The Only One

honeyed and thick, swelled in her chest. Then she broke eye contact.
    Fool! she accused herself. He didn't mean it like that, the way she would want him to mean it, the way she had too often dreamed he would whisper to her deep in the night when she was alone and afraid and wished she were lying snug and safe in his arms.
    "Do us both a favor and get over it," she said.
    Romjha's lips twitched with mild amusement. The raptness with which he studied her evoked the uncanny and unwelcome feeling that he saw through her anger, that he saw how scared she was inside. A frisson of both alarm and pleasure rippled deep in her belly. " 'Get over it,' eh, Taj? As simple as that."
    "That's right. If it keeps you from making objective professional decisions."
    Romjha's gold eyes were as penetrating as an expertly forged dagger. "And the memory of your father's accident doesn't do the same for you?"
    She winced. He knew her too well. At the same time, he didn't know her at all. She spoke through gritted teeth, low and deadly. "We all have our reasons for what we do, don't we?"
    Simultaneously, they both noticed that his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist. He dropped his hand.
    Although he'd gripped her gently, the feel of his touch remained. Her fingertips grazed over the warm place, lingering on her wrist, until she caught herself doing so and curled her hands into fists.
    An awkward moment passed. "I know all you do in your father's name, Taj. But staying behind, staying safe—that doesn't mean you are forsaking him."
    "Are you bringing me or not, commander?"
    He didn't answer, but his look was one that assured her their discussion wasn't truly over and he intended to finish it. Well, he was welcome to try.
    Obviously brooding over what she'd asked of him, he contemplated the rifle in his big hands. The weapon's battered appearance belied the fact that he treated it like a baby. It had been his father's and—ironically, considering this situation—his grandmother's before that. He came from a long line of fighting women, but Taj had the feeling he'd like to see them cuddled, coddled, and safe.
    Sigh. The idea of being cuddled in his brawny arms was enough to make her knees go weak. And coddled?
    What woman wouldn't want a little pampering?
    Taj made a face and stared hard at the floor. It wouldn't happen in this lifetime.
    But what about peace? To be safe—to walk outside without fear, to raise children out from under the immediate threat of death—she couldn't imagine it.
    No, she could imagine it; only she tried not to.
    Craving what you didn't have meant you didn't appreciate what you did have. Every day that passed Taj saw as a gift. Granted, some of those gifts were dubious. Like tonight.
    Romjha lifted his gaze from his weapon. He'd made his decision; she could tell. Quivering with impatience, she waited to hear it. To stay behind would be unconscionable, but she'd be forced to accept the commander's decision.
    A heartbeat before he spoke, she sensed in him what she so often fought herself: frustration over the inability to keep someone else safe. "You'll do as I say out there, Taj."
    She tamped down on a rush of adrenaline. "You know I will."
    With a circular motion of his hand he again gave the signal to move out, then strode toward the exit. Petro fell in step, and the two men pushed briskly through the crowd.
    Taj grabbed her weapon, hurried after them. It looked like she was along for the ride.

Chapter Three
    "Hoo-ah," came the calls from all around, a traditional send-off cry of support for the raiders.
    Romjha felt many people snatch at his uniform, saw them kissing their fingers afterward for good luck, for themselves and for him. Young boys rubbed shy hands across his weapons vest as he passed. Superstition said that those furtive touches might bring the youths the honor of being a raider someday. He knew; he had done the same as a boy.
    Romjha rechecked his ammo and weapon a second time, and a third. He blasted well wanted everything perfect now that Taj had joined the mission. She was qualified to come, but he didn't like it. He viewed it as his failure as commander—and as a man—every time he saw fear light her eyes, or the anger she conjured to fight that fear. To place her in danger now ... he hated it as much as that Taj was forced to skip meals and work long hours to fabricate munitions for his men.
    But what right did he have to keep her from seeing the destruction her explosives might