you, sweetness. We had the slaves carry you here."
He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what had happened. He slid his hands over the Saija sheets, feeling their coolness against his skin. Bare skin. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his naked chest. Lifting the sheet, he saw he had on…nothing. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
"I don't know. You didn't have any when the slaves brought you. You were just sprawled out on that blanket, as naked as the day you were born." She sighed, running her fingers along his side. "It was a sight to behold."
He grabbed her hand to keep it from wandering. There was only one way he could have a major memory lapse and end up on Saron without his knowledge. He had seen enough narcotics used for controlling prisoners to recognize the symptoms. He'd been drugged—and he could guess who was responsible.
Moriah was going to pay.
Much later, after he'd revived enough to drink some broth and take a shower, he borrowed clothing and went looking for his ship. Nowhere in sight—and neither was Moriah. He limped back to the Pleasure Dome, his head still throbbing, but refused to let Lani lay a hand on him. He didn't want a female anywhere near him.
Oh, yes, the clever, thieving Moriah was going to pay for this, all right. If he didn't kill her first.
* * * *
Moriah turned on the viewscreen. An image formed and sharpened into focus. Her body tensed, as it did whenever she came face to face with a Leor. In spite of the fact she'd had numerous contacts with members of the militant race; in spite of the distance of a quadrant between her and this particular Leor, his powerful presence jolted her. Reminding her that, at best, her position in this professional relationship was tenuous. At worst, life-threatening.
As Leor propriety dictated, she made direct eye contact, staring into impassive obsidian eyes. Leor eyes had no pupils, no expression or emotion. Instead, the black, bottomless pools had the ability to mesmerize a victim, either to probe the truth from a weaker mind or move in for the kill. Fortunately, that power didn't extend over great expanses of space. Again following the strict procedure mandated by the Leors, she waited for her contact to speak first.
"Captain Cameron," he rasped in his guttural voice. "Greetings."
"Your Lordship, Commander Gunnar," she responded. "May a thousand suns shine favorably upon you."
"You attended the iridon auction?"
As if she would dare admit otherwise. "Yes, your Lordship. The negotiations were successfully completed."
"When will the transfer take place?"
"In about twenty-five standard cycles. The iridon is not stored in this quadrant. It must be shipped in and then brought to Saron."
If this information displeased Commander Gunnar, he gave no indication. Since the Leors didn't want the Controllers to know of their desperate need for iridon, nor did they wish to pay the excessive tariffs on shipping the iridon out of the quadrant, they had to depend on smugglers such as Moriah to obtain it for them. Like a serpent lying in wait for an unsuspecting krat, the Leors were methodical and patient. They would achieve their goal.
The commander inclined his bald head, the light glinting off it. Leors, male and female alike, had no hair anywhere on their bodies. Because their bodies drew in heat from outside sources, they wore little clothing, to better absorb warmth from their environment. Moriah found her attention shifting to Gunnar's powerful, bare chest.
But it was another chest she was thinking of, one that had been warm and tantalizing beneath her lips. The unbidden recollection of how Sabin had felt pressed against her, how his mouth had taken possession of hers, sent surprising tremors through her. She struggled to shake away the memories.
"Captain! Did you hear me?"
"Uh, pardon me, your Lordship. I didn't hear your last statement."
His unreadable look bored through her. "I asked if you would be switching ships again. I
He closed his eyes, trying to figure out what had happened. He slid his hands over the Saija sheets, feeling their coolness against his skin. Bare skin. Opening his eyes, he glanced down at his naked chest. Lifting the sheet, he saw he had on…nothing. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
"I don't know. You didn't have any when the slaves brought you. You were just sprawled out on that blanket, as naked as the day you were born." She sighed, running her fingers along his side. "It was a sight to behold."
He grabbed her hand to keep it from wandering. There was only one way he could have a major memory lapse and end up on Saron without his knowledge. He had seen enough narcotics used for controlling prisoners to recognize the symptoms. He'd been drugged—and he could guess who was responsible.
Moriah was going to pay.
Much later, after he'd revived enough to drink some broth and take a shower, he borrowed clothing and went looking for his ship. Nowhere in sight—and neither was Moriah. He limped back to the Pleasure Dome, his head still throbbing, but refused to let Lani lay a hand on him. He didn't want a female anywhere near him.
Oh, yes, the clever, thieving Moriah was going to pay for this, all right. If he didn't kill her first.
* * * *
Moriah turned on the viewscreen. An image formed and sharpened into focus. Her body tensed, as it did whenever she came face to face with a Leor. In spite of the fact she'd had numerous contacts with members of the militant race; in spite of the distance of a quadrant between her and this particular Leor, his powerful presence jolted her. Reminding her that, at best, her position in this professional relationship was tenuous. At worst, life-threatening.
As Leor propriety dictated, she made direct eye contact, staring into impassive obsidian eyes. Leor eyes had no pupils, no expression or emotion. Instead, the black, bottomless pools had the ability to mesmerize a victim, either to probe the truth from a weaker mind or move in for the kill. Fortunately, that power didn't extend over great expanses of space. Again following the strict procedure mandated by the Leors, she waited for her contact to speak first.
"Captain Cameron," he rasped in his guttural voice. "Greetings."
"Your Lordship, Commander Gunnar," she responded. "May a thousand suns shine favorably upon you."
"You attended the iridon auction?"
As if she would dare admit otherwise. "Yes, your Lordship. The negotiations were successfully completed."
"When will the transfer take place?"
"In about twenty-five standard cycles. The iridon is not stored in this quadrant. It must be shipped in and then brought to Saron."
If this information displeased Commander Gunnar, he gave no indication. Since the Leors didn't want the Controllers to know of their desperate need for iridon, nor did they wish to pay the excessive tariffs on shipping the iridon out of the quadrant, they had to depend on smugglers such as Moriah to obtain it for them. Like a serpent lying in wait for an unsuspecting krat, the Leors were methodical and patient. They would achieve their goal.
The commander inclined his bald head, the light glinting off it. Leors, male and female alike, had no hair anywhere on their bodies. Because their bodies drew in heat from outside sources, they wore little clothing, to better absorb warmth from their environment. Moriah found her attention shifting to Gunnar's powerful, bare chest.
But it was another chest she was thinking of, one that had been warm and tantalizing beneath her lips. The unbidden recollection of how Sabin had felt pressed against her, how his mouth had taken possession of hers, sent surprising tremors through her. She struggled to shake away the memories.
"Captain! Did you hear me?"
"Uh, pardon me, your Lordship. I didn't hear your last statement."
His unreadable look bored through her. "I asked if you would be switching ships again. I
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