“No. Ma. He does not.”
“I’m telling you he does,” insisted her mother. “Believe me, I knowthe look.”
“Why does he have to have so many tattoos?” her father interjected. “Why do young men do that to their bodies these days?”
“They’re not tattoos, Dad.” Ash grit her teeth as her brothers started laughing like hyenas. “They’re a part of his skin.”
Her father’s frown deepened. “That’s just not natural.”
“It is for Baylans,” Ash replied, teeth gritted. “They aren’t human, you know.”
Her mother nudged her father out of the frame and leaned close to the camera. “I’m just saying. You could do worse than hitching your cart to a doctor.”
“Stop it, Ma. I’m not hitching to anything,” Ash lowered her voice to a hiss. “He rebuilt my leg and I have to stay here until they catch the thing that bit me.” Every time the conversation turned to Zade and his assets, she hoped Zade wasn’t listening. He tried to give her privacy, but her parents spoke loud, as they always did. If he heard any conversations about where she should hitch her cart, he never indicated that he heard a thing. Then again, he may have no idea what they were talking about.
Part of her wished forsomereaction. A wink, a smile—something—because Ash, despite her denials, found Zade desperately attractive.
Like, overwhelmingly so. It was the strangest thing for a woman who believed every sexual impulse in her had been eradicated with the passing of her husband. Yet here she was, with moistness between her thighs and a parched mouthwhenever he slid his hands over her leg and asked,Can you feel this?
Fuck yeah, she could. She felt it everywhere, intensely. She wondered how she hadn't spontaneously combusted by now.
Things fell into a cycle of being awake and going to sleep that translated into days for her. They were probably different from Earth’s, which corresponded with the sun. She and Zade had a daily physical therapy routine. It was slow going. One day, after many attempts to walk without limping, she’d had enough.
“It doesn’t work.” She flung her arms wide, accidentally whacking him in the hard wall of muscle that was his chest.
“Try not to overthink it.” He coached her through walking up a few steps this time, despite her scowl. “Let your brain do the work, not your consciousness.”
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. His brain wasn’t very slowly getting used to a brand-new limb, but she tried to do as he suggested. The problem was, the moment she turned her thoughts away from her leg, they snapped straight to Zade. Her gaze moved over his fine features, to the rich blue soul markings that were so numerous, they climbed his neck almost to his jaw. And the moment his hands touched her waist to steady or guide her, her breathing went wonky and her skin burned. Yet, he showed no similar reaction.
Of course he didn’t. He was her doctor. A professional. She was a patient. Sometimes, however, she thought she caught him looking at herthatway, but she’d never admit that to her mother.
“Another step, Ash.” Zade’s voice was quiet, patient.
Pins and needles threaded up her leg, to her thigh. “I need a break.”
“How about we go out for…lunch?” His brow knitted. “I believe that is your word for it.”
She blinked at him. “Lunch?”
“Yes. It is a midday meal on Earth,” he explained unnecessarily. “We do not have a midday on our ships, but we eat when we are hungry.” He rolled his shoulders restlessly. “There are food choices other than those offered here, and I thought perhaps you would enjoy seeing something other than the medical deck.”
“I would,” she replied instantly, both intrigued by those other choices and the fact that this sounded a bit like a date. “These walls are starting to make me feel batty.”
He paused, clearly mulling over the “batty” bit, then nodded. “Going somewhere of interest will help take your mind off walking.”
“Great,” she said with a sliver of irritability. Dideverythinghave to be about her recovery? They’d been together twenty-four seven for the past two—approximately, maybe?—weeks. He’d gotten her to laugh. She’d explained to him how ice hockey worked. They’d spent time together, and although it was growing increasingly obvious that she was attracted to him, he’d revealed little of himself. He never seemed to sleep. He only left to go work out with the Saar-king. His attention was overwhelmingly focused on getting her back to full health. Perhaps he was just eager to get her back to Earth and out of his quarters. And there really was no question that this was where he lived his life. When he wasn’t with her, he was at his screens, or at his lab equipment, which occupied most of his private area, bent over data and test results.
“I will have clothes sent,” he said, tapping the device behind his ear. “Something other than a patient’s uniform. And I have one of these for you.” He held out a silver device that looked like a metallic spider, about two inches across.
“What is that?”
“A translation device,” he said. “I, and my assistants, can speak your language, but not all Baylans do, and if you are going out, this will translate what others say.” He moved close. Those large hands moved the hair back from the side of her head. She felt his touch against her scalp and could not stop a shiver. Her breathing deepened. She closed her eyes as those fingers slid around her ear and gently positioned the device behind it. He took his time setting each little leg of the device in its place. His breath warmed her neck, then he lifted her hair and moved it back to where it had been. “Your hair is so soft,” he murmured.
“Thanks,” she replied hoarsely.
His gaze locked on hers. “If you are here long enough, that device will help you learn the Baylan language.”
She remained locked in the closed circuit of electricity crackling between them. “Do you think I’ll be here long enough to learn it?”
