Heat rushed to her face. Mortified, she glanced at Gann and the rest of the bridge crew, then expelled a hiss of breath. "I do not believe you."
Rom appeared genuinely taken aback. "It is the truth. Regretfully you left with everything else intact."
"That
is not anyone's business."
"I most certainly agree." Spreading one broad palm on the center of his chest, over his heart, he said, "Commerce would pale in the blaze of your kisses."
Six pairs of light-colored eyes watched her expectantly, diluting the effect of Rom's compliment. Flashing a stiff smile at the men, she thrust out her hand. "Give me the shoes."
"You are not pleased. Tell me why. You are a woman. I am a man," he recited, as if quoting the teachings she'd read earlier. "And everyone knows that the traditional end to a fine meal is—"
Jas made a small choking noise.
"—making love. Sex in its myriad forms is yet another form of sustenance."
I was only snacking, doll. Look, I came home for the main course.
Jas flinched as Rom's words brought back the bitter memory. As Jock's admission of that first affair echoed inside her, every fiber of her being wanted to flee the bridge. But she stayed, riveted in place, exposed, while that scene played out inside her: Jock's teasing attempt at making up; how she'd stubbornly dammed her tears to avoid upsetting two inquisitive five-year-olds in the middle of a fast-food restaurant. But Ian had known somehow, recognized the pain his father's dismissive words had brought her. She'd never forget how Ian looked, a little boy with a cardboard Burger King crown propped crookedly atop his head, a knight-in-shining-armor look on his face. He'd been her champion.
"Jas?"
Rom was wearing that same look. Her heart twisted, and longing blanketed her eternal loneliness. Oh, how she wanted to believe in magic—
his
magic.
No!
She lashed out in a harsh whisper. " 'Holy pleasure,' 'sacred sex.' Garbage! You are no different from my .. . my ..." What she intended to say stuck in her throat. Nothing translated to
ex-husband, so
she blurted out the next best thing. "From my husband!"
"Your
husband?"
Rom exclaimed, equally shaken.
"Yes." Her voice throbbed with pain. "Intimacy meant nothing to him, either." She snatched her shoes out of his hand and stormed off.
"Children?" Gann inquired mildly as she passed by.
"Two." Head held high, Jas disappeared into the corridor.
"And so the story unfolds," Gann said cheerily. "Boys or girls, I wonder?"
Chapter Seven
Misery loves company, Jas told herself, seeking refuge that evening with the crew in the
Quillie's
common room, where Kendall Smith, the reporter from Earth, dominated the oversize viewscreen. The image was clear and bright, as if the correspondent stood in Washington, D.C., and Jas were watching from her living room at home. Thanks to Terz, chief engineer and sought-after handyman, she'd now be able to see all of Smith's broadcasts.
The group of rowdy crewmen made for a perfect distraction. They found the idea of a "frontiersman," expounding on tourist attractions while being wined and dined by the
Vash Nadah,
entertaining. And that, in turn, gave her a humorous insight into their world. So far they'd told her how to book passage on tourist shuttles, the best vacation spots, and that the Romjha Hotel was
the
place to stay when she arrived at the Depot.
Setting aside the pen she was using to take notes, she reached across Muffin's lap to a hammered copperlike bowl, scooping up a handful of the crispy little question marks that passed for chips. They were spiced with something savory instead of salted . . . and she couldn't get enough of them. "My thighs hope that shimmer crackers don't taste better than these. I could
live
on these toppers—or rather, poppers." Jas dusted crumbs from her hands with a napkin. "That isn't it. What do you call them?"
"Positively addictive."
She stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. Arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder propped against the door frame, Rom was watching her intently. She fought the urge to dive for cover, wishing she were anywhere else but beneath the stare of those unwavering, hauntingly familiar golden eyes.
"Croppers is the common name," he said pleasantly. His devil-may-care exterior didn't fool her. And that expression of practiced boredom was a mask. She'd bet her bottom dollar that the muscles tensing in his jaw indicated barely contained fury. "You'll see them again and again. They're a staple in drinking establishments from the galaxy's heart to the frontier." He looked her over with something akin to contempt. "Surely you're looking forward to socializing during your, ah, unfettered travels ...
Mrs.
Hamilton."
Nodding, she choked down the suddenly dry wad of croppers that had stuck to her tongue.
"Ah, Rom, glad you could join us," Gann sang out as he returned, two large bowls brimming with peculiar glittering crackers in his arms. He set one bowl close to Jas. "Shimmer crackers. Freshly baked."
Rom followed him into the room. Hastily she camouflaged Gann's empty spot with pillows, but Rom stopped in front of the couch, towering over her. Everything about him looked bigger, stronger. Threatening. She could hear his slow, even breaths, could smell the broken-in leather of his work boots, the laundered fabric of his loose-fitting silvery shirt, and his skin—warmly scented with hygienic shower soap—mingled with something exotic, musky . . . and distinctly male.
The way he tasted.
She gulped. Rom gestured to the cushions stacked between her and Muffin. "Any claims on this spot?"
Jas beseeched Rom's tall friend with her eyes. "Gann, I saved your seat."
Gann waved demurely. "Sit, B'kah. Rank before beauty."
"That's
age
before beauty," Jas corrected sourly.
"Rom wins on both counts then." Gann tipped his head toward his captain, then settled onto a pile of pillows on the floor. Rom sat next to her. The viewscreen's muted, multicolored image behind him made his perfectly sculpted profile look as cool and impenetrable as marble.
He spoke in hushed tones. "I would have thought it impossible on such a small ship, but aside from glimpses here and there, I haven't seen you all day."
She could barely hear his voice above the background noise of chitchat and laughter. Leaning closer, she unintentionally brushed her arm against his. His biceps went taut with the contact. "I have been painting," she said uneasily. "And reading."
An emotionally charged silence pulsed between them.
"Tell me. Jasmine, do you intend to avoid me until the end of the voyage?"
"I did not have a plan one way or the other."
"I see. A vague reply to blunt your deceit."
She bristled, whispering harshly, "Explain what you mean."
The small creases etched on either side of his mouth deepened. Disturbingly calm, he pressed his fingertips together, flexing them. "I cannot stomach adultery."
"What?"
"I made a grave error in assuming you were free to make love with me. Because I was so sure that you were the incarnation of my vision, I did not consider that you might be a wife. Had I known this I would not have asked you to make love. Never would I take a woman who has spoken the sacred vows with another."
"Rom," she said softly. "I am not married."
There was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. "You are a widow, then."
"No. The marriage was"—she hunted for the best words—"legally severed."
"Why didn't you tell me on the bridge?"
"I tried. But there is no Basic that means 'broken marriage.' " He looked so bewildered that she rushed her explanation, stumbling over the simplest Basic words as she told him how her marriage had officially ended almost a year ago, and how they'd lived apart even longer. Still, she skirted any mention of how they'd ceased to have a real marriage long before that.
"Jock." A hint of a grimace curved Rom's lips, as if the name itself left a bitter taste. "He left you without a protector? When you had children?"
"They are grown. Nineteen in Earth years. Duplicates."
Rom raised one nutmeg-colored brow. She could tell from his expression that she'd chosen the wrong word. "Twins?" he supplied, almost smiling.
She nodded. "A boy and a girl." Her voice mellowed. "I miss them...."
He gazed at her with open and respectful admiration. Then his expression darkened and he jammed his fingers through his hair. "You could have clarified this earlier."
"I was furious," she reminded him.
He jerked his palms in the air.
"This
I don't understand, either." .
"You embarrassed me. You announced the private details of our dinner. It... it made what we shared trivial and cheap."
"You misunderstand!" Under the scrutiny of a dozen curious stares, he lowered his voice and took her hands in his, studying her fingers as they lay nestled in his wide palm. "There is much between us, Jas. None of it trivial or cheap."
Quietly, he added, "You may not accept this, but I do: we've met before, you and I. If not in the flesh, then in the realm of dreams. On a battlefield... on a planet called Balkanor. I was badly wounded, grieving for Lijhan, my brother, who was killed there. I didn't care if I lived or died. . .. But you did."
Her mouth tightened. "It wasn't real. It did not happen."
"Are you certain?"
Her doubt must have been obvious enough to give him his answer, for he gentled his tone. "My culture places great import on visions, on dreams. Hence, I'm less inclined to dismiss what happened to me on Balkanor as
mere hallucination—or disregard your resemblance to the woman I saw there."
She stared her clenched hands. "In my dream there is a man with eyes like yours. But I always wake before I walk close enough to see his face."
"My face, Jas. You dream of the desert. Balkanor is a desert planet."
She lifted her eyes. "Coincidence."
"There are no coincidences, Jas. Nothing happens by accident, nothing. Including your appearance on my ship."
A sensible person, like herself, knew that what he suggested was impossible; but, good Lord, he made it sound so reasonable. In less than three days he'd intimidated her, awakened her desire, embarrassed her, and angered her. Now he claimed he could interpret her dreams. Yet instead of fleeing the insanity of it all, all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and kiss that sweetly sincere face of his. Never had her emotions been on such a roller-coaster ride. To gather her wits, she focused on Kendall Smith's broadcast, vaguely aware of having missed half the show.
"... I'll spend two full days there," the reporter was saying. "After that I'll take you to a land of magical beauty."
An image of a glowing, picturesque, almost iridescent forest of tall, feathery conifers appeared behind him.
The crew grumbled appreciatively.
"Sureen," Rom murmured in her ear. His warm breath raised tingles along her neck.
"Sureen," the reporter's voice echoed distantly. "A popular tourist destination for thousands of years ..."
Rom's velvety lips brushed over Jas's ear, fanning her tingles into a bonfire. "Been there a dozen times," he whispered, his iron-hard thigh pressing against hers. "The trees there are phosphorescent, and at night they glow so brightly it never becomes dark."
"—producing a unique phenomenon I liken to stepping inside a rainbow," the reporter said in a narration nowhere near as fascinating as Rom's very personal one. "Heightening the effect, the inhabitants incorporate the substance responsible for the phosphorescence into their architecture and artwork."
Jas's fingers ached to grasp a brush soaked with the lush hues. She lifted her chin, nearly meeting Rom's lips. Only because of the decided lack of privacy did she inch away from the tempting possibility of a kiss. "They paint with the substance? What color is it?"
Everyone answered her at once.
"Turquoise and lavender," Zarra declared.
Muffin waved his big hand. "Not at all. It's as green as jampala jam."
"Don't buy any trinkets painted in the rainbow colors," Terz cautioned.
"Or the paintings," Rom added. "Beautiful as they might be."
Gann chimed in. "The merchants make a hefty profit selling them. But once you leave the planet, they all turn gray."
"Because the phosphorescent substance can exist only there," Jas said thoughtfully. Sureen would be one of the places she visited, if only to paint in the extravagant shades.
A loud, female-sounding, computer-generated voice pierced her reverie. "ALERT, ALERT. SMOKE DETECTED IN SECTION SIX B."
Terz groaned. "Blasted gravity generator. It's overheating again."
Jas's stomach flip-flopped, and she blinked away a vague dizziness. Then she floated off the couch. She laughed in shock and delight, levitating amid clouds of liberated croppers and shimmer crackers.
"To your stations," Rom commanded. The men reacted calmly, as if they'd been through similar situations before. In a wildly incongruous picture, they streamed out the door, some headfirst. "Gann, stand by on the bridge to bring us out of light speed, should that become necessary."
Forgotten while Rom conversed with Gann and Terz, Jas pointed a shimmer cracker at a whirling empty
tock
cap and flicked it with her thumb and index finger. It missed the cup and spun into the other crackers, creating a ripple effect across the room. Chuckling, she snatched another cracker out of the air and took aim, but Rom grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her toward him.
"We've had trouble with the generator ever since we had it serviced by that no-account mechanic on Gamma Nine," he said. "I guarantee I'll be making a return visit."
"I recall seeing a reference to the gravity generators on the maintenance status page on the computer. But I never imagined it meant
this
could happen."
Rom appeared surprised and somewhat troubled. "You've accessed the computer?"
"Terz showed me how. So I could plan my travels," she added, in case Rom was worried that she was a security risk.
"ALERT, ALERT. SMOKE DETECTED IN SECTION SIX B," the computer droned.
Rom laced his fingers with hers. Using the bolted-down furniture for leverage, he steered her into the corridor. "How long will we be weightless?" she asked.
"Varies. Hours, perhaps. I want you go to the bridge and wait it out. Find a chair and strap yourself in. Gravity might come back at any time. When it does, it'll—"
They plummeted to the floor. Rom twisted so she fell onto his body instead of the unforgiving metallic surface. Nonetheless, her left arm glanced off the wall. Gritting her teeth, she tucked her smarting elbow to her chest. Rom eased her to the floor, cushioning the back of her head with his hand. Concern shadowed his face when he noticed how she clutched her arm. "You're injured."