Chapter Fifteen
EVEN AFTER Tessa and Kahn reached the spaceship and had left Zenon Prime’s orbit, he kept her gagged. Wrapped in his fury, rage radiated from him with a dark aura that fed her own anger.
Now he had her standing before him in the familiar chamber on the way to his planet where he would have even more control over her. His eyes burned with piercing accusation.
His lack of trust in her had shredded her pride, and she figured she was as furious with him as he was with her. Until she took another good look at his clenched jaw and realized that his rage with her knew no bounds. Her gut responded as if she’d just dived off a cliff.
But damn him, why hadn’t he stopped to think she might have a good reason for her actions? He never gave her the benefit of the doubt. Not once. So what if she’d disobeyed his direct order? Who had put him in charge? Well, to be fair she supposed she had when she’d told him she’d follow Rystani customs. But to hell with his customs that kept women in the dark. Part of this disaster was his fault for not telling her about his plans for the credits that the Federation had given to her. She’d tried to make amends and spoken to Jypeg only out of desperation and fear that Kahn might have been in danger. That would teach her to worry over him. Now she’d earned enough credits to feed Kahn’s people, but the big jerk didn’t know that because he was too busy nursing his bruised ego to let her even speak.
She understood that according to the information Kahn had at the moment, she was a traitor. And as badly as he’d treated her, as angry as she was with him, she knew that she’d hurt him, too. After hearing about his grandfather’s betrayal, he’d been torn up, and what she had done by speaking to his enemy had shredded what was left of his pride.
Kahn needed time to heal, they both did, but that couldn’t even begin to happen until they worked the edge off their anger enough to talk.
“Mmm.” She pointed to her mouth.
“I don’t want to hear you speak.”
For his sake and hers, she had to mend this breach between them. Holding out her hands to beseech him to change his mind, she again pointed to her mouth.
“No.”
Muscles bulging with tension, he folded his arms across his chest, possibly to prevent himself from losing his temper. “You will dance the Ramala Ki for me.”
Stationary he might be, however, a muscle throbbed in his forehead signaling his fury. The temper in his tone cut her. But she shook her head, not in defiance—but because she didn’t know the dance. Although she was supposed to have been studying when he’d left her on Zenon, the Ramala Ki took years to learn. There was no point in pretending to him that she knew the intricate steps.
“You will dance for me according to ritual.” Arms still crossed over his chest, he floated into the air and leaned back as if supported by a lounge chair. Although he’d assumed a more casual position, he loomed over her, his demeanor assertive, his eyes demanding. On a monitor, a woman danced the Ramala Ki. Clearly, he wanted her to imitate the steps.
But what was he thinking? The Ramala Ki was a dance where the wife seduced her husband. Was this his way of making up? By ordering her to dance to seduce him? On one level, his demand made her angrier, but on another level, his idea appealed to her. If he wanted her to dance, she would dance. Dance until he forgot their differences, until he brought her into his arms, until they made love and their psi merged once again and took the edge off the pain they’d caused one another.
Although she hadn’t slept in two days, although her feet ached, she’d gotten a second wind. She wanted to put things right. She would have preferred a conversation, but he’d taken that option from her. So she would use what he’d given her, an excuse to taunt him, tease him, seduce him into doing what she wanted.
Whoever thought that Special Agent in Charge Tessa Camen would resort to dancing to get her own way? The irony almost made her smile—until she recalled Kahn’s fury.
Kahn wanted her to dance? Fine. She would comply. Oh, yeah, she would comply to the nth degree.
“I’m turning control of the suit over to you,” he told her with a laser sharp edge that warned her she was playing with fire. His cheekbones sharp as sculpted bendar gave no quarter. But beneath his clipped words and harsh tone, she heard a cord of pain that she wanted to ease.
Assuming the position of the opening pose, she bowed her head, placed her hands behind her back and tried to empty her mind of the anger. Music that he must have turned on through the ship’s speakers helped soothe her turmoil. This time just for him, slowly, shyly raising her gaze to his as Rystani custom demanded, she swayed her hips in time to the exotic beat.
The dance began slowly, the tiny steps an intricate pattern that never repeated more than twice before changing. Shyness soon turned to brazen glances and hot licks of boldness. Music thrummed in her head and raised her hopes that she would give him much more than he’d asked of her.
Kahn might be angry with her, but he also couldn’t keep his gaze off of her. Good. She needed his full attention on her hips, her breasts, her eyes. And as she danced, she couldn’t deny herself the satisfaction of holding his interest. Sensing that he was fighting himself, fighting his attraction to her, she spun and gyrated with abandon.
His eyes focused on her with a fascination that made her heart pound and her breath hitch. Like tiny soldiers snapping to attention, her nerves stood up, saluted. No matter which way she swiveled or twirled, his eyes targeted on her, leaving no doubt of his scalding interest, his response pouring liquid heat straight into her limbs. As she writhed to the tempo, the alien dress caught sparkles of light and reflected them on her skin.
And when the music reached the first crescendo, she posed with her feet a brazen foot apart, her hips angled in an erotic tilt, her hands held out to him. For a moment, she thought he would take her hands, pull her out of the pose and into his arms. He didn’t.
Kahn uncrossed his arms, stood back on his feet and moved in close enough for her to smell his virile scent. Close enough for her to feel the pure man heat radiating off his tawny skin. Close enough for her to revel in a shiver of anticipation.
As if considering some minute detail of her pose, Kahn cocked his head. “Hold still until I instruct you otherwise.”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t move. However, when he lifted her skirt and stroked his palm along her backside, she trembled. Kahn had a habit of skipping steps in seduction that both excited her and left her leery.
Obviously, he wouldn’t be lifting her skirt unless he was thinking about making love, so she was succeeding. Willing herself to be more patient with him than she’d ever been, she held perfectly still.
“Open your legs wider.”
She complied and as his hand skimmed up the inside of her thigh, she quivered into a liquid pool. Moisture seeped between her legs. She no longer wanted to think about what had brought them to this moment together. She ached to turn, to take him into her arms and kiss him until he wanted her as much as she wanted him. However, those were Earth customs and he had bound her to Rystani rituals.
Longing to move, she nevertheless waited, her impatience mounting, hoping he would touch her, wondering if lust or anger would win out.
“And you are wearing too many clothes,” he complained. “You will choose a more exciting pose next time, yes?”
She didn’t respond with words, but her pulse sped up. She might not have perfectly mimicked every step on the monitor, but the poses, those she could duplicate. Clearly, if she intended to incite his lust, she must go farther and choose the spicier, most seductive poses.
His eyes gleamed, and his tone turned husky. “Remove the top of your dress.”
She had never removed her own “clothing” for him. Before, he’d always used his psi on her suit and taken what he’d wanted. His command startled her, unnerved her a little. The idea of baring herself to him, exposing her breasts on his command made her belly tighten.
She had such mixed feelings about complying with his order that she hesitated. He didn’t say one word, just raised a supercilious eyebrow that arrowed a shiver of panic to her center. Although he’d seen her naked before, although they’d made love before, stripping to his command was different. She hadn’t known exposing herself to him would be so hard. She hadn’t known being on display would make her so inhibited.
If only he would move back and give her room. If only he wasn’t dressed so formally in a handsome ensemble that showed off his powerful shoulders and dark trousers that emphasized his long legs. If only the suit didn’t allow him total control over a physical reaction.
With a rush of anxiety, she sent a psi thought to peel her suit down until she’d bared her shoulders and revealed a mere tantalizing hint of cleavage.
“More,” he demanded, his mouth softening with approval. At the same time, he brightened an overhead light, focusing the beam on her still covered chest.
Her nerves strung taut. Then she bared her breasts to him, revealing the hard tips that told him more than she wanted him to know, that revealed despite her anger, despite her embarrassment, despite everything—she was still excited by him. He smiled a smile of satisfaction, of acknowledgement, as if he knew exactly what her gesture had cost her. But the rasp of breath he expelled and the flare of his nostril gave her hope. She was getting to him.
At that moment, she suspected that he would demand more from her than she wanted to give. But if she wanted to make things right between them—necessary so they could work together on what she must learn for the Challenge—she would have to comply.
He left her for a moment and returned with a jar. “Your flesh would pick up the light better with lotion.”
She thought he would place the lotion on her, but he opened the lid and held it out to her. “Dip your fingers into the jar and apply the oil over your shoulders. Make sure you do not miss any spots.”
It wasn’t enough for him that she was standing there with her breasts exposed. Oh, no. Now he wanted her skin oiled. Hoping she could turn his request into her advantage, she swallowed back her apprehension, lowered her eyes from his blazing ones to the lotion and did as he asked.
The oil was warm and reminded her of vanilla mixed with honey. Slick and shiny, the clear unguent clung to her fingers but spread easily over her shoulders, leaving her skin glistening under the lights.
His voice turned huskier, deeper, another clue that despite his attempt to remain unaffected, he couldn’t quite do so. “Lower your dress to the waist.”
Ever so slowly, she did as he asked, exposing more of herself to the lights and his oh-so interested gaze. At the flush of heat he emitted, her breasts swelled. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess what he had planned next. More oil. On her breasts.
And doing the task before he asked appealed to her. She reached for the jar.
“Begin the dance again,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
Damn him.
But she wanted to move. Only this time with her breasts free, the dance was different. When she raised her arms and arched her back, her breasts lifted. With every step, she bounced a little and just knowing how intently he watched her made her stomach clench. She swayed her hips with more vigor, performed the steps recklessly, all too aware that his hungry gaze never left her.
This time when the music paused, she stopped with her legs spread boldly wider, arched her spine and rested her hands on her waist.
Taking his time, Kahn walked around her. As she drew air into her lungs, her chest expanded, her breasts lifted as if offering themselves up to him. But he didn’t lose any control. He didn’t touch her, although a trickle of sweat beaded on his forehead before the suit absorbed the moisture.
“This pose seems more defiant than erotic.” He stopped in front of her, his eyes daring her. “You will do better. You need an inducement.” He lifted the pot to her.
She had no intention of falling for that little trick again and held completely still.
“Your breasts would please me better if they too were oiled.”
She almost moved. Almost. But he had not told her that she could.
“Do it.”
Before she’d been willing. Now for a moment, she wanted to fling the pot in his face, but she had to assume some responsibility for his anger. She had spent a fortune in credits without discussing her plans with him, and she had spoken to his enemy. She couldn’t blame her actions entirely on the culture difference. Even on Earth, marriage meant sharing financial decisions. And she’d promised to obey his customs, then disobeyed his direct order and had taken a call from Jypeg. So now she dared not risk increasing Kahn’s anger when her plan was to assuage it. She needed him hot. She needed him to make love to her. She needed him to forgive her so she could forgive him for putting her through this. And he’d just handed her a weapon. Dipping her fingers into the pot, she scooped out lotion and cupped her palm, then poured half the lotion into her other hand, too. Using one hand on each breast, she slowly coated the oil over her breasts, leaving the aureoles and nipples for last.
His mouth parted. His eyes widened, and he never once took his gaze from her. She had no idea exactly when her breasts had become so sensitive. “Tweak your nipples,” he demanded.
The lotion made her want his touch, not her own. She hesitated.
“Would you like to start over?”
She forced a smile to her lips and raised her hands back to her breasts. Taking her nipples between thumb and forefinger she plucked the tips, shooting a volt of electricity directly between her thighs. Unable to control a gasp, she looked up to see if he’d caught her reaction.
He had. His pupils dilated. “Again.”
She obeyed, almost staggering at the pleasure.
“Use the oil everywhere,” he demanded, his voice hot and laced with huskiness.
She smoothed the oil over the tips of her oh-so tender aureoles, and his eyes burned her with their fire. However, the lotion wasn’t teasing only him. The heat from the overhead lights, combined with the slick, slippery oil, plus the smooth caress of her own hands had her on fire.
She needed for him to stop making demands. She needed him to reach for her, to touch her. But he didn’t. He kept both a physical and emotional distance between them that she was determined to breech.
“Oil your nipples for me.”
She had never done anything so outlandish. Her stomach clenched. She felt brazen and sexy and bold. When she massaged the oil over her tender nipples, she had to grit her teeth to hold back a soft moan.
Surely now he would take her, make love to her? She was so ready.
But the moment she finished her task, he issued a new command. “Cup your breasts underneath. Offer yourself to me.”
She surrendered to his demand. Her breasts heaved in the light, her glistening skin and nipples begged for his touch, but he only stared, making her once again aware that he was fully dressed while she was posing decadently.
“I like having you offering yourself to me.”
What man wouldn’t?
As if he’d heard her sarcastic thought, he used his psi to turn the walls around her into mirrors.
Oh, God. She looked like she belonged in the center of a men’s magazine. But worse than her pose was the sheer need on her face. Her lips pouting for a kiss, her legs straining to hold the pose, her eyes sparkling with excitement, and her breasts heaving in expectation.
“Remove the rest of your dress, but don’t move a muscle.”
Her mouth went dry. Now he wanted her naked. Vulnerable.
She wished he’d make the mirrors disappear. Or dim the lights, but it was as bright in this chamber as daytime on Zenon Prime.
Sending a shaking psi thought to her suit, Tessa turned her suit transparent and was totally bared to his gaze—except for the horrible shoes. The heels made her back arch, her butt jut even more, and her breasts stand up higher. Between the lights on her shimmering flesh, the mirrors which showed her front and back and every angle between, and his close scrutiny, she felt wicked and wanton.
She glanced away from her reflection to catch him watching her with a fiery interest in his eyes and compressed lips that warned her he wasn’t done. She gulped down her nerves, tamped down her edgy anxiety.
Why was he still resisting? The mirrors disappeared, and he turned the walls back to silver bendar. Now what?
With him standing behind her, she had no idea what he would do next. So when he lightly ran a finger between her parted legs, she jumped in surprise.
“I told you to hold still.” He immediately slapped her bare buttocks once, twice. Not enough to hurt, just enough to create a rush of blood and remind her that as badly as she wanted him now, he could so easily make her want him more.
She dared not move, wanted to beg for him to touch her, caress her, ached to part her legs wider to urge him to do more. But with his instructions not to move or speak, with her hands still cupping her breasts, she’d never felt so awkward and needy and unsure. She couldn’t deny she wanted him. Not with the moisture seeping between her open thighs. Not with her nipples tight and achy hard.
When he placed his hand between her legs, she hoped her slick heat would prove irresistible to him. She expected that when he walked around to face her again, his mouth would have softened. It didn’t.
And unless he made love to her soon, she would soon be hot enough to suffer a total meltdown. The heat on her bottom combined with the burning ache between her legs, plus her need to push him over the edge kept her hopes up.
“Dance for me again. I take much pleasure in your nudity, especially the pink color of your bottom and your tight nipples.”
Strange how his words made her even more aware of what he had done to her. She should be angry over the way he spoke to her, never mind the spankings, but she’d learned that the sting quickly disappeared leaving such delicious heat and undeniable desire that her mental protest was sheerly intellectual.
Apparently to make him lose control and take her, she had to give him an added inducement. Another pose.
She restrained a frustrated sigh.
Determined to dance until he couldn’t resist her, she vowed to do what he asked. Drawing out a contest of wills might be sweet torment, but she needed him to make love to her before she went insane from wanting him.
So she danced to entice him, to seduce him, letting her emotions guide her. Her steps and movements might have been more desperate than graceful, but she no longer cared. And when she stopped, she waited with her nerves ragged and her heart tap dancing against her ribs for him to make the next move.
He held out the oil to her. “Use it everywhere.”
Oh, my. Her heart pounded, but she still lacked oxygen and her lungs strained to draw in air. Her brain clouded with indecision—as if she had a choice. She didn’t. Her ears rushed with the roar of blood. She’d never known she could do such things. Or feel so wickedly delicious. But he was her husband, her life mate who she wanted to make up with after a terrible disappointment, and her inhibitions dropped away. If he wanted her to do this for him—then she would. If he required her to be this vulnerable—then she would be strong enough to be this vulnerable. She dipped her fingers into the oil and watched his Adam’s apple bob, a muscle in his jaw clench. Sweat beaded on his upper lip.
She slathered the oil over her belly, her buttocks, her thighs, her calves.
“You missed between your legs.”
She did as he asked. If her confidence had been a color, it would have been intrepid red. If her determination had been a temperature, it would have been blazing hot. And if the need in her had been a storm, it would have been a category five hurricane.
She had never felt so erotic, so exposed, so sexy. Surely now he would make love to her.
As she straightened and waited for him to come to her, she forgave him for putting her through this. Her need for him wasn’t merely physical, but emotional. With every fiber of her soul, she wanted him to make love to her. Accept her. As she stood before him naked and oiled, if this had been a high stakes game of poker, she’d just wagered the house limit and shown her hand.
The tension in the room had her holding her breath. The lovemaking was going to be so good. She’d waited so long, and the heat between her thighs made her quiver. But even more than physical relief, she longed for her husband’s caress, his pardon, and his approval.
He approached and more moisture seeped between her thighs. She held her head high.
But he didn’t stop.
He kept walking past her, his tone tight and cold as a Montana blizzard. “I don’t want what you have to offer.”
Spurning her, he headed out the door.
Stunned, she tried to follow him. But he’d locked the door.
Damn him! She’d offered him everything she could to make things right. Everything. And he’d left her trembling with need, locked in the room. After all she’d done for him, after she’d obeyed his most outrageous demands, he . . . didn’t . . . want her.
Something she didn’t know she had inside her hurt.
Hurt worse than any beating she’d ever taken in a dojo. Hurt worse than losing her parents. Hurt worse than losing Master Chen. She hurt so badly that the pain wrapped around her and squeezed out a sob. She’d wanted to assuage his simmering anger because . . . she had feelings for him.
How dare he make her want more than sex from him? How dare he make her cry? She told herself she cried tears of anger at how cruelly he’d just treated her, but she knew better. Somehow the big warrior had made her care about him. That’s why she’d responded to the tangle of his searing looks, demanding touch and prideful anger. That’s why he could stomp her buttons.
Damn it. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to care about him when he didn’t let her speak for herself. When he didn’t even treat her like a civilized person. She might have traveled to the future, but his demands were primitive.
And the hell of it was that while he didn’t respect her, she still cared about him. What the hell was wrong with her?
When had she begun to change? Had she developed feelings for him when he’d lost that bet to her and kept his word to train her as he would a man? Or when he’d spoken about his starving people? Or his mother’s broken heart? Or when he’d admitted he’d known about Dora and had permitted Tessa continue to speak with the computer to help her adjust?
Damn the man. He’d saved her life, married her, then spanked her and sexually aroused her and then abandoned her. And she wanted him? How the fuck had she let this happen?