Can a wanted man and an amnesiac find happiness?
Flight Commander Geoff is a wanted man on Earth. Somebody has stolen his spaceship and made it look like he’s the culprit. The Honey contains every construction detail for her replacement. If those details fall into enemy hands—Marsian hands—another interplanetary war is far too possible.
Keely Ketchum has lost her memory. She knows she was found aboard a spaceship, but she has no idea how she got there. All she knows now is that Marsian Queen Paris has paired her with Geoff in order to find the queen’s demented great-uncle, Le Roi. But Geoff seems more interested in finding his spaceship.
The question of their future lies in Geoff’s acceptance of who she used to be.
Keely Ketchum wanted to kick ass. Intended to kick ass. Would kick ass—as soon as she finished admiring Justice Geoff’s perfect gluteus maximus. Not that she could see all of its perfection, but enough of it to make her drool. The man was, after all, almost clothed. If she could call clothes those skintight chaps that seemed to leave his ass exposed to all his admirers. Of which—in her opinion—there were too many clinging to him and playing grab ass with those hard-looking, well-muscled buttocks.
Another thing—and it made her even madder—she was almost certain she’d seen him completely naked. That booty shaking, Lothario snake! If only she could remember her past and what part Geoff might have played in it! The boss, Queen Paris said her memory might return—if she didn’t push too hard. But—Jonathan Jacob Jones!—she couldn’t even remember how she knew that phrase, let alone knew it was cussing.
“Care to dance, Ms. Ketchum?” The snake in question pronounced her name like two words—catch ‘em.
He must have activated some sort of silence cone around them because she no longer heard the ear-shattering music or the propositions his groupies shouted at him. And the atmosphere smelled almost free of smoke—cigars and the Goddess only knew what else!
His deep voice flowed over her like satin sheets and almost made her forget why she’d sought him out in the first place. She closed her eyes, then looked up at the ceiling. She didn’t want to know what the front of those chaps might reveal. Oh yeah. The boss had sent her to find Geoff and suggested she try Io. Since Paris had no idea in which den of iniquity Keely might locate Geoff, she’d wasted too damn much time looking in every sleazy dive on the entire moon. This particular dive was a giant step up from Geoff’s usual hangouts—or so she’d heard. Which was why she hadn’t found him sooner.
Io was the one place in the entire galaxy she wished she could forget. It catered to every whim and sin, known or only imagined. Geoff was partying hearty—probably on the information about Le Roi she’d gathered and Geoff had stolen from her! And no doubt had sold to the highest bidder. Who may or may not have been Queen Paris of Mars.
“Paris wants to see us,” Keely said, turning and looking up into Geoff’s hazel eyes—amused, condescending, sneaky, thieving eyes. His groupies, or maybe she should call them grope-ies, had disappeared. Thank the Goddess.
“Us?”
“Yeah, us. You gotta problem with that, Snake? Take it up with the queen when we get back to Mars. Let’s go.”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now. What’s the matter, Snake? Get airsick surfing the wormholes?”
“Ya know, Ketchum, for such a gnat-sized shrimp you’ve got a big mouth.”
Keely straighten to her full height—all five-feet three-inches of her quivering with indignation. True, she wasn’t nearly as tall as most humanoid females in the Milky Way, but she wasn’t exactly a shrimp either. “At least my knuckles don’t drag the ground when I walk. You coming?”
“Not yet, Ketchum. But I will.”
The amusement in his voice made her grind her teeth. His smile—even white teeth under a luxurious black mustache, dimples flashing—made her heart beat a little too fast. He held out his arm like an ancient-Earth knight…
Whoa! Where had that thought come from? With no time to think about it now, she considered flouncing away. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d ticked her off, she put her hand on his arm and flashed a smile of her own.
For a moment she thought he might kiss her hand. Stupid. He didn’t even like her. He’d hardly kiss her hand, let alone any other part of her. For some unfathomable reason, her gaze fastened on his mustache.
Unable to resist, she glanced down at his crotch and nearly swallowed her tongue. It looked like he had nothing on under his skintight chaps. Worse still for her composure, the bulge between his legs seemed to thicken and twitch. Returning her gaze to his mustache she said succinctly, “Womb broom.” Then she fled, no longer caring if he followed or stayed behind.
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