Your Planet or Mine? by Susan Grant Page A

troop transport vessel. Except, I tried to maneuver it like a fighter. I don’t think he expected that.” He made a small smile. “I saw his ship go down before I crashed. I thought it was destroyed. Apparently it was not.” He winced again.
    He flew a spaceship here. A spaceship . Cavin looked so normal, so human, that it was easy to forget he came from outer space. He was a space voyager, a galactic traveler who’d seen distant wonders that were the stuff of dreams. The realization left her bouncing between fear and fascination.
    “You’re alive,” she said. “That’s what’s important.” She steered him into the family room, where a newspaper from several days ago still sat on the coffee table next to several little balls of crumpled foil—evidence of devoured chocolate kisses and the addiction Evie bemoaned constantly.
    Jana turned a switch and the gas fireplace whooshed to life, bringing instant warmth. “Sit down, Cavin.” He sat heavily on the chaise portion of a leather sectional littered with pillows and cozy woolen blankets.
    Sadie hopped up on the couch next to him. By now, the growling had subsided to an occasional high-pitched gurgle that the dog probably intended to sound threatening.
    “Do you need help getting out of that armor, Cavin?” Good one, Jana. You’ve been looking for excuses to get him out of that space suit all night. Behave yourself .
    “I have this.” He reached for a compartment mounted on the outside of his thigh, withdrew a small tool about the size and shape of a little screwdriver.
    Uh-oh. “I hope you’re not planning to perform surgery. I give blood regularly, but if I watch it go into the collection bag, I get sick. And then there was the time I passed out after getting a flu shot…”
    “It’s a tool, not a scalpel. I’ll need it to remove the armor. Normally the AI in my suit would open the seams, but it’s been malfunctioning since the crash. I’ll have to do it manually.”
    Translated, it meant he was getting undressed. It was all the motivation she needed to keep from passing out.
    Cavin pulled off his gloves and used the tool he’d dug out of his pocket to unfasten the armor a little at a time. The outfit had no buttons, zippers or recognizable fasteners. “Jana, I could use your help getting out of these sleeves.”
    She perked up. I thought you’d never ask . She took hold of the sleeve so he could draw out his arm. “Pull,” she said, pressing a knee on the couch for leverage. She tossed one casing to the floor and then the other.
    His leg casings came off next, then the boots, and finally the torso armor was open. He spread the armor apart like a clamshell and removed it. Jana leaned forward in breathless anticipation. It was like watching the unwrapping of a Christmas present.
    Underneath the armor, he wore a black shirt made of soft, plush fabric. Like long underwear, it hugged his chest and broad shoulders. Now that he’d removed his boots, she was able to better guess his height. Maybe six feet one or two. He probably weighed in around two-ten or twenty and not an ounce looked to be anything but lean, hard muscle.
    Then she saw the blood.
    Wet, dark red, hard to discern against the black shirt. “Cavin…” Jana swallowed hard in an attempt not to be sick. “You’re bleeding.”
    “Seeping, really.”
    “Seeping, bleeding, leaking, dripping, does it make a difference? It’s blood, and it means you’re hurt.” She ran to the kitchen and returned with towels. “We’ve been running around all night. Why didn’t you say something?”
    “And what would that have done other than worry you? We couldn’t have stopped and done anything about it.” He lifted the T-shirt higher, revealing a flat belly, a fine set of abs, and a bloody bruise slashed through the center by a nasty laceration.
    “Ugh,” she said, feeling woozy.
    “The instrument panel almost gutted me when it shattered.”
    “Stop.” She held up both hands. Then her