Free Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) by Cathryn Cade

place to him, warm and enclosed. Off the cold, wet, filthy streets. And above all else, a place where he could let his guard down, knowing only his brothers could get near him. But whatever Logan wanted, he’d do, because he was never doing anything that would make the two older youths decide he wasn’t worth the trouble to keep him.
    His heart pounding, he’d smiled widely, to show that he was on board with whatever this new thing was Logan wanted him to do. “Let’s watch, Joran. I wanna be rich, don’t you?”
    The two had stared at him and then laughed, their boy-men faces breaking into nearly identical looks of humor, eyes dancing.  
    Joran had grabbed Creed under one arm and dug his knuckles into the top of his head. “Yeah, I wanna be rich, little bro,” he’d said in a voice that mocked Creed, but not in a mean way. “Like that will ever really happen. But Logan’s the one with the credit, so I guess we better listen to him.”
    Then they’d watched the videos, the three of them. And practiced eating their vegeprotein and drinking their bottled water with the grace and élan portrayed in the holovid. Creed had spoiled the effect more than once by breaking into snickers as Joran ate with exaggerated delicacy, his pinkie in the air, an expression of disdain on his face. But neither of the older boys had minded.  
    Now Creed watched his guest pick up her mug of coffee and take a sip, with the same elegance as the people in the holovids. She blinked and her delicate brows shot together as she peered into her cup.  
    He smiled to himself and handed her the small pitcher. He was used to that reaction to his powerful brew. “Creamer?”  
    “Oh, thank goodness—I mean, thank you.” She poured a large dose into her coffee, and took another sip, then sighed with pleasure. “That’s better. As good as the coffee Kiri serves.”
    Creed stopped, the dish of eggs in his hand. “Kiri te Nawa?” Logan’s mistress was the only Kiri he knew, and she served coffee professionally, or had on Earth II.
    Taara stilled, gaze on her coffee, dark lashes shielding her gaze. “Is that her name? I, um, I used to stop at her coffee stand sometimes. Kiri’s Kaffe, I think it’s called.”
    He spooned a large mound of eggs onto his plate, and held the bowl for her. “You work the concourse at the space port?” Maybe that was where Logan had found her.
    She froze, a spoonful of eggs falling onto her plate with a soft plop. Then she dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clash and scowled at him, arching brows together, a wash of pink color across her cheekbones. “No, I don’t work the space port,” she said through her teeth. “I’m not a—a port walker.”
    Creed watched her snatch a roll from the basket as if it were a stone to hurl at him. Huh. Seemed even whores—no, make that courtesans —had professional pride. Logan had said she was a lady, so maybe she worked one of the exclusive clubs he heard about. Classy bordellos, where a man or woman with enough credit could find most anything they desired.
    “Sorry,” he said and meant it. “Here, have a vegsausage.”
    “I don’t eat them.” She cut into the plump, whole-grain roll with dainty precision and without looking at him. She took a bite, white teeth slashing into the soft roll.
    Creed lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck. Bet she’d bite him if he got too near just now.
    With a mental shrug, he dug into his own breakfast, dividing his attention between the food, which was excellent, and watching her, which was also not hard. Quark, she was pretty. And when she was angry, her high, round breasts jiggled a little with the force of her movements, which was fascinating enough that he missed his mouth with a bite of egg and ended up having to scoop it off his lap, which luckily had a large cloth napkin spread on it.  
    “So,” she said, with an air of determined courtesy. “What do you do for recreation here?”
    He chewed and swallowed