Shadower (26 page)

The universe tilted, and she slid her hands to his powerful biceps, holding on tightly in an effort to keep from free-falling into space. He groaned in need against her mouth, and she opened for him. He stroked her tongue again and again. He kissed her with shattering absorption, as if she were the center of the galaxy, as if he couldn't get enough.

Shimmering sensations, provocative memories, swirled through her. Memories of that night in her cabin. Sabin, covering her body with his, touching her with stunning intimacy. His sexual, provocative whispers.
"Spirit, sweetheart, you're so incredibly responsive."

Like a flash fire, her body responded to the flowing images, unfurling foreign desires. She couldn't think, couldn't get enough oxygen, twisting and aching and needing. "Sabin," she gasped. "Please…"

She didn't even know what she was asking for until his hands covered her breasts, stroking, teasing. "Is that better?" he whispered, his mouth hovering over hers.

Oh, yes! That was what she needed. "More," she whispered, sealing her lips to his. With a little moan, she gave herself up to him.

Somehow, they moved to his bunk, entwined and sinking down together. Her scarf was gone and the top of the rhapha had been pushed down around her waist. Drugging her with kisses as he caressed one breast, Sabin slid the other hand along her leg to hike her skirt upward. He raised his head, leaving her bereft and wanting more. She framed his face with her hands, trying to urge him back, but he slid over her, moving down to press his mouth to her breast.

The cool air against her face brought a rush of sobriety. With it came acute awareness of him covering her body, pressing her into the mat, weighing her down. No! Talons of fear ripped through her. Uncontrollable, irrational terror. All physical arousal disintegrating, she went into a panic.

New images blurred, formed. Pax, pushing her down, covering her mouth to silence her protests. Forcing himself on her. She had to get free. "No!" she screamed, struggling against Sabin. "Let me go! Let me up!" He rolled sideways, and she scrambled from the bunk, hampered by her bunched-up rhapha.

"Moriah! Whoa!" He came after her, grabbing her arm and turning her back, while she tried desperately to straighten her clothing. "What's wrong?"

Her heart pounded frantically, attempting to burst through her rib cage. Panic overwhelmed her. She struggled to free her arm, frustrated that the tight rhapha limited her mobility. "Let me go! I can't do this. I can't!"

Maintaining his grip on her arm, Sabin stared at her, confusion and frustration reflected in his eyes. His heaving chest and flushed skin, indications of his arousal, agitated her further. "What—" he started, then stopped, a look of comprehension crossing his face. "Oh, damn," he groaned.

They both stood frozen, watching each other. Legs trembling, adrenaline pumping, she waited warily for his next move. "Blazing hells," he muttered finally, pulling her against him, enfolding her in his arms. He tightened his hold when she tried to squirm away. "Shhh. Stop it. I'm not going to hurt you. Spirit, I hurt enough for the both of us."

She felt his erection pressing against her. He was very aroused, which was bound to affect his behavior. If he was anything like Pax—

"I'm not Pax, Moriah. I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

She couldn't talk about this. "Let me go back to my cabin."

"I will, soon." He rested his chin on top of her head.

Still trapped, she groaned her frustration against his chest. "I can't—"

"Hush. Just let me hold you. Please. I need that right now. I think you do, too."

The entreaty in his voice cut through the fear, calming her. He'd suffered as much in his life as she had in hers. His anguish and his need dissolved her resistance. It did feel good, to have the heat of his body to warm her; the strength of his arms, the sincerity in his words to reassure her. To find a haven, no matter how brief, from the cruel reality of the world.

His large hand stroked her hair over and over in a soothing rhythm. The panic receded and her breathing evened. As rational thought returned, she acknowledged to herself that he wasn't Pax, that he would not— She couldn't even think the word. Even now, eight seasons later, she still couldn't say it, couldn't think about it. She wondered despairingly if she would ever be free of it.

"Does the panic occur mainly when you're held down, or when someone is on top of you?" Sabin asked quietly.

Spirit, he wanted to
talk
about it. Wanted to bring the ugliness out into the open. She wanted only to retreat to her cabin and try to reclose the wounds. But she sensed his unyielding perseverance, knew he wouldn't let her go until he got some response.

Reluctantly, she nodded against his chest. He was still aroused; she could feel the evidence against her abdomen. She tried to step back, but he held her captive. Slipping his hand beneath her chin, he raised her face to his. "Did I hurt you the night you drugged me?"

The question brought back a heated rush of memory and sensation. Trying to ignore her body's response, she shook her head. "No."

His brows drew together, and she wondered if he could sense her physical reaction. "That's a start." His eyes held hers, determination shifting to a masculine intensity she knew well. His fingers captured her chin again, forcing her to maintain eye contact. "Are my memories of that night correct? Was the encounter pleasurable for you?"

Flustered, she felt the heat creeping up her face. "Nothing can be accomplished discussing this. I want to go to my cabin."

"I have a better idea. Kiss me."

Startled, she stared at his sensuous lips, unsettled by the sudden warmth churning inside her. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Still holding her chin captive, he leaned down, his mouth hovering over hers. "Just a kiss, Moriah."

She hesitated, lured by the knowledge she had very much enjoyed his kisses, yet torn by the old fears that would give her no rest.

"Just a kiss," he whispered, his lips so close, he could steal her breath.

Then he did just that, claiming her mouth, laying siege with incredible gentleness, breaching her lips with erotic sweeps of his tongue. Sending her senses into orbit and her heart racing at full throttle. The assault was teasing, tantalizing, until she was so caught up in his skillful seduction of her mouth, she leaned into the hard curve of his body and kissed him back.  

*  *  *  *

He knew the exact second passion overrode fear— the moment when Moriah pressed her lithe body against his and opened her mouth for him with a husky sigh. His senses went on full alert, the blood rushing to the lower extremities and leaving him almost incapable of rational thought. He battled for control, knowing he had to prove to her that not all men were beasts.

Her tongue dueled boldly with his, and his blood pounded furiously through his veins. All his baser urges clamored to be satiated; they demanded he strip her down, taste every inch of her satiny skin, then bury himself deep inside her. Okay, so most males
were
beasts. But he'd be damned if he'd lose control—not now. Moriah deserved better than that.

Spirit, she deserved better than him. Period. He shouldn't be doing this. Getting involved with her was
not
a good idea…damn, her breasts felt good pressed against the solid wall of his chest. His breathing was labored, his body overheated, aching for release. This is
not a good idea,
he repeated to himself, even as he explored the texture and taste of her mouth. Even as his hands moved of their own volition, slipping between them to cup the lush fullness of her breasts. Her small moan almost undid him.

Tearing himself away, he gulped in air and leaned back, staring down at her breasts as he stroked them. They swelled at his touch, the nipples pebbling. Then with a little cry, she grabbed his shoulders. To hell with ideas—good or bad. He tried to focus, to think of how they could mate without her feeling threatened.

"Moriah," he gasped. She looked at him, her eyes reflecting the same desire threatening to incinerate him. Electricity arced between them. "Take me," he said hoarsely. Ripping open his shirt, he fumbled out of it, tossing it aside. "Do what
you
want, sweetheart. Hold me down, lie on top of me. Whatever you want."

Her eyes widened and amazement swept across her face.
"What?"

"Do it to me. Throw me on the bunk and have your way with me."

She opened her mouth, closed it. "You're crazy."

He reached for the closure of her rhapha. "Crazy with needing you." He opened it, and the gown slid to the floor. Moriah in all her natural glory took his breath away. She was perfect, firm and shapely in all the right places, her skin smooth and golden.

Before the heat of the moment deserted them and she panicked again, he drew her close, claiming her mouth. He slid his hands over her shoulders and down her graceful back, cupping her rear, feeling her flesh heat beneath his touch. Needing her to touch him the same way, he took her hands and placed them on his chest. "Your turn," he said huskily.

She stared at him, her eyes burnished gold. Hesitant, she moved her palms down his chest. The feel of her warm hands on him was sweet torture. She traced the swells of muscle, circling one nipple with her finger. He didn't think he could take much more. Pulling away, he quickly discarded his boots and his pants.

Then he guided her to the bunk. Tumbling down on his back, he pulled her on top of him. He held her face between his hands, locking his gaze with hers. "You call the shots, sweetheart. Touch me wherever you want, however you want. Tell me how you want me to touch you. Do this all your way."

"Sabin," she whispered.

"Moriah," he whispered back.

Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his, her hair forming a silky curtain around them. Her tongue touched his, tentative at first, then becoming more aggressive. He slid his hands over her body, seeking out curves and contours, claiming and caressing until she was moaning into his mouth. Hot lava flowed through every vein. He couldn't last much longer. He shifted, intending to end the torture for them both.

A sudden turbulence sent the ship listing sharply, hurling them both to the floor in a tangled heap. Alarm sirens blared from the corridor.

They were under attack.

"Are you okay?" Sabin asked, grabbing the bunk and struggling up.

The ship righted itself, and he offered Moriah a hand. She waved him away and got to her feet by herself. "I'm fine."

He whirled toward his discarded clothing. "I'm going to find out what just happened. Get to the cockpit as soon as you can. We might have to outrun some pirates."

He pulled on his pants and ran through the entry. In the corridor, the blare of the sirens was almost deafening. He entered the cockpit, shut off the sirens, and activated his weapons control panel. Then he started the navigation unit searching for the nearest hyperspace entry.

It was highly unlikely that a meteor had caused the impact pitching his ship. Possibly a rocket, although he wouldn't know for sure until he assessed the damage. Since no follow-up strike ensued, he hoped it had only been a warning of some kind, not the first volley of an all-out attack. He flipped on the external scanners.

A fully armored Leor battleship cruised about five hundred meters off the port side. His heart almost arrested. By the Abyss! Whirling, Sabin switched off the weapons console. Any appearance of attempting to fire on a Leor ship was usually a fatal error. They would blow his measly vessel to dust before he could get off a single torpedo. To outrun them, even with a nearby hyperspace entry, would be impossible. But why would Leors be after him? He wasn't anywhere near any of their territories.

The subspace transceiver beeped as Moriah slipped into the cockpit, dressed in one of his flightsuits. "Take a look," he said, gesturing toward the scanner. He reached for the transceiver. "Sabin Travers here."

There was some static and then an impervious, deep male voice commanded, "Show yourself!"

How in the universe had Leors gotten his personal frequency? Sabin narrowed his eyes. If Galen was behind this—

"Now!" roared the voice.

He turned on the viewscreen and found himself facing a massive, bare-chested Leor male. Behind him, Moriah gasped. Barely keeping his wits about him, Sabin made direct eye contact with the Leor, but held his silence.

Cold, obsidian eyes observed him for a nerve-wracking moment. Finally, the Leor spoke. "I am Commander Gunnar, Lord of the Dukkair clan. I demand to know the whereabouts of Captain Cameron."

"Captain Cameron?" In disbelief, Sabin turned toward Moriah. "What is going on here?"

Ignoring him, she stepped forward. "I'm here, your Lordship. May a thousand suns shine favorably on you."

"Captain," Gunnar snapped, his black-ice eyes glittering. "You have not contacted us as agreed. I demand to know the status of—" He stopped and looked at Sabin. "Tell him to leave."

Sabin's anger began to build. This was his ship, under threat from a race that he'd never had any argument with, and now he was being told to leave his own cockpit. He glared at Moriah, who had the audacity to suggest, "You'd better do what Commander Gunnar wishes."

It would be a cold day in the Abyss. No way was he deserting the cockpit. Not with Moriah on the inside, and Leors on the outside. He muted the transceiver and rose, advancing on her, his fists clenched to keep from throttling her. She held her ground, meeting his murderous glare.

"I'm not going anywhere," he growled. "I'll be out of sight, but I'll be listening to every word. When this is over, you and I have a lot to discuss."

She glanced toward the figure waiting on the screen. "It would be best if you left. This business is private—"

"No! Every transaction on this ship is my business. I don’t take well to those who deceive me and challenge my authority." He jerked his head toward the communicator. "Now deal with these Leors and get rid of them."