you?”
“There’s no need to snap.”
“Sorry, it’s just that …”
Finn looked at her woebegone face. “This is the twenty-first
century, Ingrid. Why are you waiting for him to make a move on you?”
“It’s a little bit difficult, considering…” Ingrid flushed
scarlet. She must really have it bad for the big guy.
“Considering that you’re tripping over the rest of us.”
“Exactly.” She looked pleadingly at him. “So I was wondering
Finn, if you could take the others out for the evening.”
Finn rubbed his hands with glee—a wild night on the town and
a ton of delicious gossip to look forward to tomorrow. “Hon, it would be my
pleasure, but you have to promise to tell me everything, and I mean
everything.”
* * * * *
Strom turned the key in the lock of the apartment door. He
was becoming accustomed to the antiquated devices they used here. The others
were out for the night. Finn had offered to take Pete and Jake for a cultural
tour of the city. He wasn’t sure what that entailed, but knowing Jake, it was
bound to involve women or alcohol or both.
Central Com had just contacted him with an intelligence
report confirming that Raoul had returned to the twenty-sixth century. This
mission was almost over. Jake had a final meeting with Agent Guinand from
Interpol tomorrow afternoon and the following morning they were going home.
His heart fell, how the hell was he going to tell Ingrid?
Sharing her bed without touching her these past few nights had been agony. But
if he touched her, made love to her, he knew that he would never let her go.
No, he couldn’t let that happen. It would be better for Ingrid if they made a
clean break with no complications. He had plenty of time to be miserable about
her when he got home.
The lights in the room were dim. Music played low in the
background, something Ingrid called jazz, and a log fire burned in the grate.
That was something he would miss, that and the abundance of water for showers,
instead of the sonic ones on the ships back home. The table was set for two and
delicious smells wafted from the kitchen.
“Identify smell, Com?”
“A chemical compound. Primarily dimethyl sulphide or DMS,
usually found in truffles. The black truffle is said to have aphrodisiac
properties which—”
The bedroom door opened and Ingrid emerged. “That’s enough,
Com,” he hissed.
The black lace dress she was wearing would give a Tarsian
monk a hard-on for a month. The fabric skimmed over her curves like a second
skin and the neckline gave him a tantalizing glimpse of pale, creamy breasts.
Ingrid’s hair was loose and she had put makeup on her eyes that made them look
smoky and exotic. Desire uncoiled low in his abdomen. He could almost feel the
blood rushing to his cock. If this was a seduction, he was in big trouble.
Ingrid kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her perfume wafted
around him and he inhaled deeply.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “I’ve made something
special.”
She pressed a glass of wine into his hand, brushing her
fingers against his. He felt as if he’d been hit with a plasma gun. Everything
about her, the slightest touch was driving him crazy. Strom took a deep gulp of
wine. He would sit at the table, that would put some distance between them, and
the tablecloth would conceal the growing bulge in his pants.
Ingrid busied herself in the kitchen, chatting to him about
Finn and the guys and their plans for the evening, but he found it hard to
concentrate on what she was saying. His suddenly raging libido was affecting
his brain function. You’re going home in thirty-six hours. Keep your
hands off her . An evening alone with Ingrid was a very, very bad idea . He
should have gone out with Finn and the others, but it was too late now.
“Dinner is served.” Ingrid carried a covered dish to the
table. “It’s Finn’s secret recipe—chicken with truffles.”
Her breasts brushed his shoulder as she leaned over to serve
him and
“There’s no need to snap.”
“Sorry, it’s just that …”
Finn looked at her woebegone face. “This is the twenty-first
century, Ingrid. Why are you waiting for him to make a move on you?”
“It’s a little bit difficult, considering…” Ingrid flushed
scarlet. She must really have it bad for the big guy.
“Considering that you’re tripping over the rest of us.”
“Exactly.” She looked pleadingly at him. “So I was wondering
Finn, if you could take the others out for the evening.”
Finn rubbed his hands with glee—a wild night on the town and
a ton of delicious gossip to look forward to tomorrow. “Hon, it would be my
pleasure, but you have to promise to tell me everything, and I mean
everything.”
* * * * *
Strom turned the key in the lock of the apartment door. He
was becoming accustomed to the antiquated devices they used here. The others
were out for the night. Finn had offered to take Pete and Jake for a cultural
tour of the city. He wasn’t sure what that entailed, but knowing Jake, it was
bound to involve women or alcohol or both.
Central Com had just contacted him with an intelligence
report confirming that Raoul had returned to the twenty-sixth century. This
mission was almost over. Jake had a final meeting with Agent Guinand from
Interpol tomorrow afternoon and the following morning they were going home.
His heart fell, how the hell was he going to tell Ingrid?
Sharing her bed without touching her these past few nights had been agony. But
if he touched her, made love to her, he knew that he would never let her go.
No, he couldn’t let that happen. It would be better for Ingrid if they made a
clean break with no complications. He had plenty of time to be miserable about
her when he got home.
The lights in the room were dim. Music played low in the
background, something Ingrid called jazz, and a log fire burned in the grate.
That was something he would miss, that and the abundance of water for showers,
instead of the sonic ones on the ships back home. The table was set for two and
delicious smells wafted from the kitchen.
“Identify smell, Com?”
“A chemical compound. Primarily dimethyl sulphide or DMS,
usually found in truffles. The black truffle is said to have aphrodisiac
properties which—”
The bedroom door opened and Ingrid emerged. “That’s enough,
Com,” he hissed.
The black lace dress she was wearing would give a Tarsian
monk a hard-on for a month. The fabric skimmed over her curves like a second
skin and the neckline gave him a tantalizing glimpse of pale, creamy breasts.
Ingrid’s hair was loose and she had put makeup on her eyes that made them look
smoky and exotic. Desire uncoiled low in his abdomen. He could almost feel the
blood rushing to his cock. If this was a seduction, he was in big trouble.
Ingrid kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her perfume wafted
around him and he inhaled deeply.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “I’ve made something
special.”
She pressed a glass of wine into his hand, brushing her
fingers against his. He felt as if he’d been hit with a plasma gun. Everything
about her, the slightest touch was driving him crazy. Strom took a deep gulp of
wine. He would sit at the table, that would put some distance between them, and
the tablecloth would conceal the growing bulge in his pants.
Ingrid busied herself in the kitchen, chatting to him about
Finn and the guys and their plans for the evening, but he found it hard to
concentrate on what she was saying. His suddenly raging libido was affecting
his brain function. You’re going home in thirty-six hours. Keep your
hands off her . An evening alone with Ingrid was a very, very bad idea . He
should have gone out with Finn and the others, but it was too late now.
“Dinner is served.” Ingrid carried a covered dish to the
table. “It’s Finn’s secret recipe—chicken with truffles.”
Her breasts brushed his shoulder as she leaned over to serve
him and
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