straining against something even as he leaned a little farther into me.
By this point, I he was vaguely aware that I should be furious over such a massive invasion of my personal space. But I’d grabbed him first, and anyway, his weight felt good against me. Right, like it should always be there. The strange madness that had made me touch him was only fanned hotter by his nearness, and with his head right next to mine, I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to turn and press a kiss against his hair. It would feel lovely, I bet, soft as silk and warm against my lips.
I’d already started to move when I caught myself. I jerked to a stop and closed my eyes with a silent curse. Drunk or no, this was getting out of hand. I needed to leave, now, before I did something really stupid, but the insane part of me wasn’t ready to let go yet.
Since I couldn’t make peace between the half of me that wanted to flee and the half that wanted to climb on top of the cook and put the lounge couch to the test, I settled for touching his hand, running my finger down his palm to the thin black tattoo that peeked out from under the edge of his shirt’s old-fashioned button cuff. That surprised me, actually. The cook didn’t seem like the tattoo type. But when I started nudging his sleeve up to see the black mark in full, a sentence appeared in my mind.
“This life for Tanya,” I read, tilting my head to get a better look at the black markings. They were no language I’d ever seen, but that didn’t seem to matter. I knew what they said. I was trying to figure out how that could be when I realized the cook had gone stone still.
Quick as he’d caught the glass, the cook stood up, pulling away from me so deftly I didn’t even feel him moving until he was gone. I jerked up in surprise to see him stepping over the short coffee table, pulling down his sleeve as he went. The revulsion struck as soon as I looked, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he deposited my glass in the kitchen and walked to the hall door. He paused when he reached it, but he didn’t look back. Just lowered his head.
“I am sorry to have bothered you, Miss Morris,” he said, his voice polite and distant. “Have a good evening.”
Before I could answer, he was gone, leaving me alone in the dark. I stared at the closed lounge door for almost a minute before I stood and followed.
It was hard going. The whiskey had me now, and I stumbled into the hall, using the wall to keep me up as I trudged back to my bunk. The glowing bug was right where I’d left it, but I didn’t spare it another glance as I fell face-first into bed.
There were no nightmares this time. No black monster, no deaths. Instead, I dreamed I was lying on a narrow bunk in a small room while the cook made love to me with a thoroughness that took my breath away. And when I woke up flushed and panting to the hyperspace exit alarm, I was hard-pressed to say which dream was worse.
CHAPTER 4
Y ou do not look well,” Rashid said when I walked into the lounge thirty minutes later. “Did you not sleep?”
“I slept great.”
It was embarrassing to lie about something so petty, but I’d spent my whole shower putting what had happened last night out of my head, and I wasn’t about to even brush that topic now. Rashid was still looking at me funny, though, so I hid behind my helmet, sliding it on so quickly the neuronet connectors snagged in my freshly braided hair. “Where are we?”
I’d meant the question for Rashid, but my com was on, and it was Basil who answered. “It’s”—the aeon made a deep whistling sound that vibrated my speakers—“but since your throat can’t handle that, most humans use the rough translation ‘Ample.’”
It was a fitting name. The planet we were orbiting was huge and green, its sprawling landmasses covered in a grid of verdant fields so large their boundaries were visible from space. “Lot of traffic for a farming planet,” I said, eying the
By this point, I he was vaguely aware that I should be furious over such a massive invasion of my personal space. But I’d grabbed him first, and anyway, his weight felt good against me. Right, like it should always be there. The strange madness that had made me touch him was only fanned hotter by his nearness, and with his head right next to mine, I couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to turn and press a kiss against his hair. It would feel lovely, I bet, soft as silk and warm against my lips.
I’d already started to move when I caught myself. I jerked to a stop and closed my eyes with a silent curse. Drunk or no, this was getting out of hand. I needed to leave, now, before I did something really stupid, but the insane part of me wasn’t ready to let go yet.
Since I couldn’t make peace between the half of me that wanted to flee and the half that wanted to climb on top of the cook and put the lounge couch to the test, I settled for touching his hand, running my finger down his palm to the thin black tattoo that peeked out from under the edge of his shirt’s old-fashioned button cuff. That surprised me, actually. The cook didn’t seem like the tattoo type. But when I started nudging his sleeve up to see the black mark in full, a sentence appeared in my mind.
“This life for Tanya,” I read, tilting my head to get a better look at the black markings. They were no language I’d ever seen, but that didn’t seem to matter. I knew what they said. I was trying to figure out how that could be when I realized the cook had gone stone still.
Quick as he’d caught the glass, the cook stood up, pulling away from me so deftly I didn’t even feel him moving until he was gone. I jerked up in surprise to see him stepping over the short coffee table, pulling down his sleeve as he went. The revulsion struck as soon as I looked, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away as he deposited my glass in the kitchen and walked to the hall door. He paused when he reached it, but he didn’t look back. Just lowered his head.
“I am sorry to have bothered you, Miss Morris,” he said, his voice polite and distant. “Have a good evening.”
Before I could answer, he was gone, leaving me alone in the dark. I stared at the closed lounge door for almost a minute before I stood and followed.
It was hard going. The whiskey had me now, and I stumbled into the hall, using the wall to keep me up as I trudged back to my bunk. The glowing bug was right where I’d left it, but I didn’t spare it another glance as I fell face-first into bed.
There were no nightmares this time. No black monster, no deaths. Instead, I dreamed I was lying on a narrow bunk in a small room while the cook made love to me with a thoroughness that took my breath away. And when I woke up flushed and panting to the hyperspace exit alarm, I was hard-pressed to say which dream was worse.
CHAPTER 4
Y ou do not look well,” Rashid said when I walked into the lounge thirty minutes later. “Did you not sleep?”
“I slept great.”
It was embarrassing to lie about something so petty, but I’d spent my whole shower putting what had happened last night out of my head, and I wasn’t about to even brush that topic now. Rashid was still looking at me funny, though, so I hid behind my helmet, sliding it on so quickly the neuronet connectors snagged in my freshly braided hair. “Where are we?”
I’d meant the question for Rashid, but my com was on, and it was Basil who answered. “It’s”—the aeon made a deep whistling sound that vibrated my speakers—“but since your throat can’t handle that, most humans use the rough translation ‘Ample.’”
It was a fitting name. The planet we were orbiting was huge and green, its sprawling landmasses covered in a grid of verdant fields so large their boundaries were visible from space. “Lot of traffic for a farming planet,” I said, eying the
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