The Key - From chapter five by Pauline Baird

Fyn took Sara’s advice and donned his leather and armament, well, all except the sword he usually wore strapped to his back and the spikes on his wrist bands. As she’s said, didn’t want to accidentally injure someone. He’d been fortunate one of Sara’s people knew how to clean leather.
If he was going to do down, if someone was going to recognize, then so be it. He’d go as himself, not try to hide himself as one of them. He was nervous, though. And he wouldn’t know right away, unless it was someone he recognized. If one of the delegation was Ojemba, they wouldn’t do anything without getting in contact with Kalian first.
The dining room Carey led him to was much more formal than the cafeteria, though with the spare details suited to a working ship.
It had a series of long windows along one wall that provided a nice view of the cluster of moons that periodically circled Ashwa. Kikk was part of the other cluster and only visible from the other side of the ship.
A long table was set with dishes and eating utensils. It was plain, but still looked nicer than the stuff they used in the cafeteria. In another place, there’d have been something decorative in the center of the table, but the only truly decorative elements were the four women Kilburn had assembled.
Fyn figured they were wearing dresses. He’d almost forgotten that women had legs. They looked nice. All the dresses were black and short, with varying degrees of sharing up top.
While the colonel performed introductions, Carey smiled at one of the women.
“You look very lovely tonight.”
“Thank you, sir. I try to have a little black dress for special occasions. What woman doesn’t?”
The door slid open and Sara sauntered in and then stopped and looked around. Her dress was little, but it wasn’t black. She looked like a slender flame. She’d always been beautiful, but she’d done something to kick it up. Her eyes looked bigger. Her mouth was full and soft. The dress was perfect, both hinting at and hiding the curves of her body. The straps of her dress were thin lines across smooth, white shoulders and drew the eye to a hint of cleavage. She didn’t have as much up top as the other women, but it didn’t matter. He finally saw her shoes. They were the same red as her dress and made her legs seem like they went on forever.
Fyn didn’t realize he’d moved until he was face to face with her. She was taller and he vaguely knew it had something to do with her…shoes. He liked those shoes. A lot.
Her lips curved in a calm, little smile. “This is a dress.”
He looked down, taking his time when his gaze made it to her legs, then looked up again. “You have…legs.”
A hint of amusement warmed her eyes. “Yes, I do. I’ve had them since I was born.”
He examined them again. “You should keep them.”
“I plan to.” Her lips twitched. Her gaze swept over him. “You look pretty good yourself.”
Carey came in on one side, with Briggs on the other. Carey couldn’t quite get a comment out, so Briggs stepped into the breach.
“Damn, Donovan, you look like a girl.”
She shrugged and the dress moved with her, like it was alive.
Furious was buried deep, over laid with a mysterious calm that made her an island in their midst. You can look, her eyes said, but if you touch, you’ll get burned.
“Kilburn’s going to step on that tongue if he’s not careful,” Carey said, with a grin.
Sara’s answering smile sizzled through Fyn.
“He’s dead to me, sir.” Her voice had lost its crispness. It was like a really, slow song. Even the angle of her head suggested she heard a song, he couldn’t.
“Without getting put on notice?” Briggs grinned. “That’s cold.”
“That’s life,” Sara said.
“Let’s get you something to drink,” Carey said.
Sara tucked her hand in the crook of Fyn’s arm. “Thank you.”
Fyn thought Sara standing was something, but when she went in motion…a sort of slit in her dress became apparent. With each step, he got a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, white thigh. Gone was the crisp movement of the warrior. Now she…flowed to that slow song.
The walk to the bar was far too short. The ensign manning it seemed unable to form a sentence.
“Just some fizzy water,” she told him, with a smile as slow as her walk.
He blushed up to the roots of his hair, but managed to hand her a glass of something.
“Donovan?” Halliwell sounded like Fyn felt.
Sara turned, the movement making her skirt ripple. He didn’t know how she managed it without falling off those shoes…
“Sir.” Her tone was cool, but respectful. “Sorry I’m late. It took me a little longer to get here than I thought it would.”
“You were…worth the wait,” he said. “I appreciate the…enthusiasm you gave to my…order.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He looked at her almost warily. “You’re still pissed, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice still soft and smooth, but pissed simmering below her surface. It made all of her seem more…fiery. More everything.
“Well, just be nice.”
Her lips curved up. “That’s the plan.”
Fyn looked at Carey, wondering if he felt the same tremor of worry.
He did.
Sara was always dangerous. She’d been well trained, she was strong and fast and determined. But this, this was a different kind of danger. It crackled in the air around her. And when she was dangerous…she could also be unexpected. He thought about the kiss she’d given him after booming. Which was the real Sara? The one who hid or that one?
The colonel seemed to sense danger, too, though he clearly didn’t know what to do about it. He held out his arm.
“Let me introduce you to our guests.”
Sara lifted her chin. “Of course, sir.”
Her hand settled lightly on his arm and he led her away. While Fyn didn’t want her to leave, he had to admit that the sight of her walking away was…
Briggs put an arm on his and Carey’s shoulders. “If you ever want to know what we’re fighting for, that’s it right there.”
“I think I hear a hallelujah chorus,” Carey said.
The room was small enough to hear the introductions and for Fyn to see Xever’s reaction to the meeting. For a moment, it seemed like there was recognition in his eyes, or at least something more than just appreciation for a beautiful woman—though there was a lot of that, too.
As the man’s gaze surveyed Sara, Fyn realized how much he wished she were still in her uniform. Again he was moving before he realized it. He stood just behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted.
He’d meant to keep his distance, too, but suddenly he didn’t care if one of them was Ojemba.
Xever had Sara’s hand and it seemed like he didn’t want to let go. His eyes met Fyn’s…and he did. Sara lifted her drink to her lips, but her freed hand reached back and found him, her fingers sliding between his.
“Lieutenant?” Xever’s brows arched in surprise. “You are a…soldier?”
“I’m a fighter puke—a pilot, sir.”
Was there a slight edge in her smooth voice?
Xever looked puzzled.
“Our women do not have to serve as soldiers.”
“None of us have to serve. We all volunteered and are proud and happy to defend our country.”
Oh yeah, there was an edge to her voice.
His smile got a little…superior Fyn thought and felt Sara’s hand clench slightly in his.
“Why would a beautiful woman choose to be a soldier?”
“Some pukes in a movie said it best. I joined to travel, meet new people…and kill them.”