Survivors - Jean Lorrah [23]
He smiled reassuringly. “Don’t feel bad. You’re still young, Tasha. With time-“
“Stop that!” she said angrily.
He frowned in puzzlement. “Stop what?”
“Stop talking like you’re an old man. You’re not my father, Dare!”
“No,” he said softly, “I am not your father, Tasha.” He looked into her eyes, the glow from the computer screen reflected in his. “And I can’t keep up the pretense that my feelings for you are paternal for much longer.”
Something stirred inside her, a weird combination of pain and pleasure. “I’m all grown up now, Dare,” she said, deliberately stepping closer. She didn’t tell him it was the first time she had ever acted upon the unsettling stirring of desire which-after her brutal introduction to sexuality-had only surfaced after years of therapy with Starfleet’s Counselors.
Her heart pounded as she entered his personal space. He could not mistake her intent, nor did he pretend to. “Tasha,” he whispered as his arms came naturally and easily about her.
She lifted her face, instinct telling her what she wanted. He smiled the wonderful smile that took all the sternness from the rugged features nature had given him, tilted his head slightly so their noses would not bump, and kissed her.
With Dare it was easy, natural-and then stirring as the kiss intensified. She went from the warm, sweet sense of homecoming she had felt when she had first set foot in Starfleet Academy to a whole new world of feelings, a completion she had never known before.
And when their lips parted he did not release her, but held her gently against his chest as he whispered into her hair, “Oh, yes, Tasha-you certainly are all grown up.”
Chapter Four
“TASHA?” Lieutenant Commander Data was concerned. His companion had been sitting staring out at the stars for too long. But when Tasha turned, there was the remnant of a smile on her lips. Whatever her thoughts, they must have been pleasant ones. He was glad his clumsy “snooping” had not brought only sad memories.
“I’m all right, Data,” she said. “Time heals all wounds.”
“That sounds like-“
“An aphorism. Yes. But comments become aphorisms by being repeated, and that happens because they are true. I can never forgive Darryl Adin for betraying Starfleet … but he was not all evil, Data. Nobody is, you know. I can remember him now the way he was when I first knew him, strong and brave and clever.”
“And handsome?” Data asked. “A knight in shining armor?”
She laughed. “Hardly. Actually, he looked rather like you.” Then, “Oh! That didn’t come out right!”
Data was puzzled by her reaction. “So far as I can determine, my appearance is an approximation of the human male norm-stature, facial structure, hair coloring a composite of the many human races. In purely organic beings, of course, no one meets that norm. And obviously I was not designed to fool anyone into thinking me human-my skin color is simply the most efficient for absorption of energy, and my eyes are clearly-” He stopped. “Forgive me. I am babbling.”
But Tasha was smiling at him. “You’re not so much average as ideal,” she said. “Or maybe I just feel that way because you do look something like the … first man I ever loved. First love is never forgotten, Data.”
He had the distinct impression that she had begun to say “only” instead of “first.” But that was too near a topic he could not reopen. So he said, “I am not handsome.”
“Conventionally? No-but that doesn’t bother you a bit, does it?”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” he replied. “Beauty is only skin deep. Beauty is in the eye of-“
He stopped when, as he hoped, Tasha chuckled. When he had first discovered that accessing his memory banks for a list of definitions or examples provoked laughter in humans-unless the situation was tense, in which case it elicited annoyance-he had turned to studies on humor and for once found an analysis he could