She pulled back a little and he lifted his head, eyes heavy-lidded but a little wary as he looked down at her. "Is this normal?" she gasped. "I feel so strange."
"Strange?" He straightened a bit more, a frown flickering over his face.
"Yes. I feel really weak when you touch me."
His face lit up with a warm smile that did wonderful, terrible things to her insides. He let go of her face and grasped her shoulders, turning her and then applying pressure until she was perched on the edge of the Chief’s desk. "Better?"
She nodded solemnly, wondering if she was being an idiot again. He’d stopped kissing her, after all. That wasn’t the result she’d been going for. "My breathing is erratic and my heart is beating way too fast."
He lifted one of her hands and pressed it flat to his chest. "Mine, too."
She stared at his chest, fascinated. It rose and fell almost as fast as her own, and she could feel the hard thump of his heart within. "Oh," she murmured, though over half of her attention was riveted on the feel of hard muscle under her fingers. Incredible. He was so different from her.
He lifted her hand away and kissed the palm, very lightly and quickly, sending a shiver up her arm and down her spine. His smile had changed in a way that made heat bloom in her middle again.
"I’ve also got chills, and I’m warm all over…"
"Yeah," he said in an oddly rough voice, leaning closer with his hands on the desk on either side of her, eyes fixing on her mouth. "I know the feeling."
"So that’s all normal?"
"Mm-hmm."
"In that case, can I try kissing you now?"
"Yes, please," he growled.
She placed her hands on either side of his face, exactly as he had done. It made him smile, eyes lighting up and twinkling at her. She ignored it—she was on a mission. Pulling his face to hers, she brushed her lips against his, moving them as he’d moved them, then finding new ways for their mouths to fit together. After a few long, delirious moments, she allowed a small space between them to ask, "Am I doing this right?"
"Very, very right," he rasped, his voice even rougher now than before.
She would have continued kissing him, but she suddenly discovered the texture of his face. Pulling back, she studied him as her fingers flexed against his skin. Both smooth and rough on the surface, hard contours underneath, soft lips, stern brow, tender eyelids…he was a study in contradictions. She could stare at him for hours. "You’re so different from me."
"Can I hold you?" he whispered.
Her attention was caught by his lashes, so full and dark, and what an incredible contrast they made against his bright eyes. "Hold me?" she asked absently.
"Put my arms around you."
"Mm-hmm." She hadn’t really paid attention to what she was agreeing to until his arms went around her, curling her close. "Oh."
"Stop?"
"No," she answered, considering the warm strength of his arms around her. Better than holding hands. Much better. "No, hold me."
He cradled her close, one arm around her back and the other slipping up until his hand curled around the back of her neck. Her head tucked neatly under his chin, and Ryelle leaned against him, breathing him in and feeling a dizzy sense of joy and contentment. He smelled smoky, an exotic scent that made her wonder if his skin tasted like he smelled. He wasn’t pressing her close, but she could still feel the tremors that ran through his body. The vibration made her want to get closer, to wrap his warmth and strength around her as tightly as possible. But when she shifted toward him, he let her go with a shaky breath.
"Time to stop," he said in a hoarse voice, holding her gently by the upper arms and moving away. His eyes blazed like blue suns.
Curious and a little hurt, she asked, "Why?"
"Because I like holding you too much."
"Too much? That doesn’t make any—"
He stopped her with a kiss, which she couldn’t really argue with. Especially this new kiss, slicker, hotter, harder. But it ended almost before it had begun. "Too much," he said in a rough voice that seemed to sink into her to her bones. Then he moved away, collapsing into a chair next to the desk. "Let’s just talk a bit."
She sank back down onto the edge of the desk with a frown. "I’d rather finish that last kiss."
He groaned, running rough fingers over his face and through his hair. "I finish that kiss, and we’re both in serious trouble," he said to the floor, linking his fingers behind his neck as he rested his elbows on knees.
"Trouble?"
He let his hands dangle and looked up at her, his sky eyes filled with a desperate kind of humor. "You’ve heard of sex, right?"
She scowled at him. "I had the class."
"Then maybe you’ll recognize the flight path we were on."
"We weren’t—that wasn’t—"
"Kissing’s a long way from the end, but it’s a damned good start. Especially how you kiss," he added with a smoldering look at her mouth. "And I don’t wanna go too fast and scare—" She kicked him in the knee. "Ow!"
"I told you, you don’t scare me."
He rubbed at his knee, half laughing, half glaring at her. "Well, that took care of part of the problem. I can go out in public without embarrassing myself now. Let’s take a walk." He stood up, favoring the knee with a reproachful glance at her, before taking her elbow and urging her toward the door.
She went with great reluctance, still feeling the heated effects of his last kiss. "Embarrassing yourself how?"
He groaned again and she felt her cheeks warm. "We need to talk about something else. Anything else, right now."
They left the Chief’s office and Declan dropped his hand from her elbow. Rebellious resentment surged up in her. To hell with her position and what the Institute might think of it—she needed his touch more than anything in the universe. She’d done without it for far too long, and she wasn’t going to anymore. She slipped her hand in his and was rewarded with his sunshine smile, his gentle, secure grip sending warmth spiraling up her arm and blooming in her chest in expanding happiness.
She didn’t have a communicator and the deck outside of the Chief’s office was far too loud for conversation, so she contented herself with just looking at him, marveling at the light in his eyes and the curve of his smile. She’d touched that curve, put her lips there. She’d actually kissed someone. How amazing.
Chapter 8
Lost in her contemplation of Declan, Ryelle wasn’t aware of the crew staring or where they were wandering until they stepped into the anteroom and the door closed off the blast of sound behind them. He paused, losing a bit of his smile.
"Ryelle, did you need to pick up your hair net?"
She registered the reluctance in his tone, but most of her was too absorbed by horror to comment. She’d forgotten to put it back on again. Grieve was going to lose his mind. "No, I left it in the commander’s office," she answered absently, fretting over what she’d tell her handler. Then resentment surged again and she tightened her grip on Declan’s hand. "And that’s where it’s going to stay," she said, lifting her chin with a challenging look.
A grin flashed across his face, but his tone was cautious. "You sure?"
"If they want to be crass enough to eavesdrop on my private conversations, they can go through the Odyssey to do it. And if I haven’t lost control of my power by now, I’m certainly not going to, so they don’t need the inducer either."
His grin flowed away like fast moving water. "Inducer?"
She stared up at him with an internal wince. She’d forgotten that he didn’t know about that aspect of the snood. Only the commander had known and the captain of the Destiny. She had a feeling Declan wasn’t going to appreciate the inner workings of the Institute mindset on this subject. "Well…"
"Like pain inducer?" he asked, his voice sharper and louder with each word. "Those bastards put a sarkin’ pain inducer on you? What the bloody hell for?"
She winced again but for a different reason. His
grip had tightened quite a bit. "Could you stop grinding my hand into a different shape? I rather like how it usually looks."
"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," he blurted, his expression contrite as he lifted their clasped hands and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. "Did I hurt you?"
Her training was no match for such huge emotions. She felt a silly smile stretch her face and couldn’t do a thing about it. "Did you just call me honey?"
His lips curled the faintest bit, but his eyes were wary. "Yeah, is that okay?"
She could not kill the smile. It just went on and on, and she was positive it made her look like an idiot. She was also on the fast road to not caring at all. "I like it," she said in a voice that sounded full of bubbles. "What do I call you?"
"Anything you want. Why the pain inducer, Ryelle?"
Well, that killed it. She gave him a disgruntled look and pulled him toward the corridor. "It’s how I perfected my control over my ability. Any misuse of my power could be catastrophic, as I believe I’ve already explained."
"They hurt you to make you not use your power? That’s sick."
"Whatever your objections to the method, you and the commander have to agree that it worked. I’m perfectly in control."
He scowled. "The commander knows about this and still lets you wear that blasted thing?"
"It’s my turn to change the subject. I’m not wearing it now, so let’s talk about something else."
He muttered something under his breath that she didn’t hear, but his tone was acid enough to burn. With his face set in pinched lines of disapproval and anger, he growled, "Fine. Changing the subject."
Then he said nothing. Ryelle sighed, sifting through her diplomatic training to come up with a conversational gambit. "The Chief said that you needed some new, delightful scenery. Have you visited the observation deck very often?"
He hadn’t, so she took him there. Showing zero signs of fear, which annoyed her not a little, he wandered out in holographic space with sparkling eyes and open delight. While gratified by his enjoyment, she was disconcerted by her own reaction to seeing him in space. It was no use telling her foolish brain that it was only a hologram and he was not going to go flying off into the void—with every step he took, a little spurt of furtive panic made her heart jump. As soon as she could manage it without giving herself away, she hustled him right back off the observation deck.
He then took her to the hydroponics lab, a hanging garden of green delight. She was entranced by the deeply floral fragrance of the place and the moist warmth of the air. It reminded her of the gardens at the Institute, one of the few places she’d ever felt any peace. She talked about it with him, describing the gardens and how she’d felt visiting them. He told her he’d never seen a real garden, having never set foot on a planet before. That led to a discussion of the differences between space living and planetary living, which led to a whole slew of other topics.
They wandered the corridors of the Odyssey, visiting the ship’s nooks and crannies, talking all the while about anything and everything. Ryelle was completely absorbed by him, intrigued by how he saw things, what he knew, how he felt. She could have talked to him for hours, for days, the rest of her life.
It astonished her to discover how much time had actually passed. Declan’s stomach announced the time with ferocious zeal, making them look at each other in surprise. While she smothered a giggle behind one hand, he rolled his eyes with a hint of color in his cheekbones and pulled her to a com unit. He swore when he saw the time and contacted the Chief.
"Sir, really sorry, lost track of time—"
"As far as I’m concerned, your timing couldn’t be better. We’re expecting you and Ryelle for dinner in roughly five minutes. Do hurry. The commander has that feral gleam in his eye and I can’t guarantee the quantity of food if you’re late."
Declan gulped audibly. "Yes, sir." His eyes were wide when he turned to look down at Ryelle. "Dinner at the Sheridan’s with the commander?" he asked in a tight voice.
She studied him for a moment with pursed lips. "He makes you nervous."
"Duh…" he said softly, tugging her along on a brisk pace down the corridor. "I was only face to face with him once, y’know. He interviewed me for my job. Thought I was gonna throw up."
"I forget how many people are actually on the Odyssey. Are there crew he’s never met before?"
"I don’t know," he mumbled, face pale and tense.
"I’ll ask him later," she decided, watching him with furtive amusement. "He’s really not so bad. Has an atrocious sense of humor, but you get used to it."
He shot her a horrified glance and she couldn’t contain a bubble of laughter.
Declan couldn’t see the humor in this god-awful situation but didn’t complain. He loved to hear her laugh. Loved everything about her. He was so gone that he managed a quick foolish grin for her while on his way to his doom. Maybe the Chief was okay with him taking an afternoon off without asking, but he expected the commander to have a different attitude about Declan stealing his telenetic away for hours. He’d shirked his duty and hers, and he expected to hear about it at full volume.
Sweat broke out on his brow and his stomach clenched. He gripped her hand tighter and lengthened his stride. It would be even worse if they were late. They arrived at the Sheridan’s door in just under five minutes, a little breathless, but mostly composed. Ryelle had a sparkle in her dark eyes that made him want to smile back, but his face was too stiff.
Mina opened the door with a welcoming smile for them both. He muttered the appropriate response to her greetings and entered with Ryelle at his side, his stomach rolling greasily as he met the commander’s icy gaze over the top of Mina’s head.
"Ryelle. Crewman McCrae." His tone was deeply menacing as he said the younger man’s name.
Declan felt all the blood drain from his face. Mina was trying to usher them to the dinning area, but Commander Task pointed him in a different direction. "A moment of your time, Crewman."
Oh god, he was dead. He tried not to squeak as he said, "Yes, sir."
He tried to head where the commander had ordered, but Ryelle didn’t let go of his hand. He gave her a quick, anxious glance to find her frowning at their commanding officer.
"You look as though you’re planning something unpleasant, sir," she said in a tone filled with sharp suspicion.
"Very astute," he responded without taking that piercing gaze from Declan.
"Shall we discuss the size of your nose again?" she said with a silky menace that finally grabbed the commander’s attention.
Declan stared at her, aghast. She was glaring at the commander as if he was a grunt who’d just spit on her shoes. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was just short of threatening the man.
The commander’s mouth twisted as though he was suppressing a smile. "It’s a custom, little mims. I’ll make it as painless as possible."
She tilted her head with a puzzled crease to her brows, shoulders relaxing a bit. "A custom?"
"Samuel," Mina sighed, but the commander ignored her.
Declan didn’t know what the hell they were talking about, but he was relieved to see them less furious. Apparently he wasn’t off the hook, though. The commander jerked his head at Declan in a silent order to hop to it. He hopped, pulling his hand free of Ryelle’s with a sharp sense of loss.
"We’ll join you at dinner presently," the commander told the women in a smooth voice as he followed Declan into the living room. He might not sound pissed any more, but the face he turned to Declan was pure steel, all sharp edges and hard threats. "Crewman, have a seat," he said, the words pleasant enough, but the tone underlined them in violence.
Declan stood at full attention with terror in his heart. "Sir, I apologize for keeping Ryelle from her duties. I did not notice the time. I had no idea it was getting so late. That’s not an excuse, there’s no excuse, sir, I take full responsibility, and I’ll accept any reprimand you see fit, sir." He babbled this speech to the man
’s chin, since he couldn’t meet that razor stare and still manage to speak.
"Very noble. Unnecessary, though. I’d given Ryelle leave to go, and from what I understand, the Chief had done the same to you. That’s not why I called you in here."
"It isn’t?" Declan asked in a ragged voice, a wave of relief loosening his joints. But when he met the commander’s fierce gaze, the terror came flooding back in a hurry. "Sir?"
"No, it isn’t," the man said in a considering tone, eyes narrowed as he looked Declan up and down. Turning away, he began to prowl the room like a hunting cat circling its prey. "Are you aware of Ryelle’s upbringing?"
"Um, y-yes, sir," he stuttered, frantically trying to understand where this was going. What did Ryelle’s upbringing have to do with a dressing down from his superior?
"They did a piss poor job, though she turned out a damned sight better than they could’ve hoped for. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have much experience dealing with people. Socializing." The commander stopped so close in front of Declan that they were almost nose to nose, forcing him to meet his superior’s hard gaze. "She’s innocent. Are you understanding me?" His tone said that if Declan wasn’t understanding he’d be happy to beat it into his head with a large, blunt object.
"Y-yes, sir, I know."
"Oh?" the commander said in a silky voice, eyes narrowing dangerously as he loomed closer. "How do you know?"
"F-from talking with her, sir," Declan managed, trying like hell not to go cross-eyed. "I-I wouldn’t—"
"You wouldn’t?" The commander returned to pacing, but this didn’t make Declan feel any better, since the man stalked around behind him to do it. Not being able to see his superior seemed to double the danger. "She’s a beautiful girl. You’ve been holding hands with her. You’ve been privately secluded with her. You’re telling me you wouldn’t take advantage of that? Of her naiveté and innocence?"
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