*
“Julie?”
It was the longest, deepest, throatiest kiss yet, tongues and lips dancing, breath whispering, hands moving over half-unfastened shirts, bodies lurching in the one-thirteenth gravity.
“Julie, are you in there?” The voice was female, and sounded concerned.
“Damn—!” Julie whispered. She broke from the kiss and slumped against him, arms holding him limply. For a moment, they were silent and still together. Then Julie raised her head and called out, “Yes! What is it?”
“Can I come in? It’s Georgia.”
Bandicut groaned softly and straightened up. He began to refasten his shirt front, but Julie stayed him with one hand. “What is it? I’m—” Julie gulped “—not feeling . . . too well. I’m, uh, trying to take a nap.” She looked at Bandicut and grimaced, then hiccupped with suppressed laughter.
“I need to talk. It’s about John. It won’t take long.”
About John? he thought.
Georgia rattled the curtain fastener, and it popped open. She started to step in. “Ohh—” she croaked in sudden mortification. “I, uh—”
“I thought I locked that thing!” Julie snarled, hurriedly readjusting her clothing. She looked apologetically at Bandicut, and he shrugged silently. He glanced at Georgia, and caught her hiding a grin. He blushed and averted his eyes.
“Sorry—!” Georgia murmured, backing out of the doorway.
“Oh, hell, you might as well tell me what you wanted,” Julie sighed. She cocked her head. “You said it was about John?” She glanced at Bandicut.
“My John. Not you, Bandie,” Georgia said wryly.
“Ah,” said Julie.
“I, uh—it can wait. I’ll talk to you . . . later.” Coughing politely, Georgia added, “I’m sorry . . . you’re not feeling well.” She closed the curtain again, but Bandicut thought he heard her chuckle.
Julie sighed deeply. She wrapped her arms around Bandicut’s chest, and finally turned her eyes up to his. “Well—how’s that for a mood-breaker?”
He grunted, and managed a grin. “What do you suppose are the, uh . . . chances of . . . getting the mood back?”
Julie pressed her lips together fretfully. “You could ask me to . . . dinner,” she suggested.
Bandicut turned his head to peer at the tray of food. “Want to have dinner at a gourmet restaurant?” he squeaked. “Or—” his voice deepened again “—do you want to kiss me again?”
She smiled. “It’s not dinnertime yet. But I like the second idea.” She leaned back toward him.
Neptune Crossing Page 43