Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) Read Free

again, I’m gonna to put that smart mouth of yours to work.”
    The others roared with laughter. Dano fluttered his lashes at Joran. “Is that a promise, boss?”
    Joran cast a look at the stocky, ebony-skinned man glowering from the edge of the crowd. “No, because come to think of it, Orson’s too good with that blade of his. Now go wipe that scowl off his face.”
    Dano turned his sultry look on the other man, who jerked his chin in a silent command. Dano sauntered to him and Orson enfolded him in a possessive embrace, murmuring something to him that made the smaller man press a placating kiss to his lover’s throat.
    “What about my performance?” the redhead asked.  
    “You were stellar,” Joran said without looking at her. “You should be on the big vids, Qala.” He rose from his seat and moved to the center of the area. With a flick of his hand, the holovid disappeared, cutting off the blond reporter in mid-phrase.
    “We’re all on the big holovids now, boss,” a huge, craggy-faced man noted, his deep voice like soft thunder. “Travel Channel beams all over the galaxy. Not sure that’s a good thing.”  
    Var was a Space Forces veteran with a stoic demeanor and a dislike of uniforms and crowds in that order.
    Joran nodded wryly. “You speak truth, Var. And in the filthiest dens in the galaxy, they’re mocking us as we speak. But let ‘em.”
    “We mock them,” Qala said, jumping to her feet. “You watch—most of the galaxy will believe what that fool says about us. And meanwhile, we go on doing what we want, when we want—flying under the satcom.”
    Joran shrugged. “My thoughts exactly. Most beings believe all they see, and most of what they hear.”
    The diminutive Ilya flung herself onto Var’s lap with the abandon that said she knew he’d catch her. “Besides, lover, no one would ever believe I’d go for the Storm when I can have you.”
    The stoic man’s eyes softened as his arms closed around her. “Now I know you’re blowin’ smoke, sweet face.”
    Instead of answering with words, she kissed him, deep and wet as if they were alone.
    “Loved the part where you said ‘Why am I known as El Zhazid, the Storm?’” mimicked a tall man with ragged light brown hair. “‘Because we just drift across the plains, moving here and there like the wind.’”
    The crowd laughed again.  
    “Thank you, Haro. That was good, wasn’t it?” Joran agreed. “Always give them something that’s near enough to the truth that they can dock and think they’ve found the real bay.”
    Haro rose to his feet to strike a pose, glaring fiercely at the others. “You want the truth?” he intoned. “I will give you the truth. I am called Il Zhazid, because I am like the storm, sweeping in on caravans and blowing away the best of their cargo. I leave them shaken, rattled and rolled. But I do not destroy them—no! For I am not evil, I am simply...a force of nature.”
    The others roared their approval or hooted disparagingly.  
    Shaking his head, Joran gave Haro a shove that sent him reeling into Qala’s arms. He promptly wrapped a long arm around her and stole a kiss.
    “Get off me, you skrog!” She shoved at him, her cheeks flushing.  
    Joran sighed inwardly. He was getting tired of their balancing act of camaraderie laced with sexual awareness, but he was not fucking his lieutenant—that would not end well. She was one of the fiercest fighters he knew, and there was no one he’d rather have at his back, but as for anything more, no.  
    Despite easy access to vaccinations for birth control and STIs for hundreds of years now, sex meant something more to women. It often left them expecting commitment. Males forgot this at their own peril.  
    He fucked camp followers, prostitutes and other women who were attractive and willing. Women who knew better than to expect anything more. He didn’t spend more than one night in a woman’s arms. He didn’t look to his warriors’ partners, because