Translator microbes? Seriously? That’s it. No more sci-fi marathons!
“Where am I?”
His brow creased and the silver slashes in his eyes gleamed. “Was your destination not explained to you?” He eased back far enough to sweep his gaze up and down the length of her body. “You are dressed for the Decadent Dance.”
Shit. She tried to remember all the crap she’d read in the booklet. Apparently her subconscious had been taking notes. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Was the dress forced upon you?”
Was he offering her an out? If she told him she wasn’t a willing participant, would the hallucination fade away? And did she really want it to end? Pathetic as it was, this was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in ages. She looked into his alien eyes and her heart gave a rebellious flutter. “I wasn’t forced, but I didn’t realize—”
“You’re overwhelmed. That’s understandable. Many dancers are skittish for the first couple of days.” He glanced at the other man and said, “Thank you, Warder. This would not have been possible without your skill.”
Before she could figure out exactly what that meant, the warrior took her by the hand and led her into a curved corridor. The same non-reflective metal had been used in the corridor, but the walls and ceiling were seamlessly molded and smooth, like flat-sided tubes.
This was all so strange. Was it transpiring within her mind or was she traipsing about her apartment, lost in a drug-induced haze? No. There was no way her apartment could accommodate their range of movement. She must be absorbed completely in a chemical reality.
A violent shiver nearly shook her hand right out of the warrior’s grasp and his fingers tightened around her wrist. “Where are you taking me?” He ignored her and kept right on walking, so she dug in her heels. “Don’t ignore me. It’s rude.”
“You were obviously upset by your arrival and anything I say is likely to upset you even more. I thought it best to continue to my cabin and—”
“Why are you taking me to your cabin? I’d be more comfortable if you—”
Rather than argue, he bent, shoved his armored shoulder into her belly and lifted her off the floor.
“Are you kidding me?” She gritted her teeth. “You did
“I didn’t?” He had the audacity to laugh. “Unless the microbe failed again, that’s exactly what I just did.”
Vaden wrapped one arm around his dancer’s legs and explored her delightfully rounded ass with his other hand. She gasped then struggled, shoving against his back and trying in vain to kick her feet. Good. He liked his women spirited. No passive female could survive in the Disputed Territories and it would be many cycles still before this ship would see anything resembling civilization.
“Get your paws off me! I’ll report you to the captain or whoever’s in charge of this… Are we on a spaceship?”
She sounded genuinely confused and her body relaxed against him. “Didn’t your agent go over the details? Did you not read the contract before you signed?”
“Contract? I never signed a contract.”
He didn’t miss the hopeful catch in her voice. Did she honestly believe she could back out so easily? She should have read the fine print. Long-range transportation was especially hard on human physiology. She couldn’t return to her home world for twelve lunar cycles, regardless of her discontent. He set her down beside the door of his cabin as he scanned it open. Then he ushered her inside before she remembered to object.
She came to a sudden stop in the middle of the room and paused to look around. He took advantage of her distraction and unfastened the buckles on his armor as he crossed to the wall locker. He’d left his helmet in the transport bay, but he’d send for it in the morning. He wanted nothing to distract him from his exploration of his Decadent Dancer.
Her gaze was still examining the furnishings as he closed his armor inside the secure compartment. All he wore now was a formfitting pair of black pants and his protective undershirt. What did she find so enthralling about his quarters? Everything was compact and functional, as things must be aboard long-range vessels. She was acting as if she’d never been on a spaceship before.
He remained a step back and studied her as thoroughly as she studied the accommodations. She was younger than he’d expected. Most females this young weren’t desperate enough to accept a position as a Decadent Dancer. Her sleek black hair barely brushed her shoulders, but the style perfectly suited her delicate features. Her cheeks were still flushed from her inverted position. The deep-rose color matched her lush lips. With her face in profile, he could see the long, curved sweep of her lashes.
She completed her assessment of his cabin and turned to look at him. Her dark eyes rounded and she took an automatic step back. “Holy Mother of God.”
Vaden looked down, half expecting to find some gushing wound. “What is the matter with you?”
“I thought it was the armor.” She gestured toward his upper body, but her gaze gravitated lower. “You are…huge.”
She was the strangest woman he’d ever met. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Unique was intriguing, and she was definitely unique. “Many of my men are both taller and stronger than me. Have all the men on Earth shriveled?”
“No, but there aren’t many built like you.” She fiddled with the hem of her dress and muttered something about her imagination. “Are we here to do what I think we’re here to do?”
He tensed. He’d heard that some of the dancers tried to renege or escape their responsibilities. Life in the Disputed Territories wasn’t easy. He could see why a female might be intimidated once she was faced with the reality of… But all she’d seen so far was him!
“I will ask again. Did you willingly put on the dress or were you coerced in some way?”
He saw indecision in her eyes and his gut clenched. If she spoke the lie hovering on the tip of her tongue, he would sell her contract to the highest bidder. He could not abide liars, would not tolerate the destruction that inevitably followed in their wake.
“I willingly put on the dress,” she admitted, “but I had no idea what it signified.”
“How can that possibly be true? Where did you get the dress?”
She licked her lips, anxiety evident in every move she made. “I don’t even know your name.”
Was she avoiding the answer so she could construct a feasible story? His temper began to heat. “You agreed to dance with a man without knowing so much as his name?”
“I never agreed to any of this! That’s what I’m trying to explain.” Her tone was sharper now, her eyes beseeching.
“I’m Commander Nassar. Vaden Nassar. You may call me Vaden.”
She nodded, though she didn’t repeat his name. “Zoe.”
“Can we dispense with this nonsense now? I have waited four cycles for my dancer. I have no intention of leaving this room until we dance.”
“Even if I had no idea what would happen when I put on the dress?”
“I don’t believe that’s what happened. I think you took my credits and paid off your debts or spent them on frivolities, and now that it’s time to earn those credits, you’re trying to escape your responsibilities.” He scooped her up and tossed her onto his bed. She landed with a little yelp and tried to crawl off the other side. He was so distracted by the sight of her long, toned legs and her smooth ass cheeks peeking out despite the solid black garment she wore beneath the dress that he nearly forgot to intercept her retreat.
She wiggled and twisted, but soon he had her beneath him, hands pinned above her head. Her legs framed his hips and the dress bunched about her waist. Her large, dark eyes stared up at him, anger and uncertainty obvious in her expressive gaze. “Why would I imagine this? I’m not a…whore.”
Imagine? Had she yet to accept this was real?
Rather than delve into her first question, he dealt with her second point. He shifted her wrists to one hand so he could touch her face. “I know some men share their dancers. Females are extremely rare out here in the Territories. I have no intention of sharing you with anyone.”
“So I’ll only service you?”
