Picking up the Pieces, cont'd

"Go ahead. Shoot."

Aittera's vision was filled with the vibrant green eyes that spoke the dare behind the challenge as he took another step closer so that the blaster's barrel was pressed lightly against his chest. The scent of him - after-shave, the barest presence of a cologne that mingled well with his natural musk - hung in the air between them, drawing her further in. She could feel the heat of him, the barely contained desire to touch her, and the weight of his hand as it came to rest on the top of the blaster with the barest brush of his fingers against her hand.

She hesitated. Her instincts failed her as they wavered between a very real sense of danger and an equal portion of yearning. The recent dream swam to the forefront of her mind to taunt her with the time spent in the light of the dying fire. If she could just bring herself to squeeze the trigger, she could be free of this moment and the influence of that emerald gaze that dared her to give in to the inexplicable passion between them.

Her hand was at the back of his neck, pulling him into a heated kiss. He swept her into his arms and held her body against his as the blaster fell from her gun hand.

Time stopped.

The spell broke as their lips parted, and she took a step back. There was a new, deadly element in her demeanor as she recovered and glared at Jheryth. "Leave. Now."

Her shotgun was in hand before he'd cleared the hangar entrance, and she turned with a furious growl to loose shot after shot at the large cargo containers that had been waiting to be loaded. The smell of burning plastoid rose from one of them as her shotgun jammed, and she threw it forcefully against the far wall.

The fire suppression system kicked on, spraying the smoldering crate with white foam, while she stalked to a stack of smaller crates and picked up one after the other, hurling them against the closest wall. Several of them broke open on impact, spilling their contents - mostly food and dry goods - onto the floor as they landed, a tirade of expletives in a smattering of languages accompanying the act.

Later, after convincing dubious security personnel that she'd had a weapon malfunction with a great deal of smooth talk and a credit voucher passed between hands, she sat down heavily on an undamaged crate to survey the damage.

She could still taste him on her lips.