Chapter Six

On rare occasions, a vaporator malfunction left the passengers with such bad vertigo they couldn't walk straight. That's how Larth felt now. His world seemed to be spinning out of control. He needed Prudence to grow the bakery, but he needed her gone for his own sanity.

He lay in bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling, hyperconscious of her every breath, her citrus scent, her body heat, the fact she was wide awake, and the image of how her nightshift had clung to her breasts and hips. He'd thought her tall and lean, but the slinky sleeping attire had revealed hidden curves.

He'd caught a glimpse before she crawled into bed and covered up, but it had been enough to sear a vivid, relentless memory into his brain, enough to arouse his desire and his guilt. He hadn't even thought of another woman in that way since meeting Sala. But a few hours in this alien woman's company had awakened his lust. I'm so sorry, Sala. It means nothing. His cock had hardened, and the gliteri running down his left shoulder and arm tingled and glowed. Fortunately, a loose-fitting sleep shirt and drawers hid his shame.

He didn't understand why she aroused his lust when other women didn't. He interacted with women customers every day. None of them stirred his interest. He could recognize Hope Bennett was attractive for a human, but it was an objective observation. So, why this human woman?

If it had been mere appreciation of a curvaceous female, then any woman could have aroused him. Prudence's warm, smooth voice was a pleasure to listen to, but plenty of people had nice voices.

Maybe her eyes? Shockingly blue at first, they reminded him of two deep pools of calm. He could lose himself in those eyes. Staring into them, grief and pain faded away, only to surge back on a wave of guilt. How could he forget Sala for even an instant?

Prudence's enthusiasm pleased him tremendously, but shouldn't that be a given? Wasn't that what he'd hired her for? When he'd taken her to the cozi, she'd donned an apron, jumped right in, and gotten to work. Being alien, Prudence was a natural draw, and customers had flocked to the stall to meet her. She'd capitalized on their curiosity and employed her people skills and power of persuasion to sell them everything but the racks behind the counter. He'd had a record-setting sales day.

A quick study, after just a couple of attempts, she'd mastered the ability to use the chip in her wrist to process transactions and accurately charge customers. Hope still couldn't do that, which was another reason he hadn't turned to her for help.

Curiosity would wane, but the rush had proven she had the necessary sales experience and people skills. Exceptional skills. She could sell blue hair dye to natural blue-headed Caradonians. People liked her. And if she could bake like she'd claimed?

She would be the best thing to ever happen to the bakery.

All he had to do was follow through on the plan and marry her.

And restock. After a record day, the booth was low on goods.

Once she drifted off, he'd get up and start baking. An upside of his insomnia had been he'd been able to mix and freeze many batches of dough and batter for future use. All he had to do was thaw and bake. Maybe he'd whip up a batch of something…citrusy .

He cocked an ear. Her breathing seemed to have slowed. She hadn't moved in a while.

"Are you asleep?" he whispered.

She sighed quietly. "No. My brain won't shut off."

"I know how that goes."

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked.

She has doubts, too?

Of course she did. Who wouldn't? At the start of this venture, he'd worried about the lack of benefits he had to offer, but, when Pru arrived, he'd been so wrapped up in his own woes, he'd selfishly forgotten about her. Their arrangement was probably no easier on her. She'd been rejected by her fiancé on their wedding day. What kind of man did that? No man of any honor. While love and a long-term relationship were out of the question, he could offer her honesty and friendship and a distraction from her troubles. The bakery would keep her busy. She wouldn't have time to ruminate. It had helped him. Sort of.

"I cannot speak for you, but I believe it will benefit us both," he reassured her. If some energy or consciousness survived death, Sala would see into his heart and understand.

"Then it is right for me," she said .

"And so, we are doing the right thing," he pronounced.

"That's all I needed to hear," she said quietly. Within moments, he could tell she'd fallen asleep.

Inhaling her scent, listening to her restful breathing, his body relaxed, and his turmoil quieted. He felt reluctant to move. I'll get up in a minute.

But his eyelids grew heavy, and he found himself fighting off sleep. I need to get baking. I'll get up in one minute.

* * * *

Larth awakened to grayish sunlight, an empty bed, and the aroma of baking bread. He bolted upright. The baking! The booth needed to be restocked. He flung back the covers and followed his nose to the kitchen where he found Prudence sliding a loaf of bread onto a cooling rack. He blinked.

"Good morning! I figured we needed to restock. I woke up early—you were sound asleep, and I hated to wake you—so I came here to check things out. I noticed there were batters and doughs already prepared, so I took the liberty of baking some for the shop. I hope you don't mind…"

"No, no. I'm grateful you did." He raked a hand through his hair. He couldn't believe he'd slept at all, let alone all through the night. "You figured out the appliances, then."

She wrinkled her cute nose. "After a few mishaps. It took a while to figure out the defroster, and I burned a couple loaves of bread before I got the oven temperature right." She hunched her shoulders. "I wasn't sure exactly what you needed, but I tried to replenish what I remembered being low."

He surveyed the dozen loaves of bread, multiple dozens of muffins, and several pans of sweet rolls. "You got a lot accomplished. People might have come to an empty booth if you hadn't done this. I intended to get up and bake, but I fell asleep." She did all this. A funny feeling twisted in his gut.

"I would have awakened you, but after hearing about your insomnia, I figured you needed the sleep, and I was eager to try out the appliances."

"Uh, thank you."

"Would you like a sweet roll and some coffee ?" She held up a tray of frosted buns.

"Uh…yeah. What's coffee?" He'd never heard of it.

"It's the elixir of life."

He blinked.

"It's a roasted bean ground and brewed into a hot beverage. I brought some with me." She patted a seat by the counter where he'd taken to eating his meals. "Have a seat."

The easy way she assumed command of the kitchen and tended to him felt oddly comfortable. He didn't know what to say or think about that, so he slid into the chair. She plated a sweet roll and then poured an aromatic steaming beverage into a cup and set it in front of him.

It smelled wonderful. He took a big gulp and almost spit it out. His mouth turned downward, and he had to force himself to swallow the vile brew. How could something so aromatic taste so bitter?

She bit off a laugh. "Sorry. You're a coffee virgin. I should have sweetened it. This is sweetener, right?" She held up a cannister.

"Not that one. The orange container."

He added a heaping spoonful to please her because she'd worked hard. Cautiously, he took a tiny sip. "Better." Marginally. He bit into the sweet roll to remove the horrible aftertaste.

She settled next to him with a sweet roll for herself and a cup of the nasty beverage. "Mm…" Biting into the roll, she closed her eyes, which allowed him an opportunity to watch her as she chewed. Her lips were pink rather than blue, but they looked very soft. Her bo ttom lip was fuller than the top, giving her a cute pout. The crescents of blonde lashes, the same color as her hair, almost disappeared against her cheeks.

Prudence was even paler than Hope. The humans' lack of color still seemed alien, but he was getting used to it, and the brown speckles across her nose and cheeks were interesting. "The pigmented spots on your face—do they react?"

Vivid blue eyes popped open. "My freckles?" She touched her face. "React how? What do you mean?"

"Do they change or serve a purpose?"

"Only to remind me to stay out of the sun." She chuckled.

"You can't go out in sunlight?" he asked, aghast. He'd never heard of such a thing.

"No, no. I can. But the sun darkens my freckles and causes more if I don't cover up with sunscreen. If I'm not careful, I look like someone took a marker and put polka dots all over my face."

He pushed up his sleeve to show the grayish sigils. "All Caradonians have gliteri somewhere on their body. Mine covers my left arm and shoulder. It's an emotional sensor," he explained and then wondered why he'd volunteered that information .

The tattletale, sensitive gliteri gleamed or grayed, depending on one's emotional state. After Sala's death, it had turned dark gray, nearly black, and burned like his arm was on fire. Fortunately, his gliteri could be covered by a shirt. Some people had it on their necks, hands, or faces.

"May I?" she asked, her hand hovering over his forearm.

How could he fault her curiosity? She never would have seen his gliteri if he hadn't shown her. He nodded.

Gray took on a silvery hue at her touch. Ah…yes. His breath caught in his throat. His heart raced, but the roiling angst in his soul went still and quiet. I am not alone anymore.

"There's a textural difference between the gliteri and your skin." A finger gently rubbed the tingling sigil, causing it to gleam bright silver.

She lifted her hand. He tugged down his shirt sleeve. His gaze went to her freckles. "May I?" he asked.

"I can hardly say no."

Her eyes were wide as he trailed a finger across her nose and cheek, finding no tactile difference between her freckles and her soft, smooth skin, which turned pink. Under his shirt, his gliteri itched and prickled. He lowered his hand and dropped his gaze to her parted pink lips. Were they as soft as they looked? His gliteri vibrated. His body leaned in…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

They both jumped as the oven timer went off.

"The next batch of bread must be done." She vaulted out of her seat and removed six loaves from the oven. Hands on her hips, she surveyed the rack laden with baked goods. "Is this enough? Do we need more? Were yesterday's sales typical? What else do you think we should have?" She seemed to be avoiding his gaze.

I can't believe I almost kissed her.

He cleared his throat. "That should be enough. It's going to be a shortened day anyway."

She looked at him then. Her light brows drew together. "Why?"

"The wedding?" His lips twitched with amusement, but he riveted on her blue-blue alien eyes. Captivating . How could eyes be so blue?

"Oh yeah."

"We'll leave midmorning when the sales traffic slows down. We should get a move on. While you use the bath, I'll finish up here. Showering won't take me long."

"All right." She left the kitchen.

He tugged up his sleeve to examine his arm. The gliteri sparkled. He rubbed his arm to ease the tingling. What had gotten into him? He'd indirectly invited her to touch him.

Angst returned, along with a surge of guilt and shame. How could I have touched another woman? Let her touch me?

But was it so disloyal? We're going to be working in a small booth, living together, sleeping in the same bed. Some physical contact is inevitable. Better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later. How would they work side by side if they had to be on guard against accidental physical contact?

Her touch had stirred a disturbing sense of peace and contentment. Grief, like a badge of love, was the heartache that never ceased. Except, while touching her, letting her touch him, it had. For a minute in time, he'd felt normal. How dare he be normal when Sala was dead? How could he have forgotten her even for an instant?

He yanked down his shirt sleeve. Get to work. Work was a legitimate way to seek solace if he needed it. He put the kitchen to order, then retrieved his hovercart and began loading it up.

He was almost done when she appeared. "You're a fast worker."

"I've had a lot of experience," he said, giving a silent nod of approval to her choice of attire.

She wore a cream two-piece outfit, a straight skirt with a matching long-sleeved jacket. A little formal for working in a bakery, but spilled powders like flour and sweetener wouldn't show up. He approved of her pragmatism.

"If the last loaves you baked aren't cool enough by the time I'm ready to go, we won't wrap them. We'll load them on the cart still warm."

She nodded. "I, uh, hope it's okay, but I invited my friend Hope to the wedding. I didn't know where it would be held, but she seemed to think she did."

"There's only one officiant close by," he said. "I'll go shower. It won't take me long."

Using the bathroom steamy and redolent of citrus seemed disconcertingly intimate. Shying away from further contemplation, he showered and dried his shoulder-length hair. On impulse, just before leaving the bath, he dabbed some emollient in his hair to enhance the natural gleam .

This was his wedding day. While not a love match, the relationship deserved to be treated with respect. Eschewing his usual work pants and tunic, he opted for newish brown pants and a tan dress shirt with pearlized buttons.

In the kitchen, he found Prudence bending over the cart, loading the rest of the bread. Her skirt stretched taut over firm, rounded buttocks. He couldn't drag his eyes away, continued to watch her while berating himself for doing so. Why am I staring at her ass? What matters is her work ethic, how she naturally knows what to do, that she will help save the bakery.

She straightened and turned around. "Oh! You're out. That was quick." Her gaze roved over him, and an appreciative smile tugged the corner of her mouth. His breath caught in his throat, and his gliteri prickled. "You scrub up pretty nice," she said.

"You have a nice ass," he blurted out.