Heart of a Smuggler Read online

  He fell headlong into the pit and it closed over him, sucking him down deep into darkness where there was no pain, and no hope. Nothing.

  ~ * ~

  Gabie checked the man’s clothes for identification, but there was nothing. She walked across the cabin and looked over Olin’s shoulder, but she didn’t look at the wound. Wounds were icky, which was why Olin had the job of first aider. Instead, she studied the man.

  He was about thirty-five years old, with short, dark hair and an angular, pale face. Blue eyes. Lean of build, but with strength in corded muscles. What surprised her was the softer look about him, he didn’t look like the outlaw his brand proclaimed him to be. It marked his thigh and was one of the first things that Paz had come bounding out of the cabin to tell her. She’d had to learn it second hand, because Olin, the old fuddy-duddy, had dragged Paz in to help him undress the man, stating that no female should see a naked man she didn’t know, to which Gabie had replied that she knew both Paz and Olin but she didn’t want to see them naked, either. Olin had shut the door in her face and wouldn’t let her come in until the man was decently covered by a sheet.

  Misha hovered behind her. “Will he live, Olin?”

  “He’s lost a lot of blood but the volumizer I’ve put up will help.” Olin finished putting the self-adhesive dressing over the torn flesh. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “We’re in trouble if he winds up dead,” Paz fretted. “Michel won’t like it.”

  “Michel won’t know any of this,” Gabie replied. “No one will. Nothing about this man goes outside this ship.”

  “If he dies—”

  “We’ll wait and see.”

  “He’s an outlaw. We’ll be in trouble for harbouring an outlaw.”

  Gabie ignored him. “Olin, what’s next?”

  “He’ll need observing.” Standing up with a creak of his joints and Paz’s helping hand, Olin picked up the bag of rubbish and the bowl of water. “Take the medi-kit, Paz.”

  Paz obeyed.

  “Twenty-four hour watch?” Gabie queried.

  “Probably not, but for the first few hours, yes.”

  “We better do it in shifts, then.” Gabie glanced at the timer on the wall. “Four of us...” She looked at Olin and changed her mind, especially as he had bags under his eyes a traveller would envy. “Three of us.”

  Misha said, “I don’t sleep much. Why don’t I take this watch through the night and we can decide tomorrow what’ll happen?”

  “Done.” Gabie started for the door. “Wake me if you need me.”

  “And what are you going to do?” Olin asked grumpily.

  “You’re right. Wake Olin instead.”

  Grumbling, Olin went out the door with Paz scurrying after him.

  In her cabin, Gabie went straight to the bathing cabin and stripped off her clothes, tossing them down the washing chute. Stepping into the shower, she groaned in pleasure as the warm soapy water sluiced over her. While she washed her hair, she thought about the mystery man in the cabin down the corridor. A branded outlaw begging for mercy. Nothing new about that, but a branded outlaw who was on the run could bring a lot of problems, such as who he was on the run from, what his crime had been, what he’d done to escape, and how badly he was wanted.

  She shrugged. There was nothing for it now but to wait until he awoke and then try to get some information from him. To Gabie’s way of thinking, a decision had been made to care for him until he was well enough to answer questions. If he didn’t satisfy her with his answers, she’d turn him over to Michel without batting an eye. If, however, she believed whatever he would tell her, she’d help, but only if it didn’t bring problems to her crew and herself. Everything depended on what he’d say, and as he wasn’t saying much now, she didn’t see any point worrying about it.

  Touching the button that switched off the soap, she rinsed herself with warm water and finally turned it off. Drying quickly, she slipped a nightgown on and combed her hair, before finally heading for bed. It had been a most interesting day.

  Grinning, she snuggled down under the covers. She couldn’t wait to see Shamon without the beard. And he’d dissolve it never knowing it had been a con job all the way. He’d be without a beard for six months.

  A sudden thought struck her. He’d always had that beard since she’d first seen him four years ago. It seemed from the gossip she’d caught from smitten tavern wenches that he’d had it for years. Yet he’d been willing to give it up for one night with her.

  Cripes, that did make a little tingle go through her. Giving a little squirm of pleasure—hey, why deny it?—Gabie closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

  ~ * ~

  Mellar was furious. Stalking across the richly decorated room, he pivoted and glared at the viscomm. “You better find him, Cheran! You better bloody find him and get that disc back!”

  “We will, Sir.” Cheran’s expression remained calm.

  “If that falls into the wrong hands, I’ll be taking you down with me!”

  “We’ll get the disc and we’ll kill the man.”

  “No, bring him back alive. I want to find out who else is in on this little scheme. I’ll have the answers even if I have to flay him alive!” Storming back to his desk, Mellar dropped into the chair. “And God help anyone who aids him.”

  ~ * ~

  Misha was stretched out in the chair, her bare feet crossed at the ankles and propped up on the little table. A plate of cake crumbs was on the table along with an empty jug of juice. She was snoring softly, her long, white hair trailing over her shoulder to pool in her lap. Her mohawk was as neat as always, though Gabie doubted a mohawk could be messy at any time.

  The man was lying quietly and breathing steadily.

  Walking softly up behind Misha, Gabie tapped her briskly on the shoulder. “Oy!”

  Misha jerked upright and nearly fell off the chair. Awake within seconds, as was her habit, she scowled over her shoulder at Gabie. “Damn it, Gabie!”

  “Good to see you alert on the job.” Grinning, Gabie crossed over to the bunk, folded her arms and gazed down at the man. “Has he stirred?”

  “No.” Grumpy, Misha got up and joined her by the bunk. “He’s slept all night. Well, once he started groaning, so I roused Olin and got some painkillers for him, but apart from that he’s been quiet.”

  “Olin must have loved you.”

  “He’s a crotchety old fart.”

  “Yeah.”

  They both gazed down at the man.

  “So, what do you think?” Misha broke the silence.

  “I think he’s an escaped claimed outlaw who is unconscious and wounded.”

  “Oh my, do you think so?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “You amaze me with your powers of observation.”

  “I know, but someone has to be the brains of this outfit.”

  Misha rolled her eyes.

  “So has Olin checked him yet?” Gabie angled her head slightly.

  “Yes. Says he seems stable at this time. No further blood loss, vital signs a little weak but nothing to worry about yet. By the way, does he look any different from that angle?”

  “Surprisingly, no. And when you roll your eyes, does anything look different for you?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “I’m sure. Well, I’ll get Paz to relieve you on observation duty and you get some sleep.”

  “What are you going to be doing?”

  Gabie grinned. “I’m off to see the result of my winning that dice toss.”

  Paz was in the cargo hold taking inventory of the items and securing them in sections inside the big metal cupboards that lined the walls of the cargo hold. Gabie was of the opinion that out of sight was out of mind for fellow smugglers. Maybe. Anyway, it helped stop temptation. At first glance her hold always looked empty.

  “Where are you going?” He looked up from the handtronic.

  “To check out my prize.” She skipped down the ramp eag
erly.

  “The trader won’t be happy,” he predicted.

  “Probably not but he’ll honour the agreement.” Striding towards the big Daamen trading ship, Gabie grinned.

  Findel, Mikal, Etol and Heddam looked up as she stopped near the ramp of their ship.

  Eyes twinkling, Heddam placed the big barrel down next to the ramp and straightened up. “Good morn to you, lass.”

  “Hello.” She gazed past him. “Don’t tell me Shamon is too embarrassed to show his beardless face outside, the big baby?”

  “Not at all.” Heddam grinned. “He’s lurking up in the dining cabin, still breaking the fast.”

  “Cripes, he’s a bit of a slug-a-bed, isn’t he?” Rocking back and forth on her heels, Gabie surveyed the traders in amusement.

  They looked back at her with equal amusement.

  “He’s not an early riser by nature,” Etol informed her. “And he had a restless night last night, hence he’s a bit tired this morn and rose later than the rest of us.”

  “Worried about losing his precious beard, was he?” Gabie grinned wider.

  Mikal rested his arm against the side of a big crate. “Losing the beard didn’t seem to worry him as much as something else. While he slapped the dissolving gel on it last night I overheard him muttering to himself about,” he looked slyly at Gabie, “a certain wench winning impossible odds.”

  “Game of chance, dear boy. Game of chance.” She looked up the ramp. “Go and get him for me, will you?”

  Mikal shook his head. “Sorry, lass. Shamon said if you came to crow over your prize, you’d have to go up and see him.”

  “Pshaw. He is such a big baby!” Twining a loose strand of hair around her finger, she raised a brow at Heddam. “Won’t Simon mind me coming aboard?”

  “You being a smuggler and all?” Heddam shrugged. “He doesn’t appear too worried. Just told us to make sure you don’t stop and inspect the cargo.”

  “That man has no faith in private enterprise.”

  “Especially your private enterprise.” Heddam’s eyes twinkled.

  “So, where do I go?”

  Mikal straightened up. “I’ll drop you off. I need to go to the control cabin to see Simon anyway.”

  Giving the remaining traders a cheerful wave, Gabie followed the brawny teenager into the ship.

  The cargo hold was half full of crates and barrels, and several locked containers. No doubt the Daamens had a fortune in trade goods. The traders were well known and desperately sought by merchants everywhere, including in the Outlaw Sector, for they traded fairly and honestly.

  Joining Mikal on the platform lift, she had to grab hastily for the wall when it lurched suddenly before ascending.

  “Sorry, lass.” Mikal was all concern, reaching out to steady her. “I should have warned you. I guess we’re so used to it, I didn’t think.”

  “Don’t worry. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve nearly been thrown from a moving lift,” she replied cheerfully.

  “’Tis a dangerous business you’re in.” Mikal looked faintly worried.

  “Any form of space travel is dangerous at times.”

  He still looked worried, but didn’t say anything further. The platform moved past a long corridor with a narrow entry and what looked to be a control cabin at the end where the corridor widened.

  The lift clattered to a stop at the next floor, and Mikal said, “’Tis the dining and sleeping cabins. Shamon’s in the dining cabin on the right. He’ll bring you back down, all right?”

  “No worries.”

  With a nod, Mikal pressed the button and descended out of sight.

  Gabie looked around, the ship was quiet. The walls were lined with pale grey tiles, and the floor was white. Everything was clean and neat. As she walked down the corridor towards the dining cabin, she noted the cabins of the men. One bunk in each. Some of the cabins were tidy, several messy. Each trader had his own domain. There were more but she didn’t see them because she’d drawn level with the dining cabin and the sleeping cabins continued down on both sides.

  Peeking into the dining cabin, she saw that it was empty. She could either look for Shamon, who could be anywhere on this ship, or wait for a few minutes. He was bound to come once he knew she was onboard waiting for him.

  Gabie chose to wait. Entering the cabin, she glanced around. A long, wooden table was on the right with stools situated evenly around it. On the right was a bookshelf containing electronic and paperback books, a huge sofa and two big, sturdy armchairs facing each other with a low table between them. A food storage cabinet stretched against the far wall. Everything was fastened to the floor for safety.

  Moving across to the table, Gabie saw a handtronic lying on it. Picking it up, she saw that it had an electronic book programmed in, and she read a couple of lines. Intrigued, she decided to keep reading for a few minutes while waiting for her prize to appear.

  Perching up on the table, she swung her legs, but as she got more engrossed in the story, her legs stopped moving and she started nibbling on a nail.

  She was so engrossed in the story that she didn’t hear anyone enter the dining cabin or approach until two hands suddenly appeared to thump down on the table either side of her thighs. Startled, she looked up to find herself gazing at a devastatingly handsome face.

  For several seconds she wasn’t entirely sure who this trader was leaning down towards her. The brown eyes held a hint of heat as well as amusement, and his fair hair was tied back at the nape.

  Shamon.

  Cripes.

  Gabie blinked in surprise. But this was Shamon without a beard. His lips had an unmistakable masculinity, his cheekbones were cut strongly and his jaw was hard and determined. His features were strong, that was the only word to describe them. And to think he’d hidden that clean cut, devastating handsomeness under a beard all these years. It was a crime.

  Leaning forward on his arms, the bulging muscles flexing with every little movement, Shamon quirked one brow. “Well, lass?”

  “I... wow.” Without thinking, she reached up and traced one finger down his cheek, feeling the smoothness. “You sure do clean up good.”

  “Glad you approve.”

  He leaned forward a little more, his movements easy and slow, yet somehow predatory at the same time. Gabie’s heart started to pound a little faster.

  Thick lashes swept down as his gaze drifted lower, over her face and down further, and she could almost swear she felt the burn of his scrutiny through her clothes.

  When those thick lashes lifted, she found herself gazing into hot brown eyes. Carnal eyes.

  “Shamon...”

  “Aye?”

  “I—I have to go now.” Placing one hand on his chest—his naked, warm, muscular chest—she pushed him back gently. Or tried to. He didn’t budge an inch. “Shamon—”

  “Nay.” He leaned forward a little more.

  She was trapped on the table, his arms caging her in each side, his magnificent body in front of her. A faint clean, totally masculine scent drifted through her senses, and she found herself staring at his lips as he moved closer. Full lips that were sinfully male.

  He was pure testosterone on two muscled legs, and she wasn’t entirely certain her oestrogen could take all that testosterone, though it looked like she didn’t have much choice unless she started fighting. And then only if he let her go, for she had no doubt that once Shamon decided to latch onto something—or someone—he wouldn’t release them let go until he was good and ready.

  “Shamon, what are you doing?” She was dismayed to hear how breathless she sounded.

  Those sinful lips smiled slightly and heat flared in his eyes. “Collecting my consolation prize.”

  Alarm bells sounded inside her head but it was too late. Shamon closed the tiny gap between them swiftly, and then those sinful lips were upon hers and... stars, the kiss was sin itself!

  No sweet introductions here, no sir. Shamon’s tongue swept across her lips, demanding ent
rance, sweeping inside to plunder the depths of her mouth. It was a kiss so carnal that she had to either grab onto his shoulders or fall backwards. And she needed something to cling to while her mind whirled out of control.

  Sensations burst upon her. Heat, maleness, the heavy bulges of muscle under her hands, the total mastery of the kiss. He licked deep, demanding everything, giving no quarter, taking everything she had with a skill that kept her thoughts whirling.

  Caught up in delicious heat, Gabie kissed him back, tasting him in turn, demanding more in turn, giving him everything he demanded and wanting the same back.

  When they finally parted, Shamon leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, drawing in deep breaths.

  She was feeling a little breathless herself, not to mention weak. Cripes, if she stood now she was sure her knees would give out and she’d end up on the floor.

  A full minute passed before Shamon drew back a little to smile at her. Stars, a hot smile! “Well, little wench, you are full of surprises.”

  “Me?” She sought to steady her voice and to keep from reaching for him again.

  “Aye. You can be quite demanding in the kissing department.” His voice lowered. “What say we test out how demanding you can be in bed?”

  She blinked. Oh no. No, no, no. That wasn’t in the plans. “Oh, no. I won the prize, you didn’t.” Dragging in a deep breath, she added, “Though I don’t remember any consolation prize being agreed upon.”

  His smile was lazy, belying the concupiscence glow in his eyes. “’Twas there, just never discussed. You named your terms, I named mine.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  “I’m so bad. Want to punish me?” Hot humour gleamed in his eyes.

  Mentally Gabie fanned herself. “I think not.”

  “Shame.” Leaning forward, he brushed her cheek with his as he breathed warmly into her ear. “Want me to punish you instead?”

  Now that provoked all kinds of kinky thoughts a good girl like herself should never think about. Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a push. “No!”

  “Shame.” He didn’t move an inch and she jumped when his lips grazed her ear. “Shall we just go straight to the loving then?”

  “Loving?” If she wasn’t careful, she was going to melt into a puddle right on the table. “There’ll be no loving, trader! That was your prize, but you lost.”