Taking a breath, she said, “Yes, Zhandar…but shouldn’t we wait until after the food is delivered?”
He didn’t seem too worried about her suggestion that they delay the moment of truth. “Of course. That would be wisest, I think. But in the meantime….”
Turning from her, he went into the kitchen, to the refrigeration unit. “A glass of zhir, perhaps?”
Zhir, she recalled, was a mildly alcoholic drink, pale in color. The closest Gaian analogue was a dry white wine. That sounded harmless enough, considering the Zhore beverage had a far lower alcohol content than actual wine. “That sounds lovely.”
He pulled a pretty bottle of etched glass from the refrigeration unit, followed by two low, square glasses from one of the cupboards. A precise measure into each glass, and then he was approaching her and handing her one.
“To…the future,” he said, raising his own glass slightly.
So the Zhore had their own version of a toast, one very similar to the Gaian custom. Trinity lifted her glass, then drank. The zhir was so light it seemed almost to evaporate off her tongue as soon it touched her mouth, rather like champagne but without the bubbles. “To the future,” she echoed, and hoped that was a more or less acceptable response.
It seemed to be correct, because Zhandar dipped his head toward her, as if in a nod. “The future was not something I wished to contemplate, until very recently. Thank you for that.”
She guessed he was speaking of his late wife. So hard to know exactly what to say, or how to phrase it. Did the Zhore tiptoe around death the way the Gaians tended to, or did the aliens accept it as part of the natural course of life? Even if they did, she could tell that the man who stood before her now had taken his wife’s death very hard, maybe because she was certainly far too young to die, except through accident or tragedy.
“I know that feeling,” Trinity said quietly. She hated the lies she had to tell him. The story about her parents’ and other family members’ deaths in the Alizhaar earthquake had been a conveniently plausible one for Gabriel to give her, mainly because it removed the awkward problem of being all alone in a very family-oriented culture, but she still wanted to cringe every time she was forced to mention anything about it. Still, it seemed the correct response to offer now.
Apparently, Zhandar agreed, since he nodded. “I hope I will be able to change that for you.”
She couldn’t possibly admit to him that she feared the future now more than ever. More lies, more subterfuge, until she could make her escape. He didn’t deserve that. She didn’t pretend to know everything about him, but the last two weeks she’d spent working with him had told her that he was a good man. He should have someone who truly did love him.
Maybe you do, she thought then. You certainly want him. You like him. You want to be around him. How is that any different from the other times you fancied yourself in love?
Basically, it wasn’t. And that was an even bigger problem. Because if she loved him…or thought she did…how the hell would she ever be able to carry out Gabriel’s plan?
The universe saved her from having to unknot that problem right then, as the door chime sounded. Zhandar set his glass down on the kitchen counter and went to answer the door. A low-slung mech, not much more than a glorified cart, waited just beyond the door.
Zhandar swiped his credit voucher through the mech’s card reader. At once, the plastic dome of the little robot opened, revealing a set of covered plates and bowls in various sizes. A quick glance over at Trinity, and Zhandar said, “If you don’t mind, Zhanna — ”
She hurried over and lifted several of the plates off the mech’s tray. Zhandar scooped up the rest, and then the dome closed and the robot whirred away, moving smoothly on a series of small air jets.
“The dining room table?” Trinity asked, and Zhandar replied,
“Yes, if you would.”
At least she knew that the Zhore ate their meals in a manner not unlike that of most Gaian cultures, even if the aliens generally chose to only eat with their closest of relatives. She set down the plates, choosing a spot at the head of the table and one immediately to the left. Zhandar followed a few seconds later, then put down the bowls he held. A bit of a bustle while he returned to the kitchen to get eating utensils and napkins that felt like cloth but went into the recycling unit with all the other waste.
Then the table was set, and they were standing there, watching each other.
At last Trinity said, “Should I go first?”
They both knew she wasn’t talking about taking a seat at the table.
“No,” Zhandar replied. “I was the one to bring it up. So I should take the first step.”
It might have been cowardly of her, but Trinity couldn’t help feeling a rush of relief. Seeing him first would give her the courage — she hoped — to push her own hood back, to let him see her face. Even if it wasn’t really her face.
Slowly, he pulled off one glove, then the other, and laid them both on the table, at the end where no place settings had been set. By now she was used enough to staring at the iridescent black Zhore skin whenever she looked in a mirror that seeing it on Zhandar’s hands didn’t give her pause. She did like the shape of those hands, though, and the strong, tapering fingers.
The thought of what it would be like, to have those fingers touching her….
Then his hands were lifting, both of them, going to the edge of his hood and grasping it. A subtle pause, one she might not have even noticed if she hadn’t been looking for it, and the hood went back.
The first thing she noticed were his eyes. They were gray, but not the hard charcoal color of Gabriel Brant’s eyes. Zhandar’s were a clear, piercing shade, almost silvery, shocking against the darkness of his skin. The features were strong, high cheekbones and a longish nose, and a wide friendly mouth, although he was not smiling now. No, he was staring at her with an intensity that was almost painful to see — relief that his hood no longer hid his face, but worry that she wouldn’t like what she saw.
Oh, she liked it. More than liked. The bones of his face were beautiful, and those glinting eyes, with their fringe of sooty lashes, held hers. Would she be able to look away, even if she tried?
She didn’t know for sure. She only knew that it was now her turn.
And so she pushed back her own hood.
CHAPTER NINE
Zhandar’s breath strangled in his throat. Physical beauty was not something his people counted as highly as beauty of mind and spirit, and yet….
And yet he had hoped that Zhanna would be as physically lovely as her strength and courage and intelligence made her spiritually lovely. A shallow hope, perhaps, but Elzhair had been beautiful, and he’d delighted as much in the curve of her throat and the flash in her eyes as he had in her sense of humor and quickness of thought. It was all those things that had made her Elzhair, and he had never been one to dwell on one quality above another.
But Zhanna…Zhanna was exquisite. His gaze lingered on her mouth, so full, so luscious. Those were the sorts of lips that cried out to be kissed. Her eyes, a brilliant blue-green, seemed shadowed with worry. Although she had always maintained controls so strict that he thought she would make an excellent instructor in the sorts of mental barriers Zhore society required, now he could sense a flicker of unease in her, as if she feared he would look on her and find her somehow lacking.
He knew he must disabuse her of that notion immediately.
Going to her, he took her hands in his and pulled the gloves away. She was slight and delicate, and her hands were no different — fine-boned, fragile, but with a subtle strength underlying them nonetheless. His fingers wrapped around hers, pulled her closer.
A small tremor went through her. That didn’t surprise him, as he’d felt the same shiver when they touched for the first time in such a way, naked flesh to naked flesh. And this was only their fingers knotted together.
“You are beautiful,” he murmured. “You are perfect.”
S
he began to shake her head. What had happened to her, to make her think she was anything less than perfection? Had she felt the sayara bond with someone, only to discover that her feelings were not reciprocated? That could be hurtful, but all his people knew that such things happened from time to time because of a mismatch in biology. It was certainly nothing personal.
He must show her that such was certainly not the case here.
They now stood less than a hand’s breadth apart. He bent to her, touched his lips to hers. Oh, the glory of that mouth against his! So soft, so lush, so welcoming. She tasted of zhir, and something more, her own delectable flavor.
And then her body was pressed against his, and she was trembling. He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping her in his cloak. But even though she shook, she did not pull her mouth from his, instead allowed him to continue the kiss, to let his tongue touch hers.
Heat was flooding through his body, threatening to consume him. He knew if they didn’t stop here, he would lift her up and take her to his bedchamber. As much as he wanted that, he understood these things must be taken more slowly. After all, they had only declared their sayara bond to one another an hour earlier. Although it was not unheard of for a couple to follow their instincts and bond in every way soon after such a declaration, neither was it precisely condoned.
Besides, he did not want her to feel rushed. Her heart was pounding so hard he could feel it, like a frightened razhar somehow caught indoors and out of its element, wings beating to be free.
He let her go and stepped away, but gently, so she would know he did so out of consideration for her feelings, and not because he didn’t wish to continue kissing her.
“Our food will get cold,” he said then, and she smiled. Her teeth were pretty, too, even and white.
“Well,” she replied, “we can’t have that.”
* * *
It was hard not to stare at him. She wanted to keep staring…and yet she knew with every gaze she sent in his direction, the implant in her brain was capturing the image and sending it back to the station on Zhoraan’s moon where Gabriel’s operatives would begin the process of analysis.
What would they think of that kiss? Her accelerated heart rate and shaky limbs would have been recorded as well. And Gabriel would realize she certainly hadn’t reacted the same way when he’d kissed her.
Save those worries for later. She couldn’t allow herself to be too distracted by what Gabriel and his minions might or might not do with the information she was sending back. She was already distracted enough by Zhandar.
He sat next to her at the table, calmly dishing the food he had ordered onto her plate. Or at least, he appeared calm on first inspection. If she looked a little closer, she could see the gleam in those silvery-gray eyes, the way his lips parted every time their gazes met.
Somehow she knew how difficult it had been for him to stop, to not let things go any further. Well, it wasn’t that difficult to imagine, actually, because she’d felt the same way. If he’d pressed the issue, she wouldn’t have protested. Some sane part of her mind had told her to follow his lead, however, and it seemed that, for now, he was putting off any further intimacy. Maybe the Zhore weren’t as quick to jump into bed as the Gaians. Or the Eridanis. She couldn’t speak for the Stacians’ sexual habits, because she knew next to nothing about them, except that they’d been at almost-war with the Consortium for longer than she’d been alive.
“Is the food to your liking?”
She didn’t quite startle, but she did pause, pulling her thoughts back to the here and now. “Very much so. I think you must have a connection with a better delivery service than I do.”
He smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him do so, and it was like watching the sun come up. “Perhaps. I can give you their code, although they only cater to a small area. Where is your apartment located?”
Possibly he was asking for reasons other than determining whether his delivery people would come to her building, but Trinity decided to believe otherwise. “It’s in the Azharis District.”
“Ah, well, that’s a bit out of their service area, unfortunately.” His eyes glinted, and he added, “I think you will just have to dine here with me more often if you would like continue enjoying their food.”
That would have sounded like flirting on just about any planet she’d ever heard of. “Zhandar,” she said slowly, her tone teasing, “is that an open invitation?”
Gaze traveling to her lips, he replied, “If you want it to be.”
Who would have thought the reserved and elegant Zhore would have this playful, flirtatious side to them? But then she realized she needed to stop thinking of the alien race as a single monolithic block. They couldn’t all be alike, any more than she was like Gabriel Brant or Gabriel was like her secondary-school physics instructor, the one who refused hair implants and so was as bald as an egg.
“For mushroom turnovers like this?” she responded. “Of course I want it to be an open invitation.”
Zhandar laughed again then, putting down his fork so he could reach over and grasp the bottle of zhir and pour her another measure. Not a lot, certainly not enough to make her even close to tipsy, but it seemed clear to Trinity that he wouldn’t mind if things got a bit…elevated…this evening.
She didn’t think she would mind, either. It would be nice to kiss him again after dinner, maybe snuggle on one of those sofas in the living room. So what if that was the sort of thing her teenaged self might have done, once upon a time? Maybe it was time to let her brain know that every first evening together didn’t have to lead to a night in bed.
Yeah, right. None of her other lovers had gotten her anywhere near as excited as Zhandar, and yet she was pretending that she’d be satisfied with a few kisses?
Her body warmed at the thought of what would happen after they were done with kissing, and so she said hastily, “What are we going to tell everyone at work?”
“The truth, of course,” he said without any hesitation. “They will be happy for us. We all grieve for those who are alone, and rejoice when anyone finds their soul match.”
Of course they would. Unlike the Gaians, it didn’t seem as if the Zhore had a petty or jealous bone in their bodies. That probably wasn’t completely accurate, but so far, she hadn’t come across anyone who wasn’t striving for the common good. And of course the good of the planet included as many of its citizens as possible having harmonious and healthy relationships.
“I am glad to hear that,” she said. “Only…can we hold off on saying anything, just for a little while?”
For the first time, his expression clouded. “Of course, if that is what you wish.”
Damn. She hadn’t meant for him to take it that way. “It’s not that — I mean, I’m happy, Zhandar. Very happy.” And soon to be happier still. “But since I am still so new there, I thought it might be…I don’t know…easier if we waited just a little bit.”
At once he seemed to relax, saying, “Ah, I had not thought of it that way. You have been so completely in my thoughts for the last few weeks that I had almost forgotten how recently it was that you came to Torzhaan and your current position. We can wait to say anything, and I promise I will be very circumspect when we are in the office together.”
“Thank you,” she said simply. With Zhandar, she knew no further comment would be required. He understood what she needed. More to the point, he would allow her to have it, with no argument, because he cared about her.
I don’t deserve that kind of consideration, she thought then, and was glad that her Zhore skin couldn’t flame with embarrassment the way her own fair Gaian complexion would have in a similar situation. It was horrible that she had to lie to him like this. Maybe she knew their connection wasn’t a lie — not all of it, anyway — but the cold truth was that she’d been sent here to gather what information she could about Zhoraan and its inhabitants, and no amount of lust or love or whatever she wanted to call it would change that fact.
With a ruthlessness born of long practice, she pushed those thoughts away, making sure none of her unease and worry and self-loathing could rise far enough to the surface that Zhandar might be able to detect it. Instead, she smiled at him, and ate her dinner, and told herself she would do what had to be done.
Whatever that might be.
* * *
They did kiss again, after the dinner plates had been cleared away and the last of the zhir poured into their glasses. And once again Trinity felt her body flaring with heat, with need. But Zhandar stopped it there. How he found the willpower to do so, she wasn’t sure. Wherever he got the strength, however, it was enough for him to pull gently away from her, then lead her to the elevator so they could descend to the parking garage, where he’d left his car. No question of using Torzhaan’s excellent transit system to get her home; she could tell Zhandar wanted to stay close to her for as long as possible.
He did not go with her up to her apartment. Respecting her desire to keep their relationship concealed for the moment, he drove into her building’s garage, then waited as she made her way to the lifts. One last glimpse of his hooded face watching her from the interior of his car, and then the elevator doors closed in front of her.
No sooner had a sad little sigh escaped her lips than she realized she was not alone in the elevator. Another hooded Zhore stood there in the corner. Trinity didn’t often see any of her neighbors — her schedule seemed to be quite different from theirs — and so she tilted her head at the stranger, a common greeting among the Zhore, acknowledging his presence but not bothering him with unwanted conversation.
gaian consortium 06 - zhore deception Page 12