Free Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) by Cathryn Cade Page A

empty stomach. He waited, unexpected humor ghosting across his lips again. Shouldn’t be long now.
    Very slowly, the corner of the rug lifted, to reveal dirty, tousled, dark blonde hair through which those blue eyes peered, full of wariness and distrust rivaling that of any wild creature on this new planet. Smart girl—he wasn’t the safest man to be around, especially not tonight. Slaves tended to get dead around him.
    “Drink?” he offered. “You prob’ly don’t need alcohol, but I have water.”
    Her full lips, dry and cracked now that the cosmetics were worn off, compressed with longing. Her long hair moved as she nodded.
    Moving slowly, he leaned over to take a bottle of water from the low table at his side. He bit the top off, spit it to one side, and leaned over to hold out the bottle. When she didn’t move, he set it on the carpet before her. Then he lay back on his divan.  
    She pulled the bottle under the rug with her. He grinned to himself again as he heard water gurgling down her throat and the bottle, crafted of organic wax and plant fibers, crackling as it collapsed. Then she sighed with evident relief.  
    “Plenty of food here.” He reached over and took a gremel fruit from the tray and bit into it, slurping the insides from the skin, savoring the sweet, tart pulp. Strange, he’d had no appetite till now. “Mm-mm, gremel. Sweet and juicy, just the way I like ’em.”
    The rug moved again as she craned her neck to watch him eat. She swallowed audibly and her stomach growled again.  
    He wiped his fingers, then twisted in his seat to guide the hovertray down to the carpet between them.  
    “Here,” he said. “Eat.”  
    She was still for a time, but when her stomach growled again, this time so loudly it nearly drowned out the qitar tune, she sat up very slowly, the rug and the borrowed robe slipping off her bare shoulders and back. She grabbed the robe around her again. She peered at the holovid a few times but always returned to studying him. Joran didn’t move a muscle.  
    “Eat,” he repeated and then turned back to his holovid.
    Slowly, hesitantly, as if waiting for him to slap her away, she reached for one of the flaky rolls. He waited until she had her mouth full and her attention focused raptly on the food in her slender, dirty hands, before he looked at her again.  
    He’d been right, she was going to be a beauty once the filth was scrubbed off. His hawk nose twitched at the stench of her unwashed body and that of her Mau captors.  
    He wondered if she had any idea how lucky she was that they’d kept her virginal.And that he’d been able to pay so much to save her. Of course it helped that the other bidders were afraid of what he’d do if they outbid him. All except the Serpentian whore-master and the anonymous human, and Joran had had a bottomless well of credit—the slavers’ own—to outbid them.  
    He’d saved her from a brothel or worse. Now he just had to figure out what the seven hells to do with her. Il Zhazid had purchased a slave girl from an illicit auction, but Joran Stark had all the women he knew what to do with. He sure as hells didn’t need or want a frightened little immi in his tont.
    And if his brothers ever found out he’d actually purchased a slave girl, they’d never let him hear the end of it.
    Joran rubbed his eyes wearily and pushed his hair back with his free hand. No, with the confrontation looming in the morning, he had more than enough trouble in his lap already. Although she was at least a distraction. Without realizing it, he’d consumed another gremel fruit and half a yama. He felt a little better with the food to soak up some of the brandy.
    Swift footsteps approached. He looked up at the holovid to see Qala stalking toward his tont, her stance militant against the glowlamp floating outside.  
    The door flap flew open. Qala ducked in. She’d showered and changed into a knit top of soft grass green over brown leggings. With her