Page 128 of Commander’s Mate

“There are temporary berths being arranged,” I said. “If you wish, I will have one assigned to you near the other Earth women. If you prefer to remain here, I can sleep in the office chair and you may use my bed. If you want Scarlet Andrews with you, I will arrange it. If you want me with you—”

“I do.”

Harper’s hands slid from my hair to my shoulders. “I want you with me.”

I held very still. “To sleep?”

Her cheeks colored. “That is a very careful question.”

“It needs to be.”

“Yes.” She traced the seam at the shoulder of my uniform as if the answer were stitched there. “To sleep. To kiss. To touch. Maybe more. I don’t know how far yet.”

“Then we will go only as far as you know.”

She studied me. “And if I change my mind halfway through?”

“Then halfway is where we stop.”

“You’re making it very hard to be scared of you.”

The words slipped beneath my guard and found the place where terror lived: that she had reason to be scared of any male after what had happened to her.

“I do not want fear from you.”

“No,” she said softly. “I don’t think you do.”

I stood, slowly, giving her time to step back. She did. Not far. Only enough for me to straighten. I wanted to take her hand. I did not.

She noticed. A small smile touched her mouth, and she reached for mine.

The contact went through me like recognition all over again.

I led her through the side door into my private quarters. The room was plain by civilian standards, but more spacious than standard crew berths: a sitting area, food processor, cleansing room, sleeping alcove. The bed was wide enough for two because officer quarters were built with the assumption that command might have mates aboard during long deployments.

Harper looked around with open curiosity. “This is where you live?”

“When aboard.”

“It’s very tidy.”

“I have not had much opportunity to make a mess.”

That earned me a tired smile. “I’m very good at making messes. Fair warning.”

“I will consider myself warned.”

She released my hand and walked to the processor. “Is this where the food comes from?”

“Yes. I do not know what will suit your biology, but the medical scanner found no immediate incompatibilities with standard mild meals. I can order something simple.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She sighed. “Traitor.”

I ordered a mild grain-and-vegetable dish with cultured protein and two cups of non-stimulant tea. When the processor produced them, Harper stared with weary wonder.

“I should be more impressed by alien food machines,” she said. “I think my brain has hit its limit.”