by Starr Struck
Only a handful of people watched as they danced their first dance under the transparent ceiling of the grand ballroom. Stars blazed overhead. Minus the special effects generator, the heavens had an austere beauty. They seemed to shine for them alone.
Recorded music played from overhead speakers. The minstrels and the band that had serenaded Zelina's wedding had long since departed the station en route to their next gig. Quillan's body moved against hers as if they'd been apart only minutes instead of an entire year. They fit together perfectly.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, the way she always had, and he responded by resting his head against hers.
"How soon before we can leave?" he murmured.
Adriana smiled. "Zelina's dad wants a dance."
Quillan groaned good naturedly. "I'm dying here!"
"Shh," she insisted, even though she desperately wanted to leave as well, to be alone with Quillan and make up for all the time they'd lost. "He did give us a wedding."
"That he did," Quillan said. Bowing to Zelina's father, he offered his bride's hand for the dance.
Even Zelina's mother seemed charmed by Quillan as he offered her one of his dazzling trademark smiles and asked her to dance.
The last notes of the music faded. The ballroom, it seemed, was booked for another event. After thanking Zelina's parents for hosting their second wedding in so many days, Adriana and Quillan made their way back to her hotel suite. As she slid her pass into the lock, Adriana realized she only had the room booked for one more day.
"What are we going to do?" she asked as she looked around the sparse lodgings. "You don't have a ship anymore. And I'm currently posted to Centauri Station."
But Quillan gave her another of those heart-stopping smiles. "Then I'll come to Centauri Station with you. I'll work at whatever I can until I have enough money for another ship...." At her stricken look, he hesitated.
"I don't think I can bear the thought of being separated from you again," she blurted.
"Don't worry," he said, pulling her close. "If I have my way, we won't be separated any time soon."
She surrendered to his embrace, still marveling at how solid he felt.
"Whatever we decide together," Quillan said quietly, "the future is ours."
The old Quillan had returned she mused. Hopelessly optimistic, he lived in the moment and considered the future his for the taking. That unshakeable optimism was one of the things that had initially drawn her to him.
Quillan seemed intent on making a mark on her immediate future as he maneuvered them toward the bed. Still holding on to her, he proceeded to rain gentle kisses down her neck to the bodice of her gown. Groaning at the barrier, he reached behind and undid the zipper, so she could step out of the sky-blue-pink silk.
He released her then so he could step back and admire her. His eyes roved over her as if memorizing her form, just in case another disaster befell him and he never saw her again.
It wasn't fair, she decided, that he should be clothed while she stood there only in her lacy underwear. She reached for the zipper to his flight suit and boldly pulled it down.
He shrugged out of the form-fitting material and allowed her to push it off his shoulders and drag it down over his slim hips. He let go of his breath in a rush as she hooked her hands in his underwear and pulled them down too.
She gave him the same thorough perusal that he'd given her. He looked magnificent dressed only in one of his blinding smiles. Time hadn't changed anything. He was as handsome and solidly built as ever.
Quillan reached for her, pulling her against his masculine form. His warm hands roamed over her body, undoing the clasp of her bra, then reaching with calloused hands to pull the lacy thong over her hips and onto the floor.
Reaching for the covers, he drew them back. Then he turned and sat down on the side of the bed, pulling her onto his lap. Evidence of his arousal pressed against her lower belly.
She gazed down into his haunted green eyes, determined to wipe away the memory of this last year spent in oblivion. Taking the lead, she kissed him.
His lips were warm beneath hers, and when she slid her tongue between them, he moaned in invitation. Hungrily, she delved into the depths of his mouth, savoring the feel and the taste of him. He slid his hands up over her shoulders, pulling her closer still, as if he couldn't get enough of her.
Finally, he drew his mouth away and lowered those soft, warm lips to her breast. Adriana gasped in pleasure as his mouth closed on the rosy peak of one nipple. Teasingly, he moved to taste the other. The pull of his lips nearly sent her over the edge and she shifted restlessly in his lap.
"Easy," he murmured, raising his head.
The passion she saw in his heated gaze took her breath away. It had always been that way between them. But for an entire year, she'd believed she might never feel that kind of passion again. Her heart had known that Quillan Starr was the only one for her. And she had never stopped hoping.
After waiting so long, she certainly didn't intend to deny herself now. She squirmed against him, letting him know how badly she wanted him. Especially now that he was really and truly hers ... forever.
Sensing her impatience, he placed his warm, calloused hands beneath her buttocks and lifted, sliding her with agonizing slowness down the shaft of his erection.
The pleasure of his width sliding deep inside her was nearly too much to bear. Adriana's eyelids drifted shut as a sigh of satisfaction escaped her lips. She opened them again to find his green eyes blazing with desire.
He set the pace, starting out slowly, easing them into a gentle rhythm. His powerful arms raised and lowered her. She moved against him, quickening their pace and heard his husky laughter in return. The only sounds in the room came from their quickened breathing and her soft sighs of pleasure.
Tension wound tight inside her. She rocked against him, taking him deeper still. He responded by quickening their tempo even more. She hovered on the edge of release, but still he drove her to greater heights. She cried out, protesting this exquisite torture. His chest rumbled with his laughter.
Then with one last roll of his hips, he drove them both over the edge. Tension shattered into rolling waves of pleasure. She cried out, this time even louder than last, not caring if anyone in the adjoining rooms heard her or not. She heard Quillan's answering shout of release.
Passion and relief left her spent. Her head fell to his shoulder. Falling back into the blankets, he cradled her close as if he were afraid to let go of her.
"I hope the rooms next door are vacant," she said hoarsely after a moment.
Quillan laughed again, the same rich laughter she'd always loved him for. "Well, they probably are now."
"They'll probably charge us extra for all the noise."
"And I'll gladly pay the bill," he replied with a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. "It will have been worth it."
Exhaustion caught up with her. Quillan reached down to pull the covers up around them, tucking them both into a cocoon of warmth.
"We have so much to work out," Adriana said drowsily.
"We do," he replied sounding even more tired. "But it can all wait until tomorrow."
They were quiet for a moment. And then he said, "This time there will be a tomorrow for us."
Adriana had nearly drifted off to sleep in the sanctuary of his arms. But his words roused her from the comforting depths of her dreams. "Yes," she agreed, knowing it was true. "This time we'll have a million tomorrows."
BENEATH A MILLION STARS
Cassiopeia stared up into the shocking blue eyes of the tall Cetian, and frantically searched her memory for the words to make everything all right. How had such a simple task gone so wrong?
Her first assignment as protocol officer had been to meet the Cetian Ambassador and make arrangements for a visit by fifty delegates from his planet's government. She'd navigated her way through the subtle nuances of the Cetian greeting. Buoyed by her success, she launched into the formality the
Cetians called the baring of faces. The ritual was designed to put the bargaining on fair terms, but as the Cetian's scarf disappeared, she discovered he was not the dusty old bureaucrat she'd been expecting, but the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Lightly bronzed skin augmented high cheekbones. Waves of golden hair cascaded over his shoulders. Eyes of sapphire shone like jewels from that perfect face. A quick glimpse of his shrouded form told her that his body was as awe-inspiring as his face. And it didn't help that the young ambassador seemed to be giving her the same interested scrutiny.
Caught in his blinding smile, her carefully memorized lessons fled her mind, leaving her to stumble through the conversation with little more finesse than a first year linguistics student. "Wait, please, I've never done this before."
Somehow she'd mistaken the verb to accommodate for one with other connotations entirely. No wonder the Ambassador was beaming at her, his eyes roving over her veiled body with great interest. Caught in the heat of his stare, she felt as though he was undressing her with a simple glance. Flustered, she compounded the error by mistaking the word for wait with a similar sounding word for mate. To which the Cetian responded with assurances of his gentleness and kind nature, as well as that of the fifty male delegates who would be joining him on Epsilon Station.
"Wait!" Cassie repeated desperately as he moved to adjust his cloak, signaling the meeting was at an end. "Ambassador Zolan, there are many more specifics to be discussed." Somehow, she had to find a way to straighten out what could rapidly become an intergalactic incident.
But the Cetian Ambassador merely offered her another of those supernova smiles. "I place my faith in your hands," he said with a sweeping bow. Pulling his hood down over his face, he disappeared down the corridor. As she watched his departing form, she couldn't help reflecting that the ambassador made as good an impression leaving as he had upon his entrance. There was no mistaking the muscular legs of his very masculine form beneath all that exquisitely draped cloth.
She yanked her thoughts back to the impending disaster at hand. In offering his faith he had honored her, she thought with a pang of guilt. To object would be considered an insult, and that would be an intergalactic incident. Cassiopeia sighed as he vanished beyond a bend in the corridor.
Her supervisor was going to have a fit.
* * * *
"So, how'd it go?" Marinda looked up from the vid screen she was studying.
"Okay," Cassie said far too quickly, drawing a skeptical glance from Marinda. She took the seat opposite the Chief Protocol Officer's desk and swallowed hard past the lump in her throat. How was she going to tell her new boss she'd seriously messed up her first assignment? "I guess," she finished lamely.
"The Cetians have already booked a hundred suites."
"A hundred?"
"Fifty for the delegates and another fifty for their servants."
A trickle of dread worked at the pit of Cassie's stomach. She'd assured the Ambassador his servants would be accommodated as well.
"There are a few last minute details to be worked out." Cassie ventured. Hopefully, the boss would clue in to the need for expert intervention before fifty male Cetians descended upon the station looking for mates, or worse, for female accommodation during the week of their visit. "Perhaps you can help me."
Marinda reached across the desk and clasped her hand. "This venture is going very well, even better than I dared hope for. With the revenue from the hotels and the extra money the Cetians will spend on the promenade, our revenue figures ought to be back in the black." With a dismissive pat, Marinda turned back to her screen. "You handle it. I have faith in you, Cassie."
Faith, she thought, leaving Marinda to her revenue calculations. If you only knew. But Marinda couldn't know and wouldn't find out, Cassie vowed. Not until everything was safely solved, the revenue deposited into Epsilon's accounts, and the Cetians safely off-station on their way home without incident.
The only thing to do, she decided, was to visit the Ambassador in his quarters and explain the whole thing. The action went against the strict codes of Cetian social conduct. But they'd bared their faces, and the Ambassador was young. Perhaps he'd understand about it being her first assignment. Perhaps it was his first assignment, too.
* * * *
Cassiopeia stood before the brushed silver door in the station's most luxurious corridor. These were the hotel suites allotted to only the most important guests. A week's salary wouldn't even cover the cost of a single night, but real-water baths rather than sonic showers and silk sheets rather than scratchy synthi-cloth might just be worth it, she decided. She took a deep breath, raised her hand and rang for entry.
Too late, she realized that in her haste to set things straight she'd forgotten her cloak and scarf. The door whisked open before she could flee. A startled servant stared at her through his scarf and gasped.
"What is it?" asked a deep male voice from around the corner.
Cassie opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a sound she found herself staring up into the deep blue eyes of the Cetian Ambassador. And he wasn't wearing his cloak.
Cloth clung to every muscle of his broad shoulders, tapering down like a second skin past narrow hips, sculpting the area below his waist in detail that left nothing at all to the imagination. Sensing her perusal, he shifted his weight, which only drew her attention more.
"Protocol Officer Cassiopeia," he said in that voice of burnished gold.
The servant gasped audibly and keyed the door shut, ushering her inside before anyone in the corridor could catch sight of the scandalous scene. If the Ambassador heard the sound, he ignored it. With a flick of his hand he silently sent his assistant to attend to other duties, leaving the two of them standing in the foyer.
"Something is wrong, Protocol Officer Cassiopeia?"
"Cassie, please," she answered, realizing a fraction of a second too late that she'd violated Cetian protocol yet again by asking him to call her by the familiar derivative of her name, a practice reserved for family and betrothed couples.
"Cassie," he repeated with another of those blinding smiles. "I hope it is not something serious. We are...." He paused, searching for the right words, something she wished she'd taken the time to do herself. "Looking forward, as you say, to our stay on Epsilon Station."
"Ambassador--"
"Zolan," he replied. The significance of his request that she call him by his given name was not lost on her. "Come sit and tell me of these difficulties."
"Oh no, I couldn't impose--" To enter a man's home, even a man's temporary home was a serious breach of etiquette. Marinda would have her head.
"It is no trouble. My assistant, Yandi, is otherwise engaged," he said pointedly. He stood back, motioning for her to enter.
If she left now, she'd have to enlist Marinda's help to straighten things out. As it was she had two grievous breaches of social conduct against her. If she stayed, she had a chance to work things out.
But he was already reaching out for her, guiding her with a gentle, yet firm touch on her arm into the sitting room beyond. The warmth of his hand spread up her arm, promising so much more. The man all but oozed sensuality. His fleeting caress sent tingles all down her spine. That one brief touch sparked her imagination, and she had to squelch images of them entwined together minus all the veils.
Cassie yanked her thoughts back to the task at hand. She should never have let him touch her. "Should haves" piled up like dominoes, ready to fall and take all her careful studies, her hard work, and her promotion with them. She had to set Ambassador Zolan straight. This instant.
The interior of the suite had been redecorated to suit Cetian tastes. Curtains and tapestries decorated the walls. Plump pillows served as seating arrangements. He settled her amidst a flurry of silk cushions and sat down beside her.
Right beside her. Not the face-to-face posture of negotiation, but the closeness of intimacy. He sat so close she could feel the soothing warmth of his body through the thin
material of his clothing.
"Ambassador--" Cassie stuttered.
"Zolan," he repeated firmly.
"Zolan, I--" She plunged ahead before he could complicate the situation further. "I fear I may have misled you."
His expression darkened and she caught a glimpse of the penetrating gaze that she had first expected from an Ambassador. This was certainly not his first assignment. "You cannot accommodate us here at Epsilon Station?"
"Oh, no! The accommodations," she enunciated the correct word carefully, "are no problem at all. We're delighted that you've chosen Epsilon as the site for your ... conference."
"Good, then there are no problems." He uttered the declaration with the surety of a man well used to getting his way.
"I'm afraid there is one problem." Again that penetrating glance. "A small problem," Cassie corrected quickly.
Before she could elaborate, a whisper of cloth brought her head up sharply. Zolan's servant hovered nervously in the corner, Zolan's cloak and scarf dangling from one hand. The scandalized look he shot Cassie reddened her cheeks.
When he still didn't command Zolan's attention, he cleared his throat. Zolan cocked a burnished eyebrow in his direction.
"Sir, your meeting with the Gridwellian Ambassador rapidly approaches."
Zolan glanced at the chrono on his wrist. "Call ahead and tell him I will be delayed. I must speak with Protocol Officer Cassiopeia first."
"Sir!" he protested, then fell quickly silent as Zolan turned in his direction.
"There is a problem?"
Cassie caught a trace of the annoyance in Zolan's voice. Irritation that creased the golden skin between his brows. The servant, Yandi, Zolan had called him, bowed and vanished, taking Zolan's cloak and scarf with him.
"Now then, Cassie," Zolan turned crystal blue eyes upon her. "What is this small problem you speak of?"
Caught in the web of his glance, it was hard to concentrate. "I'm afraid I may have given you the wrong impression."
