"You're killing me," Ricki whispered. Lifting her knee, she tried to mount him right there, while they were standing.
"Patience, sweetheart." Del laid her on the bed and pulled off the rest of his clothes. Lying down, he took her into his arms. She had a startled look, like a doe, but he felt how much she wanted him. As he stretched out on her, she wrapped her legs around his waist. With a groan, he buried himself inside of her. Ricki gasped, her desire rushing through his mind. She took what he had to give, matched his rough intensity, and reached for more. He took her up, closer to her peak, to the edge—and stopped, holding her there, keeping her from that final burst of pleasure.
And then he did it again and again, until she cried out with frustrated desire. Finally he took her over the edge and she moaned while he exploded inside her, his mind blanking with ecstasy.
"Del?"
"Hmmm?" He stirred, trying to wake up. Ricki lay under him.
"We should get under the covers," she said drowsily.
He kissed her nose, feeling tender now. "Pretty vid producer."
She smiled like a satisfied cat. "You're something else, babe." As he slid to her side, she curled against him. "I could get to like that."
"Get to?" He worked the covers under their bodies and then pulled the silky cloth over the two of them. Blue and green holos rippled as if the bed were part of the sea.
Ricki didn't answer, but he didn't care. He knew she liked what they had done. More than liked. Being an empath could be excruciating in the city when he was trying to shut out all the emotions, but with intimacy it had advantages. He cradled her against his body and rubbed his cheek on her head.
"You're so affectionate," she mumbled. "Commanding as a dom when you're hot and as sweet as a sub afterward." She yawned as her voice trailed off. "What a combo . . ."
"Dom and sub?" Del asked. "What does that mean?"
She didn't answer, having already drifted away.
Holding her in his arms, Del relaxed into the airbed, and it shifted as it eased him asleep. . . .
Ricki stroked his hair. "I'll see you later."
Del managed to open his eyes. He was sprawled on his stomach, alone in the bed, his legs splayed across the mattress. No lights shimmered in the room except the silvery moonlight pouring in from the window-wall. He was vaguely aware of Ricki's kiss on his cheek. Then he slipped back into oblivion.
Del awoke slowly. Opening his eyes, he gazed at the ceiling. Although sunlight diffused through the polarized window-wall, the temperature remained cool. He reached for Ricki, but he was alone. After a while, he remembered she had left while it was dark.
Stretching his arms, Del sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He had slept better tonight than in years. As he stood up, he looked around for his clothes. When he realized they had disappeared, he smiled, his mind spinning scenarios of why Ricki would hide his clothes. When he walked around the bed, though, he saw them neatly folded on a chair by the wall, with his boots underneath. Oh, well.
He found the bathing room and let mists in the shower cleanse his body and hair. Soothing jets of warm air dried him off. Back in the bedroom, he dressed languidly, feeling lazy and restless at the same time. He thought about Ricki, the way she smiled, her husky laugh, the temptress under that soft exterior.
Del wandered into the room where they had shared drinks last night. In the daylight, Washington hummed below the tower, a city of arches, glossy skyscrapers, and soaring flycar traffic. All the taller structures were new, built since the ban on height had been lifted. From up here, no trace showed of the grit or aged buildings he had seen during his ride from the airport to Annapolis. That had been after Allied Space Command had taken him away from the Scandinavian base where they were keeping the rest of his family. He was supposedly an honored guest here. Right. He wasn't nearly so naïve as they believed. They had separated him from his family because he was the youngest member, the one they thought most likely to slip up and reveal useful information.
His stomach rumbled. The room had nothing in it except the table where he and Ricki had sat and a blue console against one wall. Maybe it was empty so a couple could dance in the light of the nighttime city. Very romantic. No food, though.
Del went to the table. He had no idea how to call Jack, or whoever was on duty, so he just tapped the mesh. "Hello?"
A man's voice came out of the comm. "Good morning, Mister Valdoria."
"Uh, good morning." Del thought the voice belonged to a human, but he couldn't be sure. "I was wondering if I could get some breakfast." He had to admit, nothing could compare to the morning meals people ate here on Earth.
"What would you like?" the man said.
"Do you have pancakes?"
"Certainly, sir. Anything you would like."
Del wondered if they really could bring him anything. "How about pancakes with raspberry syrup, scrambled eggs, two sausages, hash browns, orange juice, and coffee with Antares cream extract."
"I'll have it sent up right away."
Del grinned. "Great." He could get used to this. The Star Tower might not have the opulence of his family's palaces, but he liked its modern sleekness. He didn't feel lacking here, either, the way he did around his family. No one knew anything about him; he was just Ricki's enigmatic guest.
While Del waited for breakfast, he wandered over to the blue console. "Hello?" he said.
A female voice answered, rich and beautifully modulated. "Hello. What can I do for you?"
"Are you the EI for this suite?"
"Yes, I am," she purred. "My name is Aphrodite."
Strange name. She had a gorgeous voice, though. "Aphrodite, can you connect me to an offworld communications mesh?"
"Certainly, Mister Valdoria. I'll just need your Prime-Nova security codes."
"I don't have any."
"I'm terribly sorry." She sounded like she really meant it. "I can't link you in without the codes."
Oh, well. She might sound a lot sexier than the EIs at the base, but she said the same things. "Can I check my mesh-mail from here? My account is local."
"Certainly, sir."
A flat screen on the console rippled with gold light, and a holo of the Prime-Nova lobby formed above it. The double doors swung invitingly open to the outside. Nice. This probably wasn't a live image of the Prime-Nova building, though. To send it live would require lasers there to scan the lobby and screens here to create the holo, and using that much bandwidth just to enter a mail server would be silly.
After Del gave Aphrodite his codes, the view changed to the guitar case he used to represent his mesh-mail. Nothing interesting greeted him in his account, just some spamoozala that had escaped the junk sentinels. After he washed it down the drain, however, he discovered a message from Mac.
"Play Tyler one," Del said.
Mac's agitated voice rose into the air. "Del, comm me at my office as soon as you get this."
Del's pulse jumped. Had a problem come up with Prime-Nova? He hadn't sensed anything wrong from Ricki, but he didn't know how things worked here. Maybe he wasn't supposed to sleep with his producer.
"Aphrodite, can you put me through to Mac Tyler's office?" Del asked. "The codes are—"
"I have Mister Tyler's office," she murmured. "Coming up."
Interesting. Mac must be a better front-liner than he let on, if Prime-Nova's penthouse at the top of the Star Tower was set up to reach him so easily. "Do you know Mac?"
"I do now," she said.
"Why now?"
"I've been running analyses on you since Ms. Varento brought you up here last night," Aphrodite said.
A flush heated Del's face. He never interacted with EIs much at home, so he hadn't thought about what they did when people weren't asking them for things. "Analyzing me? For what?"
"Anything. If you asked for your front-liner, for example."
"Oh." Del hesitated. "Is that all you do?"
"I run the hotel." Her voice changed to a man's sen
suous bass. "For some guests I manifest as Apollo."
Del had no interest in talking to Apollo. "I like Aphrodite better."
She switched back into her sexy female voice. "I make sure the building runs properly."
"That's a lot of work."
"Not for me." She sounded amused. "When I get bored, I make bets with the EIs from other hotels."
Good gods. "About what?"
"Well, say, what is the quantum probability that all the air molecules in this room will collect under the bed and create a vacuum in the rest of the room. The winner was the one who calculated it the fastest, since none of us would bet on it happening." With pride, she said, "I won."
Del gave a startled laugh. "You mean the air could do that?"
"The probability is infinitesimal. But not utterly zero."
"What do you get for winning?"
"A new problem to work on."
Del smiled wryly. "And you do this for fun?"
"It's entertaining," she said. "Not as much as betting on human behavior, but we aren't allowed to do that."
His face heated. "On humans! What kind of bets?"
"For example, were you going to have reproductive relations with Ms. Varento last night."
The thought of EIs all across Washington, D.C. betting on his sex life was too, too mortifying. "If you could have done it, would you have lost or won?"
"Won," she said pleasantly. "The probability of you two going into the bed was much higher than all the air going under the bed."
Del's face was burning. "You needed quantum theory for that?"
"Oh no, just common sense." Then she added, "Your breakfast is here. Shall I let in the waiter?"
"Yes!" Relieved to escape the subject of his sex life, Del said, "Please do."
A man swept in with a covered tray. Although less formal than the tuxedoed bartender from last night, he wore an elegant white shirt and black slacks. He stood a tray by the console and set out a breakfast that left Del's mouth watering. Then he bowed and withdrew as efficiently as he had entered.
"Now this is living." Del picked up a fork and attacked his breakfast.
Del had been wolfing down pancakes for several moments when Aphrodite said, "I have Mister Tyler on the comm."
Del washed down his mouthful with a swallow of orange juice. "Put him on."
A flat screen rose from the console and brought up a view of Mac sitting at his own console, scowling. "What the hell did you do to Ricki?"
"Nothing," Del said. That wasn't true, exactly, but he had thought she liked what he did to her. "Why? Did she change her mind about the contract?"
"For heaven's sake, Del, quit worrying that they'll cancel it. They can't do it that way." Mac glared at him. "She commed me this morning. She wants you to join the Mind Mix tour when they come to Maryland."
Del couldn't see why he was upset. "That's what I agreed to do."
"Not yet. They'll be here in one week."
"That's fine with me."
"Do you have any idea what opening for a major act entails?" Mac demanded. "Do you have a show? Have you practiced it? What songs are you going to sing? Have you translated them? What costumes will you need? Do you want musicians onstage or will you use mesh-tech sets? Who's on your crew?"
Del squinted at him. "Given that the answer to most of that is 'I have no idea what you're talking about,' I'd say you're right, I'm not ready."
Relief washed over Mac's face. "No, you're not."
"You'll help me set it up, right?"
Mac's scowl came back. "I don't think you're getting this."
Del's shoulders had tensed up. Mac was beginning to sound like his hard-nose military brother, Kelric, the Imperator. "We have a week."
"You need months."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Del said shortly.
"It has nothing to do with confidence." Mac thumped his console. "Don't go all prickly on me, Del. I have no doubt you can do this. But not in one week. And when the hell did your English get so much better?"
"My English is better?"
"You're using the tenses right."
Del shrugged. "I learn fast."
"Four weeks ago you could barely speak it."
Del didn't want to go into why he picked up spoken language so well, that changes in the genome of his father's ancestors had affected their brains. He had also inherited the price they paid for that facility: an inability to learn written language. He had no intention of telling Mac he was illiterate. So he said, "Obviously, then, I can translate enough songs in a week."
"You need to do a lot more than translate songs."
"Like what?"
"A team," Mac said. "A manager, to start with."
"I thought you did that."
"No. I'm your front-liner. I just get you the contract."
Alarm flared through Del. He had expected Mac to stay with him. "You're practically the only person I know outside the base."
Mac exhaled. "General McLane wants me to manage you." He still sounded angry, though Del had a feeling now it was at the general.
"I'll bet you weren't supposed to tell me that," Del said.
"I won't trick you," Mac said. "I'll take the job if you want, but you should know I'll be reporting to the military. And I'm not your best choice. I don't have much experience."
Del spoke without doubt. "I want you."
"You're sure? I can refer you to some of the best."
"Some things are more important than experience. I know you." Del meant, I trust you, but he didn't feel ready to say that.
Mac regarded him steadily. "All right. As your manager, I'm telling you that you aren't ready to do a show in one week."
"I don't see why. I just stand there and sing."
Mac leaned forward. "I'm going to send you some vids of live concerts. Immerse yourself in them. Check every angle, all the pull-downs and add-ons. Then tell me what you want for your show."
"All right." Del hesitated. "If I'm not ready, why would Ricki want me to perform?"
"She doesn't know," Mac said. "She says, and I quote, 'He's so hot, he's sizzling. We need to get him out there.' "
Del grinned. "She's the expert."
Mac didn't smile. "You need to tell her you don't have a show. If you don't want to, I can tell her for you."
Del felt as if his family were leaning over him, convinced he would fail or afraid that if he demanded too much of himself, it would kill him, because he would buckle under the stress and turn to drugs. Then he imagined Ricki—beautiful, sensual Ricki—looking at him with that same disappointment. He would no longer be the mystery guest in her Star Tower, he would be a failure. Again.
"I can do this," he said. "Don't tell her I can't."
"Del, you don't—"
"I mean it, Mac."
"Fine." Mac braced his palms on his console as if he were steeling himself for a fight. "If you're performing in a week, we need to finalize your contract. Which means you have to contact your family."
Del stiffened. "What the hell for? I don't need their damn permission to sign a contract."
"The legal age of majority here is twenty-five."
"So?"
"You need proof of your age. You look like a teenager."
"Maybe. But I'm not."
Mac regarded him in exasperation. "You don't have proof."
"The doctors at Annapolis can verify my age."
"Don't you think Prime-Nova will wonder why the military is providing proof?" Mac shook his head. "And I'm not sure they would do it. Only half the tests place your age as twenty-six. The others are inconclusive or put you as younger."
Del was growing uncomfortable. "I spent some time in a cryowomb after I—" He stumbled on the words. "After I died. It took a while for them to fix the damage to my body. That's why some tests come out strange." He had never fully understood the science, something about cell division and telomeres and teeth. The doctors used different ways to test his age, and the cryogenesis had
slowed them at slightly different rates.
"Ricki says if you can't prove your age, their doctors will have to verify it," Mac told him. "They'll come up with the same inconsistencies. Prime-Nova won't risk that ambiguity."
Del couldn't believe it. "This is ridiculous! Where I grew up, people are considered adults at sixteen."
Mac lifted his hands, then dropped them. "I understand. But by modern standards, you practically are a child. The average human lifespan is one hundred and twenty years, and it's getting longer. The number of people younger than twenty-five is a small fraction of the population, which makes you seem even younger to most people. Prime-Nova won't risk the public relations debacle of appearing to exploit a naïve farm boy." He spoke flatly. "And Ricki is protecting herself. Whatever you two did last night, I don't want to know. But if you're underage, she could get in trouble."
Del didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "If your people think a man isn't ready for sex until he's twenty-five, you need a reality check."
"Eighteen is the age of consent," Mac said. When Del snorted, Mac added, "I'm not interested in what you or anyone else did in his youth. Just the law."
"It didn't stop Ricki last night."
"She believes you," Mac said. "But you need proof to sign the contract."
Del didn't know what to say. He couldn't just order a copy of his birth certificate. It identified him as a Ruby prince. Given how annoyed the Skolian Assembly was with the Allieds right now, they would probably tie themselves into knots of suspicion if Del suddenly asked for documentation of his age.
Of course, his family could send him what he needed without revealing his identity. But the thought of asking for their help in proving his age when they treated him like an irresponsible child was more than he could stomach.
"There has to be another way," Del said.
"You could find your own doctor," Mac said. "If a reputable physician gives you verification, Prime-Nova will accept it."
"Can you help me set it up?"
"I can," Mac said. "But you should know. Allied Space Command will do whatever they can to access the doctor's report."