 when she stroked her own sleekly furred cheek against his. Acutely aware of all the other eyes in the bar, he resisted an impulse to wind his hands in her long primrose mane.  "James!" The bartender's roar collided with the low ceiling and ricocheted all over the room. "How in hell are you? Long time gone, boy-o!"  At least seven years, Kirk admitted to himself. But not a damned thing about the place had changed. Not so much as a dust mote.  "Don'