No Rules (7 page)

“Yes. She didn't exactly approve of my life choices.”

“What about your mother? And your aunt?”

“You have a very good memory for details.”

Since it was part of his training, he shrugged the compliment off and waited while she took a sip of her drink. “Are you sure you want to hear this? It's an ugly story, not really polite dinner conversation.”

“I promise, nothing you say will ever be repeated.”

Setting her drink aside, Alison took a deep breath. “Well, first off you should know that Lola wasn't really my aunt, at least not by blood. She was my mother's lover.”

It took every ounce of his control not to react to that statement. Two women, together? On Hosta it was a crime punishable by death. Men could only seek out the same sex as part of the ranking, but men were different, more sexual. For women to shun men completely . . . Fenton couldn't imagine the sort of freedom Alison had grown up with.

Alison stared out the window, oblivious to him. “They'd been best friends since they were little, and while Lola always knew what she was, my mother was determined to be married to a man, have a traditional family. You see, on Earth, there's this ideal of a happily-ever-after and even though it doesn't really exist, we're all brought up watching movies and television shows where there's a mom, a dad, kids, maybe a dog. They all live together in a house and it's supposed to be perfect, or as close to perfect as real people can get. Mom's family was old-fashioned and she bought in to that. She married my father instead of following her heart, and it cost her everything.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Fenton reached across the table and covered her hand with his own. It had been ages since he offered comfort to anyone, but the pain and sorrow in Alison's tone called out to him. He wanted to soothe her hurt, take the pain from her any way he could. “If this upsets you, you don't have to continue.”

She offered him a watery smile. “I've never told this to anyone before. It hurts but it's a good hurt, you know?”

He had no idea what she was talking about, but didn't mind. The feel of her soft skin beneath his calloused hands was addictive. His thumb brushed across her knuckles exploring the delicate structure of her hand while waiting for her to continue.

“So anyhow, my father, though wealthy with a shiny public image, was an abusive drunk. He never went after me or my sister, but Mom was fair game. He was a smart son of a bitch too. Never hit her face or anywhere that wouldn't be covered by clothing. I think he knew that she didn't really want to be with him, and he resented her for that.”

Fenton's throat closed up. “A man should always protect the woman in his care. On my world he would have been banished to the Northlands for such actions.”

“If only. No one knew, other than Lola. When my mother finally decided to leave him, she had no money, nowhere to go. Lola took us in. We lived with her for years, until he found her. Found them.”

She paused in her narrative, her eyes filled with emotion. She wouldn't cry, though. Alison wasn't a crier, especially not in public. She had a warrior's heart, and he couldn't help admiring the hell out of her.

“He killed them, with a laser rifle. I was away at college, and Sally was at a friend's house. I think he planned it that way, planned to make it look like a break-in gone wrong, but Lola had compiled a file against him. I didn't know about it until after the fact. She'd been trying to convince Mom to report him to the authorities. Mom was too scared, though, of his power, his connections. She thought he'd forget about her and leave us alone. It was a mistake that cost her her life.”

Fenton closed his eyes, squeezed her hand. He didn't offer her any words of comfort because they were just that—words, empty and meaningless. Tragic loss was heartbreaking and soul-crushing. No doubt the trauma she'd suffered had shaped her entire life. That she'd survived and even flourished afterward impressed the hell out of him.

“So he had to pay for his actions?”

She withdrew her hand, offered him a reassuring smile. “Life sentence, which turned out to be only six months. He died in a prison riot.”

“So justice was served.”

“I guess.” A shadow crossed her face and he wondered what she was thinking.

Their meals were served, an assortment of delicacies from stuffed gourds to spiced meats. Alison picked at the offerings on her plate, but without her usual zest.

“Aren't you hungry?”

She shook her head. “My appetite's gone.”

He stood and pressed his thumb to the menu, paying for the meal and ordering the same dishes to her room in three hours. “Let's go.”

Extending his arm he waited.

“You haven't eaten anything.” Those beautiful multihued eyes scrutinized his face.

His hand went to his scar automatically, wishing it wasn't a part of him, that she wasn't forced to behold such ugliness when her life's cup spilled over with it. “I'm fine. I want to show you the ship.”

She took his arm, then stood on her toes to kiss the ruined flesh on his face. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

If only he could believe that.

G
uilt was eating Alison alive. Talking about what her father had done made her realize what a monster she'd become. She didn't dwell on the sins of her parents—her father's pride and bloodlust, her mother's weakness—but telling Fenton about them and watching his reactions made her question her past actions.

True, she'd never taken a laser rifle to someone, but she'd been hell-bent on destroying Gen, Rhys, and anyone who stood in her way. Just like her father. Her own personal sin was greed, and it had turned deadly during her tenure at Illustra.

She wondered what sort of justice would be fitting according to Fenton. Alison wished she could leave him, find a new patron. Credits equaled freedom, and being dependent on someone else, especially such an upstanding man, made her twitch.

She wanted to sully him, to knock him off of his holier-than-thou pedestal and drag him down into the muck with her. It was petty, but she'd feel like less of a parasite if he was just as flawed. She might be a weak and disgusting creature, but so was he, and she only needed to get him back into bed to prove it.

Patiently, Alison walked by his side, feigning interest in the ship's various services. Every luxury she'd ever imagined was offered, beauty treatments from old provincial to DNA contouring. She could become someone else entirely, someone taller, thinner, blond, and beautiful.

But for the first time in her vanity-driven life, Alison wasn't worried about her exterior. Because a man she truly wanted, a man capable of incredible generosity and kindness, desired her just as she was. She couldn't even resent him, or his money, because his every word, his every glance, was focused on her. She'd tried to buy him a shirt made from that celestial material, to make up for the one she'd damaged, but he'd refused. Did he
want
her to feel inferior, indebted to him? His lack of demands only doubled her guilt and unease.

Consumed by the need to even their playing field, she pulled him into a private sauna a deck above theirs and stripped off her fabulous dress. One thing that was not universal: undergarments. She sashayed up to his side, wrapped her arms around his neck, her invitation clear.

His hands cupped her shoulders, held her at a distance. “Alison, don't.”

“Why not?” She skimmed her hands over her breasts, her nipples puckered with desire. “If this is the only way you'll let me repay you, I've got my work cut out for me.”

“No.” He shook his head, bent, and picked up her dress. “Not like this.”

She glanced around the small steam room in confusion. “You mean here?”

He extended the hand clutching the material, not meeting her eyes. “I mean, not for repayment. I told you, I don't want that.”

The fingers that wrapped around the dress were numb. “You mean you don't want me.”

He didn't contradict her, and even despite the heat she shivered. Maybe she should have booked an appointment for the DNA contouring after all. Another possibility occurred to her. What if it had nothing to do with her body, but instead with what she'd told him? It had been a calculated risk, opening herself up to him that way, but she thought he'd appreciate her honesty.

It looked like she'd thought wrong.

Pulling her beautiful dress back on, she moved past him out into the common corridor. He fell into step beside her silently, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

She knew without a doubt that she was his captive now. If he refused to take her body in trade, she had no cards left to play. It was one thing to be a whore, another to be a whore no one wanted.

Fighting tears, she strode into her quarters. He hesitated at the threshold. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

“Of course.” She couldn't look at him, didn't want him to see how much his rejection stung.

“Do you need anything?”

You.
The idle thought stuck in her head. He had all the power. She wanted him more than he desired her, he had the money, the connections. She was completely without value, a pet that he locked up when he went off to do whatever it was he did. She had only one option left, the most unpalatable of all.

She had to tell him the truth.

Staring at the starscape she whispered, “Please don't take me to the empaths. They'll kill me.”

He didn't reply, but she heard the
hiss
of the door shutting, sensed he was still in the room. Playing games no longer made sense; he was on a winning streak. Better to throw herself on his mercy and hope he had some.

His hand landed on her shoulder, and she fought the flinch. It wasn't a sexual gesture, but one of comfort and connection. One she didn't deserve.

Spinning her to face him, he tilted her chin up and stared into her eyes. “They are a race of pacifists. Why would you think they would hurt you?”

Her throat closed up and she shut her eyes.

He continued to study her, his eyebrows drawn down. “It's crucial to my mission that I contact an alchemist there. From everything I know, they are a welcoming, peaceful people. You don't have to go planetside with me, if you are frightened, but if you have information that might affect me, please, tell me now.”

Her teeth sank into her lip and she shook her head.

His knuckles skimmed over her cheek. “You are under my protection, and I vow I will see you safe. Try and get some rest.”

The doors hissed again and Alison sagged onto the bed. What the hell was she going to do? Could she really ask him to trust her when she couldn't bring herself to trust him?

Something beeped, breaking her out of her miserable downward spiral. Scowling, she rose to her feet and searched for the source of the noise. Someone tapped on the door.

“Your delivery from the ship's post,” a female voice called through the door.

She had no way of opening the door, but perhaps the crew had some kind of override. “Bring it in.”

The door hissed open and for a second she considered bolting, but dismissed the idea. Where could she go? She had no weapons, no money, and Fenton was bound to find her. Next time he might chain her to the bed instead of buying her a king's ransom in pretties.

A woman with orange hair and gray skin pushed a hover cart into the room and smiled at Alison. “Where would you like these?”

“Closet, please.” She watched as the attendant stowed her new purchases. On Earth, clothes could be replicated, except for designer copyrighted material, which was wicked expensive. Alison had splurged on an original Orbit cocktail dress when she'd been promoted out of the field. Mark Orbit had designed a stunning sapphire and gold confection that she'd no longer fit in. Her new threads might not be Orbit originals, but she was just as happy to see them.

Another summons at the door made her jump, but luckily gray girl was too entrenched to notice. “Enter.”

This time a young man with a more typical skin tone and violet eyes pushed in a cart of food. “Your husband ordered a few savories for you.”

“He's too good to me.” Alison smiled to hide her surprise. “Don't tell him that, though.”

The server, obviously a consummate professional, tipped his head. “Of course not. Where would you like me to set this up?”

She tapped her lips as she examined the tray. Somehow she doubted Fenton would return to her room that night. “The window seat, so I can take in the view, will do nicely.”

“Of course.” He set the tray down and turned to her. “My name is Evers. If you need anything else, just call for me.”

Since he'd offered . . . “Would you mind digging up something for me to read? I'm afraid my bags were lost on the space station, and I'm a little stir-crazy without my news feeds.”

Evers dug in his shiny silver pants pockets and pulled out a small round ball. “Sector news feed, updated hourly. Just plug this in to your view screen and punch in your room number.”

“You're a lifesaver.” She smiled at him and was gratified to see him blush. Knowing she could wrap a young server around her little finger eased the sting of Fenton's rejection. “Charge it to the room, if you would.”

He ducked his head in what she supposed passed for a bow and then left with the gray girl.

Lifting the lids of the covered dishes, Alison found the same delicacies she'd ordered at dinner. He'd ordered the same food she had, had it delivered fresh to her. He didn't want sex, yet he still treated her like a queen. Would she ever understand him?

The news sphere was warm to the touch, as though it retained her body heat. She saw the indentation beneath the viewer and settled the round object in it. Immediately the screen flashed to life, displaying what looked like a city in the desert. Alison stepped away. Below the photograph alien words were scrawled. Some looked like hieroglyphs; none made any sense to her. Obviously, English was not an available option.

Irritated, she smacked her palm against the screen, then jumped when a voice-over narrative started to play. It was like a news broadcast, she realized, the calm, cool voice reading of death and destruction on the main planet of the Hosta System. Settling down, Alison began to eat as she watched the alien news.

Alison choked on the bite of fruit she'd just taken. Spitting it out into her napkin, she moved closer to the screen.

Was it possible?

Alison removed the sphere and rolled it between her palms as she paced. It fit, the fact that Fenton could phase split, as he'd called it, that he never talked about his past, or elaborated on his mission. He'd only brought her with him after she'd seen his ability firsthand. Was it because she knew too much?

She shook her head. He was so noble, so generous in every way, she couldn't believe Del Fenton was the war criminal the news feed made him out to be.

An insidious voice hissed in her ear.
No one is that good. What do you really know about him? Are you willing to bet your life on a few hours of pleasure?

He'd turned her away the last time she made an advance, for no apparent reason. He'd been so hot for her before, so what had caused the reversal in his behavior? Now that she thought about it, she'd expected him to have a stronger reaction to her telling him the empaths wanted her dead.

What if he'd already known who she was? What she'd done? Alison thought he'd grown tired of her, but perhaps it wasn't about her lack of sex appeal. Instead his own guilt over what he planned to do squelched his physical desires.

Her imagination took over from there, leaping to conclusions she had no proof of, but feared were correct. Perhaps the reason he was so insistent on going to the empaths' homeworld was to get rid of her under the guise of seeing justice served.

If it was true, she had no choice but to beat him at his own game.

Alison restarted the news and settled down to watch and learn all she could about the war criminal. If her suspicions were correct and Fenton planned to betray her, she had to beat him to the punch.

 

Through the door separating their rooms, Fenton heard the murmur of voices as Alison received her clothing and food. The words were too low for him to make out, but he thought she sounded pleased.

He paced the confines of his secret chamber, restless and turned on. He wanted to go to her in the worst way, to commune with her on a primal level after all she had shared. She was a survivor, a skill he admired and envied. Saying no to her advances was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. If he were free, he'd take her in his arms, hold her, ease into her pliant body again and again until they both came unraveled.

His gaze automatically slid to the pod, a visual reminder that he wasn't free to do what he wished, to trust her, or even to cede to her demands that they not go to the empaths' homeworld. His course was set; he must find the alchemist who resided on a private island there and hope the intelligence he'd gathered from light-years away was trustworthy.

Though he knew it wasn't rational to be angry at the dead, he couldn't help balling up his fists as he thought of his family, all who had left him alone on this plane, cursed and burdened while they set off on their next adventure. The room seemed to vibrate and he sucked in air sharply, focusing on a spot on the wall. Phase splitting from anger was the last thing he needed to do right now. He knew better than to let himself get so wound up.

If he couldn't fuck, perhaps he could fight off his excess energy. Alison and the pod were as safe as they could be. He'd hacked the passenger manifest to be sure no last-minute additions had come aboard. No one knew who he was, who she was. No one was after either of them.

His mind made up, Fenton departed his quarters and headed down to the combat holo-ring. The ship's promotional material had listed the holo-ring programs to be state-of-the art, uniquely engineered to suit all the passenger's needs, from exercise programs to exotic getaways.

Right now, what Fenton needed more than anything was to beat the hell out of someone, exorcise a few ghosts, and exhaust his backlog of unused energy.