Chapter 43

“So this is where you hide, “ Zarbon said with a low whistle, throwing his aura up into place as he sauntered into the room. He craned his neck around, examining the tile-lined walls and casting an admiring glance at the central controls.

“Shut up and leave,” Vegeta snapped at him, sending rapid punches into the air. “That or throw down your aura and see how weak you are.”

Zarbon powered down just enough to feel the tremendous tug of gravity. He cocked his head to the side, thinking how he should be focusing on his own training. “Maybe I’ll get stronger. Then I’ll have you beaten in both technique and brawn,” he mused to himself, fixing his glittering golden eyes on Vegeta’s battling figure. “You’ve filled out.”

“No thanks to you,” Vegeta snarled in return. “I assume you’re here for a reason. You never just hang around to be with me.”

Zarbon raised a fine green eyebrow. “What? Jealous?” he said sardonically, extremely surprised but unwilling to express it.

Vegeta’s scowl deepened but he still didn’t look at Zarbon, grunting slightly as he threw his mock punches. “Never. What business is it of mine that all you do is play with the Earthlings? The way you act you’d think that the Earth women were going out of style,” he spat bitterly.

Zarbon’s expression stayed composed, but inside he was feeling cold bolts of shock racing through him. He had no idea that Vegeta had felt just as isolated from him as he had felt from Vegeta. Thinking this, he felt his heart soften towards Bulma’s predicament even further. Despite whatever ties they had to females, he and Vegeta would always have the common bond of battle between them, and he realized that the time he and Vegeta had spent together thus far was worth far more to the Saiyan than he would admit. “Well, maybe you’ll understand that someday, Vegeta,” Zarbon said slowly, a wicked idea suddenly coming into his head. He waited silently for a few moments, deliberately letting the awkward atmosphere propagate itself in the large chamber. When he saw Vegeta’s eyebrow begin to twitch slightly with the burden of unasked questions he smiled slightly to himself and turned away from Vegeta with a mock sigh. “Say, Vegeta,” he said cautiously.

“What?” Vegeta snapped, throwing his punches even more vigorously and then bursting into a fit of tumbling and back flips.

“I was just wondering, since you’re obviously not interested in Bulma, can I have her?” he asked, his voice calm but his face sly.

He heard Vegeta miss a step and come crashing down to the tiles with a grunt. “What? Whatever for?” Vegeta asked suspiciously.

Zarbon sighed, composing his face and crossing his arms before turning around to look at Vegeta. “Well, it’s just that Bulma seems as hot-blooded as any other Earthling female, and I imagine she’s pretty good in bed, that’s all,” he said nonchalantly.

He watched in satisfaction as Vegeta’s cheeks stained red. “What? What do you mean?” he demanded angrily.

Zarbon lowered his eyelids a little. “Oh, come on, Vegeta, just look at her. She’s got the best set of breasts I’ve seen in the last forty years and that tiny little waist...and she’s got a perfect rear, all high and tight. She’s absolutely scrumptious. You’d have to be blind not to notice. She’s got those shapely, long legs, too. I bet she’s limber like no other. Why, I’d like to just bend her right over and...”

“What?” Vegeta shouted, now obviously enraged and embarrassed.

Zarbon blinked innocently. “Eh? Oh, Vegeta, surely you’ve noticed? And the way she smells...” he continued deliberately.

“I know how she smells!” Vegeta bellowed, raising a fist.

Gotcha, Zarbon thought and allowed himself a full-out grin. “I thought so,” Zarbon chuckled softly, watching with satisfaction as Vegeta paled and his features quickly hardened.

“Shut up,” Vegeta said, but his voice was more subdued than before.

“You want her, don’t you?” Zarbon prodded. “You thought you hated her but now those big, beautiful blue eyes are driving you crazy in a different sort of way. She’s got that pretty, silken hair, and you wonder if it’s the same color everywhere. Oh, come on, Vegeta. I’ve been there. I know all about what you’re thinking!”

“You have no idea what’s going on between her and me,” Vegeta snarled quietly, his hands curling into fists and hanging tensely at his sides.

Zarbon sighed and came closer, leaning against the console. “Then why don’t you enlighten me?” he asked smoothly.

Vegeta shot Zarbon a murderous look, which Zarbon would have found amusing if the Prince’s face hadn’t fallen, if only for a split second, into an expression of helpless despair. Instead he felt his heart breaking for the Saiyan, surprised at the uncharacteristic display of feeling. “She hates me, too. And even if I want her I still hate her,” Vegeta muttered.

“Well, okay. That’s the most honesty I’ve ever heard out of you. Good job. So what’s the problem?” he asked.

Vegeta looked at the floor, face seemingly carved from stone. “I don’t know how to make her want me,” he mumbled.

Zarbon scowled and moved his head backward, surprised. “What? Why, just put the moves on her. You know, kiss her on the neck, slide your hands up her back...just be careful, because these Earthlings are pretty fragile.”

“You would know,” Vegeta said with a snort, regaining some of his dignity. “You’ve slept with enough of them.”

Zarbon put a fist to his lips and cleared his throat. “Well, yes. Consider it field research for my Prince,” he replied dryly. “At any rate, why don’t you just seduce her?”

“Bulma doesn’t like violence,” Vegeta said sharply. “I thought I told you that once before!”

Zarbon blinked, honestly confounded. “Where on earth did you get this idea that sex is always about violence?” he asked pointedly. “You think just because Bulma doesn’t like violence that she doesn’t like sex? Well, let me tell you, boy, that the way she was rubbing against you at the party gives me a different opinion altogether.”

“You know nothing about what she wants,” Vegeta said coldly.

Zarbon shrugged. “That may be, but I know more than you do. Now do you want my advice or not?”

Vegeta narrowed his eyes and looked at Zarbon suspiciously. “I thought you considered her a waste of my time. Why are you urging me on all of a sudden? Won’t it take me away from my emperor’s duties?” he asked coolly.

Zarbon sighed. “I figure we’re only here for a couple more weeks. It’ll do you some good to lose your virginity, if she’s willing. Get it out of your system before we leave here forever, don’t you think?”

Vegeta didn’t answer his question. “Tell me how to win her, then,” he said quietly, fixing Zarbon with his intense gaze.

There was something different in those black depths, Zarbon decided with more than a little wariness. He couldn’t tell precisely what it was, but he didn’t think he liked it. He sighed. If he was going to help Vegeta get Bulma out of his system he had to give it his all. “Well, first of all she seems to like well-dressed men. You need to wear Earthling clothes. Bathe more often. Once you’ve done that I will arrange a formal date with her. In fact, why don’t you go tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Vegeta cried. “But...”

Zarbon fixed him with a level stare. “Do you want this or not?” he asked.

Vegeta narrowed his eyes again. “Very well, I will ponder your advice. Just keep in mind that if I should happen to take it I never want to hear a word spoken about it ever again as long as we both live.”

Zarbon uttered a sigh of relief. “Fabulous. I will see to it that you two have a proper lunch date tomorrow. I trust you remember your princely table manners?”

“Of course,” Vegeta snapped. “I’m far more elegant than a freakish green monster like you could ever be.”

Zarbon smiled. That was more like the Vegeta he knew. “Lovely. Now just make sure you eat lots before you go out. It wouldn’t do to eat the restaurant out of business on your first date. Just leave enough room for what you would consider a very light snack.”

“Very well,” Vegeta muttered, swinging his arms.

“Wonderful. I will be by later tonight to help you choose your attire,” Zarbon said with a little bow that was only half mocking.

“I will expect you,” Vegeta said formally, and returned to his training.

Bulma started as someone knocked on the door frame, nearly dropping her book as her head snapped up. Zarbon leaned against the door, obviously fresh from the shower, his long, damp hair streaming over his shoulders and clinging to his bare chest. His cool golden gaze fixed itself upon her, a small smile gracing his sculpted mouth but not spreading to the rest of his perfect face. “Wh-what do you want?” she snapped angrily, upset at both being interrupted and letting her startlement show. She didn’t want to be showing throat to him- it made her feel even more powerless against him.

Zarbon’s smile stayed frozen on his face, the expression as devoid of warmth as his eyes. “Just a word with you, Bulma,” he said smoothly. “I have a request. Will you grant it?”

She felt her bottom eyelid spasm in anxiety, her hands gripping her book more closely as she curled up on the couch. “What is it?” she demanded, straining her ears to hear if anyone else sounded like they were in shouting range, just in case he did anything.

Zarbon came into the room, giving the waistband of his shorts a little tug before sitting down on the couch next to her. He planted an elbow on his knee and supported his cheek with a hand, blinking at her with what she was sure was pure, cold calculation. “I was just wondering if perhaps you’d care to join Vegeta for lunch tomorrow,” he said.

Bulma was able to keep herself from blinking rapidly or otherwise showing her shock. “I see him every once in a while in the kitchen. Why should I make extra time just to eat with him in my own house?” she grumbled, scowling.

Zarbon shook his head, his earrings bobbing to and fro with the motion. “No, the two of you would be going out to one of the city’s finer eating establishments,” he said, his voice affecting just the tiniest note of boredom.

“Right, so I can watch him stuff his face like an animal and embarrass me in public?” she replied with a snort. “I wouldn’t be caught dead eating out with someone with manners like his.”

Zarbon raised an eyebrow, that cold little smile never leaving his face. “I think you’re being extremely unfair to Vegeta,” he said simply, as if her comment didn’t surprise him. “He was raised as a prince and has the manners of one, when he so chooses.”

“Well, he can just go choose to use them with someone else, because I won’t,” she growled, defiantly opening her book and shoving her nose into its pages.

Zarbon sighed. “Bulma, I don’t think you realize what a breach of his pride it is for him to ask me to do this. I mean, he was so nervous and...oops, I’ve said too much,” he said quickly, rising.

Bulma blushed, the book slowly falling from its rigid position. “What?” she asked softly, staring at Zarbon’s retreating back. She did not see the devilish grin twist his face as he heard her reaction.

When he turned around again his features were completely composed. “Vegeta requested that I ask you out on a formal lunch date. He’s tired of only dealing with business, I think,” Zarbon said slowly. “But I’ll tell him your answer. We’ll only be here another couple of weeks anyway.”

Bulma stood herself, tossing the book down on the couch beside her. “No, wait,” she said, waiting for him to turn back around.

He blinked at her, tilting his head to the side. “Yes?”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and she looked at the floor. “I’ll go,” she murmured. “What time?”

“One in the afternoon. I have already made the reservations. The limo will pick you up in the driveway tomorrow at twelve-thirty,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” she said, and watched him walk out of the room.

She glanced at her watch, pushing the door open and starting down the sidewalk without looking up. A few minutes late, but she supposed that was okay. She didn’t think Vegeta showed up at all, anyway. Sighing, she rummaged in her handbag, looking for her compact. When she found it she unsnapped the little green case and raised it to her face so she could look in the mirror, but she closed it again without seeing herself, for when she had looked past the raised compact she had seen Vegeta standing there, hands in the pockets of his khakis and looking at her with his usual expression of contempt. She cleared her throat and nervously stuffed the compact back in her purse, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks. Her hands shook as she approached him down the sidewalk, she couldn’t believe that she was so jittery. Then her eyes took him in: he was looking particularly fit and stylish, in his red, rayon button-down shortsleeved shirt, tucked into his khakis, and she noted the slight swell of fabric where the loose-fitting pants encountered his perfect little rear. She sidled right up to him, feigning confidence, and realized, suddenly, that he was a good three inches taller than she was. “Have you gotten taller?” she asked with a frown.

He shrugged at her, his face set in its usual mask of cool disdain. “Probably. I’ve been doing quite a bit of training,” he muttered.

“You guys grow when you train?” she asked, raising an eyebrow in her skepticism.

He scowled back. “Yes. Our bodies must get bigger to accommodate the increase in power,” he said.

She wiped her sweaty palms on her purse, able to feel his body heat even though she stood two feet away. “Well, that makes sense, I suppose,” she murmured to herself, looking at her white sandals.

“Car’s here,” he said gruffly. He waited for the chauffeur to help her in, then moved around to his own side and got in the limo unassisted.

“Where to?” Bulma asked Vegeta as she watched him slide in next to her.

“I don’t care. The Earthling food is bound to be lousy,” he growled.

Bulma stiffened and narrowed her eyes, ready to speak to the driver. “Ms. Briefs, Master Zarbon has already made the arrangements,” the driver said gently.

She blinked, casting a glance at Vegeta. “Oh, well, proceed,” she said, a little confused. The driver nodded and put the little soundproof window up between the seats. She leaned back in her seat and sighed, glancing over at Vegeta several times. He looks really good, she thought to herself.

“What are you staring at?” he snapped, resting an elbow against the door.

She watched as his eyes flickered down to the cleavage exposed by her gauzy dress. “I should ask you the same thing,” she said with a sly smile. “So, did Zarbon put you up to this?” she asked.

Vegeta glanced at her angrily before turning to look out the window with a snort.

“Well, I guess so, then,” she mumbled, fiddling around in her purse for something to do.

“Do you have to make all that noise?” he asked testily.

She blinked at him. “Jeez, what’s wrong with you?” she spat. “Since you’re not going to talk can’t I at least find something to do?”

“If you want to talk then talk, just don’t make those infernal clacking noises with your useless cosmetics!” he snapped.

Bulma closed her purse and put it to the side, crossing her bare legs at the ankle. “Okay, then,” she muttered. “So, how old are you?”

He scowled at her. “In Earth years?”

“Um, I suppose. Might as well be Earth years,” she replied.

“Well...I’m going to venture about thirty-five. I’m only about twenty-six in Vejiitasei terms, though,” he said with a frown.

She promptly shut her mouth, which had dropped open. “Let’s see, then,” she muttered, running some calculations through her head. “About a one point three five conversion. You look pretty good for being that old.”

“More than I can say for you,” he mumbled back venomously.

She sighed. “Listen, I’m only about nineteen in Vejiitasei years!” she protested. “Vegeta, if you really don’t want to go out we don’t have to. I can ask him to turn the car around right now and neither of us will have to worry about this.”

“Worried? Who’s worried?” he snapped. “I’m not worried. And who says I have to go? If you really don’t want to go you can turn the damn car around yourself!”

She scowled, surprised at his outburst. Not that Vegeta’s outbursts were uncommon or even unusually strange, but at least they usually made sense. “No, I want to go out for lunch. I even took out the dress I’ve been saving for a really special occasion,” she protested.

He stared at her in silence for a few seconds, his black, death-filled eyes studying her. She felt as if she were being slow-roasted over an open fire. “You haven’t worn that before?” he asked quietly.

She blushed. “Well, no. I never had anybody I wanted to wear it for,” she replied even more quietly.

His expression shifted, only for a fraction of a second, and she wished she knew him well enough to understand what it meant. He nodded slowly and turned his head towards the window.

“Vegeta,” she said softly, reaching over and touching his arm, feeling a thrill run down her spine as her fingers came in contact with his brawny bicep.
He turned to her, cheeks pink. “What is it, woman?” he said roughly.

“Is this just a courtesy lunch?” she asked gently. “Is this just ‘diplomacy’?”

To her surprise he laughed, the chuckle coming from deep in his chest. “Woman, do you honestly think I’d ever show you any ‘courtesy’?”

She laughed back. “No, I suppose not,” she replied.

“Then you know everything you need to,” he said, and turned back to the window.

As they entered the restaurant he realized that he had forgotten that the woman was apparently some sort of important person. The employees treated her like she was some sort of ruler, and even as they sat down at their table, which was the best in the house, his sensitive ears were picking up snippets of conversation. “They say she was out of high school by the time she was sixteen,” he heard someone whisper. “So what? She had her PhD before she was twenty-two.” “She’s still so young. I never thought such a smart woman could be so gorgeous! She must work out.” He smiled at the comments quietly floating around the room, because it was him she was with and no one else. “Who’s the guy she’s with? He looks important,” he heard someone else say, and for the first time he was a little proud to be with her. Perhaps she was good enough for him, after all.
“Vegeta? Earth to Vegeta!” she was saying, leaning on the table and scowling, her breasts pushed up on the edge.

He swallowed and made sure to look her in the eyes. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Are you ready to order?” she asked, accentuating every syllable as if he were an idiot.

He grabbed the menu angrily, gazing at it for just a second. “Yes,” he snapped, and waited for her to order. He noticed she wanted a good meal with healthy portions, sensible, unlike the other women in the place, who he noticed were usually only eating salads. They’d waste away if they kept it up. The waiter turned to him. “I’ll have this to start, then this, and this for dessert,” he said gruffly, pointing. The waiter turned and walked away.

Bulma cocked her head. “Oh, my, showing restraint, are we?”

He shrugged. “I had a snack before we left,” he replied, and they stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence until their food came.

The car ride home was just as awkward as the previous one. Bulma cleared her throat, glancing over at Vegeta from time to time. Good god, you’re gorgeous, her voice said in his head. He whipped his head around and glared at her. “What did you say?” he demanded, his eyes involuntarily sweeping over her body. He had been noticing her outfit since they first got in the limo. It was an off-white dress that hit her just a few inches above the knees and a plunging neckline, made of a gauzy, light fabric with little tiny pink flower buds all over it. Her little white sandals tied around her ankles and led the eye up to her shapely calves.

She blinked at him. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Nothing? Nothing at all?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, nothing.”

He grunted and turned his gaze back out the window. He’s got the perfect body, her voice said.

“Now what?” he growled, turning on her. “If you have something to say just say it!”

She lowered her brows, apparently confused. “What are you talking about? I didn’t say a thing!” she protested.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you positive?”

“Absolutely,” she replied.

He scowled. Something strange was going on.

“Vegeta?” she hazarded.

“Hm?” he grunted angrily.

“You look really nice this afternoon,” she added.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, then turned his entire face as he watched her slide over the seat towards him. Her blue eyes were locked on his, and suddenly he felt the soft skin of her pale hand against his, the palms no longer sweaty. She lifted his hand and sandwiched it between her own, her thumb working slowly over the skin. He felt his cheeks redden and panic welled up in his chest, his flight instinct acting in full force. Slowly, she moved one hand up to his wrist, lightly caressing the flesh there, her eyes lowered and lips parted, the touch gentle and tentative. Little prickles made their way up his arm, and suddenly he didn’t know what he was feeling. He didn’t understand what was going on. “I only have two weeks left,” was all he managed to gurgle.

“Do you think we should make these last two weeks count?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” he asked in alarm.

She leaned a little closer, still only touching him on the hand and wrist. It felt nice, too nice, to have her touch him, and suddenly he wished her fingers would start to travel. He had never felt anything like it before, and he wanted to feel all her skin against him again, not having forgotten the wet, slippery feel of her that night at the beach. “I mean that we...” she began, but jumped away from him as her door was opened.

“We’re here, Ms. Briefs,” the driver said, holding the door open.

She turned and looked at Vegeta again, looking very, very embarrassed. “We should do this again sometime, okay?” she said awkwardly, then virtually ran towards the house.

He got out of his own door and stared after her, unsure of exactly what was going on inside of him. “Whatever,” he mumbled, and moved off toward the gravity room.

42/ Bulma’s Hideout / 44