Damn.
Manya had a security screen on the door. Why hadn’t it picked up his weapon? She felt the smile fade from her face, growing uncomfortable under his steady, cold gaze.
“We ask our customers to check their weapons before coming in here,” she said uncertainly, looking toward the bar for backup. Manya was deep in conversation with Kisti, the other barmaid. Neither looked in her direction. “It’s against station regulations to have a blaster in an establishment that serves alcohol. It’s a serious offense.”
“I prefer to keep my blaster with me,” he replied in a cool voice. She glanced at Vetch, saw him swallow, and then nodded her head, feeling sick. Black Leather was trouble. She had sensed that from the start, why hadn’t she trusted her instincts? Damn men.
“All right, then,” she said, trying to smile. “I’ll leave you to your drinks.”
This time there was no hint of a swing in her step as she walked away. She ignored the wave they gave her at another table, walked right past the bar and down the hallway to the ladies’ fresher. It was a one-seater, and she locked the door behind her with carefully controlled movements. She turned to the basin and flicked her hand in front of the spout. Warm water poured out, and she shook her head in disgust.
“Cold,” she said shortly. Obediently, the temperature of the water changed. She splashed her face with it, leaned against the counter and sighed. She needed to let Manya know something was up with this guy.
But would Manya be able to do anything about him? He wasn’t the kind of man to be dismissed lightly. If they just left him alone until he left, that might be safer for everyone. Only fools provoke predators, she reminded herself. Lay low and you’ll be fine.
She stood there for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and opened the door. He stood in the hallway opposite her. Waiting.
“I have to get back to work,” she said, trying to duck past him. He stepped forward, blocking her. She looked around nervously, hoping someone would see them, come to her rescue. There was no one.
“We’re going to talk,” he said shortly. He stepped forward again, backing her up against the door. She fumbled at the handle, damning whatever idiot had decided to install it so the door opened outward.
Otherwise she might have just been able to duck back inside. Not that a door would stop him. She would just have to brazen him out.
“What can I do for you?” she asked brightly, trying to sound confident. Up close he was huge, much bigger than she’d realized before. Her head came to the middle of his chest. She could smell him. Male.
A hint of something else, maybe the leather? Something inside her uncurled and she felt a tingle between her legs. She was actually attracted to the man, she realized in disgust, despite the blaster. How had that happened?
“How much?” he asked shortly, breaking through her mental dialogue.
“What?”
“How much?” he asked, reaching one hand to her chin, tilting it up so that she looked into his face. His features were grim, strained. The gash of his scar twisted the skin along his left cheek, a dark-red tangle of rigid flesh.
“For what?” she asked, confused. “Look, I won’t tell anyone about the blaster.”
“You.”
She burst out in nervous laughter—this was just too surreal. Instantly his face grew colder, and she fell silent. She had provoked him far too much already.
“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong impression,” she said carefully, searching his face. “I’m a waitress, not a whore. I’m not for sale.”
“Really?” he asked, his mouth twisting. “That’s not what I saw.”
“Just because I flirt with a customer doesn’t mean that I’m selling myself,” she said softly, eyes darting down the corridor. Where the hell was everyone? “I’m allowed to flirt. I like flirting.”
“You carry yourself like a whore,” he said grimly. He reached between them, slipping his fingers into her cle**age and pulling the credit chit out. “I saw them giving you money. Do you think you’re too good for me? You’re not.”
She stiffened, feeling fury build up within her, overwhelming the fear that had been there seconds before.
“You have no right to speak to me like this.”
He smiled, the movement twisting the scar until he looked like a monster.
“I’ll pay extra,” he said smoothly, stepping closer. He angled his head in toward hers. “I’ve had to do it before. You can even keep your eyes closed so you don’t have to see me. Just tell me the price.”
She shook her head, unsure what to say. He was dangerous and he was armed. Anything might set him off.
“It has nothing to do with how you look,” she said finally. “I’m simply not in the market. Go to a pleasure house, they’ll take care of you there.”
“I want you.”
He caught her hand in his. She tried to pull away from him, but he was so much stronger she might have been an insect for all the good it did her. He pulled the hand down between them and pressed against his groin.
His c**k pushed against his breeches, hard and ready. Reflexively she squeezed her fingers, and he gasped. He leaned forward against her, crushing her to the wall. She squeezed again and he moaned.
Panicked, she writhed against him, trying to escape.
“Don’t move,” he said between gritted teeth. “Not unless you want me to f**k you right here.”
Giselle froze.
After a moment he eased back, still holding her hand to his hard length. She could feel the heat of his arousal coming off in waves. To her disgust, she was responding. Her legs tingled and she held back a shiver.
“How much?” he asked again, his voice hoarse.
“I’m not for sale,” she whispered. “You have to believe that.”
“Everyone is for sale,” he said. “It’s just a matter of finding the right price.”
His eyes held hers for a moment; she was transfixed. Then he eased back from her, releasing her hand.
She drew it back, wiping it against her apron reflexively. He propped one arm up against the wall, imprisoning her just as effectively as before.
“I’m staying at the Pleasance Hostel with Vetch,” he said slowly. “He’s going off-station tonight, but I’ll be here another two cycles at least.” He lifted one hand between them and reached into her cle**age, slowly sliding his fingers back down between her br**sts. His fingers caressed the gentle slopes. Why had she worn such a low-cut, tight blouse? Why had she pulled it down so far? His gaze burned through her with an intensity beyond bearing. She closed her own eyes, denying him that window into her soul.