“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled at him, then offered a more tentative one to my mother. She didn’t exactly smile back, but she did nod.
Baby steps.
“Well, we should get going,” I told them, looping my arm through Raphael’s. “But have a good dinner. I’ll miss having some of those phyllo turnovers.”
“I’d save some for you,” my father said, “but I know your mother would just raid the kitchen in the middle of the night and eat them anyway.”
“Damn straight.” Now she was smiling a little, and that seemed the safest time to get out of there, when her mood appeared to have improved marginally.
“I won’t be late,” I promised, and then more or less dragged Raphael out of the family room and back to the garage. As soon as the door shut behind us, I said, “So, are we really going out to dinner? Because you kind of neglected to mention that earlier.”
“True,” he replied. “But I always had intended to ask if you would eat with me this evening. It’s only that we won’t be exactly going out for dinner…more like ‘up’ for dinner.”
In the next instant, white light flashed around us, and then we were standing once more on the bridge of his ship, Earth glowing blue-green below us.
“Thanks for the warning.”
He laughed — actually laughed — and bent down to kiss me. A real kiss, mouth to mouth, tongues touching, those delicious thrills running up and down my entire body. My purse slipped from my fingers and fell with a thud to the floor. When I finally came up for air, Raphael’s dark eyes were smiling down at me.
“Would you like to come to the dining chamber?” he asked. “I didn’t show it to you on the first tour I gave you of the ship.”
“Holding out on me?”
His gaze strayed to my lips. “Let’s just say that I preferred to keep a few things for later.”
Damn it, he needed to stop giving me those amazing chills, the ones that made me want to shiver and melt into a puddle of warm goo at the same time. “Then lead on. I can feel that chocolate milkshake wearing off.”
He took my hand and guided me down the corridor that dead-ended at the bridge. This time, however, we stopped at an elevator, more like a transparent plastic tube, and got in. I didn’t see him push any buttons, but somehow it seemed to know to go up two levels, then stop.
“Why not use your jewel?” I asked, once we were out of the elevator and walking down another hallway, one similar to the first, only not quite as wide. “It seems faster.”
“Because we must use our bodies, or they will not serve us when we need them,” he told me. “The jewel, as you call it, does come in handy during emergencies, but otherwise it is far better for us to walk from place to place.”
I couldn’t argue with that. My parents had passed their amazing metabolisms on to me, so it wasn’t as if I had to worry about hiking all afternoon to work off that milkshake or anything, but living in Sedona did tend to make you get up and move around. Everyone I knew seemed to take daily walks or hikes, weather permitting.
“Here we are,” he said, as the wall before us parted to reveal a room that made me gasp out loud in amazement.
One wall was made up completely by an enormous view-screen. Instead of Earth hanging there, though, we looked out into a sea of stars, with the Moon floating off to the upper left, bigger and brighter and clearer than I’d ever seen it before. The ceiling overhead was dark, and twinkled with more stars, while the lighting seemed to come from the floor, a soft diffuse glow that gave enough illumination so you could walk around safely but not so much that it interfered with the starry scene outside or overhead.
“You people know how to travel, don’t you?”
He smiled and led me further into the room. The furniture here was similar to what I’d seen in the lounge, smooth and organic in its outlines, although the stone pieces that decorated this chamber were of a darker material that shimmered with embedded flecks of reflective ore in shades of silver and gold. “If circumstances require us to spend a good deal of time on these ships, then better that we make them comfortable and beautiful, don’t you think?”
“No arguments here.”
Following his lead, I sat down at a table positioned just close enough to the screen to get an even better view of the moon, but not so close that it would feel as if I was falling into that endless starscape. Raphael didn’t seat himself, however, but went over to a long counter over on one side of the room. It didn’t seem to have any controls or access points that I could see, but after he moved his hands over its surface, two tall glasses filled with a pale peach-colored liquid appeared there, along with a platter of…well, something. I assumed it must be his people’s version of hors d’oeuvres, since the delicately colored and shaped items lying on the luminous glass tray were all small, even if they were pretty to look at.
Raphael came back to the table and took the chair opposite mine after setting down the glasses and platter.
“So what’s all this?” I asked. All right, when I was younger, I might have driven my parents a little crazy with my picky eating. I liked to think I’d matured out of that phase, but I still tended to give unfamiliar food items the side-eye.
“This,” he said, picking up his glass, “is a beverage we like to consume on special occasions. Something like your champagne, I suppose, although the components are very different.”
“So it’s alcoholic?”
“Not exactly. Alcohol contributes to all sorts of health problems, and there is no reason for us to consume it when there are so many better alternatives out there.”
No alcohol. Okay. I supposed it was probably silly of me to think that an alien civilization as advanced as the one Raphael had come from would indulge in tossing back a few cans of beer on a Saturday afternoon while watching TV. Then again, my father had been known to do more or less that very thing.
“You’re disappointed,” Raphael said, and at once I shook my head.
“No, of course not. Sometimes it just…takes me a while to get used to things.”
A slow smile touched his mouth, and again I felt one of those stirrings of desire. Would these crazy reactions slow down once we’d —
All right, that was an eventuality I probably shouldn’t allow myself to dwell on.
But he was watching me, clearly waiting for me to pick up my own glass, so I did. And really, the color of the not-champagne was very pretty. The drink did have teeny tiny bubbles swirling around in it, so I guessed the comparison was apt enough.
“I hope you can get used to this,” Raphael said, then glanced at the starry room around us before his gaze returned to me. “All of this.”
Considering that I didn’t think I’d ever been in such a beautiful place, I figured it wouldn’t take too much effort to get very used to it. And the company who shared it with me. “I’m pretty sure that can be arranged,” I told him, just before I lifted the glass to my lips and took a sip.
Mingled sweet and tart, and fizz, and…after that words failed me, because that drink seemed to get into my blood the way Raphael’s kisses did, tingling and warm and making me feel far more alive than I ever had before. Somehow I remembered to swallow, and then I blinked as I tried to get a grip on myself.
“I thought you said it wasn’t alcoholic,” I said, my tone probably more accusing than it should have been.
But his eyes only flickered with amusement. “True. But I believe I also mentioned that it was a better alternative.”
That was for sure. The mild euphoria I was currently experiencing didn’t feel like the buzz I’d get from having a drink — especially not after only one sip. “Are you sure my metabolism can handle it? I only had a tiny amount, and I’m already feeling it.”
“Of course you are. The effect is not cumulative, as it would be with Earth-based alcohol. If you continue to drink it, you will continue to feel more or less the same.” One eyebrow went up, and he added, “Do not forget that far more of your metabolism is Pleiadian than human.
”
“Is that what you call yourselves?” I asked. “It’s what I’ve always said, because that’s how my father referred to his people, but — ”
“No, that is what your people call us,” Raphael said. “Our language is difficult for those who haven’t been raised speaking it, which is why it is easier for me to use your own people’s terms for these things.”
“So your name isn’t Raphael?” I wasn’t sure why that possibility should be so troubling. After all, almost anything was better than “Otto.”
“It is the closest approximation in your language for my name. And,” he added, apparently noting some shift in my expression, “a name that I feel is mine. So you should not let a small question of semantics worry you, Callista.”
“I won’t,” I said, although I didn’t know if I was exactly telling the truth. Still, it seemed better to direct the conversation toward a safer topic. “So what’s all this on the platter?”
“A little introduction to the meal. Like an appetizer, I suppose, although our own term is closer to the French phrase amuse-bouche.”
Since I’d taken French in high school, I at least knew what he was talking about. “That sounds like fun.”
“I hope you will think so.”
Nothing for it, I supposed. And really, the drink he’d served was amazing enough that I figured the food must be equally good.
I reached for the appetizer closest to me. It was pale cream in color, and looked like some kind of soft cheese sitting on top of a very thin layer of bread or something similar. Before I could lose my nerve, I popped it in my mouth.
Just as the drink had tasted like many things at once, so did that little morsel. Savory, with the slightest hint of heat, and then a spicy warmth at the end that reminded me in a way of cinnamon, although it wasn’t quite the same. After I swallowed it, I said, “That was amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it. I tried to put together items that wouldn’t be too shocking to your palate.”
Who would have expected the former Otto to be so thoughtful? “Thank you for doing that. I’m sure it will all be wonderful.”
And it was. Everything I tasted was unusual and yet familiar at the same time, delicious and comforting and exciting all at once.
Sort of like Raphael, I supposed.
After we finished the platter of appetizers, our amuse-bouches, he took the tray away and then came back with several plates of food. Nothing was exactly recognizable, although I got the impression I was eating fruit and cheese and some kind of bread, although the bread was sweeter than I expected, a good foil to the fizzy tartness of the drinks he’d served.
“You don’t eat meat, do you?” I asked after a few bites.
“No. My people abandoned that practice generations ago.”
I wondered if he knew that my father was known to enjoy a good cheeseburger. Probably, so I didn’t bother to bring it up. Maybe it was to be expected that an exile would fall off the wagon, so to speak. Anyway, judging by some of the things Raphael had said, I’d gotten the impression that the Pleiadians’ food choices were based on health reasons, and not because their religion or other beliefs dictated that they couldn’t consume certain items.
While I was something of a carnivore myself, everything Raphael had provided was so good that I didn’t think I’d mind going without meat for an extended period of time. Which led to the next question I wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure I had the courage to broach.
Where was all this headed? Had Raphael brought me here as a way to slowly break me in, so to speak, to get me used to his world, his ship, even the food and drink his people consumed? Did being with him mean that he intended me to leave my family and friends behind?
Maybe it was a little early to be asking those questions — or even thinking them — but they’d have to come up at some point. My parents’ example was enough to tell me that these sorts of liaisons were forever. That thought in and of itself was frightening. Of course I’d always hoped I would find the right person and settle down someday. I just never imagined that person might be one of my father’s people, and that I might have to give up everything I knew to be with him.
True, Raphael could stay here on Earth, but I had a hard time believing he’d be content with limiting himself in such a way. Not after spending his entire life as a citizen of the galaxy, instead of one tiny corner of it.
“You’re very quiet,” he said.
“Am I? I suppose I was thinking.” I lifted my glass and took another swallow of the effervescent liquid inside. It tickled my throat and sent some more of those delicious tingles through me.
“About?”
“Us, of course.”
By then I’d put the glass back down, and he reached across the table and took my hand in his. “It is all very new and strange.”
Strange didn’t begin to describe it, as far as I was concerned. Not that I could really imagine being with anyone else, though. It seemed as soon as that special connection was awakened, the people involved really didn’t have any desire to look elsewhere. But as much as I wanted Raphael, needed him, I also needed some answers.
Feeling the pressure of his fingers against mine helped give me some courage, even though it was hard to concentrate, what with the ripples of heat his touch kept sending through me. “So where does this end, Raphael?”
“Wherever we want it to.”
“That’s not a real answer.”
He didn’t look annoyed by my words. Still holding my hand, he looked across the table at me and said, “Time often speaks to me, telling me of how events might go, but once it sent me to you, it seemed to go silent. Meaning,” he added, as one of my eyebrows began to lift, “that even I cannot say for sure. You could join me on this ship and explore the galaxy with me. Or I could take my own form of exile down on the world where you grew up. Either possibility is equally plausible.”
“Are they? Are they really?” I wanted to believe him, but at the same time I couldn’t quite imagine Raphael assimilating into a life with my friends and family, of him slipping into some jeans and a work shirt and going shooting in the woods with the guys. Not hunting — my father would never have stood for that — but his scruples didn’t prevent him from heading out with Paul and Lance every once in a while so they could indulge in some target practice with cans or bottles, or a bunch of rotten pumpkins, once Halloween was over. Anyway, my father had integrated into Earth culture pretty well, but that had to be partly because he’d been pretending to be human for years before he hooked up with my mother. I didn’t know if Raphael was quite so…adaptable.
He didn’t let go of my fingers, and instead increased the pressure on them, as if he wanted me to be assured of how earnest he was. “Yes, both those futures are equally possible. I know that must be difficult for you to understand. But although I was called here to get the assistance of you and your family to rescue those astronauts, I also know that something deeper under-rode that urgency. It was time for me to return here, because it was time for me to find you. Do you understand?”
Strangely, I did. Time and the universe had washed him into this galactic backwater, bringing him to me when I was ready to accept the gifts he wanted to give. The gift of his heart, and his soul, although I knew I must be brave enough to embrace them fully.
For some reason, I found it hard to speak. So I nodded, and he rose from his chair and came over to me, kneeling next to where I sat so he could take both my hands in his. “It is easier to explore new territory if one does not have to do it alone.”
I couldn’t have agreed with him more. The best way to show how I felt, I thought, was to reach out to him, to pull him close so we could kiss again, those kisses flavored with all the exquisite tastes we’d consumed during our meal.
I didn’t know exactly how it happened, but suddenly I was standing, and his arms were around me, our bodies pressed together. It seemed as if I could feel his warmth even through the shirt and jacket he wore, sense it pouring
into my body, making me want him that much more.
We were alone here. Was this why he’d brought me to his ship, so we could be together with no artificial barriers separating us?
I pulled my mouth away from his just long enough to say, “Maybe it’s time I got a tour of your bedroom, too.”
A quick flash of a grin, followed by the brighter glare of white light surrounding us, taking us away from the dining chamber to a smaller room. At least, I think it was smaller. I didn’t get much more than a glimpse of dark blue walls and several pieces of that beautifully sculpted furniture in various shades of silver and gray before we were sinking down onto a bed that seemed to embrace every inch of my body, more comfortable than any other bed I’d ever lain on.
After that, though, I didn’t have time to think about the bed. Raphael’s mouth was on mine, his weight on top of me, surrounding me. One hand moved down from my shoulder, then stopped just short of touching my breast.
I ached for him, but at the same time I understood his hesitation. He didn’t want to force me, or rush me…and, quite possibly, he wasn’t completely sure what he should do next. Oh, probably he had a clinical idea of what was involved, but the reality had to be so very different.
“It’s all right, Raphael,” I whispered. “I want this. I want you.”
Those words seemed to open the floodgates. In the next moment, his mouth was on my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and I shivered as his hand cupped my breast. Even through my sweater and my bra, his touch seared me, made me ache to share all of my body with him.
And I would. I reached up and began pulling at his jacket, shifting it off his shoulders. For the briefest second, he looked down at me, eyes made even darker with desire. “Let me make that easier for you,” he said, his normally smooth voice rough with passion.
sedona files 05 - falling angels Page 12
