Chapter 14 #2
Kenz’ox and Aker’iz return from their expedition, and Kenz’ox hangs the wet leather sheets on bushes. “Big waves in the ocean today.”
“More windy,” I agree. The usual ocean breeze sometimes strengthens to gusts that make the treetops rustle and bend.
Aker’iz whines and fusses, so he lifts her and gently rocks her. Within ten seconds she’s asleep, and he puts her in her frontpack and leans it on the usual rock.
“Rebuilding the hut?” Kenz’ox asks.
“Not exactly.” I tighten one last knot. “This is going to be Aker’iz’s chief hut.”
He blinks. “A hut all to herself?”
“Yes. It’s a place to keep her safe while we work. Also, she can’t crawl into the fire or eat dirt or scare poor Otis. All chiefs should have one.”
The little irox-voiced tyrant in the frontpack snorts in her sleep, as if offended.
Kenz’ox walks around the structure, inspecting it like it’s a suspiciously cheerful beast. “Ah. Yes. I know a chief and a shaman who should be put in something like this. It’s called a playpen. It is low.”
The wall of the playpen is now up to just above my hips, and I start to finish it up. “She can only crawl.”
“She may learn to climb.” He grabs a piece of vine and weaves it into the wall.
“Then we build a roof,” I counter. “We’ll build a roof anyway because of rain. Also, we’ll build a floor.”
He gives me an amused look. “You seem to enjoy building.”
“Only when I build with you,” I say before my brain can stop my mouth. Heat rises to my cheeks. “I mean, only on Xren. You know. Because everything here is dangerous. Not to enjoy. Except building.”
He leans one shoulder against a pole, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and I hate how good he looks doing it. “Mm,” he rumbles. “Very dangerous.”
The way he says it makes my stomach drop a little, but in a pleasant way. I suddenly find myself over-focusing on a vine knot that’s perfectly fine.
“All right,” I say a little too briskly, carefully swinging one leg into the playpen so I can step into it. “We need strength for the poles. If she tries to pull on the vines, the whole thing will—” I move my hands in a wobbling motion.
“I will help,” Kenz’ox offers, easily stepping over the wall.
“No, no, it’s small. You’ll—”
He tries anyway, and immediately elbows one pole, sending the whole structure shuddering. I yelp and brace one side.
“Careful! It’s not strong now because it’s not a hut. It’s a playpen.”
“You said to reinforce it. I am testing its strength.”
“I didn’t say hit it with your shoulders! You’re not fighting a… a bobont!” I’m unreasonably happy to be able to make a lame joke in an alien language.
He has this smirky smile that partly annoys me and partly stirs up heat in my stomach. “My shoulders are not so big.”
I snort. “They are very big, and even the bobont would say those shoulders are too big for the jungle.”
He straightens a pole with one enormous hand. “You do not like them?”
“I didn’t say that,” I mutter far too quickly.
“Maybe you really like them and you’re jealous because your own shoulders are so small.”
I throw a handful of vine scraps at his chest. They bounce off harmlessly. “Mine are perfect.”
His gaze lowers to my chest. “They really are.”
“You’re in my way,” I retort, to distract myself from the tingles shooting down my front. “When Aker’iz sleeps, I am the building chief. Hold this.”
I hand him a bundle of vines, and he takes them, his fingers stroking along mine and lingering for just a tiny moment.
Oh my. His presence is powerful enough. But his touch says even more than his gaze.
I pull myself together and start weaving the next row. “Okay, pass me the thinner ones—”
He hands me one that is clearly too thick and short, little more than a stick.
“No, the thin ones.”
He hands me a thicker one, again letting his fingers stroke along mine in a way so suggestive that my breath catches in my throat.
“No—”
Another one, still thicker.
I look up and glare at him in mock outrage. “I wake the chief if you’re not nice.”
He looks completely innocent. “Me?”
“I’m using the wrong word? Thin. Not thick.”
He gives me a mischievous smile. “It’s the right word. Indeed, your speech has gotten much better in just a couple of days.”
“Then why you give wrong?”
He leans down, voice low. “Because I like it when you look at me like that.”
My heart skips. “Like what?”
“Like you are about to bite.” He lifts one big hand and strokes a strand of hair out of my face.
I inhale sharply. He freezes, as if startled by his own boldness, as if he’s about to take it back. Neither of us moves. The clearing is quiet except for the distant ocean and the quick breathing from the baby.
He bends down and places a light kiss on my lips. “But you don’t bite. And that’s what I like the most.”
“I could,” I threaten him, while heat rises all through me. Damn, if Aker’iz wasn’t sleeping right there…
“I know.”
We lock eyes for a moment. His are incredibly clear and intensely, luminously blue. I can’t look away until a movement makes my eyes flick down to his loincloth. Yes, definitely movement there.
“If only the chief weren’t so strict,” Kenz’ox says as he hands me another vine. “Here. This is thin. Not thick.”
I snatch the vine out of his hand with fake anger. “That’s better.”
He blows on his fingertips as if they were singed. “You’re an even stricter building chief than Aker’iz.”
“You think this is strict? Just wait.” I place the vine in the wall and grab another.
When I finish the weaving, I step back. “That’s done. Now we test.” I pat the rim. “Try leaning your weight on it. Carefully.”
He gives me another one of those smirks. “You know I can be careful.”
My cheeks go warm. “Well, yes. But this is another kind of careful.”
“Let’s see.” He braces a hand on the playpen’s edge and presses down. The structure creaks, but it holds.
“Hah!” I exclaim. “See? I know what I’m doing. Almost the best building chief on Xren. Only Aker’iz is better.”
“Hmm. I find you’re equally good. After all, she keeps sleeping while we build. She knows how to be the perfect chief.”
I grab the wicker-like wall and shake it. It feels pretty firm. “Toys R Us would be proud.”
He tilts his head. “What?”
“Nothing. Alien talk.”
He lifts Aker’iz gently from the frontpack and places her in the playpen. She blinks awake, looks around at her new domain, and immediately reaches out to grab a piece of vine that sticks out a quarter inch.
“I knew it,” I groan.
Kenz’ox sighs. “She wants to touch everything.”
“Every baby does. But at least we’re safe now.” I grin up at him. “Safe from the little chief.”
Aker’iz crawls around in the playpen, exploring the grass and the dirt.
“And she’s safe from the jungle,” Kenz’ox ponders as he reaches in to grab her. She kicks and protests, so he lets go again. “You’re getting very dirty in there, Aker’iz. And we just cleaned you in the ocean—oh, all right. Stay in there for now.”
“It needs a floor,” I point out. “And a roof. I will let you make that. I’ll make the floor.”
I walk over to the little stack of stiff dinosaur skins. Sprisk made a whole lot of them from that raptor, and I won’t need much to make the boots. So I pick one sheet and bring it over to the playpen. “Can you step out, Chief Aker’iz? I have your floor.”
Kenz’ox lifts her out, and I place the sheet of thick, stiff alien velociraptor skin on the ground in the pen. It doesn’t cover the whole floor, but when I load it down with rocks, it will be a decent enough surface for the baby to crawl on without getting dirty.
“There,” I state, climbing out. “All done.”
He reaches over to help me out and puts his hand on my lower back.
I stiffen for a moment. It’s not that the intimate touch feels bad. It’s that it feels too good.
Kenz’ox puts Aker’iz in, and I give her a piece of wood and a cut-off from my boot project. I’ll make better toys for her later.
Maybe. Because this is really starting to resemble that domestic bliss thing I don’t want. I don’t belong with these two.
I glance at the saucer. “I will go inside for a while.”
Kenz’ox looks me up and down, his gaze now unashamedly invasive. The tingles it sets off almost make me change my mind. “Don’t stay too long. We like it when you’re out here with us.”
And I like it too. A little too much. “Do you happen to have a house by Lake Como? And is that loincloth Armani, by any chance?” I ask in English.
He nods slowly. “Those are nice sounds.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I tell him. “Never mind. Strange alien talk only.”
He tilts his head to the side. “I like it when you’re being strange.”
I think he means it. If so, he’s hit the jackpot with me. Feels like I’m rarely anything but strange.
I step out of playing house and into the saucer.