Julian Bashir's fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the door chime.Julian Bashir's fingers trembled slightly as he pressed the door chime. It was only a scant few hours ago since he had met her, when she had come to the infirmary with a slashed hand. At first, he had been preoccupied with healing the cut -- obtained in Quark's after, according to her, some of the other patrons had taken exception to the fact that she cheated better than they did -- but after finish- ing, he had looked up to see more. They exchanged a few words, and he learned that she was from Ishtar. That had explained several things to him: her skill with a knife (the other man had sustained considerably more damage) and the way her eyes held him like a cat's held a mouse. Her gaze alone was enough to make him flush slightly. He had turned to replace the protoplaser in the sterilization field, and when he turned back around, she was no more than three inches away from him. Stammering an apology, he tried to edge past her but could not; her hands were around his slim waist, and she had positioned her hips directly in front of his. "Have you eaten?" she asked him, her voice low and rich. He had managed to force a "no" past his lips, feeling more and more like a mouse as her eyes roved over his face. "My ship is called the Ariad. It is docked at Bay 2," she had told him. "You are very lovely, Doctor. Be there in two hours." And then she had left, leaving him quite warm, with a thin film of sweat on the back of his neck. He sat down to collect himself, feeling the slightly pleasurable ache between his thighs that always signalled arousal. |