An expression that was almost respectful crossed his face. Impatiently, she tugged at him and then began to weave her way among the bushes, following no recognizable route. When she made the last turn and he saw the flitter, its nose cushioned in the heavy cluster of thorn-thicket limbs, he gave what Chris assumed was a Catteni chuckle.
She waved open the flitter door and bade him to enter with a regal gesture. He walked straight to the instrument panel, grunting as he activated the main switch.
“Half a tank of fuel,” he muttered, and then checked the other dials. He seemed pleased as he nipped off the switch. He glanced up at the trans-parent top, camouflaged by the interwining leafy limbs, at the bed she had made herself on the deck, at the utensils she had fashioned from spare parts in the lockers.
“So it was you who stole the commander’s personal car,” he remarked, looking intently at her.
Chris jerked her chin up.
“At least I landed it in one piece,” she replied.
At that he laughed outright, once.
“You’re one of the new species?”
“I’m a Terran,” she said with haughty pride, her stance marred by uncontrollable shivering.
“Thin-skinned species,” he remarked. He looked down at her heaving chest, and slowly started to stroke her shoulder with one finger. His touch was feathery-and more. “Soft to the touch,” he said absently. “I haven’t bothered to try a Terran yet…”
Before she could draw back, his left hand cupped her breast and the other grabbed her tunic at the back, ripping the garment from her in one sharp, powerful jerk. The fingers of his right hand pulled her inexorably toward him.
“I saved your life…” she said in protest, her heart beating in panic.
“And I intend to reward you suitably.”
“Not that…”
“A Catteni’s honor is involved,” he said, both hands exerting such pressure on her body that his caresses were painful.
With no effort at all he picked her up and deposited her on the bed. When she tried to wiggle away, he laid a hand, like a ton of bricks, on her chest. With the other, he stripped off his tunic, exposing his immense chest, each well-defined muscle rippling sinuously under slightly olive skin. The rest of his clothing followed.
“Oh no!” Chris cried in desperation. “You’re… I can’t!”
He glanced down at her wide, curving hips, and shrugged.
“Catteni have been enjoying your race since you were discovered,” he reassured her calmly.
“Yes, but have we enjoyed it?”
She made a frantic attempt to evade him as he leaned down. But there was no escape from that implacable male. She arched her back, only to realize that she had made it much easier for him. She continued to struggle out of pride.
“You enjoy pain?” he asked, a puzzled frown on his face. His fingers tightened just that much more so that she felt she’d been caught in a vise and, with a shuddering moan she relaxed, too exhausted to offer even token resistance. “Now we will both enjoy,” he said, and proceeded to prove his point.
Just as she was certain she would be split apart, apprehension was replaced by a surging emotion far more powerful and overwhelming. Somewhere, in that flood of intense relief and unexpected ecstasy, she heard him exclaiming, too, in loud surprise.
A harsh curse broke the silence that had settled in the hidden flitter. The warm, strong body of the Catteni stiffened. Chris glanced up at him in alarm.
He brushed his hand warningly across her lips, all his attention focused in the direction of that swearing. The flitter door was still open, and both Chris and Mahomet heard the vrrh, vrrh as the thorn-bushes released their darts. There were loud cries of pain and further curses. Chris saw the Catteni’s eyes dance with malicious amusement.
An authoritative voice uttered a rough command, and even Chris understood the “Get the hell out of here, nothing can pass this way.”
She and Mahomet lay still, almost breathless, although the flitter was buried a good hundred yards from the edge of the thickets and could not possibly be seen. They waited until they heard no sound except the brief sighing of the wind.
With a low laugh, the Catteni finally withdrew from Chris, stretching leisurely, his joints popping and cracking with startling loudness.
“I’d heard there was a run on Terran women, and now I can see why. They use their heads as well as their tails.”
Chris slapped at his hand, feeling like a flea at-tacking a Great Dane, but determined to make a gesture. He began to stroke her body, gently exploring it rather than attempting to arouse passion. He was curious, like a small intrigued boy.
“Yes, I can see why,” he repeated with a chuckle. He lay back, glancing about the flitter. “This car has been gone five months. Why have you stayed so long alone?” he asked. “Are there others of you here?” He propped himself up on one huge elbow, looking suspiciously out the windows.
“Just me.”
He relaxed and smiled. Sensing his receptivity, she dared ask him why he had been chased by his own people.
“Oh,” and he shrugged negligently, “a tactical error. I was forced to kill their patrol leader. He had insulted the accomplishments of my squadron. And, as I was without allies, I withdrew.”
“He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day?”
“The next day,” he corrected her, absently.
“The next day?”
“Certainly. It is against the Catteni Law to continue a quarrel past the same hour of the following day. I have only to lie hidden,” and he grinned at her, “until tomorrow at sun zenith and then I can return.”
“Won’t they be waiting for you?”
He shook his head violently. “Against the Law. Otherwise, we Catteni would quickly exterminate each other.”
“You honestly mean to say that, if they can’t find you before noon tomorrow, they have to give up?”
He nodded.
“Would that Law apply to slaves, too?”
He looked at her intently. “It can. And I shall personally see that in your case it does. However, while we’re waiting for tomorrow…” And he reached purposefully for her.
Batting at his possessive hands, she squirmed to free herself.
“What? Was I not tender enough with you?” he asked, concern flitting across his face. “We Catteni pride ourselves that we are gentle with our women.”
Chris could think of a hundred argumentative replies to that statement, and yet had to admit that he had been considerate, gentle, and that even at the height of his passion, he had not forgotten to adjust his strength. His hands were caressing her now, softly, and despite herself, she was responding to him, wanting more of that strong gentleness.
“It’s just… well… you’ve had quite a day,” she temporized, aware that her body was already conforming itself to his even as she protested, “you’ve been in a crash, half-frozen in icy water and…”
“Like the thorn-bushes of Barevi,” he said, smiling, “it takes the Catteni little time to rearm.”