Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [102]
In the space of a few seconds, that seemed to draw themselves out into one eternity after another, he bent toward her, softly touching his lips to hers. The spark that ignited sent pleasant electric waves arcing through his entire body. Releasing her hand, his fingers gently grazed her cheek. Firmly guiding her face toward his, the arm that encircled her waist drew them closer. As their bodies pressed together, his unmistakable desire rose to match the heat and intensity generated when their lips met again.
When Kathryn placed her hand in Chakotay’s as their dance began, she hadn’t considered where it might lead. She had been thinking of the mirror and its message. She believed in herself. Voyager’s survival depended on it. But that belief could be a cold and stony companion. It meant little without the assurance that others believed in her as well. This was hardly the first time Chakotay had found just the right way to lift her spirits and touch her heart at the same time.
As they moved to the gently lilting melody, she had relaxed into his arms, not really surprised at how comfortable she felt there.
She told herself later that she didn’t see the inevitable coming until it was much too late. But secretly she would always wonder if maybe she hadn’t intentionally ignored it.
Five years of unfulfilled possibility burned between them, and Kathryn found her body responding automatically to his as she tasted from his lips the first sip of real passion she had known since the night Mark had asked her to become his wife. Though she had always taken pride in her self-discipline, she was a woman, not a saint. Before her higher brain functions had a chance to kick in, she found that her hunger equaled, if not surpassed his.
For a few moments that could have been hours, they stood suspended in a desperate storm of physical pleasure that was every bit as satisfying as it was chaotic.
His hand was firmly moving from her waist, seeking out the delicious and dizzying sensation of roaming free about the rest of her body when, somewhere inside a distant voice began to call in her head…
I…
Can’t…
Do… this!
When she finally pulled away, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and putting at least a bent-arm’s-length between them, the first words that came from her mouth were “Computer, end program.”
They paused for a moment as the spell of the moonlit night was broken, catching their breath in a cold gray room crisscrossed by a regular pattern of holographic generators as the mirror clattered to the floor, miraculously not shattering.
She saw the confusion on his face, and silently cursed herself. Obviously she had led him here, though she wasn’t sure exactly how. And she was truly sorry, because she knew she was about to injure him in a way that their friendship might not be able to endure. More than that, she knew that part of her didn’t want what they had just begun to end, and she could see in his eyes that he hadn’t missed that piece of information.
And then it hit her. Forcing its way through the confusion of the moment came a vivid image of Chakotay, seated in his quarters, holding the Bonding Box and saying it would give him… something to look forward to.
He was speaking. Calmly. Softly. But demanding an answer.
“Kathryn, I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know if I do either,” she said.
But they both needed a better answer than that.
“I thought,” he began, “when you gave me the Bonding Box… that was your way of telling me…”
“Telling you what?” she snapped too defensively.
“You’re the one who did the research,” he said, trying to hide the wound she had just inflicted. “The Bonding Box is a symbol of a person’s intention to share their life with another.”
“No it isn’t,” she said uncertainly, as the light slowly began to dawn.
The look on his face plainly read: You’re going to tell me the significance of a gift that is specific to my culture?
She continued, unsure of her footing. “I mean, obviously it can mean that… if two people are already engaged, but otherwise it’s supposed to be a symbol