Chapter 6: A Cardassian and a Nausicaan Are Standing by a Bar…

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The noise level in the Blue Parrot Bar on Sarona VII was growing to riotous levels. The slender gentleman with a commanding presence ignored the cacophony. Even though he was dressed in a dark blue shirt and slacks, to a discerning observer, it was obvious that he was some sort of officer. He was waiting by a wooden table across from the main entrance next to the outdoor patio areas.

Jean-Luc was in a good mood. It had been a long time since he'd felt this relaxed. And considering the quality of the house burgundy wine that he was drinking, he was actually truly enjoying himself. Soon he would be meeting his friend and fellow officer Jack Crusher. And find out what the surprise was that Jack had been hinting about for a few days.

In the meantime he was anticipating five whole days of shore leave. He planned on doing nothing during the next few days that could be considered captainly. He was going to tour the local museums and archaeological digs, find a few friendly poker games, and rent a fine thoroughbred on a planet that was known for breeding great race horses. Though his plans could be altered if a beautiful lady or two crossed his path.

And then he saw her. She was standing in the doorway to the bar, looking a bit confused.

Even as he placed down his goblet, he saw the predators eyeing her as she took a tentative step into the bar.

She was breathtakingly beautiful. Amazingly beautiful. Erotically beautiful.

She knew that she looked good in her shimmering ruby silk sheath. The dress was tight in all the right places, and alluring with a thigh high split on both sides that revealed glimpses of her dancer's legs encased in copper silk stockings. She was also wearing brand new, ridiculously high ruby sequined heels.

Beverly had donned her finest party dress to meet her fiancé and to be introduced to his friends for the very first time. As a woman who had spent most of her medical school years worrying about everything but the way that she looked, she found the fact that she had spent almost two hours preparing for tonight's date most astonishing.

She hoped she looked as good as she felt.

Evidently she did, because the lewd offers started the moment she walked towards the bar. The local wolves were circling. Some males just propositioned her. Some were more insistent offering everything from the local favorite illegal drugs to a few surprisingly high credit offers.

And when she moved, Jean-Luc's eyes widened as he realized that the back of her dress was missing, exposing creamy skin with a tantalizing hint of all else that might be uncovered by a persistent, fortunate lover.

And the captain of the Stargazer immediately decided to alter his shore leave plans.

Her long titian hair was flipping about her shoulders as she kept glancing around, looking for a face - now, any familiar face as she noted how she intently she was being ogled by a variety of predatory males.

She saw citizens of many worlds. But there wasn't a Starfleet uniform in sight. She glanced at the dancers on the elevated clear aluminum stages, noticing that some of the male and female performers actually appeared to have some sort of dancer's training. They were bedecked in glowing gems, electric beads, singing feathers, and tired, come-hither-for-a-price smiles. Nothing more.

But as for Jack, he wasn't watching them. In fact, he wasn't anywhere in sight.

She kept looking around the crowded, smoky main room. The bawdy atmosphere of this place blended in with the decadent all the vices for the right prices atmosphere of this planet; a world with its well-known reputation as a place to hold a shore leave, where few, if any restraints were known and laws actively enforced. Gambling, racing, drugging, fornicating, and food. All were readily available.

She still couldn't see any Starfleet personnel in this area at all.

Beverly mentally girded herself for the gauntlet, as she pulled her ruby and rust patterned silk stole higher up about her bare shoulders, trying to cover up her décolletage. She was displaying more cleavage than what she normally would have revealed. She stopped walking, suddenly wary about trying to sit at the bar. Her eyes had adjusted to the lower lighting, and she was now noticing a stairway that led to an upper floor that no doubt had all sorts of rooms available. By the hour.

A scaly hand snaked about her waist, twisting her face to face with a Cardassian gul.

"Name your price," the gul commanded, even as she stiffened against this unwanted embrace.

Suddenly another hand grabbed her arm, pulling her out of Cardassian arms.

"Darling…," a calm voice proclaimed. It was a voice full of authority. And steely warning. "I am sorry that I was late."

She didn't recognize the voice. Or the balding man who was now possessing her left arm pulling her against his torso. She didn't particularly wish to be rescued by a white knight even if he did have a well-toned, sinewy body. She could deal with the Cardassian by herself. But before she could pull herself together to voice a protest, he swirled her onto the dance floor. She didn't recognize the music but her dance partner started guiding her as if it were a samba. After a few beats, her steps started matching his. Then he pulled her close - a lot closer. Their thighs brushed.

She stared into his eyes, her gaze full of questions. And it also held a touch of relief that she didn't have deal with a difficult Cardassian.

He gave her his answer, staring into her eyes as well. For a long moment he found himself lost in the mystery of her even as he wondered exactly what it was that he had just discovered.

The Beverly Howard that had been the recipient of such looks in the past should have been insulted. But somehow, instinctively, she knew that his look was different. She was responding to it differently. He desired her. She felt it viscerally.

Feelings that she refused to correctly identify coursed through her veins.

He leaned into her, as his fingers stroked down her lower spine to rest at the small of her back, reveling in the scented warmth of her skin.

Wherever he touched, her skin felt on fire. No man - not even Jack - had ignited such a blaze before.

What the devil was he doing to her? Was she drugged somehow?

He let the rush of erotic intoxication flood over him as the pads of his fingers explored exposed silken delights. He sighed with pleasure. She was bewitching him. He felt rather than heard her reciprocating sigh. They danced for a while, instinctually moving together as one.

"Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?"

She gulped. She would have never taken a bet that anyone in this bar even knew who Shakespeare was much less could quote the Bard. She forced her lips to move even as she pulled away a bit from the heat of his body; from his already growing possessiveness

"As You Like It?"

He abruptly stopped moving for a moment, rather surprised that she had recognized the quote. "Educated, too…," he murmured against her right earlobe. And then he nipped it.

She couldn't control her shuddering at this touch. And then he did it again. And she felt a need growing within her. She only knew that she longed for something more. Way beyond more. His light touch was hinting about something outside of what she had ever experienced. It convinced her of one thing.

She wanted him.

He broke the contact between their bodies. She murmured in protest. And then he put a few centimeters of space between them.

"The Cardassian," he warned, "he's arguing with the Nausicaans."

Beverly turned her head to look at the group by the bar. The Cardassian stared at her as if she'd just accepted his last offer.

"Merde…" He stiffened, and tried to guide her towards the edge of the glowing dance floor. They didn't make it.

The Cardassian stopped them, followed by three angry Nausicaans. "You. I your have credits. We mate!"

Beverly instinctually moved closer to her Sir Gallahad.

"The lady is not for hire."

The Cardassian ignored the man and grabbed her upper arm.

Her Starfleet defense training came into play. She move a step closer to the Gul and then she flipped him. The Cardassian landed against the Nausicaan, spilling the Nausicaan's drink all over him. Unfortunately, for the Cardassian, all of the other Nausicaans started to laugh.

The Cardassian groggily stood up, punching immediately at the closest body to him.

Picard took advantage of his off-balance movements and shoved the Cardassian into the crowd. Then Picard grabbed the lady's arm and dragged her out the patio doors into the darkness.

And so the brawl began.

Jean-Luc pulled her into the shadows even as he warily watched the mêlée in the bar. So far, it had not spilled out into the patio and gardens.

"We'd better get out of here," she suggested.

He stiffened, and then really looked at the woman he was still holding in his arms.

"You attacked a Cardassian. And a Nausicaan. Are you utterly mad?"

"What else was I supposed to do? The patQ! grabbed me!"

"Have you no sense, woman?"

Jean-Luc shouldn't have said that. For her response was to swiftly kiss him. "No," she announced before she kissed him again. "I've no sense at all, tonight." And her ploy worked. Her kiss did shut him up.

The erotic conquering of his senses that followed the yearning touch of her soft lips to his, stunned him. Seconds later he was on his back in a flower bed, crushing fragrant blossoms as she kept on kissing him even as she now was pressing herself against him - on top of him.

She braced her palms against his chest. And raised herself up by her forearms to look squarely down at him. All she could see was his face in the dappled lighting. And then the clouds cleared for a moment. She was lost in his gaze.

"No. I don't believe that I have any sense at all. tonight," she succinctly repeated. "Otherwise I wouldn't be kissing you at all. Again." Her long hair brushed against his chest and then his neck as she lowered her head again. This time, he dominated. Searching hands stroked through silken hair, pulling her head even closer. And when she lifted her head again, he froze. For he realized who she was and what she was to him now. She was the most impossibly beautifully, incredibly reckless redhead that he'd ever had the misfortune to meet.

He felt himself falling in love with her.

She tried to sit up. "I still shouldn't be kissing you," she warned.

He wouldn't let her rise. He stared at her in wonderment, simply accepting the rush of what he was feeling. Doubts, questions, problems - he'd deal with all of that later on. Right now, he was just beginning to recognize that he was the potential recipient of a precious gift that had eluded him most of his life - love. Now, with this flame-haired beauty, there was the possibility that his heart had finally found its home.

He heard something. Analyzed it. And acted. Suddenly he moved. Swiftly he stood, pulling her back into his arms.

"The brawling - it's getting closer. Let's move somewhere safe. More private."

Even as she pulled herself together enough to actually listen to the noise from the bar which was now encroaching upon the large patio, he led her away from the commotion through pathways lined with tall tropical trees and shrubbery.

There was a loud crack. "Damn!" She stumbled. "Broke my heel!"

He didn't commiserate, or comment. Instead, he threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and started moving at a much faster pace.

She would have protested, but she heard just how close the sound of drunken, angry voices were coming to them.

He darted through the shadows, brushing by the hedging. A few sudden turns, and she unexpectedly found herself plopped on to a chaise lounge in the middle of a small gated patio, hidden behind a variety of tropical foliage.

"Where are we?"

"My suite," he whispered as he walked over to the intricate wrought metal gate, locking it. And then he waited to see if anyone approached. After a few minutes, and with the sound of the revelry staying in the vicinity of the Blue Parrot, he breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed.

He returned to her arms. She kissed him again. And again.

And then he was kissing her, with a deep thirst. And she was kissing him back with an equal fervor.

At some point - she never quite knew when or what really triggered it - their kisses went beyond mere carnality and turned into some unnamed ravening hunger that threatened to consume all that she was and all that she ever would be.

His fingers searched. Her fingers stroked. They were intimately touching each other. His lips worshipped her breasts. Her fingers stroked his manhood through the soft fabric of his slacks. For a while, the mindless staggering pleasure was shocking enough. Then, incredibly, a little bit of sanity intruded. She stilled her touch. And tried to breathe.

After a while, he noticed that she had stopped ravishing him. Raising his head to look only at her, noting everything about her even in his alcoholic, mildly befuddled state, he moved a slight bit away from her, though she was still within the strong embrace of his arms.

"What is it, mon coeur?" His voice was calm, quietly soothing.

"Please. Let me go." She hated the fact that her voice sounded weak, but it was the best defense against him that she could muster.

For a while, he couldn't.

"Are you sure?"

Her arms were still entwined about his neck. She nodded into his chest, not having the strength of will to look at him, praying that he would let her go. Or was she praying that he would never let her go?

His fingers lingered a moment as they slid over the soft flesh of her bosom. And then he released her, rose, adjusted his clothing for some semblance of decency, and then walked away from her to stand by the door to his suite.

He could still hear the sounds of the brawl. "I cannot let you go back out there. I've done battle with Nausicaans and Cardassians before. Unless the shore leave patrol has improved greatly on this planet, it will be a while before the local constabulary attempt to stop this mêlée." He spoke casually, as if moments before they had not been locked in a blazing embrace of stunning passion. He turned and coolly gazed at her. Yet, his look held something else - indefinable as if he were memorizing every iota of her being. And then, in the low lighting from the Tiki-type torches, he noted the condition of her clothing. His questing hands had done some of the damage. And there were rips from where the Cardassian had grabbed her.

"Your dress…"

Beverly looked down at her lap. And realized that the split of her sheath was much, much higher than it had been from when she'd first donned the dress. And her would be lover had probably caused it. Her skin still tingled from the stroking of his hand across her upper thighs. She noted other problems with her attire. She stood, trying to rearrange her clothing into something she could wear beyond this patio. She wasn't having much success.

The sound of a Starfleet communicator cheeping broke their silence. She looked about for the source. It wasn't from her badge.

He was the one that pulled a communicator out of his pocket.

"Captain?"

"Vigo?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Stand by." Speaking softly, as if what he was saying meant nothing, he asked, "I can arrange to have you beamed safely away from here." His eyes were asking her to stay. But his lips bespoke his duty. "Where?"

Flushing, she thought about both of his offers. She was so tempted by his unasked one, longing to walk into his hotel room dragging him along with her. But she just couldn't.

"Starfleet quarters, East Epsilon-37."

"You're an officer?" He didn't mean to seem incredulous or judgmental, but that was the way it sounded.

Her eyes narrowed. Her voice hardened. "Yes.' She stared at him, as if daring him to say something more.

"And you are?" Again, his voice made his question sound as if it he were questioning the veracity of her statement.

"A doctor." When he didn't comment, she added, "I am a senior intern at Starfleet medical academy, Earth. I'm on leave."

"I would assume so."

Not by a twitch did he reveal his dismay over her explanative words as his mind went into overdrive as he began to deduce her identity.

His communicator beeped again. "Captain?"

"Vigo. Beam the lady standing by me to her quarters." He gave Vigo the directions.

Stunned that he was dismissing her so swiftly, even if only because she wished to demonstrate some righteous indignation over his outlandish treatment of her, she ended up looking at him, her eyes pleading for something indefinable, filled with bewilderment.

"We will meet again," he stiffly informed her as the transporter beam took hold.

When she was gone, he sat back down on the chaise lounge, and thought for a while. Shaking his head, trying to focus his thoughts into sober ones, he considered what he was going to do.

She was a redhead.

She was a doctor.

She was a senior intern at Starfleet Medical.

He didn't have to be a great detective in order to deduce that this lady was his best friend's girlfriend. Jack Crusher had been talking about the incomparable Beverly Howard for months. Incessantly. And Jean-Luc Picard could now understand why. Jack had described all the details about the new woman in his life.

Picard noticed the discarded flimsy silk shawl on the flat stones of the patio by the lounge. He picked it up. He wasn't sure if he should return it to the lady. Sometimes it was best not to be reminded of certain indiscretions.

Sitting there a while longer, idly noting that the sounds of the distant brawl were decreasing, he convinced himself that his conduct had been guided by the potency of the wine he'd consumed over the evening. Surely, when he met her again, she would become nothing more than just a mere woman, interchangeable with most of the other women in his life.

But he could still smell the heady seduction of her floral perfume lingering in the night air. And on the shawl he still held in his hands…