Homecoming - Christie Golden [46]
With a large, single bed.
Kim was watching her intently and at her slightly distressed reaction said quickly, “I’ll be sleeping in the daybed. You can have this one.”
Libby felt her face grow hot. “No, that’s all right, I’m smaller. I’ll take the daybed.”
Kim started to argue, then grinned. “We can argue about this later. In the meantime, we’ve got about an hour until we have to leave for dinner. Would you like to freshen up and get changed?”
“Where are we eating?”
Kim beckoned her to follow and led her to the window. The sun was starting to set, casting incredible colors on the sand-hued mountains. Kim pointed.
“There,” he said.
Libby emerged from the bathroom looking radiant. She wore a blue-green sarong draped attractively about her curvaceous body. Gold earrings set with turquoise dangled from her ears. Her hair was pulled back with a barrette and she wore only the barest hint of makeup. Kim’s heart dropped into his stomach with a plop and stayed there.
He was in love again, all right.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, no, absolutely nothing. It’s all perfect.” He [136] extended a hand and she took it, curling her fingers, strong and callused from playing the lal-shak, about his. “You look ... amazing.”
“You’re pretty attractive yourself,” she said. He was all in white, from his button-down shirt to his shoes. From the way she looked at him, he knew the compliment was genuine, and was unduly pleased.
They went outside and a small shuttle appeared in the distance. It set down gently and they climbed aboard. Libby peered excitedly out the window as the shuttle rose into the air, but Kim, out of force of habit, found himself analyzing the ship itself. It was a short-distance luxury vessel, with pleasant pastel colors and deep, comfortable, soft seats. For what it was designed to do, it served its purpose well, but the Alpha Flyer it most definitely wasn’t. Kim sniffed, a bit self-satisfied.
The brief flight was almost silent, and the pilot discreetly did not interject “commentary as they flew over the desert and the mountains.
“Harry, you were right,” Libby said, squeezing his hand. “I never thought the desert could be so beautiful.”
“Or so comfortable,” Harry said. He pointed. “See that butte over there? That’s our restaurant for the evening.”
Libby gasped, looking at the elegantly set table and the two tuxedo-clad waiters. A small tent was set up a short distance away, its yellow and white panels fluttering gently in the slight breeze. The shuttle set down smoothly and the doors hissed open. The waiters were there to help Harry and Libby out.
She stood taking it all in, her mouth slightly open and curved in a smile, and Harry just watched her. He [137] didn’t even have to talk to her, to touch her. Merely to look at her was enough.
“Shall we start with some wine?” he asked.
Libby had never had so delicious a meal in her life. Harry remembered everything she liked to eat, and it was all on the menu. From a bottle of fine Merlot through French onion soup and artichoke dip, to chewy rolls with softened butter, to pasta with baby vegetables lightly sautéed in basil-infused olive oil, to a selection of the finest fruits and cheeses and a rich, dark, sinful triple-layer chocolate cake that was more than enough for two, it was all delectable.
The sun finished its descent while they dined. Right before the glowing yellow orb sank below the horizon, a hawk graced them with its flight. It flew close enough so that Libby could see its markings clearly. “A peregrine!” she cried.
“All part of the arrangements,” Harry boasted jokingly. Soft lights came on from somewhere, and music played in the background. The waiters were perfect, of course; she had noticed the small lights on the ground that indicated holographic emitters and assumed that the only thing real here was the food. Which, really, was