by Susan Grant
“You’re always wearing different pieces. Where do you keep them all?”
“I don’t. I pull them apart and begin again.”
“Hmm,” he said between bites of stew. “That fits.”
She raised a brow. “Is that supposed to mean anything?”
“It fits your personality.” He tore off a hunk of bread and used it to soak up broth. “You don’t appear to be attached to anyone or anything.”
She sputtered. “If this is your idea of conversation, I—”
“Lara.” He spread his hands. “I am trying to get to know you, for no reason other than that I want to.”
She contemplated him for a long moment, her gaze searching, as if she were truly seeing him for the first time since they’d struck up their odd partnership. Using his heightened instincts, honed from years of training and practice, he sensed the wounded soul within her.
“I don’t mind solitude,” she said, then went back to eating with pointed concentration.
His ruefulness of late invaded him. “I don’t, either. It’s why I chose this life. I’ve long and willingly put my personal wishes aside for my duty. Yet, with each passing year, I become more aware of what I lack in my life.”
He noticed that she’d stopped eating. “And what is that?” she almost whispered, searching his face.
“Someone with whom I can bare my soul.”
Reflected in her eyes, he saw his own desperate loneliness. He blinked. “No family?” he inquired after several minutes of silence ticked by.
“No.”
“Husband?”
She began eating again, in earnest. “No.”
“A lover, then?”
Her outraged eyes gave him the answer he wanted. “Ah. Where Eston fit into your life, I wasn’t sure, other than that he’s responsible for losing your precious ship.”
“Don’t remind me, Vash.” For the first time, he detected a trace of teasing in her tone. Was that the first step in her softening armor? Perhaps it was. And maybe that meant there was more to come. If he could make her laugh, lovemaking couldn’t be far behind. He smiled. A night of pleasure would do this woman a world of good.
As only he could give it.
Chapter Twelve
“Now aim like you mean it!” Gredda called to Tee’ah.
Eyes narrowed, arms extended, Tee’ah held her laser pistol in front of her. Frost-covered grass in the field behind the Sun Devil caught the rising sun’s first rays, and a breeze numbed her ears and fingers. Concentrating, she waited until threadlike crosshairs centered on her target—a produce box sitting on a tree stump. Then she pressed the trigger. The shrubs behind and several paces to the left of the stump exploded.
“Dear heaven,” Tee’ah groaned, lowering the pistol. “Not again.”
Gredda grabbed a fire extinguisher and drowned the flames. “That was better, Tee. But you need to practice.”
Tee’ah wiped her forearm across her forehead. “I will.” She’d been working on improving her previously nonexistent marksmanship all week. During that time she’d hit Gredda’s boxes only twice. But she was determined to hone her skill with a pistol. Now that they were hunting for Randall’s associate, such skills were critical for her to prove she was an indispensable member of Ian’s crew.
She and Gredda pocketed their weapons and returned to the ship.
Quin met Tee’ah in the galley. The expression of delight he wore on his face made her instantly suspicious. She poured a mug of coffee and did her best to ignore it.
“I’ve divvied up chores for the week and you drew galley duty.”
Coffee sloshed out of her mug. Hastily she mopped it off the counter.
“You look like you just swallowed an oster egg,” he said “Don’t tell me you can’t cook.”
Nerves tightened her neck muscles. Cooking was a basic skill most people knew how to perform. But she hadn’t been raised like “most people.” She’d never once entered the kitchens in the palace; the thought of doing so had never crossed her mind. Now, if she were to confess that she didn’t know how to prepare a simple meal, it might raise unwanted suspicions about her background. “As I recall, you voiced similar doubts about my flying abilities—and look, I kept you alive.”
He brought his index finger and thumb together. “Barely.”
“Then I suggest you go on a dietary fast.” Perhaps the entire crew would have to do so, she thought as she looked around the small room. Surrounding her was a bank of ion-burners, a chiller, an atomic oven, and shelves of computer-categorized food supplies. It was a vastly more intimidating array than the instrumentation she used to pilot the ship. Swallowing hard, Tee’ah strode to the galley computer, opened the viewscreen, logged on, and spent some time familiarizing herself with the stored data. There was a long list of basic supplies, all requiring creativity if she were to create and then cook a meal with them.
Although she considered herself reasonably inventive, she might fare better if she were able to purchase fresh ingredients from the merchants in town, sticking to those food items that looked reasonably familiar, taking into account the differences in produce of foreign worlds. The market…fresh air…shopping unimpeded by an entourage—the idea appealed to her.
“There’s hardly enough here to put together a proper meal,” she said with feigned annoyance, closing the viewscreen. “I’ll need credits to purchase supplies at the market.”
As if he’d anticipated such a request, Quin handed her several currency cards of various denominations. “Remember,” he said in his overprotective-father voice, “this is to be used for food only. Not for any recreational beverages you might be tempted to purchase on the way there or back.”
“No ‘recreational beverages’? Oh, Quin, please.” She threw up her hands. “With such limits placed upon me, how am I supposed to prepare my famous whiskey-soaked Mandarian chicken?”
“We’ve had our fill of whiskey-soaked fowl on this ship,” he shot back, his tone warming.
She grinned. “Not the least of them pilots, eh?”
Ian walked into the galley. He glanced from Quin to Tee’ah and back again. “Don’t tell me she’s torturing you again?” he asked his mechanic.
Tee’ah beat Quin to a reply. “I’ve drawn galley duty. And now Quin’s worried that I’ll spend all the credits he’s given me to shop in the first bar I see.”
Ian poured coffee into a mug, this one decorated with tiny conifer trees and a cheerful red-nosed man sporting an abundance of white facial hair and a long, floppy red hat. Sipping, he studied her thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Barring a few notable instances, I’m beginning to think you’re all talk.”
“Meaning?”
“I don’t think you’re half as wild as you’d have us believe.” His playful grin invited her to challenge his allegation. “Or…are you?”
She sniffed, tugging on her sleeves. Then she gave him a coy look. “Well, I don’t dare cause trouble with that threat of yours hanging over my head.”
“Threat?” Quin asked. “What threat?”
Ian’s eyes dared her to reveal the details of their private conversation in the woods the night they’d spoken to Randall in the bar. Her heart raced with the exhilaration of flirting so openly with someone to whom she was so very much attracted, and she snatched the chance to continue the dalliance.
“The captain said he’d make me pay,” she told Quin out of the corner of her mouth. “But when I asked him what he meant, he said he didn’t think I’d want to know.” She paused for effect. “I’ve spent many a night since pondering those words.”
Ian’s eyes turned a deeper green, as they had that night before he’d almost kissed her.
“Captain.” Push’s voice shattered the moment. The cargo handler waited in the hatchway. There was a black smudge on one cheek, and his fingers sported matching stains. “You ought to take her out, Captain. And don’t be gentle or nothing…I think she’ll go as fast and hard as you want.”
Te
e’ah wanted to sink into the alloy flooring. Was she so obvious in her feelings for Ian?
“I wasn’t planning on taking her this morning,” Ian replied matter-of-factly, as if Tee’ah weren’t cringing next to him, her face hot with embarrassment. “But I will if you think I should.”
Push nodded, wiping his dirty hands on a rag. “I do.”
“You do?” Tee’ah managed. Her own opinion didn’t matter, apparently.
Maddeningly blasé, Ian set his empty mug on the table. “All right. Afterward I’ll let you know what I think. She might need tweaking.”
“Tweaking?” Tee’ah coughed out.
“Yeah.” Ian shrugged.
She couldn’t believe he would talk about her in such a cavalier manner. She wanted to be made love to—not tweaked, or whatever Ian had called it, the results of which he apparently had no qualms about sharing with the crew.
Ian explained, “Push is helping me repair my Harley.”
She felt her heart stop. “Your two-wheeled Earth transport?”
He nodded and finished discussing with Push the various mechanical components that concerned him, while Quin listened in with interest.
Heavens. She shifted from one foot to the other, the heat in her cheeks receding rapidly, leaving behind an intense feeling of foolishness. He’d been referring to his Earth vehicle the entire time, the noisy, primitive, fossil fuel–burning Earth curiosity he stored in the cargo bay and rode during rare hours of free time. He hadn’t been talking about—or thinking about—her. Never around any man had she acted like such a self-centered, vacuous idiot.
She collected her wits. “I’m going to the market.”
“I’ll give you a lift,” Ian said.
She went over his statement in her mind. Reasonably certain that there were no double meanings hidden within, she asked hopefully, “On the two-wheeled Earth transport?”
“If you don’t mind riding with me.”
Heavens, no. Her shopping excursion was looking better with every passing minute. “Not at all,” she said.
Ian followed her into the corridor leading to the forward entry hatch. “You’ll need a helmet and jacket.”
Once dressed in the leather garment he provided her, she carried his extra helmet to the gangway. At the bottom stood the transport—the Harley—a hulking example of primitive machinery propped upright on a metal leg. Glinting silver and black, the transport seemed to bring ancient history to life.
Anticipation pulsed through her. “What a glorious day,” she said, inhaling the scents of sun-warmed leather and fossil fuel, grease and dusty, dry dirt.
As Ian tugged on his gloves, she donned her helmet and lowered the visor after only a few seconds of fumbling.
Ian boarded first, holding the vehicle steady with his feet as she threw her leg over the seat and hopped on behind him, sliding about a bit on her rear until she felt centered on the wide saddle.
He peeked over one broad, leather-clad shoulder. “Put your arms around me and hold on tight.”
Tentatively she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her pulse sped up, this time because of their physical closeness rather than the anticipation of the ride.
“Ready?” he asked.
She tightened her arms around him. “Ready.”
The thunder of the vehicle’s engine startled her. She hugged him tighter and the side of her helmet brushed against his back. Then they lurched forward, jerked, stopped.
Ian swore. “Damned clutch,” he muttered in nearly unintelligible English.
She lifted her head. “Has the vehicle malfunctioned?”
“Hold on a moment.”
Happy to comply, she settled against his back, her hands flat on his belly. His stomach muscles flexed, pushing at her palms as he shifted his body weight to adjust something on the transport’s handlebars.
Finally he asked once more, “Ready?”
“Ready,” she murmured in bliss.
Smoothly the motorcycle rolled forward, crunching over the dirt-packed landing pad and onto the adjacent wide, flat market road used by local ground and hover cars. But the thoroughfare was empty, only sunshine and trees before them.
When they reached the market, Ian slowed the “hog,” as he called it. “Must we stop so soon?” Tee’ah pleaded. “Can we not ride for a bit more?”
He laughed with abandon. “I think you know the answer to that question, Miss Tee.” The nickname gave her an incredible rush of pleasure.
Ian leaned forward as they accelerated away from the market, taking a left turn onto a narrower road she didn’t know existed. It headed out toward an area where an old forest fire had turned the woods into grassland that reminded her poignantly of her home, Mistraal. But her homesickness soon dissolved in the sheer joy of the ride.
He was a strong, athletic cyclist. When he leaned into a turn, she moved with him, awkwardly at first, and then with increasing confidence. Now she understood why he often left the ship at dawn to experience this. It was like flying. No, better than flying—it was as if she’d soared skyward and became part of the wind itself. She whooped in joy.
The rush of air drowned out her voice. But Ian’s gloved hand found her thigh and gave her a gentle squeeze. I feel the same. As sure as she breathed, she knew he’d spoken those words with his touch. She wanted to cover his fingers with hers, hand over glove, but she didn’t dare let go of his waist to do so.
As they came around a wide bend in the road, a herd of Tromjha steers ambled off a pasture and into their path. Ian slowed, but kept driving forward. The mass of hulking bodies continued to spill onto the road, passing left to right.
Breathless, she warned, “Ian, watch out for the cattle.”
“You, who flew through an asteroid field—by hand—are concerned about a few furry steers?”
She risked letting go to raise her visor, grabbing hold of his jacket with her other hand. “We’re not going to ride through the herd…are we?”
“Don’t you like moo-moos?”
“Moo-moos?”
He chuckled. “That’s what we call them on Earth. Cows. They look almost the same. Watch out, moo-moos,” he called. “Or my accomplice here will buy one of you for our dinner.”
As they neared the trihorned cattle, dust rose, obliterating the path ahead. “How can you see?” Tee’ah demanded, then shrieked when they narrowly missed a pair of the beasts. “You can’t see!”
“Who says I need to see? I can tell by your tugs on my jacket whether I’m going to crash into something. Now hang on,” he said, mimicking the warning she’d uttered the day they had lost the autoflier.
She half screamed, half laughed as Ian expertly wove in and out of the bulky white and brown bodies. Finally they cleared the herd.
“That was some kind of driving,” she said, mimicking his Earth-accented Basic.
“The appropriate response would be, It was nothing.”
She didn’t have to see his face to know he was grinning.
They left the musty scent of dust and manure behind them. Ian leaned forward, accelerating faster than before. Her hair fluttered in the wind as Ian careened around a dizzying curve, blurring the agrarian landscape. Exhilarated, she threw her head back and laughed with abandon. The scenery, Ian’s company, and her freedom made it easy to believe that she’d escaped her old life for good.
A particularly pretty meadow appeared in the distance. Ian slowed and veered off the road. With a hissing spray of gravel he came to a halt. At first all she heard was the ringing in her ears when he cut off the engine. Then the chirps of crick-burrs and the drowsy buzzing of insects punctuated the silence. At the far end of the meadow a pond sparkled in the light of Grüma’s white-dwarf sun.
She followed Ian’s lead and tugged off her helmet. A faint breeze teased the fuzzy, overprocessed ends of her hair, reddish gold roots deepening to brown-green ends. She ran her fingers through her locks, too invigorated to care if they stood on end. She felt alive, almost painfully so, as if e
very neuron in her body had wrenched free of a lifelong slumber. You’ve waited your entire life for this.
She wasn’t a loner at heart; her dreams of freedom always included an imagined future in which she shared adventures with a man she loved. Now she wondered if that man might turn out to be Ian Stone.
He dismounted and held out his hands. She grabbed them and swung her leg over the seat. Legs trembling, she gazed up at him. “You enjoyed the ride,” he said, his eyes sparkling.
She sighed. “Very much.”
He pulled his hands from hers reluctantly, as if he craved physical contact as much as she did, but wanted to hold back from engaging in it. In fact, most of the time he avoided being alone with her. He was worried about the repercussions of having a relationship with an employee, she reasoned. But surely such liaisons happened all the time in the frontier. Nothing need hold them apart here.
Her heart thudded in her throat as she raised both hands, flattening them on his chest. “That was wonderful, glorious; I can’t begin to describe it.” She took a step forward. He stepped back, as if trying to preserve the distance between them, but his boot heel caught on the thick, damp grass, and he stumbled backward. Momentum carried her forward and she landed on top of him, one knee wedged between his legs, his chest cushioning her breasts.
Damp, fragrant grass formed a green halo around them, muting the sunshine and accentuating the knowledge that she and Ian were completely alone in an isolated meadow. The awareness of his muscular body, pressed so firmly to hers, took her breath away. But it was the astonishment and shared wonder in his beautiful eyes that captured her heart. With a soft sigh, she leaned over him to claim the kiss denied her since that magical night in the woods.
Closing her eyes, she buried her fingers in his silky hair. His lips were closed but, when she ran her tongue along the seam between them, they parted. Uncertainly, then with increasing eagerness, she stroked his tongue with hers.
He didn’t respond for several shocked seconds. Then, as if something inside him gave way, he made a needy groan and splayed one hand behind her head, pressing her close to him. He kissed her deeply, hungrily, his fervor matching her own. She abandoned herself to pure sensation: his scent, his hot, slick mouth, the flexing of his firm, muscled legs twined with hers, and his warm fingertips subtly exploring her body. The feelings he evoked in her were powerfully erotic, but the pulsing heat between her thighs reminded her that she wanted more from him, much more.
