Joe watched appreciatively as the diminutive security specialist entered his cabin, moving with the slightly bouncy gait that seemed favored in one-third gravity. Which, in the case of Madeline Fathom, he also found fascinating. As religiously as she exercised, her figure was on a par with her smile.
Once she was in, he closed the door. "I look at it this way. If we were in the Renaissance working for the Borgias, I'd be a poisoner rather than a swordsman. Safer—and I'd know what I was doing."
Madeline's smile came again. "That's for sure! Even here, forget the Renaissance—since you're the man who's in charge of seeing to it we can eat real food."
Food. Joe had always been a gourmet, but he'd never once in his life imagined that his interest and skill with food would lead to . . .
This. Whatever "this" turned out to be.
To Joe's considerable surprise, once the voyage started he'd found himself the focus of attention of several of Nike's unattached female personnel. At first, he'd been most interested in Diane, who was intelligent, skilled at her job, had a decent sense of humor—and was certainly good-looking.
Alas, Joe had one admitted obsession. The redheaded information expert had run afoul of it when she had put ketchup— ketchup!—on the sesame-marinated filet mignon which had been the dinner he'd selected for their second date. He hadn't said anything about it, of course, since he wasn't rude and it was her meal to eat as she chose. But from that moment forward, he'd lost any real interest in the woman.
Okay, sure, he was a snob about food. But he figured everyone had their own area they were screwy about. Might as well ask Queen Victoria to get the hots for a caveman.
Madeline, on the other hand . . .
She'd approached him after her shift's dinnertime, three weeks into the voyage, and asked him about the recipe for the chicken tikka masala. Initially, he'd taken it for nothing more than Fathom's invariant politeness. Despite the fact that her position in charge of security put her in potential conflict with almost everyone else on the crew, Madeline had actually become one of the Nike's most popular people. Whether from her own temperament, or her training, or professional calculation—probably all three combined, Joe suspected— Madeline was just plain nice to people.
But it wasn't long before Joe realized that here was a woman who knew a great deal about cooking, and found the subject of real interest. A simple request for the recipe had become a conversation about cooking methods and preferences that caused him to be a half-hour late for his own shift.
By the time another month had gone by in Nike's voyage, that initial conversation had turned into a regular series of such—and ones which ranged far afield from cooking. Joe had always thought that Madeline Fathom was very good-looking, of course. Just about everyone did. But as the weeks passed, he found himself increasingly attracted to the woman's personality.
True enough, the phrase charming security official still struck him as an oxymoron. But . . . Madeline Fathom was no longer an abstraction. Whatever reservations he had about her occupation, by now he was pretty well bowled over by the woman.
Tonight, as had become their daily habit, she'd accompanied him back to his cabin after dinner. Madeline's own cabin was not much farther along the ring. Finally, after several weeks of that ritual, Joe had worked up the nerve to invite her in.
"So what's playing at Cinema Joe?" Madeline asked, her hands on her hips as she surveyed the cabin.
"Entertainments old and new. What's your pleasure?"
"Movies suit me fine."
"Not into the fancy gaming?"
Madeline shook her head. "That's definitely A.J.'s territory, not mine." She hesitated fractionally. "I prefer to let someone else do the entertaining."
"Genre? Time frame?"
"Well . . . " The unexpected blush looked especially pretty. "I'm afraid I'm going to disappoint you."
"Unless you're about to profess a love for McDonald's cuisine, that would be impossible."
"Almost as bad. I like superhero movies, or anything where the good guys kick lots of butt and the bad guys are really bad." Madeline looked genuinely embarrassed.
Joe couldn't keep from laughing. "You're kidding! Usually that's the kind of thing the guys are supposed to like and the girl rolls her eyes at."
"Stop laughing!"
"Hey, I'm not. I may be a snob about food, but I'm no literary giant."
He flicked through his memory. "How about Nemesis Factor?" he suggested. It was one of his recent favorites, combining spy thriller with a super-martial-artist vigilante heroine.