errors."
"But why?" he blurted, trying to recall the rulebooks, the Code that covered such things, knowing that he'd not pursued all the studies he should have . . .
She continued. "Kissing is a gray area; for families may kiss, and lovers, but one may not purposefully stroke the face . . .
"But you're beautiful!"
She sighed, perplexed. "Am I so? Beautiful? Well, my friend, you make me feel thus. Your eyes and your hands and your touch and your enthusiasms, yes, you make me feel beautiful."
She sat up somewhat then, holding him down with one hand and leaning over him, using the other hand to tease his ear with a sigh . . .
"I should not, you know," she allowed, but then, despite her admonition, she let the hand trace his ear to the side of his face, and put the whole of her hand on his cheek.
Her hand and her glance moved down his chin, playfully traced the choker--spanning it with her finger and thumb before pressing very gently on the rampant rabbit where it echoed his pulse--and then drifted downward, across one nipple and then the other, now down across his navel and teasing lower.
"Dance for me," she offered with a tempting smile, "and you may rub my cheek!"
But his hips were moving already as her cheek flattered his belly, and there was another lesson or maybe two, before morning.
*
Morning brought its own delights, with one of them the scandalous way Gaenor risked the door to tug in the breakfast cart, dressed as she was in only her flimsy overtop. That top had been put on to explain the names of clothes he'd never seen before, and the names of seams, inner workings, and to explain something of the disappearing. Perhaps he should have gone for the cart, had he known her intentions, but there, though he might be somewhat dressed in the see-through bottoms she'd had him put on again for this technical discussion, there was no doubting that an accidentally passing crew member might be surer of what he'd been up to than her.
In any case, her laughing countenance assured him there'd been no major exposure, and the breakfast she brought to the bedside, and the dessert she offered, was just what the famished trader needed.
Chapter Six
Clan Ixin's Tradeship Elthoria , Boltston Arrival
He'd had five minutes, from the time the emergency wake-up did its job until the door sounded Norn ven'Deelin's tone. Jethri had managed, in those five minutes, to dress, though he had not, he feared, dressed well .
Worse, he had been late at his books, and short sleep had likewise shortened his temper.
"Ma'am, I'm in no case for a meeting," he told his mother as he opened the door.
"Scout necessity," was her answer. "Be at ease if you will! And come with me!"
"Ma'am, I'm hardly on the shift schedule--" It was hard not to sound annoyed, and he didn't hide it well, with a sharp edge he rarely used for anyone, much less Norn ven'Deelin.
His blush was minor: there were none to have heard it but him; he was fully deserving of her increased speed and more. But she relented as she hand-signed him toward the passage leading toward the small break room.
"None of us are, twenty breaths out of Jump and ten out of sleep, child."
He took the hint. More complaints would be really bad form, despite the provocation.
Well, and that was the problem: he'd been half-muffled in his bedclothes when the annunciator went off, and barely dressed when Norn herself appeared at his door on her way to their sudden breakfast. All this after he'd spent a late night writing notes. The easy part was one each to the twins, promising an excellent update when he was not so pressed for time--that task made more difficult by having to say some of the same thing in different words, in case they shared his message--he'd not be so gauche as to be sending ladies cut-and-paste correspondence!
The hard part--he'd hoped he'd reassured Tan Sim of his trust and continued goodwill, while admitting that the missing items might be a difficulty. That Tan Sim was well
"But why?" he blurted, trying to recall the rulebooks, the Code that covered such things, knowing that he'd not pursued all the studies he should have . . .
She continued. "Kissing is a gray area; for families may kiss, and lovers, but one may not purposefully stroke the face . . .
"But you're beautiful!"
She sighed, perplexed. "Am I so? Beautiful? Well, my friend, you make me feel thus. Your eyes and your hands and your touch and your enthusiasms, yes, you make me feel beautiful."
She sat up somewhat then, holding him down with one hand and leaning over him, using the other hand to tease his ear with a sigh . . .
"I should not, you know," she allowed, but then, despite her admonition, she let the hand trace his ear to the side of his face, and put the whole of her hand on his cheek.
Her hand and her glance moved down his chin, playfully traced the choker--spanning it with her finger and thumb before pressing very gently on the rampant rabbit where it echoed his pulse--and then drifted downward, across one nipple and then the other, now down across his navel and teasing lower.
"Dance for me," she offered with a tempting smile, "and you may rub my cheek!"
But his hips were moving already as her cheek flattered his belly, and there was another lesson or maybe two, before morning.
*
Morning brought its own delights, with one of them the scandalous way Gaenor risked the door to tug in the breakfast cart, dressed as she was in only her flimsy overtop. That top had been put on to explain the names of clothes he'd never seen before, and the names of seams, inner workings, and to explain something of the disappearing. Perhaps he should have gone for the cart, had he known her intentions, but there, though he might be somewhat dressed in the see-through bottoms she'd had him put on again for this technical discussion, there was no doubting that an accidentally passing crew member might be surer of what he'd been up to than her.
In any case, her laughing countenance assured him there'd been no major exposure, and the breakfast she brought to the bedside, and the dessert she offered, was just what the famished trader needed.
Chapter Six
Clan Ixin's Tradeship Elthoria , Boltston Arrival
He'd had five minutes, from the time the emergency wake-up did its job until the door sounded Norn ven'Deelin's tone. Jethri had managed, in those five minutes, to dress, though he had not, he feared, dressed well .
Worse, he had been late at his books, and short sleep had likewise shortened his temper.
"Ma'am, I'm in no case for a meeting," he told his mother as he opened the door.
"Scout necessity," was her answer. "Be at ease if you will! And come with me!"
"Ma'am, I'm hardly on the shift schedule--" It was hard not to sound annoyed, and he didn't hide it well, with a sharp edge he rarely used for anyone, much less Norn ven'Deelin.
His blush was minor: there were none to have heard it but him; he was fully deserving of her increased speed and more. But she relented as she hand-signed him toward the passage leading toward the small break room.
"None of us are, twenty breaths out of Jump and ten out of sleep, child."
He took the hint. More complaints would be really bad form, despite the provocation.
Well, and that was the problem: he'd been half-muffled in his bedclothes when the annunciator went off, and barely dressed when Norn herself appeared at his door on her way to their sudden breakfast. All this after he'd spent a late night writing notes. The easy part was one each to the twins, promising an excellent update when he was not so pressed for time--that task made more difficult by having to say some of the same thing in different words, in case they shared his message--he'd not be so gauche as to be sending ladies cut-and-paste correspondence!
The hard part--he'd hoped he'd reassured Tan Sim of his trust and continued goodwill, while admitting that the missing items might be a difficulty. That Tan Sim was well
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