Stormy Weathers wasn't mad. She was furious, and her ferocity manifested itself in this day's early morning workout. Sam, her personal trainer, rushed at her, crouching low and preparing to hit her with what she knew would be his usual body slam. More often than not, the slam knocked her to the floor. It didn't today. Inner fury slashed at her natural fairness and desire not to hurt her opponent. She dodged Sam's movement and viciously chopped the back of his neck hard enough to knock him down. With her right foot, she kicked his ribs and he rolled over on his back. She jumped on him, raised her right fist and was seconds away from pounding him faceless, when Sam hollered.

"Stormy, I'm not the enemy!"

His words penetrated through her searing mad desire to literally clobber hell out of anybody and anything within eyesight. She stood up, shook her head, looked at Sam, and realized he wasn't Lance, the reason for her ... for her what? Hell fire, god-damn-it, for the white-hot burning anger inside her that had caused her erratic behavior bordering on temporary insanity! That's what! Lance was the reason for her irrationality! Damn him all to hell! He was always the reason! And may he develop a pox on his miserable, sensuously wonderful feeling hide!

She removed herself from Sam and helped him up from the workout mat. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled.

Stormy watched Sam as he grabbed an already sweat dampened cloth and wiped his face. "Lance as always, I suppose."

She nodded.

"Come home with me, Stormy. I need you, and I would like to think that you needed me."

Stormy liked and respected Sam, but that was all her feelings toward him would ever be. He was two hundred pounds of muscle, incredibly handsome, with black curly hair cascading to his shoulders that matched his eye color. He was thirty-five and still grieving over losing his wife in the mysterious Centauri One Starship crash that killed all onboard. Starship liners were failsafe in design, yet according to the crash investigators, Centauri One had gone full planet speed into the Ceres asteroid when jumping down from star travel speed. The crash incinerated twenty thousand passengers and crewmembers and was still being analyzed by experts.

Stormy's Lance was one of the experts. His theory was that Centauri One was first raided by space pirates, looted, then deliberately rocketed into Ceres. Of course nobody believed him. Or rather they didn't want to believe him. Space piracy was always occurring and a constant terror to the spaceships that traveled the spaceways.

Besides respecting and liking Sam, Stormy felt deep sorrow for him. Her gaze wandered the length of his sensuously muscular body until stopping at his midriff. A slight bulge indicated his ampleness and certainly without a doubt his sexual ability. She knew it would be very easy for her to succumb to Sam, go to bed with him for a quick super one night stand that might last for more than one night. It would serve Lance right. So, why shouldn't she? Why not? Well, because she was hopelessly in love with Lance, that was why not.

Sam broke the silence between them.

"Lance is one lucky bastard who certainly doesn't deserve you. I owe you an apology for admitting my feelings toward you, Stormy. I'm very close to falling in love with you, and I know I shouldn't allow myself to do so. It's just that I'm so lonely. I feel empty inside and lifeless. I want my wife, only my wife. The feelings I have for you make me feel guilty, like I'm committing adultery. It's best that we end your training with me, before my feelings for you become uncontrollable. You know everything I know about hand-to-hand combat, fencing, and all forms of hand weapons. And I actually believe you have acquired techniques I never taught you. Anyway, Stormy, it's goodbye, and good luck to you."

Stormy had been home and resting comfortably for several hours before she began hearing the talking in her head.

From out of the star-lighted spaceways black with night;