the lingering
underpainting of the old. It would take some time for her to remember that
things had changed; that things were different now. Paul would hold her in the
dark, whispering that everything was going to be alright. She must have slipped
out of the Nexus during the mission somehow, he thought. Her memories are all
mixed up. Sometimes she remembers the old world, and sometimes it’s all just a
dream.
A dream…
Soft hands… The warm smooth
touch… A floral scent of jasmine and—
He started awake, eyes opening
wide with surprise. A young woman was sitting at his side, her arms
extended as she smeared a sweet oil over his body. But it wasn’t Jen. Paul
caught the scent of olive oil at once, and there was a strange spicy odor in
the room, like sandalwood incense mixed with jasmine What in god’s name was
going on here?
His gaze was instinctively drawn
to the face of the woman. She was very young, eyes dark ovals above her
delicate features and smooth, rosy brown cheeks. She wore a sheer, silken gown
that covered very little, and it draped open in a languid disarray to expose
her slender body, alight with the gleam of oil. A beaded pendant dangled
between her naked breasts. Loose, dark curls of black hair framed her face, and
she wore a circlet of silver ovals at her forehead, adorned by a bright pink
flower. He stared at the woman, somewhat amazed and confused, yet captivated
by her youth and beauty. Her eyes brightened in a smile, round almond brown and
full of energy.
The woman bowed low,
with a slow reverence, and then leaned back, regarding him with a graceful
curiosity. Her hand smoothed the residue of olive oil on her bare thigh, and
she smiled at him again, warm and inviting.
Paul was completely taken with
the situation, his amazement increasing as he eased up to see more of his
surroundings. He was in a room of smooth, shaped stone, the amber walls draped
with falls of rosy curtains. There was a lacquered wood lattice at one end to
serve as a kind of room divider. He spied a small window there, propped open
with a polished wood rod, and could dimly discern that there were other rooms
beyond. Close by the bed there was a small settee with an inlaid glass top
trimmed out with beautifully carved wood. A tall tapered vase sat on the
settee, with a slender pouring spout on one side, like the neck of a swan, and
the wide oval of a thin handle on the other. A small glass of carved crystal
sat next to the vase.
The woman saw him gape in awe at
the scene, and smiled, with some amusement, as though she expected the
surprise. She reached for the vase with a graceful movement and slowly poured a
dark liqueur into the crystal glass. Paul had managed to prop himself up on one
elbow now, suddenly flushed with the awareness of his own nudity. His clothes
were gone and he wore little more than a thin loincloth, his slim body gleaming
with the sheen of scented olive oil.
“Anaya,” the woman’s voice was a
melodious whisper as she extended the glass, holding it to his lips. A pungent,
spicy aroma effused his senses as he drank, gently encouraged by the smiling woman
at his side. The drink had a sharp, alcoholic bite and he nearly coughed when
he swallowed. The woman reached out, her hand softly cupping the side of his
chin to help him finish. Then she set the glass aside and sidled closer, eyes
alight with an almost mischievous fire. The closeness and fragrance of the
woman seemed to bring a heat to Paul. He felt flushed and light headed; his
vision blurred.
As if sensing the change, the
woman extended her arms and gently guided him until he lay prone again, cradled
in soft cushions. A warm drowsiness settled on him, but he passed a moment of
keen awareness when the woman slipped off the silver gray robe and slid next to
him. She lay at his side, pressing close and draping a
underpainting of the old. It would take some time for her to remember that
things had changed; that things were different now. Paul would hold her in the
dark, whispering that everything was going to be alright. She must have slipped
out of the Nexus during the mission somehow, he thought. Her memories are all
mixed up. Sometimes she remembers the old world, and sometimes it’s all just a
dream.
A dream…
Soft hands… The warm smooth
touch… A floral scent of jasmine and—
He started awake, eyes opening
wide with surprise. A young woman was sitting at his side, her arms
extended as she smeared a sweet oil over his body. But it wasn’t Jen. Paul
caught the scent of olive oil at once, and there was a strange spicy odor in
the room, like sandalwood incense mixed with jasmine What in god’s name was
going on here?
His gaze was instinctively drawn
to the face of the woman. She was very young, eyes dark ovals above her
delicate features and smooth, rosy brown cheeks. She wore a sheer, silken gown
that covered very little, and it draped open in a languid disarray to expose
her slender body, alight with the gleam of oil. A beaded pendant dangled
between her naked breasts. Loose, dark curls of black hair framed her face, and
she wore a circlet of silver ovals at her forehead, adorned by a bright pink
flower. He stared at the woman, somewhat amazed and confused, yet captivated
by her youth and beauty. Her eyes brightened in a smile, round almond brown and
full of energy.
The woman bowed low,
with a slow reverence, and then leaned back, regarding him with a graceful
curiosity. Her hand smoothed the residue of olive oil on her bare thigh, and
she smiled at him again, warm and inviting.
Paul was completely taken with
the situation, his amazement increasing as he eased up to see more of his
surroundings. He was in a room of smooth, shaped stone, the amber walls draped
with falls of rosy curtains. There was a lacquered wood lattice at one end to
serve as a kind of room divider. He spied a small window there, propped open
with a polished wood rod, and could dimly discern that there were other rooms
beyond. Close by the bed there was a small settee with an inlaid glass top
trimmed out with beautifully carved wood. A tall tapered vase sat on the
settee, with a slender pouring spout on one side, like the neck of a swan, and
the wide oval of a thin handle on the other. A small glass of carved crystal
sat next to the vase.
The woman saw him gape in awe at
the scene, and smiled, with some amusement, as though she expected the
surprise. She reached for the vase with a graceful movement and slowly poured a
dark liqueur into the crystal glass. Paul had managed to prop himself up on one
elbow now, suddenly flushed with the awareness of his own nudity. His clothes
were gone and he wore little more than a thin loincloth, his slim body gleaming
with the sheen of scented olive oil.
“Anaya,” the woman’s voice was a
melodious whisper as she extended the glass, holding it to his lips. A pungent,
spicy aroma effused his senses as he drank, gently encouraged by the smiling woman
at his side. The drink had a sharp, alcoholic bite and he nearly coughed when
he swallowed. The woman reached out, her hand softly cupping the side of his
chin to help him finish. Then she set the glass aside and sidled closer, eyes
alight with an almost mischievous fire. The closeness and fragrance of the
woman seemed to bring a heat to Paul. He felt flushed and light headed; his
vision blurred.
As if sensing the change, the
woman extended her arms and gently guided him until he lay prone again, cradled
in soft cushions. A warm drowsiness settled on him, but he passed a moment of
keen awareness when the woman slipped off the silver gray robe and slid next to
him. She lay at his side, pressing close and draping a
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