“What the fuck?”

Even though he was over the other side of the room, Jareth made it across the intervening space as Keliana swayed like a reed in the wind. Within a second he scooped her up against his chest as her legs buckled from under her.

She clutched at his shirt, slender fingers wrapping in the black fabric as she looked up at him. She was almost out of it, her face pale and her eyes wide in her face. The helpless look on her face hit him deep in the gut and called a surge of protectiveness from within him so strong that he tensed with the force of it. The pulse in her throat, easily visible through her pale skin, fluttered madly and now he had her in his arms, he could feel the tremors raking her body.

“Lady, do they not feed you anything in the harem?” he grumbled, flicking a glance at Seth as he took the few steps to the nearest couch. Obviously sensitive to the situation despite his joking words, the prince nodded as he and Jaida slipped out of the room to give the pair some privacy.

Unwilling to let her go now he had her, Jareth sat down with his little courtesan. The couch was low, too low for his liking so he dropped the last couple of inches rather than sat, the motion carrying him back into a half reclining position with Keliana nestled against his broad chest. All in all, he couldn’t find fault with that, so he just sat there, stroking a big hand over her hair and making soothing noises.

She fit onto his lap, her slender curves a perfect fit against the harder plains of his soldier’s body. Lust and triumph roared through his veins, whispering a victor’s refrain with each surge of his blood. Unbidden, his hand drove into the dark mass of her hair, scattering pins to hold her to him. She was his, finally his. He didn’t have to sneak around or risk Sethan’s wrath any more. His dream woman and she belonged to him.

Eventually her breathing calmed down until she lay still and quiet in his arms. After so many months of watching her from afar, he was content to hold her as she got used to the idea she belonged to him. He wasn’t a monster; he knew it had to be a shock for her.

He’d done his homework. She’d been purchased when she was little more than a child from the outer systems and brought directly to the prince’s harem. Delicate, with exotic, catlike features, she’d been the jewel in the crown of the prince’s harem…for his pleasure only.

Jealousy rose, sharp and immediate, the green-eyed monster clawing viciously at Jareth’s guts. The thought of any other man touching her, taking her, enraged him. And just the idea of Keliana stretched out under the old prince, a man three times her age, as he rutted on her made him feel sick.

Jareth closed his eyes, lips soft against her hair. At least she’d been reserved for the prince’s pleasure, rather than gifted to any other noble, even for a short time, and since his death no man had touched her. He could cope with that. A snort escaped him. What was he on about? He wouldn’t have cared if the entire palace guard had had her, he’d still want her.

Now she was his and since he’d just returned from a five-day mission, he had the next three days off. A smile broke out, his lips curving against her hair. An entire three days for them to get to know each other.

Within a heartbeat, he was hard and aching for her again, his cock as stiff as a ramrod as it strained against the slide fastener of his combat pants. Intelligent thought fled to leave him with just one overriding desire: to tumble her onto her back on the low couch, part her scarlet skirts, and bury himself balls-deep in her welcoming softness.

She stirred, bringing his attention back from his fantasy. Much as he wanted to take her, claim her, right now, he couldn’t. Their first time would not be on the couch in the prince’s chambers with the specter of her former master hovering unseen. There was no way she’d loved the guy, no way at all. She couldn’t have…

“Please, you’re hurting me.”

Her soft voice broke through the riot of his jealous thoughts. Looking down, he met her gaze and realized his fist was clenched tight in her hair, forcing her head back and baring the slender column of her throat. Her eyes were dark, their expression shielded as she watched him carefully. She didn’t wriggle, or demand he let her go. Instead, she lay pliant against him. Waiting his next move.

Frustration rolled through him as he relaxed his grip and slid his hand gently through the silken strands of her hair. Where was the fire and passion she’d shown him in the gardens? He’d expected relief and gratitude that he’d saved her from being sold into the city, gratitude that could be expressed in ways that would ease the heavy ache in his groin and bring them both immense pleasure, not this silence and wariness.

To test the waters, he bent his head, watching her every step of the way as he brought his lips down over hers. Then realized the veil still covered the lower half of her face.

“Fuck.” Real smooth, dipshit, real smooth.

Reaching up, he snatched the scrap of sheer silk away to get access to her lips. Unlike earlier in the gardens, any finesse he might have been able to lay claim to was gone. All he could think about was kissing her, claiming her mouth as his and knowing that no other man could touch her now.

She trembled slightly as he slanted his lips over hers, breathing in her perfume as he brushed featherlight caresses over her lips. She was so tiny and delicate compared to his big frame and brute strength, he worried he would hurt her. Even his hands seemed too big and coarse to touch her, the calluses catching on the silk of her fine gown.

A groan welled in his throat at the satin-soft feel of her lips. Everything about her was addictive, drew him in until he wanted more. Wanted everything. Giving into his instincts he gathered her closer, the groan ripping free from the depths of his throat, from his soul itself, as he parted her lips with a decisive sweep of his tongue and drove inside.

She tasted amazing. Like the finest, dry-sweet wine and hanorian chocolates with the crisp, clean taste of ice-cold water. Lust hit him like a tidal wave, welling up and crashing over him until it washed all other thoughts away. Left him drenched in its essence and wanting nothing more than to drag her under with him.

He shifted, both hands driving into her hair to hold her still, and slid his tongue along hers in an erotic dance. The thrust and slide indicative of what he wanted, of what he planned to do to her shortly. Groaning in pleasure again, he nibbled her lower lip…

Then froze. She wasn’t responding.

Frowning, he pulled back to look in her eyes. Again that damn look. Wide eyed, sultry, and blank.

“What the fuck?”

Soldier’s curses tumbling from his lips, he shoved her from him and shot to his feet. Tumbling from his lap in a tangle of red silk, she landed on the padded surface of the couch and looked up at him in confusion.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to…?”

Stood over her, he shoved a hand into his overlong hair. It shook, but he ignored it. Tension and need vibrated through every inch of his body as all his male instincts clamored at him to get on with it. To strip the scrap of a gown from her and take what he wanted. But he couldn’t, not with the niggling feeling in the back of his mind that something was wrong.

“Of course I want to.” His words were a growl. It was a stupid question. “Why do you think I’ve been pursuing you for months, leaving roses where you could find them? Why do you think that I asked for you if I didn’t want you? Do I look fucking stupid enough to ask for something I didn’t want when the prince offered me a boon?”

Keliana bit her lower lip, teeth mangling the full flesh that tingled from his kisses. Confusion rolled through her. He was her new master and it had been drilled into her from her first days in the harem that a courtesan should never love her master.

Owners were fickle, treating their whores like pets or property and many had fancied themselves in love with their masters only to be sold on when blondes or brunettes or redheads were “so last season.”

Since she’d been old enough to understand what love was, she’d dreamed of her perfect man. The one who would free her from slavery and be her one and only. She’d thought Jareth was it, watching the prince’s friend from the corner of her eye as he grew from ungainly youth to battle-hardened soldier. Now he owned her, saving her from an uncertain fate and challenging the world as she knew it.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You were willing enough back in the garden…” He broke off, looking at her in confusion. As though she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure.

Her heart ached as she watched him, tension and anger in every line of his body as he glared at her. His hair was loose about his shoulders, the soldier’s cue ruined when he’d raked strong fingers through it. His sheer size sent a shiver of awareness through her as her gaze wandered downward.

After years of only allowing herself fleeting looks, snatched glimpses that she hoarded like treasures to review each night in the safety of her own room, she could look her fill and now she reveled in the freedom.

Broad shoulders accentuated by the black of his uniform narrowed down into a trim waist and lean hips. Strong, leanly muscled thighs pulled and filled out the loose combat pants in all the right places and the pulse pistol on his right hip and thigh seemed just right, as though it were part of him. Absently she noted that he’d been armed in the prince’s presence, a huge indicator of the trust Sethan had in him.

Making the movement as sinuous as she could, she slipped from the couch and walked toward him. His eyes darkened, nostrils flaring a little as he registered the extra sway in her hips as she approached, but he didn’t reach for her.

If he wanted to own her, why had he bothered to court her? Why leave roses and lead her to believe that there was something else there.

“Why did you ask for me?”

Her voice was low, calm to hide the fact she really wanted his answer. Several other questions crowded in behind it—why the roses? Why kiss her in the gardens?—but she kept them silent, tilting her head slightly to wait his answer.

He didn’t move, his dark eyes filled with dangerous heat blazing down at her.

“I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you, but you belonged to another man.”

Uh-huh. She was a slave so, no shit on that one.

“Property.”

“What? Talk sense, woman.” He clenched his fists into balls at the sides of his hips.

“I’m property, my lord.”

Taking a step forward, she straightened his shirt with soft hands. Little touches as she’d been taught and had become habit over the years. Men liked to be looked after, comforted, and pampered. Your job is to make him feel good, be that through a quiet, calm presence as he talks, or naked in his bed. Now she did it to make a point.

“I do what you want, when you want. My feelings don’t come into it. The garden…” She broke off with a shrug. “I’d hoped for freedom, to make a choice…”

She’d wanted to make a choice to love him. Not to have to because she was his whore, bought and paid for.

He stopped her hands as they smoothed down the front of his shirt again. Now she’d started to touch him, she’d found she couldn’t stop. Want and need coiled around each other inside her, like a pit of vipers ready to rise up and devour her. She wanted him, needed him, but she couldn’t let herself love him. No matter how much she wanted to. Sooner or later he’d break her heart.

“So let me get this straight…”

His expression incredulous, he wrapped his fingers around her wrists and yanked her hard against him. She gasped, the air knocked out of her at the contact with his solid body, then bit back a moan as she felt the solid length of his cock pressing insistently against her soft belly.

“You were willing in the garden because you belonged to Seth, but now I own you, you’re saying you have no choice? Yet you wanted to before? Lady, that’s just fucked up.”

Heat surged through her, swirling through her body like the sandstorms of her desert home. Her nipples beaded, clearly visible through the thin silks, and heat slipped from her to soak the brief under things she wore.

“Where I come from a woman who’s willing one moment and not the next is a cocktease.” He didn’t sneer but he didn’t need to, his disgust was perfectly clear in his voice and his eyes. Heat of a different type flooded her cheeks, his words hitting home and making her squirm, but not in a good way.

“You wanted to be free and because you aren’t you’re having a snit with me? I asked for you because I wanted you, and let’s be honest, mistress, from where I’m standing you don’t have an awful lot of options. The harem is disbanded and thanks to a clause in daddy dearest’s will, Sethan can’t sell you. So you’re either going to have to get those pretty, pampered little hands dirty scrubbing floors, or you can work out your bond-price on your back in the guards dorms.”

She paled at the thought, feeling the blood drain from her face as he looked down at her with that hard expression. “They…he wouldn’t. I’m…”

“Were the harem-mistress, of a harem that no longer exists. Can’t make you scrub floors? Or fuck the guards until you’re too old and loose for even the likes of them?” He cut her off, lips twisted into a sneer. “Of course he can, you’re property, remember? He can do whatever the hell he likes with you. So, your choice. Shall I call him back and tell him you’d rather get down and dirty with the guards than belong to me?”

Fear and shame struck her as he let go and stepped back, heading for the door. His shoulders were tight with anger as he reached it and yanked it open.

“No, please, don’t do that.”

Heart in her throat, she ran after him and grabbed his arm. Her hands wouldn’t go all the way around the thickly banded muscle, but he stopped anyway and looked at her with those dark eyes. They no longer had the warm darkness from the gardens and just one look made her shiver. If this was a little of what his enemies saw, then she wasn’t surprised at the stories of men running away at the mere mention of his name.

“Please, Jareth…”

The burn in her cheeks rose higher as she took a deep breath and faced facts. She’d wanted to be free, so fucking what. She didn’t know a slave that didn’t. She was lucky to be given to him instead of the options he’d outlined and here she was acting like a spoiled brat. She, more than anyone, should know life wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again.” Dropping her gaze, she let her hand slide off his arm.

He didn’t move for the longest time. Just looked at her silently until she was ready to scream, every nerve pulled taut with tension. Already she could feel the headache forming behind her eyes, ready and eager to push its noxious tendrils of pain out through her brain.

She risked a glance upward. He was still looking at her with that hard look. Inwardly, she quailed, but something deep inside, the memory of the roses he’d left, made her keep holding his gaze. Finally he nodded and stepped to the side, indicating she should precede him through the door.

“Come on. We need to get your belongings moved.”

* * *

The ball was the same as the many others Keliana had been to over the years: boring and tedious. The noble class paraded around in their finery, circling each other like sharks as they played their power games, ones she’d never known to be anything other than petty. No “fate of the princedom” struggles or anything on so epic a scale, more “what his aunt said about uncle Arthan” three hundred years ago.

Watching two men send looks like daggers at each other from across the ballroom, she stifled a yawn and lounged on the couch reserved for Jareth at one side of the room. Just below and to the right of the prince’s couch where she’d sat for years, it gave her a slightly different perspective of the room.

Jareth.

Without making it obvious she looked for him in the crowded room before she realized she didn’t have to conceal her interest. She didn’t belong to the prince anymore, she belonged to Jareth, and a courtesan should be concerned with her master. Where he was, what he was doing, whether he needed her for something. Anything.

It wasn’t hard to find in him, even with most of the court packed into the smaller of the palace’s two ballrooms. With a capacity of over five hundred, it was seen as “intimate.” She’d hate to see what the architect had considered decadent. Head and shoulders above most and clad in the distinctive black dress uniform of Sector Seven, he cut an impressive figure.

Standing by one of the open double doors that led out onto the garden terraces, he was talking to a smaller, portly looking man in a bright orange tunic, which had the unfortunate effect of making him look like a tangerine with legs. The green knee breeches didn’t do anything to help dispel the effect.

The two were deep in conversation, Jareth’s handsome face creased into a frown as he nodded at something the other man said and lifted his goblet to his lips. She was too far away to lip-read, not that she would dream of eavesdropping as she knew some courtesans did, always looking for an angle to use for blackmail. The oldest profession wasn’t immune to normal human weaknesses and greed.

Shifting on the couch, she drew her legs up off the floor and rested more comfortably as she carried on her perusal of the room. The place was full, but the crowds kept a respectful distance from the low couches arranged around the walls, not daring to approach until signaled to do so. Designated for the more senior among the court, there was a strict peaking order regarding placement. They were a place to sit and rest, to show one’s self and one’s wealth off to the court as a whole.

Courtesans occupied several, the scarlet silk bright against the cream decoration of the room. Like her, a few watched the room while the rest were engaged with their masters. Pouring drinks, minor straightening of jackets and tunics. The lone male of their number was three couches down, his naked chest being used as a pillow by his reclining mistress, the red of his harem-pants a perfect foil for her gold silk dress. Keliana nodded politely as he caught her eye and looked away.

As thought magnetized, her gaze returned to Jareth. The shock she’d felt earlier when the prince had just announced that he was transferring her ownership had begun to dissipate. Heat hit her cheeks again. Since the tense scene in the prince’s chambers, Jareth had been a perfect gentleman.

He’d ordered her few belongings moved from the harem to his quarters and a light lunch be served to them on the suite’s balcony. He’d sat with her to eat, which she still couldn’t believe, ignoring the food in favor of a liquid lunch, glass in hand as he watched her every move.

She’d struggled to eat even half of what was on her plate, resorting to pushing it around with her fork as she kept up a light conversation, anything from the weather to the proposed redevelopment of the city’s main spaceport. His replies had been polite, noncommittal before finally, he’d levered himself to his feet, told her to make herself at home in the rooms, and left. A servant had returned an hour later to inform her he wanted her ready for the function tonight.

That hadn’t been a problem. She always dressed for the evening after the midafternoon rest period, but today she couldn’t help putting that little extra effort in. Today was different; tonight she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping alone, so she took extra time washing and styling her hair in the loose style he seemed to prefer. No part of her body had escaped attention as she primped and preened before selecting her best lingerie and finest gown.

Now, excitement and awareness were her constant companions, a low hum in her body as she waited for him to circulate. She played with the heavy weight of a new chain on her wrist. Male pattern, the heavy charm was inscribed with Jareth’s family insignia. It wasn’t a noble one, he was as common as she was, but the simple silver chain, a gift left on the bed while she was in the bathing room rather than a piece he’d ordered her to wear, warmed her heart.

Across the room, Jareth took another swallow and cradled the obviously empty goblet against his thigh as he carried on his conversation. Not once did he look at her, but she knew he was aware of her. Throughout the night she’d felt the heated weight of his gaze on her and when she looked up, he made no pretense of his interest, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession.

Sliding off the couch, she signaled a serving girl and took the wine flagon from her. The heavy container held carefully in both hands, she threaded her way through the crowded room. Some people moved aside automatically, their faces alight with interest as they registered a presence behind them then quickly shuttering when they caught sight of her red gown and returned to their conversations. She was used to the reaction. One did not converse with the courtesans, it wasn’t done.

The last group between her and Jareth however, didn’t move aside to let her pass. She sighed inwardly as blank looks cast her way informed her they weren’t going to make this easy. Bloody rude, blue blood obviously means the loss of all civility, she thought in anger as she skirted the edge of the group looking for a way through. There wasn’t one. They were packed in right up to the wall.

She flicked a glance back, wondering if she could make it through the dancers without wearing the contents of the flagon. The music swelled, tempo changing from slow and romantic to a more lively jig. Her heart sank. There was no chance of making it through, not without getting soaked.

Turning back, she spotted a clear path to the open door. She could nip outside on the terrace and come back in through the door the other side of Jareth. Yeah, that would work and would be easier than navigating a hopping dance floor.

Sliding through the gap in the crowd before it could close she stepped out into the coolness of the night. The heat and oppressive, heavy air scented by too many different perfumes was eased from her lungs by the soft breeze blowing up from the gardens. Hints of magnolia and the elusive night-blooming kiare flower teased her senses as she turned right to find the door nearest to Jareth.

The terrace was empty apart from a shadowy figure at the other end. The bright circle of a lit cigar glowed for a moment then died away. A gentleman, from the size and shape of the shadow, taking a break from the revelries inside.

At least it wasn’t a courting couple with their hands all over each other in the darkness, making the most of their solitude before their chaperons caught up with them. She’d never understood the appeal, why some young women would defy convention for a cheap thrill. But then, society wasn’t stacked fairly. Rules for the nobility were very different to rules for her kind.

Shrugging the shiver off her shoulders she walked on, her delicate, beaded slippers all but silent on the flagstones beneath her feet. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. No one would hear her. Doors at regular intervals along the terrace spilled the light and music from the ballroom out into the tranquil darkness, isolated pools of color and noise in the silver-gray calm.

Adjusting her grip on the jug, she gauged the distance to her target. Luckily it wasn’t full, or she’d have slopped the wine as she walked, but it was heavy enough that her wrists started to ache.

The door ahead of her was open, but she ignored it. She needed the next one, which would put her back in the ballroom near to where Jareth stood. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. He wasn’t a man who smiled often, given more to seriousness, so the thought of waiting on him, bringing him wine and perhaps winning that small smile he gave when he was pleased brought a warm, fuzzy feeling to the center of her chest. It shouldn’t, but it did.

She didn’t get chance to walk past the door. Just as she drew level the gauze curtains billowed out and disgorged three men onto the terrace in front of her. The last one stumbled into his two friends, all but knocking the smaller men over, and as one, three sets of eyes turned to her.

Wariness gripped her as she froze, the jug held out in front of her like a flimsy shield as their gazes racked over her. They didn’t bother with her face past a cursory look and instead concentrated on her figure wrapped in the scarlet silk. Her skin crawled as they undressed her with their eyes, not bothering to hide the crude lust as they would with a woman of their own class.

“Hey, hey, what do we have here then?” The first one out was the quickest to recover his tongue, breaking away from the others to circle her. “Looks like someone made a mistake and sent the entertainment out here.”

Oh crap. This was so not happening. Keliana sidestepped as he reached out to touch her, his fingertips ghosting over her bare shoulder.

“Please, my lord.” She kept her voice low and her eyes lowered as a whore should. “I need to get this inside.”

“Perhaps it’s a private party?” One of the others commented as they split up and started to circle her in ever decreasing circles, their movements designed to herd her from the terrace and into the darkness of the gardens.

Fear hummed through her as her gown was tugged and pulled, each touch a little rougher as their eyes shone with sick excitement. Screaming wouldn’t help. It was more likely that she’d get charged with disruption and slander, even if they did manage to attain their goal.

“My master is waiting for me.” Her protest was sharp, voice raised as high as she dared as she backed up until her back was to an ornamental figure of Princess Helias the seventh, a matronly woman who’d opposed the use of harem-women in the courts. Who’d have thought that Helias would ever guard her back? The irony wasn’t lost on her as the shortest of the trio tried a flanking attack, hands already extended to cup whatever part of her anatomy he could lay them on. She shoved the jug toward him, giving him a handful of beaten metal to grope.

As she moved, she darted a glance at the corner of the terrace, hoping that the cigar smoker was there. Surely he would come to her rescue? But the corner was empty, the man gone, presumably back into the ballroom to rejoin the festivities. Her heart fell as she prepared to defend herself. She belonged to Jareth and these men were not getting her willingly.

“Come now,” the first speaker said in a patronizing tone, as though she were a child. “We’re all friends here. I’m sure your master won’t mind us borrowing his pretty little toy for a while.”