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EXCERPT:
The food was good, and he
took his time. Shipboard rations had not improved over the years, and
he enjoyed food enough to worry about his waistline occasionally.
He was just finishing his second desert when there
was a commotion behind him. He turned in time for the blow intended for
the side of his face to catch him on the back of his head. He allowed
the impact to carry him out of his chair into a twisting somersault that
put him on his feet in a fighting stance facing his assailant.
It was a very angry Rachael in
Federation uniform, red hair swept up into a chignon. Her handler had
acted promptly, possibly a little too promptly from her expression. “You
presumptuous bastard,” she shrieked. “Years of work blown in a second
because you knew better.”
The restaurant was not the place for
this confrontation. He had to act before she blew whatever remained of
his cover. “Darling.” He made it a lover’s greeting and took her in a
passionate embrace.
She struggled furiously for nearly a
minute, biting his lip when he tried to kiss her and making two attempts
to knee him in the groin. He avoided both and held on until she realized
how much stronger he was and her struggles subsided. She whispered, “Let
me go,” in his ear.
“Not till you kiss me properly. This
must be seen as a lover’s tiff.”
Reason filtered through her rage, and
she remembered they played a dangerous game. Her body went soft and
pliant. “Darling,” she said aloud and kissed him lustily to the laughter
of the other diners.
“Have you eaten?” The kiss was over,
and they’d separated with the appearance of reluctance not supported by
the blaze in her eyes, which were an attractive hazel now she’d removed
the colored contact lenses.
“No. I haven’t had the time. They sent
for me as soon as you called.” She struggled to make her voice sound
normal, but the rage still burned.
“That’s good. Would you like me to
order? They have your favorite on the menu.”
“Roast pig?”
“They call it pork, dear.” He liked
her. She was an amateur at this game compared to him, but not a fool. He
righted his chair and held out the one opposite for her.
She allowed him to seat her and waited
until he resumed his. “I think I’ll look at the menu instead. There may
be something that takes my fancy.”
“Of course.” He signaled the waitress.
“A drink first? Something long and cold?”
“Do they serve hemlock here?”
“I was thinking of you.”
He watched her process that, reading
into his words more than he ever intended.
“Were you?”
The waitress saved him from having to
respond, and he sat quietly while the two women discussed the menu. The
uniform suited Rachael after the intentionally revealing temple
attendant’s dress. She looked smart and feminine, a girl to take proudly
home to mother. He lost himself in the amusement of the imagined scene,
wondering which of the pair would survive.
Rachael had ordered and was studying
his face, ready to take offence, her hands crossed on the table before
her. “What’s funny?”
The truth was always best, providing
you edited it a little. “I was thinking how much better the uniform
suited you.”
“You didn’t like my temple outfit?”
There was an edge to her voice. Time to tread warily.
A diversionary feint might buy him
time. “Your eyes look much better without the lenses.”
“I wasn’t seductive enough?”
He’d have to do better. “I enjoyed this
afternoon.”
“We all make sacrifices.” She was
getting angry again.
“If you’re going to hit me again, wait
till we get outside.” He’d had enough. “Until then, accept the
compliment and act like you’re in love.”
“What would you know about being in
love?”
He glanced around, trying to make it
look natural as he assessed the distance to the nearest couple, and then
leaned close to hide his lips from any watchers, his hands coming to
rest on hers. “You’re right. I’m a cold-blooded professional who cares
for nothing but my mission. I ignore frightened women in danger, and the
risks to small children and cuddly animals mean nothing to me. Keep
going the way you are, and I’ll throw you back to the Pontiff. He’d
probably take you.” She tried to draw back, but he prevented it by
pulling her hands towards him. “Be a good little girl, or I’ll put you
across my knee and give you the spanking you deserve.”
She struggled to free her hands without
making it obvious, a mark in her favor, and then gave up and waited for
him to release her, the tip of a pink tongue making a tantalizingly
brief appearance between subtly carmined lips, more as a clue to the
direction of her thoughts than as a gesture of defiance. The anger
drained from her eyes, replaced by an expression he couldn’t quite
fathom.
“I’d like that too.” Almost the same
words she’d used this afternoon.
Damn the woman, didn’t she have any
sense of time and place?
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