Page 30 of Adrift!
Spinning resolutely on her bare heel, she went to the door. She opened it without querying because she already knew.
Ikaryo stood on the other side.
“You didn’t say I can’t sing,” she said, as if continuing a conversation they’d already started. “I knew that when I accused you. I was just…” Without the words in any language, she slashed an angry gesture through the air.
“Saying it to yourself,” he interpreted.
She jerked her head in a stiff nod. “I’m still going to do it.”
“You will.”
She’d just meant that she would do the performance, but in the unwavering certainty of his steady baritone, she knew he meant more than that.
His belief—unwarranted and wonderful—made her eyes prickle.
He reached out. “Remy?”
“Oh dammit.” With the heel of her hand, she smeared the tears away. “Inevercry about my music. Not before a show, definitely not after. Never.”
With one fingertip, he brushed back a lock of her damp hair. “Would it be so bad if you did?”
Minus her heels, she was just a little shorter than him, so she had to look up with a crooked grin. “You mean, like, get it touch with my feelings or something? If only I hadn’t lost my button.”
“I believe you told me you’d buried it.”
“That’s true.” With a semi-exaggerated sigh, she stepped back. “If you want to come look for it…” She swept her tear-streaked hand dramatically, wafting the hem of her robe.
Which was about an inch away from a scandal, thanks to the romance-minded fabricator.
For a moment, he didn’t move, and internally she cringed at her Schrödinger’s solicitation: a desire simultaneously too desperate and yet not clear enough.
Then the door was whispering closed…behind him.
She’d previously noticed how the thoughtfully recessed lighting of the stateroom allowed no unflattering shadows, the hues programmed to complement each occupant’s skin tones, and how the architectural angles softened sounds. Setting the stage for seduction, she’d thought with a taint of scorn. But now she hoped it was all working for her, along with the perfumed body washes.
Because apparently the only thing more wracking to her nerves than performing was making the moves on an alien bartender.
“Um.” She bit her lip. “Shall I get you a drink?”
His half-moon eyes circled once, fast. “No one ever does that for me.”
“This might be your last chance.” She winced. “Sorry. You just saved the day—or night or whatever time it is out there—with your brilliant trick and I’m already whining about the next catastrophe.”
His dimple—ooh, did he know that was a thing on Earth?—flashed as he sauntered toward her. “This might be our only chance for a lot of things.”
The reminder should have been sobering, but instead it felt…dangerously thrilling. Like a dream where she’d recklessly used up her drink ticketsbeforeshe took the stage.
If they were going to die—which would happen eventually anyway, whether adrift in space or bombing on stage or asleep in her bed at some contented old age—then maybe she could just stop dreading and regretting.
And until the end came, she didn’t need to be alone in that bed.
Chapter 10
She moved to the small refreshment station, aware of Ikaryo following, very aware of the flutter of the short robe around her thighs, just past her butt cheeks. “What would you like?”
“Something I’ve never had before.”
Like the caress of the nightgown hem, the silky edge of his voice sent shivers dancing over her skin. And when she glanced back over her shoulder at him, she caught his silvery gaze tracking up her legs. “Tall order from someone who’s traveled the galaxy.” She tried for a cheeky grin but found herself admitting, “Not sure I can offer that.”
