Moonstruck (13 page)

“I’ve talked to the four Drakken involved. They’ll know what to do the next time. I’ll work with Dr. Kell. We’ll make sure everyone understands the precautions to take when drinking sweef. But you can’t ban it outright. It will make things worse.”

“How so?”

He liked that she asked for his say—more evidence of her comfort with command. She listened to input before making a decision. She could even be talked down from a decision after making one. A Hordish battle-lord, on the other hand, would likely have lopped Finn’s head right off—or his balls, whatever was more convenient. Although he suspected he wasn’t out of danger yet.

It wouldn’t stop him from looking out for his crew, though, even if they were no longer technically his. He’d give her the sleeping skins, aye, but he’d not give her the sweef. “It’s all they have left. We already took the skins. Many have reported trouble adjusting to beds. I already took the liberty of banning grabble on board—it’s a Hordish dice game. Losers pay up by being on the receiving end of punches.”

“Nice,” she muttered.

He rubbed his jaw, remembering more than one game of grabble gone bad in his younger days, usually played in dark, dank, smoky bars with much too much alcohol in the belly. “If you take away their sweef, too, it will be too much, too soon. It will demoralize them. They’re still Drakken in Triad clothing. Give me a little more time to help them adjust. They’re trying hard. Truly they are.”

She sat back in her chair, tenting her elegant fingers on the desk as she pondered him. Something wasn’t quite so hard about her anymore, yet he couldn’t discern what had changed in those few moments. “All right,” she said. “The sweef can stay.”

There was not a single note of surrender in her voice. Only respect. Somehow, that meant the world to him.

“However, if there is any further trouble, it goes.”

“Aye, Admiral. You have my word on that.”

Her anger had faded some, but the aloofness remained. “That will be all, Warleader.” She went back to reviewing data on the vis.

Disbelief grabbed at his gut. She was dismissing him like an annoying space-hand. He knew they needed to maintain the appearance of propriety in public, but no one could hear them in here. It amazed him that she hadn’t acknowledged the previous night, not even in a small way. He knew damn well that he hadn’t been the only one enjoying it. Talk about feeling used.

After a few moments she glanced up. Seeing that he was still there, she frowned. “Officially, you’re off duty, Warleader. Go rest.”

“I have rested since last night.” He walked to the desk, leaned his hands on it. He intended to remind them of the one thing they had in common and couldn’t ignore. The heat. “I’ve taken my share of cold showers, too. How about you?”

Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

“I thought so. Now, I’m left wondering about your miracle recovery.”

“There was nothing miraculous about it.”

“You sounded mighty debilitated last night in the bathroom. Or faking it damn good. I’m ready to award you with acting honors. What else did you pretend last night?”

“Out,” Brit said, bristling.

He pushed up from the desk. “That’s what you said last night, too. What is it, Admiral? If it gets too close for comfort, you kick out the trespasser? If you wanted me to leave last night that’s all you had to say. I’d probably have tried to convince you of the folly of your ways, but I’d have listened.”

“My…condition was real. What happened in bed between us was real, too,” she added, softer, even though no one could hear them. “If it hadn’t been, I certainly wouldn’t have reacted as poorly as I did afterward.”

He responded with a classic double-take. “Was I just insulted, or…?”

“It’s ‘or.’”

“Or
what?
Guilt? Regret?”

More like shame, loneliness and overwhelming, all-consuming need,
Brit thought. She stood, making sure her posture was perfect, and walked to the sideboard to pour a glass of water. She stood there, drinking, trying to gather her composure. “Nothing you saw in bed was staged. That is the truth.” And far more than she’d revealed to any man since Seff died. “Ask me no more questions about what happened afterward. I can’t talk about it. Accept what I’ve told you at face value.” Her voice lost its harsh edge. “And that the woman you saw in bed was not pretending…anything.”

“I’m glad, because last night was nice…very nice.” He coughed out a laugh. “What am I saying? It was freepin’ amazing, hot as hells. Sorry for my lack of finesse, but I want to do it all over again.”

Damn him to the Dark Reaches, so did she. Like a fuel flash-fire, the heat came on so fast that it seemed to take all the air out of the room. It threatened to vaporize any lingering resistance.

Forgive me my weakness, Seff.
Shame burned hot, almost as hot as her desire for Finn Rorkken. He was Drakken, yet it wasn’t enough to keep her from thinking about him, from dreaming about him. From wanting him so badly that she was willing to risk the disgrace of her dead family to have him.

You’ll burn in hells for this.

You’re no longer a believer,
she argued back, taking shelter behind her utter lack of faith. She’d stopped believing the day the gods saw it necessary to take Seff and her babies. Innocents! She’d cut herself off from her devout parents so they’d stop trying to make her see the error of her ways. She’d spent the years since insulating herself from futile, silly pursuits such as wishes and fairy tales and religion. Even if she were still a believer, she probably wouldn’t care at this point if she burned in hell. The past and the future had faded in the blaze of the present.

In the blaze that was Finnar Rorkken.

To get rid of a craving, sometimes you had to have your fill of it.
Yes, she’d indulge in him once more. Tonight. Obviously, it was going to take several tries to get the blasted man out of her system. Then she’d be immune and her life would return to normal.

She feigned calm. “What are you doing after your shift, Warleader?”

“Now that’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. What am I doing?”

“Improving your game of lightball. It needs work. Meet me on the courts after your shift later today. I’ll be rested and ready to whup your sorry pirate’s ass.”

Rorkken threw his head back and laughed. “Thank you, Goddess,” he said to the heavens. “The woman’s come to her senses.”

Smart Drakken. He already knew what she had in mind for after the game. A game of a different sort. “This is crazy, you know that,” she said. “Highly irregular, the two senior command officers…”
Fucking each other
was the most fitting term but she couldn’t bring herself to use such a coarse description in front of him. She never had any trouble doing so with the man-toys. What was wrong with her?

“I don’t disagree,” he said.

“If the crew ever found out…”

“They won’t.”

She thought of the black raptor tattooed on his arm. She’d avoid looking at it, or any other Hordish reminders. And if she couldn’t? Her hand hovered over her stomach.

“Don’t worry—I don’t think you’ll be taking refuge in the bathroom this time. I’ll be keeping your focus elsewhere.” His smile sent shivers to her toes.
Her rugged, wicked boy.
Then, with a mischievous wink, he was gone.

H
ADLEY HURRIED
to make the briefing on time. Tango leaned against the wall of the corridor outside the room, twirling a nano-pic between his fingers as he held it between his lips. The set of lips she was supposed to have kissed by now. Grr. She stared straight ahead, hoping that by not making eye contact, the Earthling would not say anything as she passed by.

“I heard you were on this team,” he said.

She slowed, wincing. Why did he have to talk to her? She didn’t want to talk.

“That’s not a happy face.”

She groaned, exasperated. “Is there something you need, Earthling?”

“Your forgiveness. I’m sorry about what happened last night in the bar.”

She felt heat rush to her cheeks. Damn her blushing. How could she stop doing it?

“I really wanted to be with you.”

“You had a funny way of showing it.”

“I know.” He didn’t try to defend his actions with Rakkelle. His expression was sincere, yet her gut told her not to believe it.

“I’d like to make it up to you, Hadley.” Those white teeth flashed. “Come up to my quarters for a drink.”

“I can’t do that—you can’t do that. We’ve got a mission coming up.”

“We don’t go anywhere until the morning. And we’re not at war, baby. It’s a repair call, okay? We’ll send in the mechanic and wipe our hands of it. Besides, you don’t have to drink anything. Just come over to my place and relax. You do know how to relax, don’t you?”

“Why, of course I do.” Didn’t she?

“We’ll watch some movies, and I’ll prove I’m not that bad of a guy. Let me make it up to you. Come on, Hadley. What do you say? Don’t make me get down on my knees and beg.”

He started to crouch, but she squeaked, stopping him by grabbing his arm. “Don’t.” His eager-to-please charm was winning her over by the second. Men never chased her, never flirted with her.

Never begged her to be with them.

She squashed the lingering warnings of her gut with the high hopes of her heart. “I’ll come,” she said softly. She’d give him a second chance.

“Cool. Meet me in the officer mess. Eighth hour, ship-time. We’ll eat then go up to my place after, unless you want to get a drink in the bar first.”

“No. No bar.” No Rakkelle.

“We’ll have drinks in my place then. Or you can watch me have one. Tango won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Did he have any idea what she hoped for? An image of a serious, loving relationship surfaced again but she squashed it. Kisses first. The rest would follow. After all, they had an entire voyage to get to know one another.

He started walking backward, grinning as he did. Then he bumped into another Earthling, Rothberg—tall, lanky, short and spiky dark brown hair—who draped his arm over Tango’s shoulder, telling him something in their language. They both looked at Hadley and smiled. She smiled back. Then Rothberg pulled Tango away, whispering words in his ear that made him laugh.

Tango winked at her over his shoulder and slapped the other man on the back. Then, together, the men walked into the briefing room, laughing and conversing in their strange language. Hadley wished she knew what they were saying.

She dug the mood ring out of her pocket where it had been since the night before and pushed it on her finger, holding out her hand to admire it. It immediately turned a brownish black. Not again! She frowned at it, tapping the stone.

“Trouble with your ring?”

Hadley went still. Bolivarr was standing next to her, but she hadn’t heard him approach. As smooth and silent as cloud shadows, she thought. How did he do that? He wasn’t small, or thin. He wasn’t bulky with muscles like Tango, but he was well-built and tall, way too tall to slip in and out without notice. Yet he did. It was probably part of his training to be a wraith. She tried not to dwell on what else he was trained to do.

Standing there next to her, he seemed relaxed, almost sweet-looking with those tragic eyes and that lock of black hair falling over his forehead, but she sensed that inside he was on guard, ready to react to any threat. She shook her head, freeing it of the crazy thoughts. Even as a little child, one knew of the legendary wraiths. She never dreamed she’d ever see one up close unless she was about to take her last breath.

She swallowed and showed him the ring. “It’s supposed to reveal my mood, but it keeps turning black or brown when it shouldn’t.” Like whenever she spoke to Tango. “Black means stressed or tense. Brown means nervous, harassed or overworked. It’s showing both.”

“Hmm. It looks purple to me.”

“No, it’s not….” She glanced down.
Goddess.
He was right. “It changed.” The ring’s stone now glowed a rich indigo hue. Startled, she glanced from the ring to Bolivarr and back again.

“What does it mean?”

Passion. Love. Romance.
“It means the ring is broken.” She twisted it off her finger and shoved it back in her pocket.

T
HE LIGHTBALL MATCH
went on for far longer than Brit expected. It left her exhilarated, exhausted and one point in trail of Rorkken. Every time she tied the score, he’d pull ahead.

She wanted the sex, yes, but her competitive nature kept her on this court. She was drenched with sweat, and so was Rorkken. It felt odd and rather pleasant to be doing something extracurricular with a lover. She never saw them outside of bed—or wanted to. What was different about Rorkken?

Nothing!
Drakken or not, he was to be used for sex like she had all the others.

Rorkken sauntered up to her, tossing the lightball in his palm. “How much longer are you going to fight me for that point?”

“You can’t possibly call this match yours. It’s only your second time. I’ve been playing for years. I always win.”

His eyes glittered wickedly, tossing the damn ball as he walked closer. “It’s obvious you haven’t been playing with the right men.”

“If I play with you then I will lose? Is that what you are telling me?”

“If you play with me tonight…” He bent forward, his mouth close to her ear, and she shivered. “You will feel like you have won.”

Her body tightened. She felt his deep, rumbling purr of a voice down to her toes. She turned her head, wanting to kiss him, and remembering they were in a public place. She didn’t want to repeat the risk she’d taken last night, kissing him in this glass-walled court. “I accept your offer,” she said, hearing the breathless anticipation in her own voice.

“That will require a change in location. Your quarters.”

“I have to shower.”

“I’ll help you.”

There. He’d voiced what they both were thinking. No wasting precious time showering separately. The sooner they’d peeled their clothing off, the sooner they would be pressed flesh to flesh. She swallowed. “All right.”

How quickly she’d agreed.
To get rid of a craving, indulge it, indulge until you can no longer stand it.
Yes, that was it. She’d see this affair, this dalliance, this
obsession
through to its conclusion, whether it took one more night or several. She looked forward to the day when she could see him and not feel as though she were losing her mind.

T
ANGO’S QUARTERS WERE
smaller than hers, Hadley observed as he let her precede him through the doorway. Her roomier living space was a privilege afforded her thanks to her position as Admiral Bandar’s assistant. She didn’t often think of the benefits of her job until she saw how an officer of equivalent rank lived on the ship. Then again, her job was all day, every day. At the admiral’s whim, she could be roused from deep sleep and asked to assist in one way or another. She didn’t mind. She loved serving her hero. It was a rare honor to have the chance to work with and learn from a legend.

“Welcome to Ground Zero,” Tango inexplicably said. Not all he did or said translated properly. It kept her a little bit off balance every moment she was with him, leaving her with a nervous but giddy feeling she both loved and hated.

“Ground Zero,” she repeated, turning in a full circle to marvel at how he’d transformed his quarters. It looked like none she’d ever seen on a ship. It felt as if she’d stepped onto Earth. She knew little of the protected shrine world, but if she were to set foot on the planet, she fancied that this was just how it would appear.

A large flag hung on one wall. One third each blue, white and red, with a big white star on the blue portion. “God bless Texas,” he explained, placing his hand over his heart in obvious reverence. Clearly, the flag represented an Earth-based religion with which she wasn’t familiar.

There was a large, two-dimensional image showing Tango with a group of men and a woman dressed in blue jumpsuits standing next to a primitive, fossil-fuel-burning air vehicle. “That’s called an F-15. I was a Thunderbird pilot before this assignment—number six, solo. I tell you, girl, a chance to serve on the
Unity
was the only thing that could have pulled me away from that gig. This is a dream come true even more than that was.”

Hadley continued to gape at the wondrous artifacts and objects in the room. A large, glittering sphere hanging from the ceiling slowly rotated in the ventilation breeze. “What is that?”

“That, baby girl, is a disco ball.”

“What does it do?”

“Nothing. It’s only a decoration. Vintage seventies—the last century—in Earth years. Disco is a type of dancing.” He grabbed her hands, lifting an arm over her head and twirling her, before bending her over backward, supporting her lower back with one big hand.

She squeaked with surprise, her heart beating hard, her fingers squeezing his hand. “Disco doesn’t come close to tango,” he said, his voice softer, more seductive. “And, yes, it’s a dance I aim to teach you.” His gaze drifted to her mouth before he let her back to her feet.

Breathless and a bit dizzy, she swayed on her feet. His hand was slow to leave hers. Nothing like this had ever happened to her.

Nothing like him.

“I think we need something to drink.” He opened the door to a small, humming black box.

“What’s that?” It seemed she had only two words left:
what’s
and
that.

“It’s a refrigerator. I like to keep my own. Stocked. This ship doesn’t have electricity like we have on Earth. I had to rewire the thing and reroute it to ship’s power to get it running.”

That was irregular. She hoped the chief engineer didn’t find out. Or the safety officer.

Shyly, she gazed around his quarters. Her focus zeroed in on the bed. When they were finally together, that’s where they would be. That’s where she would finally lose her damned virginity.

“What’s your pleasure?” he asked.

She jumped. “I beg your pardon?”

“What would you like to drink?”

She bent over to peer inside the cold black box. “It’s so marvelously primitive!”

He laughed. “We cavemen like our beer.” He handed her a bottle, but she wrinkled her nose, remembering the bitter taste. “How about a Coke instead?” He poured the contents of a red-and-silver metal container into a glass. Here you go.”

Unlike beer, it was brown and fizzy and sweet. “I like it!”

Grinning, he tipped his head and seemed to drink in the sight of her. “So, I don’t see the ring I gave you.”

“Oh. I have it. It’s in my pocket.”

“Why? You don’t like it?”

She stammered as she dug it out. “I wasn’t sure if it was broken or not. The colors…”

“It’s not broken. The stone in a mood ring is made of thermotropic crystals covered by glass. Heat makes the crystals twist and reflect different wavelengths of light, which changes the color of the ring. You have to wear it and let it react to your body heat first. Otherwise it won’t work.”

Hadley bit her lip. The ring
was
changing color. Just not to the color she wanted to see.

Maybe it’s the color you need to see.

Hadley gave her head a shake.

Tango took the ring and slid it on her finger. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “And…gray.”
Anxious, very nervous, strained.
But not black or brown, thank the gods. It was an improvement.

“You need to relax, that’s why. Here.” He patted a strange-looking place to sit. The chairs were nothing like she’d ever seen. They reminded her of sacks of grain with white velvety covers.

“They’re beanbag chairs,” he explained, using his language.

“Ah.” She was relieved and disappointed at the same time to see that the chairs were separate. It would have been nice to get cozy on a couch. Then, as she got braver, she could slide closer. If she got braver.

As she tried to get comfortable on the cushions that felt as if they were filled with pebbles, Tango fiddled with another antiquated device into which he inserted a silvery disc. Music and a moving image came on a screen.

She clapped her hands together. “Finally—the moo-vee.” The actors in the movie spoke his language, but she could read text in the Queen’s tongue. “The god of the Dark Reaches wears Pra-dah!”

“You bet, baby. Just like I promised.” He laughed, swigging the last of the beer in the bottle. He opened a new bottle. Hadley had barely touched her beverage.

Sucking down more beer, he dimmed the lights and put on music—music during a movie?—and walked back to her. “Scoot over.”

Wasn’t the chair too small for two? He aimed his rear at a spot next to her hip, and she rolled to the side. His heavy body crushed the chair. “Put your legs—” he lifted her thighs over his “—right here.”

Hadley pretended Tango wasn’t so close, and that she wasn’t sitting on his lap. Onscreen, the “Prada” movie unfolded. A humorless woman and her curt behavior toward her assistant made Hadley uncomfortable. It was clear that Tango thought the woman acted similar to Admiral Bandar.

After all the admiral had done for her, she felt guilty watching, especially in light of the contents of the white box. If Admiral Bandar came across as faultlessly professional, or cold to people who didn’t know her well, she undoubtedly had good reason to be. Hadley was sure of it.

Tango’s hand now rested on her thigh. Her heart raced. Her skin pricked. She hadn’t sat on a man’s lap since perching on her father’s knee to listen to stories when she was a child. She wasn’t sure what Father would think of her sitting on Tango, hardly knowing him. She decided not to think of that. She decided she wanted a real kiss.