Dek lay with his left leg out atop the sheets. A bandage covered his foot, ankle, and calf. The man’s back was braced on her pillows, arms behind his head. When it came to clothing, he was wearing a claw-shrub-fiber undershirt and shorts. His sandy-blond hair, though mussed, still had a wave to it. She could see a slight pinch tighten that patrician face of his, accenting the scar on his cheek and the dimple in his chin. His designer-yellow eyes were fixed on hers with an almost eerie intensity. Something about him seemed to be daring, hinted at the question: Here we are, what are we going to do with each other now?

Yeah, Tal. Good question.

She thought Rocket chittered amusement where he perched on her shoulder.

A faint flicker played at Dek’s expressive lips, and in answer to her question regarding his needs, said, “Bowl of Inga’s chili with lots of fresh poblano pepper, a tall glass of amber ale, and Madison’s wheat bread to wash it down. But”—he raised a hand to forestall her response—“I’d settle for a plate of your breakfast tamales with that remarkable red sauce you make. And don’t stint on your homemade achiote.”

“Sorry, Bucko. I’ve been too busy pulling soft meat out of the bush to spend time in the kitchen. If you’re thinking I’m cooking, cleaning, and bottle-washing on demand, you’re in for a surprise.”

He waved it away. “That would be boorish, even for me.” A twinkle lit his eyes. “What’s the point of having a Taglioni in your bed if you can’t squeeze a little juice out of him? When you—”

“Uh, what kind of ‘juice’ where you referring to? If you’re thinking that you and I are going to be sharing bodily fluids, you’re—”

“Whoa!” He threw his hands up, laughing. “Back, woman, back! Juice? That’s Corporate slang. It’s an old term that was recycling itself when I left Transluna. I think it dates back to oranges or some such thing. You know, getting best part of something without having to peel it.”

She gave him her best deadly and humorless grin. “Go on.”

“As I was going to say, when you hear that Bateman has landed my airplane, there’s a sack of plunder under the toolbox in the aft left storage compartment. Mostly high-grade ore. Quartz thick with gold. Pieces of palladium. And I think some of the grayish-silver stuff is ruthenium.”

“Just what do you expect in return for all this wealth?”

He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I could probably buy a whole lot of carnal and licentious joy with it, which is what you are no doubt expecting from a Taglioni, but I’ve got a better idea.”

“Which is?”