Page 41 of Star Prince

Reflected in her eyes, he saw his own desperate loneliness. He blinked. “No family?” he inquired after several minutes of silence ticked by.

“No.”

“Husband?”

She began eating again, in earnest. “No.”

“A lover, then?”

Her outraged eyes gave him the answer he wanted. “Ah. Where Eston fit into your life, I wasn’t sure, other than that he’s responsible for losing your precious ship.”

“Don’t remind me,Vash.”For the first time, he detected a trace of teasing in her tone. Was that the first step in softening her armor? Perhaps it was. And maybe that meant there was more to come. If he could make her laugh, lovemaking couldn’t be far behind. He smiled. A night of pleasure would do this woman a world of good.

As only he could give it.

Chapter Twelve

“Now aim like you mean it!”Gredda called to Tee’ah.

Eyes narrowed, arms extended, Tee’ah held her weapon in front of her. Frost-covered grass in the field behind theSun Devilcaught the rising sun’s first rays, and a breeze numbed her ears and fingers. Concentrating, she waited until threadlike crosshairs centered on her target—a produce box sitting on a tree stump. Then she pressed the trigger. The shrubs behind and several paces to the left of the stump exploded.

“Dear heaven,” Tee’ah groaned, lowering the pistol. “Not again.”

Gredda grabbed a fire extinguisher and drowned the flames. “That was better, Tee. But you need to practice.”

Tee’ah wiped her forearm across her forehead. “Iwill.” She had been working on improving her previously nonexistent marksmanship all week. During that time, she had hit Gredda’s boxes only twice. But she was determined to hone her skill with a pistol. Now that they were hunting for Randall’s associate, such skills were critical for her to prove she was an indispensable member of Ian’s crew.

She and Gredda pocketed their weapons and returned to the ship.

Quin met Tee’ah in the galley. The expression of delight he wore on his face made her instantly suspicious. She poured a mug of coffee and did her best to ignore it.

“I’ve divvied up chores for the weekand youdrew galley duty.”

Coffee sloshed out of her mug. Hastily she mopped it off the counter.

“You look like you just swallowed an oster egg,” he said. “Don’t tell me you can’t cook.”

Nerves tightened her neck muscles. Cooking was a basic skill most people knew how to perform. But she hadn’t been raised like “most people.” She had never once entered the kitchens in the palace; the thought of doing so had never crossed her mind. Now, if she were to confess that she didn’t know how to prepare a simple meal, it might raise unwanted suspicions about her background. “As I recall, you voiced similar doubts about my flying abilities—and look, I kept you alive.”

He brought his index finger and thumb together. “Barely.”

“Then I suggest you go on a dietary fast.” Perhaps the entire crew would have to do so, she thought as she looked around the small room. Surrounding her was a bank of ion-burners, a chiller, an atomic oven, and shelves of computer-categorized food supplies. It was a vastly more intimidating array than the instrumentation she used to pilot the ship. Swallowing hard, Tee’ah strode to the galley computer, opened the viewscreen, logged on, and spent some time familiarizing herself with the stored data. There was a long list of basic supplies, all requiring creativity if she were to create and then cook a meal with them.

Although she considered herself reasonably inventive, she might fare better if she were able to purchase fresh ingredients from the merchants in town, sticking to those food items that looked reasonably familiar, taking into account the differences in produce of foreign worlds. The market…fresh air…shopping unimpeded by an entourage—the idea appealed to her.

“There’s hardly enough here to put together a proper meal,” she said with feigned annoyance, closing the viewscreen. “I’ll need credits to purchase supplies at the market.”

As if he had anticipated such a request, Quin handed her several currency cards of various denominations. “Remember,” he said in his overprotective-fathervoice, “this is to be used for food only. Not for any recreational beverages you might be tempted to purchase on the way there or back.”

“No ‘recreational beverages’? Oh, Quin, please.” She threw up her hands. “With such limits placed upon me, how am I supposed to prepare my famous whiskey-soaked Mandarian chicken?”

“We’ve had our fill of whiskey-soaked fowl on this ship,” he shot back, his tone warming.

She grinned. “Not the least of them pilots, eh?”

Ian walked into the galley. He glanced from Quin to Tee’ah and back again. “Don’t tell me she’s torturing you again?” he asked his mechanic.

Tee’ah beat Quin to a reply. “I’ve drawn galley duty. And now Quin’s worried that I’ll spend all the credits he’s given me to shop in the first bar I see.”

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