Chapter Sixteen

Careful not to wake Hope, Krogan eased out of bed. He stood and watched her sleep, noting every detail—what a slight bump she made beneath the bedcovers, how gentle and slow her breasts rose in sleep and respiration, the perfect crescents her lashes formed against her smooth cheeks, how inviting her parted pink lips looked.

He still felt dazed and amazed by last night's lovemaking. Drained by the deaths, he'd trudged home an empty shell. Her tender care and loving spirit had renewed him, enabled him to face another day.

I love her.

He longed to tell her, to shout it to the world. The only other person he'd ever uttered those words to had been his mother—just before she'd walked away and left him. When he tried to say them to Hope, his throat had locked up with fear, and he couldn't fashion his lips and tongue around the words.

But he felt it. He meant it. And hopefully one day, he would be able to say it .

I can't let her go.

Fortunately, it looked like he wouldn't need to.

For the first time, he felt like he stood on solid ground with her. She would not have responded so sweetly, so passionately if she wasn't starting to share some of his feelings. Their bond had begun to solidify in the nick of time. He'd been too shell-shocked to process the information last night, but the fact that her nemesis had been neutralized meant only the contract kept her on Caradonia.

He had a year to ensure she loved him enough to desire to stay with him forever.

A year. I have a year. What had first seemed like a life sentence, now didn't seem long enough.

When he'd been informed of the stasis pod malfunction, his first thought had been of Hope. What if she'd been one of the women? He wouldn't have been able to stand it. It would have killed him. He couldn't let the men receive such devastating news through a message broadcast, so he'd taken it upon himself to contact each and every person. He'd grieved with them, imagining how he would feel if he lost his wife.

Sweet Hope. He wanted to crawl back into bed, awaken her, make love again, spend the day with her, take her to the places he'd promised, but he couldn't. Fallout from yesterday's tragedy awaited him. But tonight, I will come home early. I promise.

He leaned over and brushed his lips against her temple. Sleep well, my wife.

* * * *

Hope awakened to find herself alone, Krogan's side of the bed cold, and the sun beaming strong and bright through the window. She brushed aside the twinge of disappointment, focusing instead on the positive change in their relationship, the intimacy, physical and emotional, that had been forged.

Krogan had let down his guard and revealed a vulnerable side. She couldn't imagine the toll of delivering such devastating news and dealing with the ensuing grief not once, not twice, but fifty times. No wonder he'd come home looking like he'd been emptied out. However, the tragedy had drawn them closer together. Was it wrong to feel happy about her good fortune when so many others had suffered such terrible losses?

Her husband had needed her and desired her. He'd come to her for solace, and she felt like she'd been able to comfort him .

Need and desire had to be a short hop from love, didn't it?

I love him. How could she not? He was such a good man. Kind, noble, caring. Handsome. A tender, skillful lover. Bow chicka wow wow. She grinned . She would have to share the good news with Prudence—omitting the specific sexual details, of course.

She sat up and hugged his pillow to her chest, breathing in his scent. She smiled. Today was the first day of the rest of her marriage.

She tossed his pillow aside and bounded out of bed. After showering, she donned a sky-blue dress reminding her of her husband and ventured into the kitchen for breakfast.

"Good morning, Don Juan!" she said brightly. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"My atmospheric sensors note that it is seasonably sunny and warm," he responded. "You are up later than usual, Hope Bennett. Would you care for breakfast or lunch?"

"Breakfast, please." She settled at the counter. "Do you have any sweet rolls?" Normally she avoided sugary breakfasts, but it wouldn't hurt to indulge this once, celebrate the turning point in her marriage with a treat .

"No."

"I will take some fruit with the thick cream, then."

She swung her feet under the bar. "Talk to me, Don Juan," she said, watching him peel and cut up a pink Caradonian fruit. Krogan had mentioned the android was a conversational model.

"What would you like me to say?" He put the fruit in a bowl and ladled some sweet, thick cream over it. She'd had it before. It was delicious.

"Anything."

"You did not spend the night in your room. Are the accommodations not to your liking?" He set the breakfast in front of her.

"Uh…"

"Your face is turning red? Are you ill?" His sensors scanned her face.

"I am fine, and so is the room. Let's not talk anymore." How dumb was it to get embarrassed by a robot's question? She was married! She should be sleeping with her husband.

She bent her head and scooped cream-covered fruit into her mouth. Maybe, after breakfast, she'd vap over to the cozi and buy some sweet rolls from the bakery. Larth! Alarm shot through her. His wife was in one of the stasis pods. What if …

Krogan had said fifty women died. However, millions of women were in stasis. The odds were against Larth's wife being one of the fatalities. But, what if?

His wife was probably okay, but she wouldn't be able to rest until she knew for sure. She'd go to the market, see Larth, reassure herself, and pick up some sweet rolls at the same time.

She finished her breakfast. "I'm going out for a while," she announced to Don Juan and slid off the stool.

She donned a pair of walking shoes, left the apartment, and boarded the vaporator.

The door peeled open. A half dozen men, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocked the exit. She expected them to crowd into the transport, but they just stood there. Of all the places to stand! "Excuse me! I have to get out. Let me out, please," she said.

They turned, and something about their expressions caused her to shrink back with fear. But then she straightened, recalling how she'd misjudged the men once before, mistaking grief for menace. "This is my stop. I need to get out," she announced.

For a moment, no one moved, but then one stepped aside, allowing her to squeeze through .

She could feel eyes on her as she hurried down the block. Was it her imagination, or had they been glowering at her? Half a block away, she glanced back. The men had resumed their shoulder-to-shoulder position. Odd.

She waved to the flower vendor who'd sold her the bouquet, deciding to buy some flowers on her way out, and proceeded to the bakery booth. To her relief, the baker did not appear distraught, but her tone was cautious. "How are you, Larth?"

"I'm fine. How are you? What brings you to the market today?" He sounded normal.

"I came to check on you," she said.

"On me? Why?"

"You didn't talk to my husband yesterday, right? He didn't contact you?"

"No, why would he?"

"No news is good news," she said with a sigh of relief. "If he didn't call you, then everything is okay."

"I still don't understand—oh! Are you referring to the stasis pod malfunction?" he asked. "I got a message yesterday that some of the pods had malfunctioned, but my wife's wasn't involved. It is every man's worst nightmare. We're all hanging on, living day by day, trying to stay positive that a cure will be developed soon." He shook his head. "I'm going to visit my wife as soon as I can. I know she's okay, but I need to see her."

"Why don't you go now?" she suggested. "I'll watch your booth."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive!"

He needed no other encouragement. He bounded out and hugged her. "Thank you! I won't be gone long." He left the market.