Chapter 15
“YOU CAN’T GO KISSING ME TO DISTRACTION EVERYtime I ask you something that you don’t want to answer. If it’s secret, just say so. If I get fed up with hearing that,I’llsay so. Okay?”
They were in Brittany’s car on the way to City Hall. It was much later than they’d planned on getting there. She’d fed Dalden before they left, and was definitely going to have to stop for some groceries on the way home after that mammoth meal.
And there’d been an amusing moment when they left the apartment and she told him not to mind the rust-bucket look of her car, that she kept it in tiptop shape so it purred. He, of course, misinterpreted that and started looking around for buckets andfembairs,the latter being what she figured he called cats.
It was now almost noon, since their brief stop at the mall had turned into hitting every shop with men’s clothing, after it had been apparent from the first shop that they were going to have trouble finding something to fit Dalden. In fact, they never did. There had been a few extra-extra-large T-shirts he could have worn, but they just didn’t look right on him, and besides, leaving those arms of his bare would draw as much notice as his fancy tunic.
There was hope, though, at least for tomorrow. An on-duty seamstress in one of the larger clothing stores had felt challenged upon seeing Dalden, and after taking some quick measurements, had promised to have some jeans and a plain cotton shirt ready for him by the end of the day.
Brittany had expected Dalden to draw some notice, but experiencing it firsthand in the mall that morning went beyond even her own expectations. She hadn’t noticed yesterday because she’d been unable to take her eyes off him herself. But he managed to affect everyone that way. No matter where she looked, people were staring at him open-mouthed, boggle-eyed; he was causing traffic pile-ups of the pedestrian kind. One young kid even asked him for his autograph and refused to believe he wasn’t a celebrity. Keep a low profile? Yeah, right.
There hadn’t been much time between her apartment and the mall for talk, and besides, she’d been too busy watching Dalden examining everything on the dashboard, as if he’d never been in a car before. Yet she’d wanted to wait until they were in the car, where he wouldn’t dare try to kiss her again, to bring up the subject of his unique way of distracting her.
She wasn’t expecting an argument. Her suggestion had been so reasonable that it didn’t leave room for arguing. But he put a new twist to it.
“Yet is it much more enjoyable, for both of us, to kiss you to distraction,” he said.
Undeniable, but beside the point. “Remember ‘getting to know each other’? Part of that is answering questions, not avoiding them.”
“When I make you mine, Brittany Callaghan, you may have all the answers you seek. I am told, however, that you will not be happy with the answers.”
Thank God the traffic light in front of them was red, because Brittany temporarily forgot how to drive. When he made her his? Again, that had such a ring of permanence to it, coming from him. Not when they made love. Not when her job was done. When he made her his. The effect that had on her was swift and primitive.
Driving down the boulevard was not the place for this discussion after all. She tried zeroing in on his second remark to get her mind out of fantasyland. Unhappiness. Answers she wouldn’t like. Okay, that worked.
She gave him a quick glance, then glanced a bit longer at the box on his hip, trusting that Martha’s camera views were working. “Are these ‘I am tolds’ his opinion, or what you’ve been telling him, Martha?”
“You really don’t want to hear his opinions, doll,” Martha replied.
There was clear amusement in the older woman’s tone, which rubbed against Brittany’s nerves. “Actually, I do,” she said stubbornly.
“Really, you don’t,” Martha countered, then elaborated. “From the information I’ve assimilated so far, your culture and his are so far on opposite ends of the spectrum, the distance could be described in light-years.”
“Bah, I know an exaggeration when I hear it,” Brittany replied.
Some chuckling drifted up from the box before Martha said, “If it means anything to you, and Probables is starting to lean toward it will, his mother’s and father’s cultures were also light-years apart, yet they’ve managed to adjust—or maybe I should say, she’s managed to adjust. There’s not much budging with a Sha-Ka’ani male.”
“Was that supposed to be a warning?”
“You betcha.”
Brittany snorted. She was beginning to think that Martha was toying with her, and getting a kick out of doing so. But it did worry her that Dalden wasn’t trying to correct the impression Martha was trying to give her. In fact, he didn’t look too happy. Actually, he looked a bit green.
“Are you all right?” she asked him.
“I am familiar with transportation that moves on other than legs, but I am not accustomed to the many stops and starts of your rust bucket.”
She ignored the name he’d given her car and asked with a bit of amazement, “You’re getting carsick? Wehavehit a bit more traffic than usual, the lunch-hour crowd, I suppose. But we’re almost to our destination. Another minute or so. Can you last that long?”
“Last?”
“Without dumping your breakfast all over the car?” she clarified.
His expression turned a bit indignant over that remark, pretty hard to do when he’d been cringing with nausea. “A warrior has more control over his body than to reject an excellent meal.”
“Delete that” came out of the box in an exasperated voice. “What he means—”
