The Key

by Pauline Baird Jones

  Her eyes widened. “On what?”

  He grinned. “On how hard you make me work to get you from here…to there…” He nodded toward the bed.

  “Oh.” She looked at the bed for a minute, then looked at him. She felt all strange and…fluid. Not like herself at all. Still a bit nervous, but also …curious. Curiously eager maybe.

  “Well,” she smiled, “I’ve never been…easy, but I might—” She touched his chest, her fingers spreading on contact, “—be open to persuasion…”

  Fyn applied some persuasion to her mouth. It was so convincing, she didn’t realize she was moving until her back hit the bed…

  * * * *

  Fyn kissed Sara’s bare shoulder and saw the color run into her face again. She tasted good. Felt good. Smelled good…and after what they’d just done, could still blush. Dang.

  He hadn’t planned this, but suddenly he couldn’t wait to…stake his claim, to make her so much his, nothing could pull them apart.

  “Okay, so that was seriously…pleasant.” Her voice was drowsy and contented.

  “Pleasant?” He pulled her onto her back, so he could see her face.

  Her eyes were innocent, but wicked was buried deep in there.

  “I did say seriously pleasant, did I not?” She bit her lower lip for a moment, her lashes hiding her eyes. One finger traced a pattern on his bare chest. “Do you think…there’s time to do it again?”

  Fyn looked at her clock. “Okay.”

  He bent toward her, but her intercom buzzed insistently. He’d have ignored it, but Sara sighed.

  “It might be the Old Man.” She rolled toward it, pulling a sheet up around her, then tapped the button.

  “Donovan.”

  “This is Kilburn. Before you cut me off, I know I’m dead to you, Captain, but the Colonel wants everyone who will be at the dinner to go over the protocols given to us by the Gadi.”

  Fyn pulled at the edge of the sheet, but before the view got too interesting, she caught it. She gave him a look, pulling it back up—like he hadn’t already seen what she had. A little late to turn shy. Her color kept coming and going. Was it only her face or did she blush everywhere?

  Her elbow snapped down, shoving the edge of the sheet back down before he could find out.

  She pushed the button. “Fine. I can meet you at—”

  “I’m outside your quarters right now. Where are you?”

  Fyn tugged on the sheet, but she had a good grip on it now. Maybe he could find a way around it…

  “I’m…not dressed, sir.” She jumped and pushed his hand away. “Can’t we do this later?”

  “I have about twenty people to brief, Captain.”

  Sara sighed. “Okay. Give me a minute.”

  She sagged back, her gaze met Fyn’s and widened again. Color surged into her face, probably more than he’d ever seen.

  “Oh, crap, I don’t suppose you’d fit in the closet, would you?”

  He leaned back, his arms crossed behind his head, and grinned at her.

  “You have to get up. And help me find my clothes. And get your clothes on.”

  “He doesn’t need to brief me.”

  She gave him a look. “Don’t even go there. And don’t stay there.”

  She pulled the sheet more firmly around her, then bent to grab her scattered clothes.

  He pointed at something she’d called a bra, hanging by the edge of the cabinet. “Want me to get that for you?”

  He got some of his clothes in the face. By the time he’d pulled them off, he only caught a glimpse of her smooth, straight back before she pulled a shirt down. She looked over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him.

  He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her back down on the bed.

  “He’s waiting.” But her eyes were soft and her mouth was already parting for his kiss.

  “I know.” He smoothed her hair back off her face, then bent and kissed her. Her mouth clung to his for a moment.

  “I love you,” she said. “You were…great. Quite possibly perfect.”

  “With a little more practice, you will be, too.” If he could have kept from grinning, it would have played better.

  “You better hope you don’t draw me for a throw down today, punk.” She twisted away, somehow managing to get her legs to the floor and get out of his reach.

  And how had she managed to get her pants on without him seeing?

  She sat down on the stool. “Your turn. Husband.” She propped her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands.

  If she thought he’d be embarrassed…

  He threw the covers back and sat up. As he pulled on his shirt, he caught her peeking. If he hadn’t seen it, her color would have given her away.

  “I can go slower if you want.”

  She spun around, showing him her back. “Just get dressed.”

  In a few he said, “I’m ready.”

  She stood up and looked him over. “We need to straighten the bed.”

  “He’ll still know, Sara.”

  “I know.”

  “We’re married.”

  “He doesn’t know that.”

  “So, tell him.”

  “The Old Man didn’t say if we could tell anyone.”

  She flipped the covers up, did a last look, then tried to edge past him to get to the door. Fyn made her give up another kiss—not that she objected. Then he sank down on the edge of the bed.

  “You can’t sit there.”

  “If I don’t, Kilburn will have to. There’s only the stool.”

  “Oh.” She bit her lower lip. “Right.”

  He could see her trying to pull it together, trying to do her retreat and get calm thing. It didn’t seem to be working.

  “Crap.” She looked at him. “Lose the grin.”

  But he could see her trying not to grin now. She shook her head, like she gave up, and released the door. Her cheeks were red beacons.

  “Come in, sir.”

  “Thank you, Captain—”

  He stopped in the doorway. Now his face turned red.

  Fyn nodded a greeting. “Kilburn.”

  Kilburn looked at Sara. Her chin went up.

  “You remember Fyn, don’t you, sir?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t seem to know where to look.

  Sara edged past Kilburn and sat down on the bed next to Fyn. It was a pleasantly tight fit. Fyn put his arm around her. He thought she’d push him off, but she surprised him by looking at him with a small, briefly heated smile.

  “Have a seat, sir.”

  “Right.” He perched uneasily on the stool and opened a folder. “You’ll need to go over this, too, Fyn. I understand you’ll be there as well.”

  “Okay.” Did Kilburn know he couldn’t read their language yet? Not that he gave a crap for protocol.

  “Here’s one for you and one for…the Captain. As you can see, the Gadi have some rather…strict…protocols when dealing with their…leader.”

  “No kidding.” Sara looked up. “No speaking until spoken to. Looks like he never got over kindergarten.”

  “Okay, remarks like that would be very bad during dinner. Probably be better if you didn’t talk at all. Unless he asks you a question. You’d have to answer it…I suppose.” He sighed. “And the Colonel wants everyone in dress uniforms. Except Fyn. You can wear—”

  “Oh, wear the leather.” Sara gave a little wiggle. “It’s hot. I’ll need something nice to look at while I’m not talking to Helfron.”

  Kilburn choked. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you?”

  Sara looked at him. “Yes.”

  “I told the Colonel that. He didn’t seem to mind.” He looked puzzled by that.

  “Kilburn, do you know why the Gadi leader wants to meet me?”

  He looked up, looked away, and nodded. It was clear he thought it was mind-boggling, quite possibly insane. For once he was right.

  “Now think for a minute. Me…difficult at dinner. Me…first lady
of half of a galaxy. Now which would be the worse diplomatic nightmare for you?”

  He looked at her and his eyes slowly widened. “Oh, so you being…”

  “…bad, is actually a good thing.”

  “Oh. That’s very…”

  “Twisted. I know. The colonel already told me I have a dark little soul.” She sat up. “So it is really wasting your very precious time to talk protocol with me, because I have a mandate to screw up. So you could… leave. Go talk to one of those other twenty people?”

  “Oh.” He looked at her. He looked at Fyn. “Oh.”

  He flushed again.

  “I’m sure you have…things…to do.” He flushed an even deeper red.

  “Yeah, I was hoping to jump his bones once more before the big event—just in case the leader was wanting a virgin bride.”

  Even Fyn choked at this.

  “Want to make sure I cover all the bases—no pun intended either.”

  How did she manage to look so serious and not blush this time? When she was actually jumping his bones, she’d been glowing like a night fish.

  “And Fyn doesn’t mind if I talk. At least not yet.”

  Fyn put his hand over her mouth. “Save yourself.”

  Kilburn smiled. It made him…human.

  “I’ll see you…later then.” He half turned, seemed about to say something else, but then thought better of it and let himself out.

  “Lock that door,” Fyn said, staring at Sara over the top of his hand. He heard it snap in place. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

  She pulled his hand down and looked at the clock.

  “You got ten minutes. Are you sure you’re…up for it?”

  He hooked his arm around he waist and put her back on the bed.

  She smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  * * * *

  It had been a scramble to make it to the fighter bay on time. Sara had wanted to curl up with Fyn and sleep, not climb back into ABU’s. Just thinking about him made her skin flush and her mid-section get mushy again. Probably shouldn’t do that. Made it hard to stay at attention.

  The colonel had set the fighter bay up like it was a set in a play. Sara took a peek at the total layout through the security cameras. It was weird to see herself standing with the other pilots in her squadron. All of them were in ABU’s, tee shirts, vests, and Kevlar helmets, and all were fully geared up with side arms, knives and P-90’s hanging off clips on the front of their vests.

  Across from them were the jarheads, similarly geared up, except they carried M-4’s. On one end of their group was a guy with an M203 Grenade Launcher. At the other end a jarhead had a M249 SAW light machine gun—like big, scary quote marks.

  And then to their right, the guys from the Patton.

  Colonel Emerson stood with their Old Man. Sara could see Hawkins in their pilot ranks.

  There was also a large, security detail of fully armed MP’s.

  The Old Man had decided to have the Gadi delegation arrive through the fighter bay, let them see their fighters, too. Briggs had had his guys spiff them to a deadly glow and he was on hand to see the parade. Fyn stood just off to the right of the pilot pukes, dressed in ABU’s and geared up, like them, except the Old Man had him holding an AT-4 anti tank rocket launcher. Sometimes bigger was…better. He looked seriously hot.

  The only odd note was Kilburn in his suit.

  When the Gadi transport ship entered the bay, Sara felt, more than heard a murmur of laughter pass through the ranks.

  It was very pretty, even prettier than the girl bird he’d wanted to give her.

  “I think I saw that ship on Killer Clowns from Outer Space,” someone muttered.

  “Or in Mario Brothers,” Carey said, his eyes wide.

  A ramp lowered and a bunch of Gadi guys marched out, strutting their stuff. They looked pretty, too. They couldn’t have been more opposite to the Dusan.

  If they had any reaction to the earth pukes, it didn’t show on their faces. There was a pause and then Commander Gaedon came down, stopping at the foot of the ramp and turning to wait.

  Finally, after another long pause, their leader strolled out. He was as pretty as his ship, and fully loaded with glitter and gold. His getup didn’t have the look of a uniform. It kind of reminded her of the stuff royalty wore in France. In the fourteenth century. Only his shoes weren’t pointy toed. His pants stopped at the knee. And were ruffled on the edges. Actually, it looked like someone had puked ruffles all over him. All he needed to be the gay blade was a pretty hankie. He had the bored, snotty look down pat.

  He was so shiny, Sara was tempted to pull out her shades. Her hand started to reach for the flap—

  “Don’t even think about it, Captain,” Carey muttered, though his lips twitched. “Or anyone else. We play this straight—well, as straight as we can. Are you sure he wants to marry you, Donovan?”

  The leader stopped and looked around, his brows lifting in distaste as he took in the very gray, very serviceable fighter bay.

  Halliwell moved forward to greet the Gadi leader, then turned and introduced him to Emerson and Kilburn. Sara saw Gaedon looking around. His gaze passed right over her. Perfect. He said something to the Old Man, who turned and looked at her.

  “Front and center, Donovan,” he barked.

  Sara came to sharp attention, marched forward a few steps, stopped and saluted. She didn’t look at any of them, though she couldn’t resist tapping into the security monitors for a bird’s eye view. It was an odd tableau, the gaudy Gadi standing in the drab fighter bay, looking down his nose at her.

  “That’s her? Are you sure it’s female?” He made no attempt to lower his voice. It wasn’t a bad voice. Would have been better without the sneer in it.

  Sara had to stiffen her mouth to keep from grinning.

  “Let me introduce you,” Gaedon said, smiling uneasily.

  “She may approach.” Helfron kind of waved his hand in her direction.

  Sara didn’t move.

  “Captain.” Halliwell jerked his chin at her.

  She marched up to the circle, stopping at attention. She added her “steely eyed killer” look to her ensemble, in honor of the Gadi leader.

  It took him a while to notice. He started with her boots, almost flinching at the sight of them. Then his gaze tracked slowly up her legs—that took a while—and he took some more time studying her chest. Not that it did him any good. Her vest hid the little she had. Finally…

  His eyes widened slightly when their gazes met, and just for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of…life in them, before his lids drooped over his eyes, as if he were bored. He nodded to Gaedon.

  “Leader, this is Captain Sara Donovan. Captain, I’m most pleased to introduce you to Helfron Giddioni, the Leader of the Gadi Federation.”

  Sara gave a short, sharp nod of her head. She didn’t offer her hand.

  He didn’t offer his. They were resting on his hips.

  She decided it was time to give as good as she’d got. She looked him in the eyes, then slid her gaze slowly down his length. When she got to his jewel crusted shoes, she noticed the heels were quite…high. Someone must have told him she was a tall girl. She tipped her head and studied them until Gaedon cleared his throat. She looked up. Helfron was looking at her, so she let her lips twitch, just a little.

  Again that flash of…something in his eyes. He wasn’t as stupid as he wanted to look. There was strength in his body, too, despite the pretty wrapping. Pink was definitely his color, though.

  “You said she was a soldier.” His gaze flicked over her again. “I thought you were joking.” He reached out and felt the collar of her jacket, his nose wrinkled, like he smelled something nasty. “What color is that?”

  Sara just stared at him.

  “They’re called ABU’s, an Airman Battle Uniform. They are designed to camouflage our people in dangerous situations,” Halliwell explained.

  “She is a fighter pilot, Leader.” Gaedon indicated one
of the ships off to the side. “One of these ships, I believe, Captain?”

  Helfron turned and examined a Dauntless, then looked at Halliwell.

  “Do they only come in the one color?”

  Halliwell blinked a couple of times. Sara’s lips twitched, this time for real.

  Helfron’s gaze suddenly veered her way again. She straightened her mouth to a line.

  “Take off that…thing on your head.”

  Sara’s gaze narrowed.

  “Captain?”

  Sara looked at the Old Man.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Take it off.”

  She lifted the helmet off, tucking it under her arm and looked at Helfron again, the temp in her eyes dropping a few more degrees.

  “Your hair is very short.”

  She arched her brows.

  He studied her for a moment. “You may speak to me.”

  Sara hadn’t planned to say anything to him, but then Gaedon gave her a pleading look. The Old Man did, too.

  “I usually wear it shorter.” She waited half a beat. “Sir.”

  “I am addressed as Leader.”

  Sara arched her brows a bit more. Added an eye roll.

  “What is that?” He indicated her P-90.

  Halliwell answered for her. “Show him your P-90, Captain.”

  Without taking her gaze off Helfron, Sara unhooked it from the front of her vest, removed the magazine, stowed it in her vest pocket, snapped it to the side and then held it out.

  The leader looked at it, while Gaedon hastened to explain, “It is projectile based, Leader.”

  Helfron studied it without touching it, then nodded when he was finished.

  Sara pulled out the magazine, shoved it back in, then returned the P-90 to its clip on the front of her vest.

  “Our weapons do not have as much…movement.”

  “I noticed.” Sara gave Gaedon a look. “Sir.”

  Gaedon smiled a bit weakly.

  Helfron frowned. “What is this sir?”

  “It’s a sign of respect, Leader,” Kilburn said, as if he couldn’t help himself.

  Apparently he wanted to be dead to her again. She shot him a look.

  Helfron nodded, looking not ill-pleased. “I am ready to see more of this…vessel. She will walk with me.”