“Energy metabolism appears adequate…” A pregnant pause. “But you made a little mistake, honey.”

“And what was that?”

“When you tinkled this morning, I got a urine sample-“

Jillian grimaced, and whispered to Sean: “Remind me to disconnect the toilet monitor.”

“Hah!”

“-and it looks to me like you snuck in a little snack since yesterday.”

“Me? Me? How could you say such a thing?”

“Sugar,” Bev said reprovingly. “Based on alkaloid content and protein chromatography, the contraband was most likely a hot fudge sundae.”

“Guilty as charged. Bravo, Beverly.”

“Jillian, dear child, your nutritional profile is solid enough to survive an occasional dalliance, but don’t expect me to applaud.”

Jillian toweled off as she left the shower, and watched as a holographic scan of her body appeared in the air before her. Pools of colorcoded glitter swirled in the image, displaying circulation and muscle tension.

She lay stomach-down on her bed, eyes on the shimmering image. Sean knelt beside her.

His fingers were magical, easing knots of tension from places so tight they hadn’t had room to scream. She rolled over, and her towel fell away.

At the age of twenty-three, Jillian Shomer still seemed to have baby fat along her jaw, unless she bit down hard to reveal the muscle protecting her neck. Her face, framed by short blonde hair, was too strongly angular to be sheerly decorative, softened only by eyes which were oak-brown with flecks of emerald. She might have been considered plain, except when smiling or talking. In much the same way, her body was too solidly muscled, her subcutaneous fat pared too finely for any classically feminine image. But when she was in motion..

Ah, that was quite a different thing. In motion, Jillian was liquid light, a symphony of power and grace, and ordinary standards simply didn’t apply.