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The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station

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When pirates conquer Farflung Space Station, security chief 'Duke' Dukelsky fights back with only two allies--but luckily for him, one of them is Sandrina, a mysterious waif who might just be the most alluring, and powerful, woman in space.
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Description

The Guardian Angel of Farflung Station

by Edward Hoornaert

Genre  Sci-Fi Romance

Tags  science fiction romance, science fiction adventure, science fiction, romance, SF romance, SF adventure, sci-fi, sci-fi romance, space station, space pirates, underdog, kick-ass princess, futuristic, futuristic romance, SFR brigade

Release  October 21, 2014

Editor  Sharon Pickrel

Line Editor Nancy Canu

Cover Designer  Celairen

Words 36871

Pages 137

ISBN 978-1-77127-613-9

Price $5.50


Back Cover

When pirates conquer Farflung Space Station, security chief 'Duke' Dukelsky fights back with only two allies. One is Lockey, a kick-ass princess who lusts for Duke's body. The other is Sandrina, a mysterious and alluring waif with more secrets--and secret powers--than the rest of Farflung Station put together.

Some of Sandrina's secrets might free the station and Lockey's repressed needs--yet at the same time, enslave Duke's heart forever.


Excerpt

When Duke strode into the room, she tried to dart past. He caught her waist in the crook of his elbow. With his other elbow, he tapped the jamb, closing the door.

"Principal Officer Dukelsky," he began, "Station—"

Flailing at him, she slapped him in the mouth.

"—Security," he finished.

She raised her hand again, but he caught her wrist. She hadn't clawed his face when she had the chance, so he was gentle but firm. With one arm, he lifted her and deposited her on the unmade bed across from the comp outlet.

She bounced back up as though the mattress were a trampoline. In grabbing her again, Duke's legs got caught in hers and they both tripped. He landed on top of her on the bed, breaking the fall with his arms.

As she squirmed under him, Duke realized he'd been wrong. She wasn't a girl. Her body was mature enough to remind him he hadn't been in bed with a female in far too long. Ignoring the growing awareness, he circled her wrists with one hand and held them over her head.

"Stop fighting," he ordered.

Though her lips clenched and her jaw jutted forward, she stopped struggling.

"That's better, ma'am. If I let you up, do you promise no more fighting?"

Her jaw remained set. She said nothing.

Duke gave an exasperated sigh. "You're making it harder on yourself. By the book, then. State your name, occupation, tattoo ID, and residence pod."

She said nothing. The only sound she made was a tiny shlup, as though sucking down saliva.

"What were you doing at the comp outlet?"

Nothing but silence.

"Were you transferring Technician Bahadur's credits to your own account?"

She pursed in lips in outrage and gave a passionate headshake.

"What's your name?"

Instead of answering, she stared up at him. Her fierce her expression softened. Her eyes went wide and dreamy. Her hips twitched against his, reminding Duke he was lying on top of—and reacting to—a woman who suddenly didn't mind this intimate, full-body contact.

His animal self didn't mind, either. Silent Sally felt wonderful. Which was terrible.

She stared up with a tiny smile. From up close, he estimated her age at mid-twenties; her small size, baggy smock, and large eyes had fooled him. Her tousled hair was black except where a shaft of light revealed brown and red undertones. Though no beauty, underneath the smudges and grease she was an appealing little elf, soft in all the right places, warm, sexy, and—

Time to get off her, man. Now.

Rolling to one side, Duke reached for the wrist ribbons tucked into the back of his belt. When he started to string them around her hands, she shook her head with the same exaggerated vehemence as when she'd denied transferring credits.

"If I don't cuff you, will you cooperate?"

She nodded.

When he stood, her gaze zeroed in on his crotch. She smirked.

No, actually she didn't. He expected a smirk because his unprofessional reaction deserved one, or worse, but instead, her face broadcast self-satisfied surprise. He sat on the edge of the bed and laid his com analyzer across his lap. Hey, that was the only place to put it.

While he recited Farflung's statement of prisoner rights—they'd had none before he arrived—she listened silently.

"State your name, ma'am, how you came to use an unauthorized override to gain access, and why you were fiddling with Technician Bahadur's comp outlet."

She gave a quick shake of the head. Her eyes glazed and a line of saliva appeared at the corner of her mouth, but the fake, don't-blame-me-I'm-a-mental-defective routine came too late.

"By all the Draynian gods, you said you'd cooperate," he reminded.

With a sigh and a shrug, Silent Sally studied him. Duke studied her, as well. Flawless toffee-colored skin enveloped a heart-shaped face. Her eyes were smoky gray, a concealing sort of color, as though she hid her soul behind a smokescreen. Yet there was none of the guilty evasiveness of your average petty thief. Instead, her eyes proclaimed a shy yet knowing innocence—and an unabashed interest in him. This woman was a baffling parcel of contradictions and paradoxes that hid unselfconscious sex appeal. And in response, nerve signals shot up and down his spine in an unprecedented display of synaptical fireworks.

Like most security professionals, he believed in hunches. Translated into expert-speak, hunches were subconscious personality assessments based on years of study and professional experience. Hunches elevated human cops over robots. A hunch told him Silent Sally wasn't dangerous…to anyone but him, that is.

Duke paused to analyze his motivation, as training dictated. Was he thinking with his groin?

Well, yes and no. Being as honest as possible, no, she probably wasn't a case for Security. But yes, his groin was part of the inner dialogue.

With a growl, Duke tore his gaze from her mesmerizing eyes. He was getting carried away by the first delicious body he'd held since he took command of this station's detachment. Hormones and frustration, that's all he was feeling. Not premonitions. Not desire.

"Talk," he barked in his best cop voice.

After another quick shlup, she opened her mouth wide.

She had no tongue.


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