head from the ringing that must be
ricocheting inside his skull as a result of being inside the building when
they’d blasted the door off. She stuck out her foot. He tripped and grabbed for
the man in front of him. Three of them hit the ground like dominoes.

“That’s what you get for standing
too close inside the building when you’re blowing off a door.” She’d learned
that her first year at the academy.

She shifted her gaze to the naked
man running down the alley. He had a substantial lead. A moot point, really.
The troopers could see him all the way up the slope until he reached the next
cross street a quarter of the way up. Fontana released a breath. Yeah, he was
trouble.

A shame. That was the finest kiss
she’d had in longer than she could remember.