Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars

by Melisse Aires

  He heard her say, “So, tell me about your planet, sir?”

  Xever began to talk, but Fyn noticed how intently he studied Sara’s face. There was something odd about it, something beyond the normal interest a man might take in a beautiful woman. Sara’s lips thinned, a sign annoyed was getting a foothold again. She looked at Xever, her brows arching a bit.

  “Do I have a smudge?”

  He looked confused.

  “You seem to be very interested in something on my face.” Her tone was still friendly, but Fyn recognized the chill buried in there. “I was wondering if I’d smudged something.”

  He looked rueful. “I am sorry for staring, but you…” He seemed to hesitate and then he said, “You look very like someone.”

  Sara blinked. “I look like…someone…? Okay. Guess that’s more interesting than looking like no one.”

  He didn’t seem to notice her sarcasm. “She lived a long time ago.” He hesitated. “Her name was Miri.”

  Fyn saw her lashes flicker. She’d heard the name before, but where? Was that a painting of Miri they’d seen down on the outpost?

  Sara tilted her head to the side. “Unusual name.”

  Xever smiled at her. “She was very beautiful, very remarkable, if the legends are correct.”

  “Which they usually aren’t,” Sara inserted.

  “She was to be a bond mate with my ancestor, but she was kidnapped by the Dusan. He never saw her again, though he died believing she would find a way to return to him, to our people.”

  Fyn saw the tiny frown briefly form between her brows, but she quickly smoothed it away.

  “We have been at war ever since.”

  “Really? Wow. That’s very Helen of Troy.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Kind of the same story on our planet, these two guys went to war over Helen, but the Spartans kicked Troy’s trash and got her back. With a large wooden horse.” Sara frowned, as if that hadn’t come out quite as she’d planned.

  Xever looked confused. Fyn didn’t blame him. And he was sure there was a movie in it somewhere. Briggs snickered.

  After a pause, Xever pressed forward. “As I said, you look remarkably like her.”

  Sara looked at him and blinked a couple of times. “Well, they say everyone has a twin somewhere.”

  She looked down at her plate, taking a small bite and chewing it slowly. Xever stared at her, his fascination now out in the open.

  “There is a legend among my people, that Miri will return and destroy the Dusan.”

  Sara looked up, her brows arched. “A treasured, protected woman will destroy the Dusan? Right. Makes perfect sense.” She took a sip of her water. Her gaze turned more assessing, reminding Fyn of how she’d looked at him in the cave. “You don’t seem like the legend believing type.”

  He leaned toward her. “Perhaps a beautiful woman can make a man believe?”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve found men will believe almost anything when their blood is flowing away from their brains.”

  There were choking sounds up and down the table.

  Sara, who looked like she’d never been kissed, tucked another bite of food in her mouth. For just a moment, she looked at Fyn and the edges of her mouth quivered.

  * * * * *

  The meal finally dragged to a painful end. The food was good, but having every move under so much scrutiny was tiring. And Adin Xever was pushing her buttons, big time. A total chauvinist pig. She wanted to go back to her quarters. Or deck someone. She could feel the steam building inside her. She hadn’t had this much trouble with her temper in a long time. Didn’t help that she’d been on duty all last night and spent the day preparing for this season in hell. She was tired and she was moving beyond pissed. Not good for her critical thinking skills. She’d never made a good decision pissed. Knowing that didn’t seem to help it go away, though.

  She was fiddling with an unused spoon when Xever covered her hand with his. Sara stiffened, then looked at him.

  He was touching her. He smiled. Clueless man. And he didn’t stop touching her.

  “Your hand is so delicately formed. I can not imagine this controlling a fighting ship.”

  The Supreme Leader really thought he was complimenting her. She stared at him through a red mist, a rushing sound in her ears. She had a feeling he thought her function on this ship was like that of the women on his. What, did they hand them out to visiting dignitaries?

  “She’s got the second highest kill rate on this ship,” Briggs suddenly said. There was a look in his eyes, like he wanted to dance on Xever’s head. It was a good look on him. Even more amazing, he was defending a girl.

  “But if you’d really like to see her in action, you should have a throw down with her.”

  Oh yeah, please let me throw him down. That would help.

  “A…throw down?”

  Briggs smile was almost evil. “You get out on a mat and she kicks your as—”

  “Well, I think it’s time for some music,” Kilburn cut in.

  “Captain?”

  Sara yanked her hand free and stood up. It surprised her that no one seemed to notice she was on fire. She felt like flames were licking up her sides.

  “You are a musician?” Xever looked surprised.

  Sara’s lips twitched. “Depends on who you ask.” Her smile might have a bit of evil in, too. “I’ll just get the rest of the guys.” She sauntered to the door, aware her fringe was swishing in a very provocative way.

  * * * * *

  Fyn watched Sara leave with an uneasy feeling. He glanced at Carey and found him looking at him, the same question in his eyes. Briggs just grinned and leaned back in his chair like a man prepared to enjoy the show. Or the explosion. Kilburn didn’t have a clue. He wasn’t sure about the colonel. His face never gave a lot away.

  In a few minutes, Sara returned with Foster and the others. She took her place at her keyboard, but her expression was still pretty militant. There was an odd glitter in her eyes, too. First they sang a song about American girls and boys. Fyn particularly liked the part about the boot in the ass, though it was obvious Kilburn didn’t. Sara seemed to like that part, too. A lot.

  When the song ended, Fyn thought maybe the worst was over, but then Sara stepped out from behind her keyboard and up to the microphone. She didn’t look like herself. Her gaze swept over the group, almost without recognition—until she got to Kilburn. Fyn wasn’t sure, but Kilburn might have paled. And tried to speak. At least his jaw worked a couple of times. The music started soft and then Sara started to sing something about being a woman, even though it was obvious she was one. Her voice rose, filled with challenge, and a whole lot of warning. The song was pointed and maybe not wise, but still not terrible.

  Then something changed. Fyn could see her gaze narrow—never a good sign. She was looking at Xever. Fyn looked, too. He looked amused. There was something else in his expression that Fyn couldn’t see. Suddenly Sara stalked up to him. Kilburn made a choking sound and her gaze snapped his direction, like one of their heat seeking missiles.

  Sara’s brows rose—and she went right up on the table, stalking down the center in time to the music. Her heels hit the surface hard enough to make the utensils bounce and shift—but she didn’t step on a single thing as her gaze and voice challenged them to dispute what women could and would do. She looked down at Kilburn, her gaze impaling him against his chair. He gasped like a landed grope-fish.

  She spun, stopping between Fyn and Carey, her hips swaying, her leg thrust out through the slit of her skirt, her foot snapping against the table top with the beat of the song. It was a beautiful sight, but the look in her eyes kept him from totally enjoying it. There was a pause in her singing and Carey said, “Damn, Donovan, I believe you. Hear you, too.”

  She turned and stalked back down the table, then jumped to the floor, her heels hitting the floor like it was some man’s heart. Fyn rubbed his chest, but the look she sent Xever told him h
e was her target, or maybe it was Kilburn’s heart she was after. Sara spun around, leaned one hand on the table, and told Xever she was woman and she was invincible.

  She turned away from all of them and began to stalk, again in time to the music, back toward the band. Not even a slight wobble of the ankles, despite the height of her heels. The combo of her hips and dress was incendiary—and a bit scary, considering just how pissed she was. It wasn’t until the door shut off between her and them that he realized she’d just stalked out the door. There was a long pause.

  Briggs grinned and reached for his glass, taking a long drink.

  Kilburn looked shell-shocked. Even Xever looked a bit stunned.

  The other women were biting back grins, and peeking at the colonel, who was staring straight ahead. He finally looked down the table. Started to say something, and then stood up.

  “Excuse me.” He headed for the door.

  Carey jumped up. “Me, too.”

  Fyn didn’t bother to say anything, he just followed. So did Briggs.

  They found the colonel in the corridor, looking both directions.

  “Where the hell did she go?”

  “I’m guessing the brig,” Briggs said.

  “Good choice.” He spun on his heel and took off. Everyone got out of his way as they wound their way to the brig. At the end of a corridor, a soldier sat at a desk, looking a bit bewildered. Clearly they were on the right track. He saw the colonel and jumped to his feet.

  “Sir!”

  “Is Donovan in there?” The man looked a bit unsure. “Red dress?”

  He nodded. “She said she was under arrest.”

  “She was right. Open the damn door.”

  He dropped the keys twice before he got the door open. The colonel shoved him out of the way and strode through. They all followed. Sara stood behind bars, but at attention. She’d taken off her shoes. Fyn missed them. He liked those shoes.

  “Open this door!”

  Sara may have flinched. The guard rushed in and fumbled it open. Again he got shoved out of the way. The colonel walked right up to her, his face an inch from hers.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing?”

  “Singing, sir.”

  He paced around her, managing to keep his glaring gaze fixed on her the whole time. She didn’t flinch or look anywhere but straight ahead.

  “Singing? Shaking your—” he stopped, his jaw working for a minute. “You’re a disgrace to the—”

  She looked at him then. They both knew why she wasn’t wearing her uniform.

  “Explain yourself.”

  She looked forward again. “You said to be nice, sir.”

  “Nice?”

  “Most guys seem to find a little leg action nice. I thought ET would, too.”

  “I thought it was nice,” Briggs put in.

  “So did I,” Carey chimed in. “Damn nice. Over and above—”

  “Shut up, Colonel, or you’ll be in here with her.”

  That didn’t seem like a punishment, Fyn thought.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t think it was nice, sir.”

  Their gazes clashed. Fyn could almost see sparks around them. He was in a tough spot, because they all knew it had been very nice. She’d sent a message, but it had been wrapped up in nice.

  “You…” he choked for a moment before gritting out, “you knew this would piss me off or you wouldn’t be in this cell. Why did you do it?”

  “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  Another long staring session. Almost imperceptibly, Fyn saw his shoulders relax. He nodded sharply.

  Her lips thinned for a long moment. “I earned the right to wear my uniform the same way you did and it should be my choice if I want to take it off.” There was a long pause. “Sir, you can order me into hell and I’ll go, but I will not wear a dress again unless I choose to.”

  She looked straight ahead again, her mouth set. Did she know that made her lower lip fuller and more everything, Fyn wondered.

  “I can ask for reassignment when the supply ship comes. Or you can shoot me.”

  Fyn looked at Briggs, who shook his head. Carey didn’t look worried either.

  The colonel chuckled. “Don’t go drama queen on me, Donovan.” He slanted a wry grin at her. “It was pretty nice.”

  Color popped out on her cheeks. “I’m sorry, sir. I was…”

  “…pissed. I got that. It’s a good look on you.”

  Her lips twitched.

  “I suppose I’d better get back to the party. You’re welcome to rejoin us or you’re excused.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He turned to leave, then stopped. “You think it was a wrong move anyway, don’t you?”

  She nodded. “Kilburn is a diplomat. It’s his instinct to downplay our military power, practically knee jerk, but this is a rough neighborhood. We don’t want—or need—a soft side here. At least, that’s my take on it.”

  “Actually, mine, too. Next time I’ll listen to myself.” He strode out, shaking his head.

  “So, you really never going to wear that dress again?” Briggs looked almost sad.

  “I just said it would be my choice.” She swayed in a circle, her arms over her head, making her skirt dance. “Now that I’ve broken the ice, who knows?”

  “You could wear it next time we dance.” Briggs looked hopeful.

  “Only something without lifts. That would be a bit too much sharing.”

  “Let’s get out of here before the colonel changes his mind,” Carey said.

  Sara grabbed her shoes. Fyn held out his hand. She smiled and took it.

  “So, sir, do we go back to the party or not?”

  Carey stopped. “Don’t put this on me.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a party, more like a wake,” Briggs said.

  Carey looked her over. “I have to say, though, the longer you wear that dress the better the morale on this bucket will be.”

  “Jeeze,” Sara made a face, “bad enough half the crew thinks I’m having kinky alien sex with—”

  She stopped, color flaming into her face.

  Carey grinned at Fyn. “Seems we’ve been missing all the good gossip while we were stuck down there on Kikk.”

  Sara’s face was a study in contrasts. “I think I’ll just go find a hole to hide in.”

  “Can I come, too?” Fyn asked. “If I’d known I was having kinky alien sex, I’d have come back sooner.” So that’s what sex was. Interesting.

  Sara grinned. “I don’t remember naming aliens.”

  They all looked at her, their brows raised.

  “I could have met another alien while you were down there.” She lifted her chin defensively.

  “Right. I think you should put your shoes back on as punishment for the duh moment,” Carey said.

  Sara looked at Briggs, then at Fyn. He shrugged. He liked the shoes, too.

  “Fine.” She sat down and strapped them on. She stood up. “Satisfied?”

  Carey gave a half snort, half laugh. “Not even close, Donovan. Your table dance is going to haunt me for a long time.”

  “I was not dancing. I was walking with attitude.”

  Briggs clasped his hands behind his back. “Good thing we’ll have the video to remind us of your walk.”

  Sara’s eyes widened. “No…”

  Briggs grinned. “Security measure. Some days, life is just good.” He turned and strolled away, humming I Am Woman.

  “Yeah, some days life is just great,” Sara muttered. Over the top of her head, Fyn mouthed to Carey, can I get a copy?

  He nodded and gave him a thumbs up.

  Apparently Sara decided to change the subject. “Would it help the colonel if I went back?”

  Carey looked at her. “Probably. But he can take care of himself. You don’t really want to, do you?”

  She leaned against Fyn’s arm. “I was on duty all night. And I think I’m back on tomorrow.”

  He looked at her. “Go get
some rest, Donovan. Sleep well, knowing you have been the bright spot in an otherwise dull day.”

  Sara nodded. “Right. Glad I could help out. Really.”

  Carey grinned, then nodded at Fyn. “See you.”

  Fyn nodded back, watching him leave them alone. Well, as alone as anyone could be on this ship.

  He slid his hand around her waist, marveling at the softness of the fabric of her dress. It was so thin, he could feel the warmth of her skin through it. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but it all seemed wrong.

  “I like the dress.”

  She smiled. “I guess I don’t mind it as much as I thought I would. I had no idea it would be such a hit. Evie would have gotten a kick out of it.”

  He could see the day’s tensions sliding out of her, leaving her looking as soft as the dress, though unfortunately tired.

  “Let’s get you back to your quarters.” It was probably for the best. She was way too tempting like this. Considering how tempting she was in her uniform, it was a lot of tempting.

  They walked slowly, a necessity with those shoes. Sara didn’t seem to mind, or notice, he left his arm around her waist, his hand at the curve of her hip and waist. At her door, she turned to smile up at him, tiredness draining animation from her face, but not her appeal. For a rare moment, they were alone in the corridor. Fyn cupped her face with his hand. He was almost afraid to kiss her. She was different like this, more dangerous to his self control.

  “I’m sorry I’m flaking out on you. You could come in and watch a movie or something, if you don’t mind my snoring.”

  “If I came in now, that gossip might come true.”

  A bit of color tinged her cheeks to pink. “I’m not sure I could stay awake.”

  He grinned and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Good night.”

  Sara’s hand snaked up his chest and around his neck, tugging him down.