She held out a hand. “I do.”

  He gave her the taper and watched her walk to the farthest candle. One by one, she lit each candle in the room, speaking first in her own tongue and then in High Alsean before moving to the next.

  “We honor those who came before us.”

  “We honor their sacrifices.”

  “Made for us, their children.”

  “To bequeath us a better world.”

  “We promise not to shy from.”

  “The sacrifices asked of us.”

  “Made for our children.”

  “To bequeath them a better world.”

  She hesitated on the next candle, then said something with one word he recognized.

  “We offer thanks to Fahla.”

  “For watching over us.”

  “And strive to be worthy.”

  “Of her regard.”

  “This we swear.”

  “Hear us.”

  She blew out the taper and set it next to the last candle, head bowed. “I haven’t said that prayer in a lifetime.”

  He rested a hand between her shoulders. “Who did you pray to?”

  “The Seeders. We said that before every midmeal.” She gave a short laugh. “It worked. I’m definitely slowed down.”

  “It’s a beautiful prayer. I could hear the rhythm in your language. Lhyn would love it.”

  Her head lifted, and she looked at him with a wondering smile. “She would. I’ll have to tell her. In the meantime . . .” She reached for the first button of his jacket. “Since I said the prayer, I think that entitles me to the first touch.”

  He wasn’t going to argue.

  She undid each button and slid the jacket off his shoulders, then stepped behind him to pull it off completely. With a precision that surprised him, she folded it and set it carefully atop a side table.

  He reminded himself that she was in a military organization despite not being a warrior. She had a dress uniform of her own and a lifetime of experience caring for it.

  The thought heated his skin as much as her finger sliding down the front seal of his shirt. She stopped halfway down, realizing it was tucked in, and tugged it free. Then she unsealed the remainder and pulled it apart, sucking in a breath as she examined his torso.

  He missed her touch and the knowledge it would have given him. Did she like what she saw? Was he too different? She wasn’t showing anything on her face, and he did not want to ask.

  Once again, she went behind him to pull the shirt free of his arms. It was folded with equal care and set atop the jacket. At last she turned and stared, her mouth tilting up with that small smile he so enjoyed.

  “Lucky me,” she said quietly.

  “Oh, thank Fahla. You had me concerned.”

  “Really? I don’t see why.” She stepped forward, running her fingertips from his chest ridges to his stomach. “You must know how attractive you are. This is not the body of a man who’s unaware.”

  The pride threatened to burst through his chest. “It’s not the body I used to have,” he admitted. But he was still active, having never wanted the sedentary life of many higher ranking warriors.

  “Neither is mine.” Her fingers trailed back up to his chest ridges, then out to his shoulders and down his arms. “But when I had that body, I wasn’t a happy person. I’ll take what I have now over what I had then, no question.”

  He had never thought of it that way. While he considered it, she stepped back and gestured to his boots. “Can we depart from tradition long enough for you to do those? Lhyn’s ritual takes place in a tropical location. They were either barefoot or in sandals.”

  “Good point.” He stepped to the bed and sat on its edge to swiftly remove both boots.

  She did the same for hers, hopping on one foot and then the other. When he stood up, she moved close to examine the fastening of his trousers. “Simple enough,” she said, and undid it with nimble fingers. Then she hooked her fingers in his underwear and pushed down, kneeling as she followed the trousers to the floor. A hand at his ankle guided him out of one leg, then the other, and he was naked before her.

  She didn’t look, instead focusing on folding the trousers and even the underwear, setting them neatly on the table next to the jacket and shirt. Only then did she turn, an expression of fascinated wonder taking over her face. “Images aren’t the same.”

  He caught her wrists when she tried to touch his pelvic ridges. “My turn.”

  “Fine,” she grumbled, amusement skittering along her skin. “You really aren’t Gaian.”

  “Why? What would a Gaian man do?”

  “He wouldn’t stop me from touching him, that’s for sure.”

  “Next time, I won’t.” He gestured toward her hair. “May I?”

  She stood straight, watching him with hooded eyes, and nodded.

  “I’ve fantasized about this,” he said, reaching for her hair sticks. They slid out smoothly, and her hair fell from its intricate twist. She gave her head a shake, just as she had on their first date, and reached up to straighten the last loops that hadn’t yet fallen into place. In a piptick, her hair was a curtain that fell to her shoulder blades.

  “That is magic,” he informed her.

  She laughed. “If you say so.”

  “I do.” He ran his fingers through the thick tresses, wanting to satisfy his fantasy. To his surprise, her head fell back and she made a sound like a purr.

  “That explains,” she mumbled.

  “Explains what?”

  “Why this makes Rahel turn into a puddle. Shippers, that feels good.”

  “This is one of the places I should mark with the dala berry paste?”

  “I’d rather not have blue hair. Maybe you could just remember.”

  As if he was likely to forget.

  He didn’t know how to take out her ear jewelry. They weren’t the cuffs he was used to, but hooks that went through actual holes in her ears.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked as she removed the jewelry. “Making those holes?”

  “A little. It was a long time ago. Once they heal, it’s fine.”

  “That’s an odd practice.”

  She set the jewelry in his hand. “Remind me to tell you about the other places Gaians get pierced. I look forward to seeing your face.” She cast a quick look down, her meaning clear, and he cringed at the thought.

  “I don’t want to know right now.”

  “Tattoos hurt more than most piercings,” she said as he placed the jewelry on a table. “I’ve seen them here. We’re not the only ones who mark our bodies.”

  “That’s not the same thing.” He examined her necklace.

  “In the back.” She lifted her hair.

  “Ah.” He went around behind, found the clasp easy to undo, and dropped a kiss where the chain had been.

  “Oh,” she murmured. “That’s a spot you should mark.”

  He kissed her again to be certain. Watching her shiver was entirely secondary to the purpose.

  With the necklace safely on the table, he turned his attention to her jacket.

  To his disappointment, its removal revealed a dress that was short-sleeved rather than leaving her shoulders bare. But when he moved behind her to pull the jacket from her arms, he stopped dead, his eyes glued to the expanse of naked back.

  Slowly, he folded the jacket, set it on the table, and returned to slide his fingertips down her spine.

  This time, her shiver was more pronounced. “You didn’t let me touch you. Stop taking advantage. You’re the one who set these rules.”

  “I’m beginning to regret that.”

  “Micah.”

  He couldn’t resist a final kiss to the top of her spine before undoing the catch of the dress. It pulled apart in his hands and pooled at her feet.

  She stepped out and turned, clad only in underwear. Her breasts showed little sign of aging, and her upper chest was as smooth as he remembered. His hands itched to touch.

  “Wait,” she said as he hooked his thumbs in the underwear. “Lhyn told you about Gaian body hair, right?”

  “She didn’t need to. I’ve seen both her and Ekatya naked.”

  “What? When did that happen?”

  “Tal and Salomen’s bonding break. We spent a great deal of time swimming and sunbathing. I know what Gaian women look like, but—” He stopped, letting his gaze rake down her body. “I never had the right to look until now.”

  Arousal sparked through their skin contact. She was heating up from mere visual appreciation, and he thanked Fahla that this gift to him was also a gift to her.

  He nearly choked when she put her hands atop his and pushed.

  Taking the hint, he pulled the last scrap of clothing to her ankles and let her step out of it. Soon it was folded next to the jacket, and he retrieved the dress from the floor.

  He hadn’t planned for this detail. There were hangers in the bedroom closet, but that would require leaving her here while he went to a different room.

  “Just drape it over a chair,” she said.

  That worked. He hung it over an armchair and picked up the bottle of massage oil on his way back. “Lhyn said they do this part standing up. Otherwise they get too relaxed.”

  “No falling asleep during the anointing?”

  “Ideally, no.” He pressed the bottom of the bottle, activating the heating element, and gave it a vigorous shake. “Please let me go first. I need to touch you.”

  “As if you haven’t already. Remember, this part is supposed to be nonsexual.”

  “I might fail this test. It’s a good thing there are no elders watching.”

  Her eyes crinkled. “Didn’t you know? We’re the elders.”

  “I’ve never felt less like one.” He could hardly believe he was about to put his hands on her. “I don’t know what a Gaian elder is supposed to look like, but you . . . Alejandra, you’re beautiful.”

  She stepped close, planting both hands on his chest and leaning in to run her nose along his neck. “So are you,” she murmured. “And so different.” She kissed his throat, his jaw, and hovered over his mouth, not quite making contact. When she lightly swiped her tongue over his upper lip, he nearly dropped the oil.

  “Nonsexual,” he gasped.

  Her deep chuckle was nearly enough to bring out his throat ridges. “Did Lhyn say what the elders did if the youngsters went ahead of schedule?” She nuzzled the skin beneath his ear.

  “Threw a bucket of cold water on them,” he managed.

  She stopped, then stepped back and laughed uproariously, wrapping her arms around her torso as she bent over in her mirth. “Those poor young people! We’d be soaking wet right now if we were there.”

  He didn’t think he’d ever seen anything more striking than a naked Alejandra lost in laughter. It was arousing and endearing at the same time, and his body didn’t know how to react.

  She straightened, still smiling widely, and shook her head. “The way you look at me, Micah. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but if lighting oil bowls will keep it coming, I’ll go to Blacksun Temple first thing tomorrow.”

  “Lanaril would be delighted to see you.” He gave the bottle another shake, satisfied that it had heated through, and squirted a good amount in his palm. “Now stand still, you tempting woman. Let me do this.”

  She stood motionless as he rubbed his hands together, releasing the scent of cinnoralis, and laid them on either side of her neck.

  The next tentick was a blur of skin and sensation, both physical and emotional. Having a purpose helped. He could focus on rubbing gentle circles into the smooth skin of her forehead, with its curious lack of ridges, and following the sharp cheekbones that were nearly Alsean in their prominence. Then it was down her jaw and onto her throat and shoulders, and from there to an arm, all the way down to her fingertips.

  She relaxed, trusting, letting his touch bring her pleasure. His mental checklist was the only thing that kept his brain from overloading.

  Once both arms shone with oil, he worked on her back and then her buttocks, which he suspected would be marked with dala berry before the night was over. Then he rubbed down each of her legs before rising from his knees and returning to her front.

  By the time he massaged the oil into her breasts, they had both sunk far enough into the ritual to avoid breaking it. She hummed happily, her arousal obvious through the abundant skin contact, but made no move to escalate.

  He squirted more oil onto his hands and moved to the last part of her body. Her stomach was softly rounded, a pleasure to touch, and—

  He bent to look more closely. The striations were silvery white, rather than the darker stripes he was used to, but they surely meant the same thing.

  “You bear the Child Sign,” he said.

  Confusion rose through her skin, followed by sharp realization and spiky discomfort. “Are you talking about my stretch marks?”

  “Is that what you call them? These.” He laid a hand atop the Sign.

  She nodded, still uncomfortable.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  Disbelief prickled. “No, they’re not.”

  “Is this a cultural difference? We revere the Child Sign. These marks are a testament. You brought—”

  He stopped, his arousal-saturated brain finally putting the clues together. She had borne a child, but never spoke of one. She had lit an oil bowl in the Room of Remembrance for an ancient sorrow. And she was uncomfortable with him calling attention to the memorial her child had left on her body.

  He set aside the bottle and took her hands in his. She was wary, dreading his next words, and he hoped his choice was correct.

  “When you’re ready, I would like to hear your story.” A deliberate repeat of his earlier offer.

  Her eyes narrowed, grief rising to the surface and warring with frustration. “You see too damn much,” she said harshly.

  He made no response other than to tighten his grip.

  After a moment, she squeezed her eyes shut and sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that. Most men don’t notice.” The frustration ebbed, and she gave a chuckle that held no amusement. “They certainly don’t read me like there’s a shekking text written on my stomach.”

  “They don’t notice?” Where were Gaian men looking?

  When she pulled her hands away, he worried that he had said the wrong thing. But she merely retrieved the bottle.

  “My turn,” she said.

  Warm, oil-smooth hands landed on his neck. She was silent, focused on her task, and there was no arousal in her touch.

  “You revere it?” she asked, her hands sliding to his shoulders.

  “Bringing life into the world is a blessing and a miracle. We revere the physical testament to that.”

  She poured more oil in her palm and rubbed her hands together, then set them on his chest. “Right now, this is my favorite part of your body.” A tiny spark of sexual interest reignited as she traced his chest ridges. “I reserve the right to change my mind later, because these”—her hands moved lower, rubbing his pectoral muscles—“are a close second. I’ve seen men half your age who don’t look this good here. Alsean musculature has definite advantages.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Her compliment was genuine; that much was in her touch. But her vibrant presence had dimmed. She was not entirely with him.

  She moved around to his back and set to work on one arm. When she reached his wrist, she began to speak.

  “On my home planet, a woman’s worth is measured by her childbearing ability. But once we have a child, our desirability diminishes. If we want men to see us again, we have to somehow snap our bodies back to how they were before the pregnancy. Which is physically impossible.”

  “Of course it is. Why would they expect a miracle to leave no mark?”

  She stopped, then uttered a quiet oath in her language and rested her forehead against his shoulder. “You’re astonishing.”

  “I’m Alsean.”

  This time, her chuckle was genuinely amused. “You’re all astonishing.” She poured more oil and resumed her massage on his other arm. “One of the things we can’t change is our stretch marks.”

  “That’s a terrible name.”

  Her humor grew. “Would you believe I never realized that until now? ‘Child Sign,’ for the love of flight. What a beautiful term. Anyway, since we can’t change it, men tend to blind themselves to it. Most consider it unattractive.”

  “You’re joking.” But he knew she wasn’t.

  “I haven’t been with that many lovers. At the age when most women are enjoying their youth and desirability, I was already a failed bondmate and the mother of a dead child. I threw everything I had into learning medicine and getting into Fleet. Finding a lover was the last thing on my mind.”

  She finished working his fingers, added more oil, and moved to his back.

  His mind was racing, remembering her inadvertent admission from their first date. The timing of it, oh, Fahla . . .

  For the first time, he was glad she couldn’t sense him.

  “No man has ever paid attention to my—my Child Sign,” she said. “Much less called it beautiful.”

  “It is. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

  “I know. And despite my, hm, poor reaction . . .” She slid her arms around his chest, embracing him from behind. “It means more than I can say.”

  He barely had time to cover her hands before she pulled away.

  “Can I do that? Give you a warmron? We haven’t joined yet.”

  His laugh was unstoppable. “Alejandra, we’re naked and covered in oil. I don’t think the taboo applies at this point.”

  A throaty laugh burst from her in response, dancing along his nerve endings and heating him from the inside out.

  “Good.” She dropped to one knee and began rubbing oil into his buttocks. “For the record, this is my third favorite spot, but it might move up to second. We’ll see.”

  By the time she came around front to finish, her arousal had attained a comfortable simmer. They were in no danger of having a bucket of cold water thrown on them, but he had also let go of his fear that she might give up altogether.

  Five ticks later, he happily abandoned his second fear: that she would be put off by his differences. On the contrary, she was transfixed by his pelvic ridges and the way they dipped to meet in the sensitive curve of his molwine. Her fingertips traced the ridges on each side simultaneously, sliding down almost to the molwine before retreating. She began again, this time rubbing in the oil.