The satin of her blouse falling open just enough for a glimpse of lace-covered breast, the sight sending a cascade of feelings straight through him. ‘Bill,’ he told himself, ‘she is here as a friend, as a…’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Hell, who am I kidding? I want her. I want her bad. Just as bad as when we first met.’ The admission to himself was liberating and he felt himself now allowing the feelings to course through him. His body was waking up quickly and he shifted his hips. He looked back at her and found her eyes now staring up at him. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘I was wondering what you were thinking.’ He swallowed. They had always been honest with each other. ‘I was thinking — about you. Being here.’ Her eyes became coy as she asked innocently, ‘And what about me, being here?’ He could not stop the words. ‘I was thinking about you. Wanting you. Wanting you bad. Wanting to rock your world, now, tonight.’ There. It was out. She felt herself get lightheaded as she considered her. The décor had that slightly tacky look to it that suggested the designer had more money than sense. In these days of replicators that was unlikely to be literally true, but she suspected it was the sort of impression that Ferengi liked to give off… especially if it wasn’t the case. Brushing aside a small gaggle of Ferengi merchants who had gathered outside the transporter room to sell her goodness knew what (they had to be the ones at the bottom of the pecking order, surely?) Sumati headed down a short corridor and onto what appeared to be the station’s main concourse. It was a hive of activity, full of gaudily decorated stalls and concession booths, holographic adverts flashing in the air, open cafes and bars competing for space with the salesmen. And there were salesmen everywhere. At a guess, less than half of them were actually Ferengi, with races from across the quadrant here to try and sell something. That was before you counted the visitors, the people here to buy, or perhaps.
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