"Damn you!" he choked.
Only then her cool fingers slid beneath his uniform jacket, and all at once his heart was pounding, pounding. The room, the noise, the cold-eyed loungers—they faded till he could think of nothing but the ripe lips and their invitation.
It was the loneliness, he told himself; the old Earth-hunger.
And here was this woman, Zenaor's own daughter, the antidote, his for the taking.
He would have strained her to him, then, in spite of all his doubts and thoughts of Federation rules and duty. But now the serving-serf was back, bearing twin silver cones of taxat.
The girl pushed away from Craig, smoothing her tousled hair. Her face was flushed. Her eyes dodged his.
A sort of senseless fury gripped him. "It's you who are afraid!" he lashed. "You bring me here. You tempt me. But then you push away again—"
The girl's eyes flashed. Once more, she leaned close. Her voice was suddenly edged and brittle. "My task is to help you get to Tumek, Earthman. To that end, and in order to help dispel suspicion, I have no choice but to act like any Kukzubas woman who would rendezvous with a lover in the Baemae quarter. But it goes no further. Now that I have brought you here, a courier will take you on to Tumek. When he comes—"
She broke off sharply, eyes flaring sudden panic. "Craig—!"
Craig half-turned in his seat.