“Yes,” she whispered.
“Is it steady?”
“Yes.”
“I want only you. Any way I can have you. If you decided that I am a friend and nothing more, I will respect your decision. If you will allow me to court you, I would be honored. Now tell me, did I speak the truth?”
Vanessa
This was too much, too heavy and too intense. When her day started, she had no plans beyond a shopping trip because all she had in her wardrobe were work clothes and thought maybe she’d pick up some nice candles while out. Her bare cabin seemed more like a hotel than a home and she wanted to fix that.
Simple. Basic. The last thing she expected was sharing her heart and fears with Jaxar until she felt raw, like an exposed nerve.
“Vanessa, did I speak the truth?” he repeated.
Under her palm, the jagged lines of his tattoos formed an intricate pattern. The black ink glowed, warming to amber, then gold. She felt the thud of his steady heart.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Ask me what I want.”
She knew what he wanted. “A family. What I can’t give you.”
“Have you asked me? It seems obvious to me that we have both made the error of assuming to know what the other desires.”
“Why?” She pushed herself away, needing the space to think—to breathe. Gravel crunched under her boots. “Crap, this is stupid. You have to make me ask? Have to tear the words out of me? That’s cruel, Jaxar. Cold.”
“My mate. So clever. So willfully blind.” He drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her. She felt small against him, but that was just a physical shell. She did not believe he was cruel, not truly, but she did not know if she had the strength to weather another rejection.
“How do you not understand what I am telling you?” he said.
“You want a family. I heard you.” She moved to pull away, but she could not break his hold.
“Vanessa. Stop. Listen to me. There are many ways to have a family. Some are born. Some are chosen. I chose you. Always you.”
She stilled; face pressed to his chest. “You’re just sweet-talking me because I’m crying.”
“Do you want children?”
“Like adoption or fostering?”
“Now you hear me. Yes. Those options are acceptable.”
She took a long moment to consider. A thoughtful answer was better than a blurted response. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think I’d like to finish my degree first. Maybe. Someday.”
He placed her hand back over his heart. “I want what you want.”
His heart beat a consistent rhythm, steady and true.
“But your instincts—”
“You are more than your biology. Allow me the same consideration.”
The warmth of his voice wrapped around her, as comforting and reassuring as a favorite blanket.
“Okay, okay,” she said, finally allowing the possibility that he would not change his mind and inevitably hurt her.
It was terrifying.
“What if I don’t know what I want?” She tilted her head back, looking up but her hand remained over his heart.
“Then I wait. I am patient.”
A true statement.
“Glacial,” she said, repeating his earlier words. Hard to believe that the alien who did not believe in long-distance dating was praising his own patience, but she believed him. “If we do this, we take it slow. We date, or court, whatever you want to call it. I’m not your mate.” Yet, she nearly blurted out, I’m not the kind of girl you claim on the first date.
“What length of time is the correct amount? A week? A month?” A flash of white fang against his plum complexion gave away his amusement.
“Not the time to tease me, Jaxar.” One day they might look back and laugh, but that seemed too far off in the distance to picture. Nonetheless, she had faith they had a future together and that day would come. “So you’re my boyfriend now,” she said.
He grimaced. “Such an awkward word. I am not a boy. Malefriend is better. Prospective mate?”
“Suitor?”
“Yes. I like that word.” He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, then lifted her without warning and slung her over his shoulder.
“Put me down! Not cool, Jaxar!”
“Share a meal with me. I know this is traditional for Terran courting. As your suitor, you cannot deny me,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself.
Van laughed, both at the absurdity of the situation and the oomph noise he made when her boot connected with his stomach.
Good old steel-toed boots. It paid to be safe in the workplace.
Chapter 14
Jaxar
Date night.
Convincing Vanessa to allow him to court her was a minor miracle. Now he needed to understand Terran courtship rituals and he had no idea where to start and everything to lose if he failed. Vanessa forgave him once when she really should have demanded justice for the wrong, he did. He did not want to further impose on her good nature by inadvertently insulting her.
He thought he would ask Rohn but realized the older male had no idea how to court a mate. Nakia had her heart set on Rohn long ago. All the silver-haired male had to do was not be a jealous ass who threatened to throw anyone out an airlock when they spoke to Nakia. Even then, Rohn had difficulties.
Jaxar should ask Nakia. He hesitated because he had also inadvertently insulted her and tried her good nature.
But Vanessa—
The thought of her filled him with such longing, not just physical desire—but plenty of that—but also just to speak with her. Several times throughout the day he had an amusing thought or interesting bit of information, and his first instinct was to share that with Vanessa. He wanted her perspective. He wanted to see her eyes light up because she found dynamic conversion interesting too. Well, perhaps not that, but some other topic.
He ran his hand up the back of his head. The nature of the topic did not matter. What mattered was sharing his day—his life—with Vanessa. She was too important for him to allow his pride to sabotage their courtship.
The ruins of the attempted meal littered the kitchen counter. He knew enough of Terran courtship to invite Vanessa to his quarters to share a meal, even if he repeated himself. That meal had been to impress her with the kinds of Terran food available on the Judgment and convince her to leave with him. He did not wish to replicate the same meal. Besides, he only knew how to prepare one dish well.
He found a simple Terran recipe. The instructions appeared easy to follow, but when he prepped the tomato for the sauce, the vegetable—technically a fruit but Terran food could be so strange—was waxy and filled with seeds. The seeds popped as he tried to pick out the wax, staining his fingertips a deep pink.
This could not be correct.
Curious, he sampled a seed. It gave a pleasing pop under his teeth and had an agreeable sweetness.
Definitely not correct.
He swallowed his pride and called Nakia.
Vanessa
Laughter spilled from the cabin into the hallway, as did a delicious buttery aroma. Her mouth watered. Not that the food on board was bad. It was excellent, especially compared to barely edible food-like-things that had been available back on the Vel Mori moon. She ate her fill of fresh produce and fresh fruit—actual fruit, not chunks packed in syrup or dehydrated bits—along with a wide variety of Sangrin and Earth dishes, all prepared by skilled cooks in the cafeteria. She even had the option to cook for herself in her cabin, but her culinary skills were limited to burning toast and making coffee, so she took advantage of the open-all-hours cafeteria. If her pants felt a little tighter in the waist, she had no regrets.
Still, the best chefs in the galaxy could be working on board but nothing topped a home-cooked meal. Nothing.
The door to Jaxar’s cabin opened as she approached and Nakia stepped out. “Before you say anything, Jaxar can cook. He just had a little mishap with pomegranates and tom
atoes.”
“I have no idea how those two go together.”
“They don’t. Enjoy your dinner,” Nakia said with a smile.
“Wait, come back. I’m filled with trepidation,” Van shouted down the corridor. “Trepidation!”
Nakia gave a friendly wave but continued to saunter off.
An uncertain meal awaited her, but at least it smelled appealing.
Van ran a hand down the front of her shirtdress and adjusted the belt. Again. She could have gone with her normal tank top and hoodie ensemble, but if Jaxar was putting in effort in courting her, then she could do the same. She wore the shirtdress often enough that it and the just-above-the-knees length wasn’t too big of a deal. The big deal was the strappy fuck-me heels she wore. Her feet felt lighter not tromping around in her regular pair of steel-toed boots.
Jaxar stood over a pot of water, shirtless, as if staring at the pot would force it to boil and he had no fear of splatter. Black and gold tattoos spilled from his broad shoulders, down his back, and teasingly vanished under the waistband of his trousers, which hung low on his hips. The fabric draped in such a way to convince Van that he had a perfect ass. His loose hair nearly reached his shoulders and somehow the casual messiness of it was hotter than his ass.
“If you’re trying to seduce me with food, good job,” she said.
“Sit. The meal is nearly finished,” he said, not taking his eyes off the pot. An alarm chimed and he sprang into action, removing the pot and dumping it into a colander in the sink. Van caught the scent of starch and reasoned he must have made pasta for dinner. He moved the pasta to a bowl and added the contents of a second bowl. Mixed together, he set the bowl on the table.
Van leaned in to enjoy the buttery aroma of cheese and bacon. Her eyes fluttered shut. Wow, it smelled divine. Opening her eyes, she found Jaxar staring at her intently, like she was on the menu. A grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Carbonara?”
“Yes. Nakia helped me choose the menu.”
“Because pomegranates and tomatoes?”
He frowned. “They are very similar in appearance.”
“They really aren’t.” Not that she’d seen a pomegranate in real life in ages, but the last she remembered they were red, which might be the only similarity they shared with tomatoes.
A salad of field greens in a vinaigrette joined the table, as well as toasty warm garlic bread and a bottle of red wine.
“Why do I smell cinnamon?”
A timer dinged. Jaxar removed a tray of cinnamon rolls, their delicious aroma wafting toward her.
Fresh. Baked. Cinnamon rolls.
Jaxar played dirty. How could a girl resist that?
“Are those for me?” She stepped up behind him at the counter, reaching around for the rolls.
He lightly swatted her hand. “Do not. You will burn yourself.”
She refrained from making a joke about buns and grabbing his ass because she was an adult, and this was an adult date with homemade food and he was trying so hard to impress her and she really shouldn’t ruin it by being crass. Instead, she plucked a forlorn pomegranate seed, abandoned in a bowl.
“Sit,” Jaxar said, steering her back to the table.
His cabin had a layout similar to her own: one large multi-purpose room with a small bedroom tucked in the back. The space had an orderly, tidy atmosphere. There had been no rushing to frantically clean before their dinner date. His cabin could pass inspection at any time, even if it felt like no one lived there.
The kitchen was a galley set along one wall with a table too small to be practical. Van could not picture Jaxar hulking over the table, a mug of tea in one and reading the news on his tablet in the other. An explosion of red sauce—presumably the abandoned pomegranate mishap—made a ruin of the kitchen, splattered on the cooktop and dirty pots in the sink. A half-empty box of pasta and a carton of eggs, along with the other ingredients, littered the countertop.
It was homey. She liked it.
As he poured the wine, she asked, “So what happened to your shirt? Something spill?”
“Nothing.” He looked down at his bare chest as if unaware of his half-nakedness.
“So that’s a fashion choice?”
He flashed a grin, all fang and confidence. “I have been advised that I will catch more flies with honey. I had intended to cover myself with honey, but then I was informed it was a metaphor and not advice.”
With the glass of wine nearly at her lips, Van laughed, thankful that she had been spared the embarrassment of snorting wine through her nose and a little disappointed that she didn’t find a honey-coated Jaxar waiting for her.
Only a little thankful. She really would not have been bothered by making a big old mess in his neat little cabin.
Jaxar stared at her with a soft look on his face.
“What?” She dabbed a napkin at her lips, just in case she smeared her lipstick or something.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. She wore a little makeup. Don’t make too big a thing of it.
“I enjoy your laughter. You do not do it enough,” he said.
Oh.
The corner of her mouth pulled back into a smile, an activity unusual enough that her face ached from use.
Ugh. What was he doing to her?
She covered her mouth with the napkin and cleared her throat and asked, “You got frosting for those cinnamon rolls? That’s super important to me right now.”
His green eyes darkened. “Yes, Vanessa.”
That voice, deep and almost criminal the way it went right to core, made her squirm.
“Our first date.” Van clinked her glass against his.
“I believe this is our eighth,” he said.
Van coughed, nearly spitting out the wine. It burned her sinuses and her eyes watered. “How do you reckon that?”
“When we met, we spent hours fixing your device, so that was our first courting encounter.” He held up a finger as he spoke. “I pulled you out of the crashed vehicle moment before a fiery explosion—you are welcome—and I think that very attractive act of stupendous bravery counts as a second date.” He added another finger to the tally. “I stayed with you in Medical; that’s three. You took me to your home, and I met your roommate. Four. I prepared a meal for you. Five. I took you on a romantic flight off-planet—”
“You abducted me. That does not count as a date,” Van said.
“That was six. We walked in the Night Garden, which is seven,” he continued. “This meal is eight. What do Terrans do on the eighth occurrence of courting?” He gave a hopeful grin and Van couldn’t help but laugh. Her man was ridiculous. Creative, yes, but out of his mind if he thought every encounter qualified as a date.
“I’ll give you the picnic. That was totally a date.”
He gave his head a happy little wobble, his horns gleaming in the lights. “I will take victory where I can. When would it be appropriate to ask you to accompany me to a wedding?”
“I don’t know. You only bring people to a wedding who you’re serious about because they’ll be meeting family and friends.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “You will accompany me to Dania’s wedding in two weeks’ time. She is my niece and I have not yet met her infant. I will enjoy that.”
“Slow down. I’m doing what now?”
“Dania. She is the daughter of my brother Stanelle. Technically, he is a cousin as his father is my mother’s brother, but we grew up together. His daughter is to be mated.”
“And she just had a baby?”
“Yes.” He gave her another toothy grin. “They will like you very much. Do not worry.”
Van wanted to question him about secret plots to shove a baby in her arms and make her want a baby of her own, but sometimes a family wedding was just a family wedding. “Tell me more about your family,” she said.
Jaxar prattled happily about the aunt and uncle who took him when his parents died. His cousin had been a shadow, always tagging along, and he had endless rough and tumble stor
ies about the mischief he and Stanelle created. Their home had been filled with love. Pangs of envy stirred in her gut because, while they were both orphaned, Jaxar found his family.
“They sound amazing,” she said.
“What do Terrans expect on a second date?”
“Depends.” Van stuck her fork into the salad and bought herself some time munching on the greens. “The first date is usually where we decide if there’s attraction. You know, chemistry. I’m usually nervous and it’s so hard to be myself.” Not that Van had a ton of dating experience. Well, first dates. Getting a date was easy. Finding a guy interesting enough for a second date had been the challenge. All that was in the epoch known as Before Havik. She had not been on a date, even a friendly coffee date, since her divorce.
“I cannot imagine you as anything but yourself,” Jaxar said.
“Thanks. I suppose all the cursing and beating things with a wrench helped.”
“It made me love you instantly.”
The tattoo that bisected his right eye sparked with silvery fire, making that one green eye brighter for a moment.
She felt as if she had been doused with a bucket of cold water. The tattoos didn’t lie.
He was serious. Love at first sight.
Seriously? They hadn’t even gotten to second base yet, but he already knew.
“Vanessa,” he said in that way that made it sound like she was coated in chocolate—or vanilla frosting—and he couldn’t wait to lick her clean.
No one had the right to be that sexy just saying a name.
“So, um,” she swallowed, “a second date is where we get to know each other. Talk about our past and what we want for the future.”
“We completed that task in the Night Garden.”
“You want what I want,” she said, paraphrasing his words. Why was it so hard to think? She pushed the glass of wine away, as if to blame one sip of alcohol and not Jaxar casually dropping the L-word.
“We have already confirmed our mutual attraction.”
Van dropped her fork, salad and dressing hitting her chin. The table rocked as he leaned across. Maybe some dishes fell to the floor; she couldn’t say. She was too focused on the way his tongue licked the vinaigrette from her lips.
Jaxar Page 14
