This is a humorous excerpt from my romantic sci-fi mystery, The RedStorm. This is also the novel that prompted my current agent to sign meas a client.
Jordanne is the admiral of the ship, which is dubbed The Red Storm. Wesley is the hired Delph hunter. (Delphs are nasty ocean creatures that prey on ships that sail the seas of Sister Earth.) Roman Dublin is the presidential aide who is aboard the ship on his way across sea to a meeting of countries.
Also shinger is an alcoholic drink, and Jordanne is wearing what is called a shimmer robe. These are transluscent garments that adjust to one's body temperature and mood. Think of a robe that acts like a mood ring.
The last glass of shinger sent a nice warm sensation throughout her
body. She managed to climb down the four steps from the galley to the
hall that lead through the ship's quarters level without mishap. Upon
trying to walk down the narrow corridor, Jordanne realized just how
inebriated she'd become. Laughter from the presidential suites drifted
out into the hall. She stumbled past the doors to each, bracing herself
against one wall, and paused in an attempt to focus on the floor that
kept wobbling beneath her feet.
Oh, Sister Hell! I better reach my cabin before someone sees me. She
stared down the corridor that kept lengthening despite her efforts to
squint at it and hold it still. Uh... which door's mine?
Clutching the shinger bottle and holding her robe closed—what
happened to my sash?—she leaned against the wall and shuffled
forward until she reached the next door. She stared at the number on it,
which mocked her. Number? My cabin door has…what does my door have
on it? She tried to keep her robe front shut and staggered to the right
to avoid falling against the door to the last presidential suite. She
reached out to steady herself—on a silver suit. Confused, Jordanne
stared at a pair of wide shoulders.
"Are you all right, Admiral?"
Slowly, her gaze moved from the shoulders up to Roman Dublin's smiling
"Sister Hell," she slurred.
Laughter rumbled out of his chest. "You're drunk."
She shook her head. "No, I'm f…fine. I just wan go to sheep."
"Sheep, eh?" More laughter erupted from him. "Come on, Admiral. I'll
escort you down the hall and see you safely to your quarters."
Her hand shot out to push him away, but she missed. Her balance
abandoned her and she fell forward. Before she landed facedown on the
floor, a strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her upright
again. She leaned against Roman's hard, warm body, powerless to make her
arms and legs function properly.
"Put one foot in front of the other, Admiral." Laughter lurked in
Roman's voice. "I'll guide you to your quarters."
"I know how to fart!" She frowned at the swaying corridor. "Uh…I
mean, I know how far…far it is to my cabin. Are we in rough waters?
The corri…corrig…the hall is moving."
Laughing harder, Roman grasped her firmly by the arm and propelled her
slowly down the hall in front of him. "Just start walking so I can get
you in your cabin before—"
"Shit!" Jordanne cried a mere second before her face kissed the floor.
Roman fell on top of her—hard.
The air whooshed out of her body. "Oomph!" She turned her head and saw a
pair of boots a few inches from the end of her nose.
"Get off of her!"
Hearing Wesley's voice, Jordanne struggled to roll over, but Roman's
weight pinned her down.
"I said to get off of her," Wesley snarled again.
Behind her, a grunt followed and the heaviness on her
backside shifted. "I'm trying, but her damn robe is tangled around our
"Wesley?" said Jordanne.
Next to her ear, Wesley answered, "Yes, Admiral. Just lie still for a
Finally, Roman managed to stand up. She breathed a sigh of relief to
have his weight off of her, and with Wesley's help, stood up. She
looked down and a gasp flew from her lips. "My robe!"
Wesley scooped it up and swept it around her shoulders. Quickly, the
garment turned bright pink and solidified to hide her nakedness. "I'll
take it from here," he said to Roman.
"Now, wait just a minute!" Indignation filled Roman's voice.
"Not one word to anyone about this," said Wesley. Even in her shinger
haze, Jordanne heard the dark warning in his voice. "If you mention this
to anyone, I'll feed you to the Delphs."
She blinked up at Wesley, her gaze moving to Roman's angry face. The two
men faced off, each trying to stare the other one down.
"Th—that's enough," she slurred. "I can smell the
"Testosterone?" Wesley supplied.
She lifted her arm and sniffed. "No, sorry. That's me." Giggles poured
out of her and she slumped against Wesley for support.
Finally, Roman smiled and shook his head. "Go on and make sure she gets
to her cabin safely."
Wesley lifted her off her feet and walked sideways down the corridor
with her in his arms. "All right, Jordanne," he said into her ear. "Grab
"In this position, I can't…can't reach that part of your body."
He chuckled and set her on her feet. Fumbling, she finally managed to
grasp the knob. It read her palm print, and popped the door open.
Inside, Wesley put her in bed.
"Why don't you join me?" she asked.
"As tempting as that offer is," he replied with a wry grin and drew the
cover up over her body, "I want you to remember it tomorrow."
"I know what's going on." She sighed in disappointment. "I just can't
control my mouf…mouth, or my body."
"We'll see how you feel in the morning and go from there," Wesley said
and kissed her on the forehead.
She closed her eyes.
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