The Only One

have softened enough to kiss a woman.
    He turned and walked toward the front of the cave, where a fortified exit opened to a slope that let up to the surface. She followed, slinging the strap of her rifle over her back. "I've been topside with you before."
    "Those were routine, low-threat missions, Taj."
    "Low-threat? Since when is anything we do low-threat? You can break your neck taking a piss in the dark around here."
    Romjha halted. His scar stretched to the breaking point. She could hear it giving way now: Snap! "Mind me, Taj. It's dangerous."
    "Dangerous." She forced a breathy sigh. "What was I thinking? I could get hurt out there. Better I go back to my lab and make a few more bombs. Yes, that's what I'll do. And while I'm there, I'll try not to be so worried about your men that I accidentally spill the radic acid."
    Those harsh lips of Romjha's parted slightly, the equivalent of a lesser man's mouth hanging open. She'd unbalanced the mighty warrior with her sarcasm. A small triumph, but still satisfying. "I have a right to go topside," she persisted. "A reason."
    "Aleq?"
    She saw Petro compress his lips and stare hard at the floor, as if he were fighting a smile. Romjha, on the other hand, was the image of neutrality. If he'd made the remark to throw her off balance, it worked. But if he thought to send her scurrying back to her lab, he was dreaming.
    "Aleq? Pah! He wishes." Taj pulled on her battered helmet. It reeked of the man who wore it last, but it hid the blush heating her cheeks. The raiders squeezed endless enjoyment out of what they perceived as Aleq's pursuit of her affections, expecting that he'd declare himself as her protector: the traditional term for the male half of a permanent joining.
    Permanent? Ha! Aleq hadn't once mentioned wanting to formalize their relationship, if the occasional nights sharing her blankets fell into that category. They didn't, in her opinion—whether or not he'd been her first lover and, fair enough, her only one. It didn't even matter anymore; Aleq and she hadn't been together in a long time.
    Who said she'd wanted Aleq's promise anyway—or any man's? In the manufacture of explosives, she'd finally achieved some measure of control over her fate. Her expertise gave every raider who used her bombs the best shot at making it back alive, even though she knew in her heart that if the latest warlord ever returned, serious about finishing the job his ancestors had begun, it wouldn't matter how well she armed this defensive rabble. If the monster wanted to flush out the rebels who survived on the scraps left behind by his great-grandsire, he'd send his army to finish the job.
    Army? Pah!She scowled. A militia of murderers, they were; a legion of loosely connected heathens.
    But they hadn't come yet, and if something had gone wrong topside, Taj had to find out why, so her mistake wouldn't be repeated. And here was Romjha, thinking he could distract her from her life's work with talk of a man. Condescending bastard.
    "Don't toy with me, Romjha. You know I don't like it." She lowered her visor with a loud snap and pushed past him.
    The raider commander's heavy hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around. She caught his scent, potent and male, and it dizzied her. An involuntary step brought her closer to him, but kept her from stumbling. His fingers closed around her wrist. Heat raced up her arm.
    He'd never before touched her. He'd never tried, always keeping his distance, emotionally and physically.
    She was a strong woman, capable, but she felt delicate in his firm grip. Yielding . . . no, weak !A rush of desire mingled with self-loathing.
    A glint of perceptive male interest in his eyes boosted her anger to new levels. She wrenched out of his grasp. "I risk more daily in my lab than your men do in a month of raids."
    "I know well the risks you take for our people. It doesn't mean I like it."
    "I'm not asking you to," she replied, quieter.
    Romjha stared unswervingly into her eyes.
    "Grenades blew up in my father's hands," she protested. "Grenades our people made. It shouldn't have happened. The fuses were faulty, shoddily cut." She despised the sudden huskiness in her voice, raised her chin to counteract it. "And don't get me started again on Pasha. When it comes to making sure something stupid doesn't happen again, that our people don't die needlessly, my life means nothing."
    There was a sudden softness to Romjha's expression. "It means something to me."
    Warmth,