that good." Plucking at his trousers, he told her, "The clothes were a gift from a grateful seed-stealing smuggler sentenced to death by the Nandans. Since Drandon and I had a nice little business supplying non-Vash plantations in the frontier, I facilitated his escape from a rather dismal dungeon."
At the end of his explanation, Jas caught herself leaning forward, thoroughly fascinated. In those few moments, she had lived the adventure right along with him. "You have more stories," she prompted.
"A few."
"I want to hear them all."
He appeared pleased. "I'll bore you."
"No," she said with a sigh, "you won't."
"Very well. Then you will tell me your tales after-ward."
She waved her hands rapidly. "Which will take all of five minutes."
"That I doubt," he said, a grin transforming his profile. His nose was too long to be perfect, but she loved the way it came that extra, sexy fraction of an inch closer to his mouth, giving him the look of an ancient Greek statue. His long, lean athlete's body was muscled just
enough to keep him from being lanky. The candlelight warmed his hair to a honeyed cinnamon, a shade or two darker than his skin, and she wondered whether the strands were as soft as they looked.
If he was aware of her fascination with him, he didn't show it, and busied himself preparing the meal. Steaming savory aromas rose and mingled in the air as Rom uncovered various crocks, choosing from among the dishes to adorn a plate with a colorful array of food. Jas's stomach rumbled.
"Let us begin the meal." Rom settled onto the pillows. From across a comer of the triangular table separating him from her, he selected a morsel from his plate. Holding it carefully between his thumb and index finger, he offered it to her. "Tromjha beef," he explained. When she reached for it, he drew his hand back. "In my culture, on occasions such as these, we feed each other."
"Oh." The thought made her dizzy—and not only because of the liqueur's subtle effects on her brain. The act screamed of intimacy. Oh, just do it. It was one reason she took this trip, wasn't it? To embrace new experiences, to remember what was like to feel alive.
She parted her lips.
His three lower fingers, those not touching the meat, brushed against her jaw. Whether it was by accident or design, she couldn't tell, and didn't care, because the feel of his warm, dry fingertips was as delicious as the tender beef he fed her. Blotting his thumb and forefinger on a napkin, he watched her intently as she chewed, savoring the delicate citruslike flavoring. And then it was her turn.
Her heart slammed against her chest as she raised a piece of meat to his mouth, holding the food the way he had, between two fingers, leaving the others clean and free... to touch. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft.
When he had finished chewing, he murmured the name of the next delicacy, then fed it to her, his fingertips sliding along her jaw as he withdrew his hand. Goose bumps rose on her arms. As he watched her, she crushed the tart-sweet marinated fruit with her teeth, then selected one for him, lifting it to his parted lips. This time she dared to let the heel of her hand linger on his cheek, and his whiskers, too pale to be seen, pricked the tender inside of her palm. The temperature inside the room skyrocketed, but she suspected it wasn't due to a faulty environmental-control system.
"I could get used to this," she confessed.
His mouth curved as she paused to clean and dry her fingers. She glowed inside with his smile, and felt her belly contract when she entertained the insane thought of kissing him. Not that he would waste his time with a rookie like her. He was a man of galactic experience. If she were a male guest, he'd be regaling her with tales of conquests and sexual prowess. "I think you must have had adventures to fill ten lifetimes," she said.
"Twenty."
She laughed softly.
At the end of his explanation, Jas caught herself leaning forward, thoroughly fascinated. In those few moments, she had lived the adventure right along with him. "You have more stories," she prompted.
"A few."
"I want to hear them all."
He appeared pleased. "I'll bore you."
"No," she said with a sigh, "you won't."
"Very well. Then you will tell me your tales after-ward."
She waved her hands rapidly. "Which will take all of five minutes."
"That I doubt," he said, a grin transforming his profile. His nose was too long to be perfect, but she loved the way it came that extra, sexy fraction of an inch closer to his mouth, giving him the look of an ancient Greek statue. His long, lean athlete's body was muscled just
enough to keep him from being lanky. The candlelight warmed his hair to a honeyed cinnamon, a shade or two darker than his skin, and she wondered whether the strands were as soft as they looked.
If he was aware of her fascination with him, he didn't show it, and busied himself preparing the meal. Steaming savory aromas rose and mingled in the air as Rom uncovered various crocks, choosing from among the dishes to adorn a plate with a colorful array of food. Jas's stomach rumbled.
"Let us begin the meal." Rom settled onto the pillows. From across a comer of the triangular table separating him from her, he selected a morsel from his plate. Holding it carefully between his thumb and index finger, he offered it to her. "Tromjha beef," he explained. When she reached for it, he drew his hand back. "In my culture, on occasions such as these, we feed each other."
"Oh." The thought made her dizzy—and not only because of the liqueur's subtle effects on her brain. The act screamed of intimacy. Oh, just do it. It was one reason she took this trip, wasn't it? To embrace new experiences, to remember what was like to feel alive.
She parted her lips.
His three lower fingers, those not touching the meat, brushed against her jaw. Whether it was by accident or design, she couldn't tell, and didn't care, because the feel of his warm, dry fingertips was as delicious as the tender beef he fed her. Blotting his thumb and forefinger on a napkin, he watched her intently as she chewed, savoring the delicate citruslike flavoring. And then it was her turn.
Her heart slammed against her chest as she raised a piece of meat to his mouth, holding the food the way he had, between two fingers, leaving the others clean and free... to touch. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft.
When he had finished chewing, he murmured the name of the next delicacy, then fed it to her, his fingertips sliding along her jaw as he withdrew his hand. Goose bumps rose on her arms. As he watched her, she crushed the tart-sweet marinated fruit with her teeth, then selected one for him, lifting it to his parted lips. This time she dared to let the heel of her hand linger on his cheek, and his whiskers, too pale to be seen, pricked the tender inside of her palm. The temperature inside the room skyrocketed, but she suspected it wasn't due to a faulty environmental-control system.
"I could get used to this," she confessed.
His mouth curved as she paused to clean and dry her fingers. She glowed inside with his smile, and felt her belly contract when she entertained the insane thought of kissing him. Not that he would waste his time with a rookie like her. He was a man of galactic experience. If she were a male guest, he'd be regaling her with tales of conquests and sexual prowess. "I think you must have had adventures to fill ten lifetimes," she said.
"Twenty."
She laughed softly.
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