Chapter 15

Mack was extremely pleased to see the supply ship arrive. He was extremely pleased that all his requisitioned items were neatly listed on the manifest. And he was also extremely pleased that clearance of the vessel took under two hours.

A record, especially for Cirrus.

And a break, for him. Dinner with Gillie would be late, but not abysmally so. There might even be time for dessert.

He stepped into the lift, sucked in a sharp breath. Held his stomach in as well. He'd been too busy the past few months to spend much time in the gym. Would she notice? He'd always considered himself in decent, if not better than decent shape.

Unless of course he compared himself to Fitch Tobias.

But Gillie was having dinner with him, not Tobias. That is, providing she was sincere in her offer to dine with him after his reaction to her little stunt in the temple. His heart stuttered when he pictured her small dust-streaked face peering up at him from under the bench.

She'd taken considerable risks because of what she believed in. And because she believed in him.

The woman was... incredible. There was no other word for it. He hoped he was worthy of incredible tonight.

Incredible waited for him at the bottom of her ramp, in a short tan-colored skirt that looked like butter on silk. On top of that, Incredible wore a clingy long-sleeved top that whispered across her shape when she moved.

"Hi," he said, when he found his voice. He knew he stared at her. He didn't care.

"Hi, yourself."

"My place?"

"Unless you want to have dinner on my stairs."

He folded her small hand in his, couldn't stop smiling. But at least he didn't bump into the doorframe on the way out again.

His small apartment on Upper 5 held the wonderful aroma of a sweetly spicy stew he'd ordered from Maguire's earlier. He retrieved the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and watched Gillie turn in a slow circle in the middle of his living room.

"It looks like you." She accepted the glass of golden wine with a smile.

"Really?" He knew she meant his apartment but beyond that, didn't know quite what she meant. He didn't think she referred to the layout. His home since coming to Cirrus One was identical to many other residential apartments on the station's upper levels, with a long living room-dining room combination flanked on one side by an open galley-kitchen, he corrected himself. And on the other, a door that led to a decent-sized bedroom. It was larger than his quarters on the Vedri, but smaller, he knew, than executive apartments on newer stations.

The carpet in his living room area and bedroom was a medium gray flecked with blue; a sturdy, industrial grade. The dining room, kitchen and two small sanifacs had white soft-tile on the floor.

His walls were a paler gray than Cirrus's corridor bulkheading. On them he'd hung his holos from the academy and all his postings, including the Vedri, in no special order. The four-tiered built-in bookshelf to the left of the kitchen held a few real bound books; those were special. So were the few other items secured to the metal shelves, including a plastiglass globe of Traakhalus Prime his grandfather had given him when he'd graduated from the academy. And one beer can, never opened, on a velvet cushion.

She touched it, questioningly.

"Long story." He took a sip of his wine, first. "Ever hear of Captain Ward Dylannin?" When she shook her head, he shrugged. "No reason you should have. That was six, seven years ago." He knew exactly how long it was, but didn't like to remember that, either. "Ward and I went through the academy together. Took our first postings on the same ship, the Richenza. From there, went to the Loyal. I guess you could say he was my best friend."

He saw by the softening in her eyes she'd caught his use of the past tense, and knew where this story was going. He continued, anyway. "We both made captain within four months of each other. I got the Vedritor. Ward got the Nevritan. Sister ships. Both Tarkiran-class hunterships. Right off the designer's deskscreens. And with some unexpected flaws in the power grids.

"The Nevri was engaged in a war games maneuver when their power grid collapsed. Ward was trapped in engineering with his chief and two junior crew. He got the juniors out and the situation went critical. Someone had to stay in engineering or the jumpdrives would blow. And take the ship, and her two hundred nineteen officers and crew, with them. Ward was the one who stayed, and because he did, they were able to contain the explosion to just the driveroom. And therefore lost only one life."

"Your friend," she said softly.

"He wouldn't have had it any other way."

"And the beer?"

"He bought it when we both made captain. First one to make admiral, he said, gets to open it." He shook his head. "Maybe when all this gets straightened out, I'll do that. For him. Though I really didn't win it fairly. If he'd lived, they might've offered Fifth to him, instead of me."

She was looking at him intently, the lavender in her eyes much more noticeable for some reason tonight. "The admiralty was your destiny, Rynan, not his. Your path here is not at all by chance."

Something stirred inside him, in a very deep place he'd all but forgotten about. It was almost like a memory. One that held no pain. Only peace.

He touched her face, chided himself at the wild romantic imaginings in his mind. He never imagined. Only, it seemed, lately. "So all this, the parrots, Hebbs, Magefather Rigo, no supplies, kids in long plaid skirts. This is all my destiny?"

She was smiling. "Yes."

"And you, too?"

"And me."

"How lucky can one guy get?" He tweaked her nose gently. "Dinner?"

She said yes to that, too. And to more wine. And to coffee laced with chocolate, after dinner. They sat on his low-backed dark blue couch and sipped their coffee while music spilled from his small soundmirror in the corner. He tabbed down the lights, removed the coffee cups, pulled her against him. "Come here, destiny-mine."

She laughed softly. "Just Gillie."

"Gillaine. It sounds more elegant. You have a middle name?"

"A few," she said after a moment.

This surprised him. He didn't remember one listed in her ID file. Not for the first time, he realized how little he knew of her. Whenever they were together, they talked about the station, or about himself. She must think him terribly self-centered. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Why? Is yours embarrassing?" She leaned her head back against his chest and looked up at him. Looked hopeful. Looking, he felt, for something to tease him about.

"Sorry, not at all. I just rarely use it. Is yours?" He could tease her just as well.

"No. Just long. And I rarely use it."

"I'm listening."

"Listening? That's a funny middle name."

"Gillaine!" He tightened his arms around her, tickled her lightly.

"Okay! Okay!" Her giggles subsided. Her gaze became serious. "Gillaine." She stopped, seemed to consider something for a moment. Took a deep breath, continued, "Ciran Rothalla Davré."

He played it over in his mind. "That's beautiful." He meant it.

"You wouldn't think so if the only time you ever hear it is when you've been caught doing something you weren't supposed to."

"Wish I'd known that. Could've used it earlier."

She smacked his arm playfully. "Fair's fair. Tell me."

"Rynan Khamron Makarian."

She went very still in his arms. "Spell it."

"K-H-A-"

"-M-R-O-N"

"Yes, why?" It wasn't a common name, but he felt as if it meant something to her.

"Nothing. It just figures, that's all."

"Figures?"

She turned in his embrace, slid her arms around his neck. "Destiny."

The conversation might have interested him more had her soft body not been pressing against his, her mouth only inches from his own. Her fingers traveled slowly through his hair.

He pulled her into his lap. His hand caressed her hip, then glided over the smooth, bare expanse of her thigh. His other cupped the back of her head, brought her mouth to his. She tasted like coffee and chocolate. Felt like fire in his veins.

He teased her mouth with his tongue, wanting desperately to claim her, fiercely. But wanting, knowing he would take this slow. They had time. All night. He wanted to make love to her all night, on a station one exit from nowhere, where night went on forever.

Her hands kneaded his shoulders, her tongue mirrored his teasings. She pulled back from his kiss, caught his lower lip between her teeth, sucked lightly. Sparks arced through him like a barrage of laser fire-hot, intense. Then she was kissing him again and he forgot about teasing and he forgot about slow. She was warm and soft where he was hot and hard and he could think of no better combination.

The thin fabric of her shirt seemed to melt under his hand. He cupped her breast, found the bud of one nipple blossom under his touch. Her sharp intake of breath sent heat rushing through his body. Made his mouth claim hers because he needed to taste her now, taste the passion that made her gasp. That made his own breathing ragged.

Her hips moved in a soft, sweet rhythm in his lap, stroking him. He arched against her, sucked kisses from her mouth. Rasped her name. "Gillaine. Let me love you."

"Forever." Her voice was a whisper. She took his hand.

He led her into his bedroom, lifted her onto the middle of his bed. Her eyes were more lavender than he'd ever seen them; a flush of pink colored her cheeks. Her slightly parted lips drew his own like a guidance beacon, unerringly. He forced himself to keep his kisses soft, for now, though the effort almost left him shaking.

He kneeled over her to unbutton her shirt while she unfastened his. Slipped her skirt off then his hands stroked her warm velvet skin, the round fullness of her breasts, the slender curve of her hips. The heat between her thighs.

The heat in his own body raged, demanded possession of her. But not yet. Not yet. There was still so much to explore, still so much pleasure he wanted to give her.

His mouth followed the trail his hands had left and he tasted all of her. He circled her nipples with the tip of his tongue but had to stop, catch his breath. Her hands were doing some exploring of their own. Flames rose, crested inside him. Threatened to explode. His skin was sweat-slicked, heated. He groaned, fought for control.

"Love me, Rynan. Now."

He lost it. He plunged inside her. She arched her hips, her fingers raked his back. He took her mouth, branded her with kisses as the universe, he was sure, tilted and went into free fall.

Passions exploded. Her breath fluttered, whimpered into his mouth. A rush of ecstasy cascaded through him in a sensation he'd never experienced before. He filled her, throbbing, shuddering his release, still clinging to this ecstasy, to this spiraling sweetness. Not knowing what it was. Only that he could never get enough of it.

He could never get enough of her. Gillaine. His Gillaine.

He covered her small body with his, trailed kisses across her face, down her neck. She was still trembling.

He grabbed a handful of covers, pulled them haphazardly over them both. He rolled onto his side and drew her into his arms. There were a thousand things he wanted to tell her, to promise her, to offer her. He found he could say only her name. "Gillaine..."

"Hi."

He smiled. "Hi, yourself."

She snuggled against him.

He put his fingers under her chin, tilted her face up. The time-controlled lights in his bedroom had dimmed. He couldn't see the color of her eyes. "I meant what I said last week. I want to marry you."

She sighed. He hoped it was a happy sound. "We have time."

"How much time?"

"If you asked me that a month ago, I could have told you. I understood time then. I don't think I do anymore."

"Why?" He was usually good at riddles, but this one perplexed him.

"Because time changed. For me." She leaned her face against his chest. "I'm not trying to be evasive. A lot of things have happened in my life in the past few weeks. I don't understand them all just yet."

"I don't think I'm all that difficult to understand. Feed me. Love me. Not necessarily in that order."

She laughed softly, brought her face back up. "I can do that."

"That's all I'm asking."

"Be careful what you ask for, Rynan Khamron Makarian. You might get it."

* * *

They dozed, then woke up an hour later, tangled in the covers. Made love again, talked less, kissed more. Mack spooned her against him as he lay on his side. She fit perfectly, as if their bodies had long ago been made only for each other.

When he woke the next time it was forty minutes before he was to be on duty. But her soft bottom pressing against him told him he just might be late.

He wasn't, but only because they skipped breakfast.

He grabbed a mug of coffee from the officer's mess, sipped it while he stood on the upper level of Ops because it concealed the broad grin that was totally incompatible with his current surroundings. But not with the landscape of his heart.

That was where Gillaine lived now, inside a heart that had one time only been concerned with practicality, with his postings, his career. Devotion was a word he'd aligned with duty. Then Gillaine had changed his entire vocabulary.

He'd never been so happy in his entire life. Not even when he'd made the rank of captain. Not even when he'd made admiral.

He scanned Ops again, watched his people move through their paces. Hebbs acknowledged him with a slight nod, went back to her conversation with an orange-suited worker. The willowy stationmaster had been cold and distant ever since he'd shown up in the Rainbow Room and abducted Gillie from Hebbs's entourage. She'd also lost her aggressiveness toward him. Which, he felt, was a good thing. He'd tired of parrying with her, of dodging her innuendos and advances.

Maybe they could finally all concentrate on the job at hand. Which was to get Cirrus fully functioning, or as close to fully functioning as they could, for the inspection and dedication in three weeks.

And maybe even a wedding, after that?

He brought his attention back to Ops. Alter-shift had already begun installing the systems' components that arrived with the supply ship. CQPA techs were elbow to elbow with black-uniformed Fleet engineers below.

They were getting somewhere now.

The time stamp on the main screen told him he had ten minutes before his meeting with Adler. He found an open console, slipped on a headset for privacy, called the Serendipity. The vidscreen was blank.

"Davré's Serendipity." Her voice sent trickles of warmth through his veins again.

"Hi, yourself."

"Hi."

He could almost hear her shy smile. "We have to get you vidlinked, one of these days."

"Every time I hook it up, something else in my comm pack skews."

"We've got equipment now. I can look at it later tonight, if you want."

"Actually, I was thinking of a much better way to spend our time."

By Ixari's Sweet Eyes, so was he. He hadn't stopped thinking about it. "Were you? Perhaps we should discuss that."

"In depth."

"In detail," he added quickly.

She laughed. "Lunch?"

"Regrettably, no. Probably not for the next few days. The toys have arrived," he said, meaning his requisitioned systems and supplies. "I have to make sure everyone's playing the same game."

"Late dinner, again?"

"Shouldn't be. I'll talk to you later, let you know how things are unfolding." He'd talk to her a lot. It was the only way he was going to be able to make it through the day, without seeing her. He needed to hear her voice.

"I might have lunch with Petrina. She left a message."

He couldn't quite place the name. "Not a friend of our esteemed stationmaster, I hope?"

"No. A nice, happily married tech I met in the Fifth Quarter. Her husband, Teddy, thinks he can play billiards. I may have to prove him wrong one of these days."

"Be gentle, my lady."

"Won't leave any visible scars, promise."

He laughed out loud, which drew the attention of two of his crew at a console a few feet away. He turned his back on them, cupped his hand over the headset's mike. "I'll talk to you later. Gillie...?"

"Umm?"

"I love you. Stay out of trouble."

"Promise."

He pulled off the headset, his whole existence warmed by her voice. He knew she cared, even if she hadn't told him she loved him, yet.

But that also worried him. Because he knew Gillie. And the way she cared could damn well lead her into trouble. He didn't believe for one minute she wasn't going to fuel rumors about the shattering of the Sacred Symbols.

And he didn't believe for one minute that Magefather Rigo wouldn't do all in his power to stop her. Which, Mack realized as he strode into the corridor, was something he'd best start considering as well.

Magefather Rigo's power.

He'd just stepped into his office when his commbadge, and his intercom, trilled ominously at the same time.

"Makarian."

"Hebbs here. Need you in Ops. We're got a security systems failure coming down!"

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