“You will be safe. I will protect you,” Jutuk promised. “No matter what it takes.”
No matter what else I might think about him, I believed that.
“Thanks.” Our eyes met again, and the rather cool room suddenly felt stifling. My skin felt itchy and hot. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll use the bathroom and get ready for bed.”
Jutuk gave me a combination nod-grunt, more occupied with his weapons than my sudden awkwardness.
I slyly shot him one last glance before disappearing behind the dark blue screen that hid the bathroom from view.
I missed water. Granted, the alien shower set-up had its perks. One could get steam-cleansed and blown dry in a matter of minutes. The one andonlyone good thing about the Baron’s home was the massive Turkish-style baths on every level. Being a frog-like species, water was probably more important to him than most. Brushing my teeth proved another experience—a Waterpik-type apparatus attached to the wall that used hot air to leave one’s mouth feeling minty fresh.
Other than the toilet, which was similar in shape to that of Earth, the only other piece of equipment in the bathroom was one of my favorites. The clothing synthesizer.
Fashion was never my thing, despite my mother’s desire to make me a model. As a chef, I always wore the standard uniform of a white double-breasted jacket with black buttons signifying my level as a chef and black-and-white striped trousers. I never bothered with thetoque blanche, the traditional chef’s hat. I had way too much hair to fool with that. There had been a couple of occasions to play dress-up, but not many.
The clothing synthesizer resembled an old-fashioned ATM with a large screen and chute for output. Since the thing in my head only translated spoken and not written words, I had to rely on pictures. Still, I managed to dial up a modest, long-sleeved nightgown. Most of the time, I slept in a t-shirt and panties or nude, but not with a gorgeous seven-foot alien on the sofa.
When I exited the bathroom, the sofa was empty. I suffered a sudden, stark moment of fear before I spotted Jutuk lying on the floor between the sofa and table.
“What happened to sleeping on the sofa?”
“Too short,” Jutuk grumbled, adjusting the pillow below his head. “This will be fine. I’ve slept on worse.”
I could offer to share the bed.
Good lord, where the hell was my head?
No, just no.
“The bathroom is free if you want it.” I offered another type of comfort instead.
“Thank you,” Jutuk murmured, rolling to his feet like a graceful cat. “I would like to clean up before they bring dinner.”
I waited until he disappeared into the bathroom before padding to the bed. The mattress felt soft, and the pillows fluffy, just like any other five-star hotel. Sounds of movement preceded steam from the shower floating over the air, accompanied by the headiest scent of spice and ocean. The thought of him naked, the hot steam pouring over his muscles....
Seriously Pearl? Get a fucking grip.
Thankfully, a sharp rap on the door smacked my libido into submission. My stomach grumbled in anticipation. Of course, opening a door on an alien cruise ship proved more difficult than on a regular cruise ship. I waved my hand over everything before I discovered the small black button sensor that released the locking mechanism.
“Hello, lovely human.”
I glanced down, finding the little blue man draped in yellow robes. He held something that looked like a wine bottle but did not have food that I could see.
“Hello?” I ventured, just in case he had something to do with dinner this evening. It was never a good idea to piss off the chef.
He raised the bottle and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I wondered if you would like to have a drink with me and toast our good luck in the contest.”
Apparently, being creepy wasn’t solely a human trait.
“I was just headed to bed,” I said as a way of an excuse.
“That might be interesting as well.” The dark blue eyebrows raised higher.
My hand rose toward the sensor, wanting to put a barrier between me and this creep as soon as possible. But the blue bastard stepped inside before I could engage the door, his hand closing around my wrist. He might be no taller than a seven-year-old, but he was strong.
“Leave, please,” I huffed, squaring my shoulders.
The grip on my wrist became painful, and with a jerk, the Framaddi pulled me forward, bringing my face level with his.
