The Bargaining (2 page)

Padding softly down the corridor, she carried a tray before her, balanced perfectly so as not to spill a drop of its contents. Not that the contents were anything special -- some bread, some water, and a poor excuse for a stew that was all the prince’s household was willing to spare to maintain its prisoners. The tray also showed how little the prince intended to invest in the care of this man. Far from being one of the bejeweled, golden platters on which she regularly brought her master sumptuous, exotic treats, this one was plain metal, battered and rough. But she preferred this service over any other she had ever performed. This one she did by choice.

She had made a lot of choices in the last days, choices and plans, and now it looked as if the Powers smiled on her and offered her this one opportunity to take control of her own fate. She couldn’t let it slip away.

Rebellion required more planning than she had anticipated. Once she had heard of the escape of the false
nitara
and the traitor pirate, and the capture of their accomplice, she had needed to act fast. She had to choose just the right transgression that would earn her a serious punishment, but not one that would merit a beating, because that might slow her down. She’d had to endure three lectures from the
nitarana
before she’d found just the right misbehavior. She’d almost have preferred a beating. But she’d done it, and now here she was, sentenced to deliver a meal to the prisoner and given her one likely chance of changing the course of her life.

Don’t think of it. Don’t give yourself away. Just breathe and step and watch the stone floor passing by.

“What are you doing here,
nita?
”

She glanced up sideways to see the guard who had snapped at her, calling her a little girl, and bowed politely. She made her explanation awkward and shy, as was fitting. “I was sent,
darash
, from the kitchens. With food for the offworlder.”

The guard laughed and elbowed his companion. “I think our little
nita
has been naughty, Gorr.”

Kili listened to them laugh and relaxed her self-control a little. If these idiots saw her shaking, they would likely attribute it to fear of the offworlder or of the prisons themselves, rather than a fear of discovery.

“What is your name?” The second guard leaned against the table at their post and looked her up and down, his gaze lingering on her bare breasts and the curve of her hips.

“I am called Kishantiana.” She kept her voice low and musical. The last thing she wanted was to ruin things at this point by offending the guards.

“Lift your face. I want to see your mark.”

Kili knew better than to look directly at the guard, so she lifted her chin until her veil of hair fell back and exposed her cheeks to the guards. She kept her exotically slanted eyes angled to the floor.

“Eh, look at that. She’s one of the prince’s stable.” The guard called Gorr spoke to his companion as if she weren’t standing right in front of them. She didn’t blink.

“Not His Highness’s usual type,” the other guard said. “Look at how small her tits are. Barely more than a good handful.”

One of them snickered. “That would explain why she’s not wearing a ring, then. I guess the prince has been too busy with the real women to bother with a little
nita
like this. Especially one who has been naughty enough to earn a visit to an offworld prisoner as punishment.”

Kili felt her cheeks flush, but she didn’t move.

“I think you’re right. And I’m certain that’s why she’s been sent down here. Prince Jaru would never share his favorites with anyone, but I suppose if he doesn’t care enough to try her out, it won’t matter to him if an offworlder does.”

They both laughed. “Ah, let her go, Hamif. The rebel’s food is probably cold enough by now. And I’m certain he must be ... hungry.”

Hamif laughed. “True enough. All right,
nita
, come with me. I’ll let you in to see the prisoner. And I’ll let you out again not when you scream, but when you knock for us three times.”

The guard continued to chuckle as he led her around the corner and down the hall to a small cell barred by a massive wooden door and guarded by a young man with a blaster. Her escort gave the other guard a grunt and jerked his head in the direction of the guard station. The younger man left obediently and Hamif sneered.

“Thought you two might like some privacy.”

Kili kept her head down, but she could feel the guard leering at her as he banged on the door. “On the floor under the window, reb. Hands spread out where I can see them.”

Kili heard a deep rumbling sound from inside the cell, then a slight rustling. The guard turned and peered inside through the small window in the door. He must have been satisfied, because he grunted and unlocked the cell, pointing his gun inside before he took a step.

On the floor inside the small room, Kili saw an enormous man with dark, silken skin, stretched out on the cold stone. The guard stepped back and jerked his chin at the cell. “Get in. Remember what I said. Knock and one of us will come for you. Sooner or later.”

She felt a heavy palm against her back and a rough shove that propelled her into the room and sent her scrambling not to spill the contents of her tray. The door slammed shut behind her and she heard the key turning in the lock, sealing her fate. Sending up a quick prayer, she hoped she had made the right decision.

She took a deep breath and told herself to be calm, but that task became much more difficult when the figure on the floor stirred. Muscles shifted and bunched as the man pushed himself to his feet and turned his gaze on her. She caught a glimpse of chiseled features and dark, dark eyes before she remembered to look down, but she could still feel that gaze on her.

“Well, well,” the prisoner rumbled. “What do we have here?”

Chapter Four

Deacon was so busy cursing the efficiency of the guard in making him lie down before opening the door that he almost missed the whispery sound of feminine footsteps crossing the threshold. Then a thread of sound reached his ears, and he tensed, drawing in a deep, silent breath. That sweet, succulent scent told him a woman had just entered his cell, and that was enough to make him curious.

As soon as the door slammed shut and the guard stopped yammering, he pushed himself to his feet and turned to assess the situation. Just inside the door to his cell stood a beautiful young woman, mostly naked, clutching a battered metal tray and shivering like a jump drive in reverse.

“Well, well,” he purred. “What do we have here?”

The girl still didn’t look at him. “I have been sent with food,
darash
.”

She spoke so softly and with her head down that it took Deacon a minute to figure out what she had said. It didn’t help that her gold-dusted bare skin and cold-tightened nipples proved to be a bit of a distraction.

“Have you?”

Not what he’d expected. He hadn’t expected to be fed at all, let alone by a good-as-naked sex kitten. He walked over to the door, pretending not to notice when she sidled away from him, and looked outside. The guard was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes,
darash
.”

He turned back to her and raised an eyebrow. “Somehow I thought this was going to be more like being sent to my bed without supper.”

The woman shook her head. “Of course not. It would be dishonorable to starve a prisoner before he has been proven guilty of any crime. You have not even been questioned yet; therefore, you must be treated as a guest, even while you are confined to the cells.”

Deacon snorted. “Now there’s some bass-ackwards logic if I’ve ever heard it.” The woman didn’t answer, just stood in the corner holding the tray. He sighed. “Okay, hand it over. I’m not dumb enough to skip a meal when it’s offered. Providing you taste it for me first.”

“Yes,
darash
.”

He glowered and reached for the tray. He liked being pampered by a woman as much as the next heterosexual man with a heartbeat, but he just could not understand this planet. Who the hell wanted a woman to be an unassuming mouse anytime you weren’t fucking her? Not his idea of a good time.

The woman surprised him by turning and shielding the tray from him with her body. “No, no. You must allow me to feed you,
darash
. It is unseemly for a man to serve himself.”

“Say huh?”

She nodded earnestly and Deacon sighed.

“Fine,” he said and stalked over to the cot, “but there ain’t no way you’re gonna be able to reach me if I stand, and I’m not spending the next twenty minutes bent over.”

She followed him across the room, a good five paces behind, and he fought the urge to roar at her just to see what would happen. But he was too afraid she’d drop dead from fright. He eased down onto the edge of the cot with a grunt.

The girl knelt carefully in front of him and set the tray down beside him before removing the bowl and chunk of bread.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I am called Kishantiana.”

He watched while she scooped up a mouthful of stew with the bread and blew on it, tasting it as instructed before raising it to his mouth. In order to see what she was doing, she had to lift her head enough to see his mouth, and he got his first glimpse of her face.

She was beautiful, like an expensive doll, with high, flat cheekbones and tip-tilted, almond-shaped eyes the color of the richest coffee he’d ever tasted, the kind they only grew in the fertile mountains on Terce.

He accepted the mouthful from her hand and chewed thoughtfully. She shouldn’t interest him the way she did. He’d never gone for the meek and mild type, but something about the woman intrigued him. Now that she was so close, kneeling between his legs and feeding him from her hand, he was beginning to think her trembling had less to do with fear than with adrenaline.

“My name is Deacon. Eric Deacon.”

“Yes,
darash
.”

“No. I’m not your master or anything like it. If you’ve gotta call me something, call me Deacon. Or Deac.”

She held another bite to his lips. “The Ankharan word for ‘master’ is
dashim. Darash
is more like ... um ... like saying ‘sir.’”

“I’m nobody’s sir, either.” He reached for the cup of water, but she got there first, holding it up while he drank. He almost stopped her, but to her credit, she didn’t spill a drop. “I’m not from here, little bit, and I’m not real fond of being treated like I am.”

He caught the slight hesitation in her movements as she set the cup back on the tray and picked up the bread. The next time she raised her hand to his mouth, she also raised her gaze to his.

“I know very well that you are not from here. That is why I came to you. I have a bargain to offer you.”

Chapter Five

Kili felt her heart racing and hoped she wouldn’t spill anything on the prisoner before he made his decision. She remembered catching a glimpse of him when he and the other offworlder had presented themselves in front of the prince, but she always sat in the back row of
nitarai
and of course she hadn’t looked directly at him. She hadn’t remembered him as being so large, or so fascinating.

He had dark skin, far darker than her pale, barely golden complexion, and darker even than the prince, who was a swarthy man. This man who called himself Deacon had skin the color of rich, strong tea, a dark, golden brown. He had eyes to match, an even richer, darker brown as opposed to the black she’d first assumed. And he towered over her, one of the tallest men she’d ever seen and heavily muscled, like a professional fighter. She couldn’t even begin to imagine his strength.

Those dark eyes watched her every move, and the brows above them shot up when she mentioned her bargain. Before he could speak, she hurried on. “Please,
dar--
er, Deacon. We must be careful that the guards do not hear. You would suffer for it.”

“And what about you?”

She shrugged and looked down. “I would be sold. Or perhaps executed.” She didn’t fear it, though. She had grown too used to the possibilities. “But if you agree to my bargain, then any risk is worth it.”

Deacon finished the last bite of bread, shook his head at the stew she offered him, and pushed the nearly empty tray away. Kili moved it to the floor beside the bed and looked up at him. “I must be seen to be tending you, or the guards will be suspicious if they decide to check on us. Do I have permission to touch you ... Deacon?”

He shrugged, his face curious. “Sure. At least until you tell me what you’re talking about.”

Kili nodded and blew out a shaky breath. This was the part of her plan she’d had the most trouble with when she thought about it, so she figured the best thing to do was not to think, but to do. Even though she’d performed these actions so many times before, this was different. Everything seemed different now, when no one stood above her shouting orders. Somehow what she’d been made to do took on a whole new light when she
chose
to do it. Clearing her mind, she reached for the fastening of his trousers.

“Whoa!” he growled and caught her wrists in his big hands, holding her firmly away from his groin. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She tried not to sound impatient. “You said I could touch you.”

“I said touch, not grope.”

“Deacon, if the guards do not believe that you wish me to stay here and tend you, they will wonder why I speak to you. You must let me.”

“You and I apparently have seriously different definitions of the word ‘tend,’” he said. He paused a minute, then relented. “All right. If you need a cover, you can give me a massage. But I make it a personal rule never to fuck sex slaves I haven’t known for at least a day and a half. A man’s gotta have limits.”

He released her hands and turned, stretching out facedown on the cot and pillowing his head in his arms. Kili thought she saw him wince, but she couldn’t be sure. She eyed the broad plain of his back, thick with muscles that shifted and danced when he adjusted his position on the cot. It reminded her of the graceful strength of the stud stallion the prince kept in his stables and allowed out only for ceremonial parades. Kili had always empathized with the animal and admired the image of caged power he presented as he trotted through the crowded streets.