Page 1 of Snowed in with the Alien Pilot

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The heels were a mistake.

Every bloody thing about this evening was a mistake, but the heels topped Evelyn’s mental list of crimes against her person. The three-inch monstrosities had arrived with her gown, and it had been too late to request a pair with a smaller heel before she’d had to leave. So she was stuck with them unless she wanted to wear her combat boots.

The damn things clicked against the hangar floor like tiny little gunshots, each strike echoing her mounting fury. Thirty years dodging these formal affairs through creative scheduling and sheer bloody-mindedness, only to get caught now. But there was no escaping when the President himself specifically requested New Terra Flight Academy’s Commandant.

Unlike her familiar uniform, the midnight blue silk felt wrong against her skin. She tugged at the bodice, grimacing. She’d rather face down a squadron of hostiles than parade around in yards of expensive fabric and these torture devices masquerading as shoes. At least in combat, the rules were clear: shoot the bad guys before they shot you.

Her footsteps echoed through the huge hangar, unnaturally quiet during the Christmas shutdown. Most personnel were home with their families, as they should be. Even maintenance ran on a skeleton crew at this time of year. The transport waited at the far end, its sleek silhouette a darker shadow against the gathering dusk.

Movement flickered beside the aircraft. A tall figure stepped into view, moonlight catching distinctive silver-white hair, and Evelyn’s mood—already hovering between homicidal and apocalyptic—plummeted into new depths.

Sub-Commander Rhade K'Vass. Because of fucking course.

He moved with that liquid grace all Latharians possessed, broad shoulders filling out his flight suit in ways that drew far too much attention. Amber eyes almost glowed in the dim light, fixed on her with an intensity that made her want to check her appearance. She crushed that impulse. She wasn’t some green cadet to be rattled by a pretty face, even one as striking as Rhade’s.

“General Allen.” His voice carried across the space between them, rich with an accent that somehow made Standard Terran sound exotic.

“You look...” His gorgeous eyes slid over her in a way that did not set her blood simmering. Nope. Not at all. “...absolutely stunning this evening.”

Her spine stiffened. “Sub-Commander. I wasn’t aware you were on the flight roster tonight.”

He wasn’t. She knew because she’d assigned him to guard duty in the gatehouse. Personally.

“Last-minute adjustment.” He stalked closer, and she fought the urge to retreat. But she knew better. As handsome as all the lathar were, she knew a predator when she saw one. And her grand-daddy taught her never to run from a predator when shewas five. You stood your ground. Always. So she did. Even in heels, she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

“Captain Wolfe’s unfortunate incident with my fellow pilots left you without transportation.” His smile widened. “So I volunteered.”

Of course, he had. The most arrogant of all the Latharian exchange pilots, playing chauffeur. She narrowed her eyes slightly. There had to be an angle. There always was with the damn aliens, all jockeying for position and power... especially this one. They might be allies now, but that didn’t mean she had to trust them.

She’d had family on Sentinel-five when it was captured, and while her cousin had given in and married one of these arrogant charmers, she wasn’t Jane. Trust was earned, not given, and so far, the pilot exchange program had produced more headaches than results. And as for Rhade K’Vass... he’d had been a pain in the ass since the moment he’d arrived.

“How generous.” Her reply was a bored drawl as she moved past him toward the transport’s stairs.

His hand touched under her elbow as she reached the steps, steady and warm through her glove. “Allow me to assist, General. These steps can be treacherous in such delicate footwear.”

Pride warred with practicality for a moment before practicality won. The last thing she needed was to face-plant in front of an exchange pilot. Especiallythisexchange pilot. The Lathar already thought little enough of human women, not shy about voicing their cotton-wool-wrapping, protect-the-delicate-females opinions.

“Thank you,” she bit out, allowing him to steady her ascent even though she wanted to snatch her arm away. His hand remained perfectly proper on her elbow, but warmth seepedthrough her glove to whisper across her skin despite her efforts to ignore it.

The transport’s interior glowed softly blue from the cockpit instruments. She pointedly ignored the pilot’s seat as she stomped to one of the passenger seats and dropped into it. She grumbled a curse in the back of her throat as she arranged the yards of fabric in the damned skirt around herself.

Rhade stalked through into the cockpit with that dangerous grace that always caught her eyes, movements precise as he began pre-flight. She found herself watching him, noting the sure way his hands moved over the controls. Whatever else she might think of him, there was no denying he was an excellent pilot. The Latharians hadn’t sent their second-best.

“Clear skies to New Washington,” he said over his shoulder, his deep voice sounding more intimate in the silence of the small cabin. “Forty-five minutes flight time. Plenty of time for you to make your grand entrance.”

Was that amusement in his voice? She narrowed her eyes at the back of his head. “This isn’t a social call, Sub-Commander. It’s a diplomatic function requiring certain military personnel. Nothing more.”

He turned, those amber eyes finding hers in the dim light. “Is that why you look like you’re heading to your execution rather than a celebration?”

“I don’t believe my attitude toward this event is any of your business.” The words snapped out sharp as plasma fire. “Just get us there in one piece.”

A smile curved his lips, transforming his already handsome face into something that belonged on a romance novel cover, not in her transport. “As you wish, General. Though if you’re trying to convince me you’re not worth watching, that dress is doing a poor job of it.”

Heat crept up her neck, and thank fuck for the cabin’s shadowy lighting. “Start the engines, Sub-Commander. That’s an order.”

He chuckled, the low sound whispering across her skin, but turned back to the controls. The engines hummed to life, their familiar vibration oddly comforting. At least something about this evening was normal.

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