The huge crowd was silent as the last notes floated out over the bowl. Then the entire audience was on their feet. These were her fans; she loved every one of them. She lowered her head and waited for the applause to die down.
“Thank you,” she said simply, then turned toward the band, and the back-up singers. “But I’m only one part of what you heard tonight.” She applauded each person individually. “I’m nothing without my back-up singers, and my band.” Her eyes sparkled as she walked toward Matt, microphone in hand. “I know some of you are wondering where Clete is. He had an accident, but I can assure you he’ll recover soon.” She took Matt’s hand. “In the meantime I’d like to introduce you to the man who made my career what it is today. This is Matt Williamson. He not only wrote the songs you’ve all come to love, he’s an old school friend of mine.” Her eyes sparkled. “And he reminded me today that I owe him something from back then.” She turned to the audience. “A kiss.”
Matt’s lips twitched. “What are you doing?” he murmured, as she led him across the stage.
“I’m making sure you don’t back out.” She raised her lips.
He brushed his lips against hers, slow and tantalizing, with the promise of more to come. “That’s not happening,” he said as he picked her up and twirled her around. The audience roared their approval.
Safe in his arms, she looked into his eyes and saw her future.
*
Mona Ingram is the author of 20 romance novels, including two novellas. Many of her stories take place in British Columbia, where she has lived since the age of twelve. In recent years she has lived in the Okanagan Valley and on Vancouver Island. In addition to reading and writing, traveling and bird watching are among Mona's favourite pastimes.
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http://www.monaingram.blogspot.com
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*
That First Kiss
S. Patrick O’Connell
The air in the tavern was a little too still in the warm autumn afternoon. An aroma of baking bread and roasting meat mingled with the sweet smell of fermented beverages and strong tobaccos. Merrick sat in the semi-darkness nursing a mug of thick foamy ale and pondering his ill fortune.
It had been thirteen months since he had landed in this nasty little backwater city-state and in that time he had found little employment for his skills. His purse was nearly empty and he wasn’t looking forward to another winter in this place―especially a winter with no means to pay for his warmth. His tunic was faded and torn in places; his leggings were grimy and stained; there was a hole in the bottom of his right slipper that simply would not stay mended, no matter what, and he had lost his hat somewhere along the line. A change of luck was more than overdue.
The curtain that covered the doorway in fairer weather pushed aside and a woman strode in and stopped to gain her bearings. She was tall and fair, with brown hair pulled back in the spacer style and a posture that showed confidence and authority. Her tight flight suit followed the curves of her muscular body, hugging her like an exoskeleton. A pair of gold ellipses on her shoulder announced her rank as captain.
After a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, the young woman approached the bar, leaning across to speak to the innkeeper. He gestured toward Merrick.
Could this be the appointment Merrick was waiting for? Most of his assignments on this world, so far, had involved lost goats and family feuds. Whatever the job, it would likely pay more than he had made in a year.
The woman looked Merrick over and then approached with what appeared to be an air of resignation.
“Are you the thief?” she asked.
“Please,” Merrick said, “I prefer ‘paladin’ or ‘advocate’ or ‘man-at-arms.’”
“I would prefer those things, too, but on short notice, you’re what I’m stuck with.”
Merrick signaled for the woman to have a seat.
“I am Merrick of Owsley,” he said. “And you would be?”
“I am Captain Severide,” the woman said. “Just call me ‘Captain.’ It’s what I answer to.”
Merrick was nearly overcome by the woman’s intense green eyes. He drew a deep breath to compose himself. Negotiating with authority figures required a special cleverness. Negotiating with a beautiful authority figure was going to require all the slickness Merrick could muster.
“So, I understand you need my help,” he said.
“Against my better judgment and all that I hold holy, it appears that I do. If I had time to spare, I believe I would hold out for someone a bit more . . .” she looked him up and down, “professional,” she finished, after a pause.
“Please, don’t let my appearance fool you,” Merrick said. “I am a traveler and not of this place. I do my best to fit in, but I assure you I am no simple bumpkin.”
“I certainly didn’t mean to imply that Olafston was to blame for you, simply that you couldn’t possibly be the best refuse the trash heap has to offer.”
Merrick’s cheeks grew hot with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. “I’ll have you know, I have been educated at the best universities in the Seven Systems. I carry two degrees of mastery and have been dangerously close to completing a doctorate!”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” the captain said. “Art history and ancient literature.”
“Well, yes, actually,” Merrick said, ducking his head, “but I wore the Sash of Honors.”
“I just bet you did. So how does any of that help me?”
“What exactly is this, um, task you require accomplished?” Merrick paid careful attention to his grammar.
“My first officer got into a bit of a scrape in Olafston and landed in their brig on a month’s sentence. I need him broken out.”
“A month’s sentence is hardly anything. He would probably be released after twenty days just from bad accounting.”