One month from the day they first landed on Caledonia, Renee stood on the roof of her mansion, looking out over the city. She hadn't lost sight of their mission. As a biologist, her job was to uncover information about the planet's living resources. The native animals...plants to avoid...anything that could prove fatal to colonists. Her servants knew better than to feed her anything poisonous, so it took many trips to the market apothecaries and speaking with other lianirs to learn that kind of information. She was well liked among the lianirs she knew, and they answered her questions in return for answers of their own.
How she kept her master interested, for example. The trouble was, he wasn't just any Baristhani master. He was Jack.
Jack worked tirelessly, learning all he could about shipping while making discreet inquiries about uninhabited regions. No Earth colony would be able to live in close contact with Baristhan or its culture, but he had hope that with enough distance between them, the two races could share the planet. His talent for speculation kept them in enough funds to maintain their wealthy lifestyle. By day, he worked on the docks—by night, he came home to her.
Even under the broad light of day, Renee blushed thinking of the things he did to her body. Her eyes dropped to where her pierced nipples protruded through the gauzy fabric of her tunic. She couldn't believe the kind of thoughts she had when she looked at them. The rings gave her a sense of security, as if Jack was protecting her even when he was gone. The personal guards he'd hired for her certainly helped, but it was strange...she'd never realized how alone and isolated she'd felt until he claimed her as his own. Even if that claim could only last another three months...
Suddenly nauseated, she turned away from the railing and fell to her knees beside a potted plant, heaving the contents of her stomach into the planter. Not again...three mornings in a row—one other time if she counted last Monday. She covered her face with her hands, panicking. Afraid to admit the truth. She was... she was... "Pregnant with Jack's child," she finished, forcing herself to say the words.
The idea both thrilled and scared her. But now that she'd admitted it to herself, her mind worked quickly. He didn't know. She could hide it from him another two months, perhaps three if she faked her period and pretended to gain weight. By the time the mission was over, they would go back to the space station and from there, go their separate ways. She would have the child and care for it with money from a generous settlement—the Air & Space Administration owed her that much.
She felt it would be the right thing for him, too. Jack didn't want to be a father. He was a sex god, an alpha male built for pleasuring women, not changing diapers. Oh sure, he always talked about "knocking her up," but he said it because it turned him on, not because he truly wanted children. He liked the idea of his own virility, not a woman with a swollen belly or a squalling child.
Renee decided to take a walk down to the public bathhouses. She felt gross from throwing up, and needed to soak away her concerns for the future.
Calling on her personal guards, she left the house and strolled down the thoroughfare into the heart of town. It was a busy day in the market, and at times like this, she truly liked Baristhan. She might have come to tolerate—even enjoy—some of the things about Caledonian sex lives, but she still hated the society. Not every master was as attentive as Jack. Most men bought and sold their lianirs on a regular basis, wearing women out much before their time until the workhouses were filled with ancient crones of forty.
But today wasn't an auction day, and while the thought of those workhouses still made her angry, Renee liked the sounds and smells of the market. It was like being transported back in time. She wondered if this was what Baghdad had been like a thousand years ago.
She paid the man at the door to the bathhouses, and told her guards to wait nearby. She entered the steamy structure. A lianir of her status ranked a private pool—Renee took advantage of the luxury gladly.
With a sigh of anticipation, she closed the door behind her and dragged her tunic over her head. The gauze rubbed her tender nipples and a spark of arousal shot down to her pussy. Jack had done this to her...made her want sex like this. She hated him.
