Page 39 of Star Prince

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’ve been thinking about Randall’s associate and how to find out who he—or she—is.” That was a partial truth, at least.

“What did you decide?”

“Grüma isn’t all that big. We’ll look for him the old-fashioned way.”

Pensive, Tee walked to the enormous curving viewscreen at the bow of theSun Devil.She raised her arms above her head and arched her back. “Look at all the stars. Without city lights it’s almost as if you can see them all.” The sleeves of her nightshirt slipped down her slender arms. On the underside of her right arm something caught the light.

It was a birth-blocker patch! Ian clenched his jaw and looked away.

He had assumed she was innocent. But of course she wasn’t. When he found her she had been living in the frontier. No one here remained innocent for very long.

Her obvious and not-unexpected worldliness wasn’t what bothered him; it was that she had been made love to by—and would make love to—other men. Men other than him. “Lucky bastards,” he muttered in English.

She lowered her arms, smoothing her palms down her sleeves. “Sorry—what was that?”

“Have a seat. We can watch the stars.”

“Or we can count them to make us sleepy.” She smiled. “We need to get our rest while we can. I suspect that in the coming days there will be much to keep us awake.”

Ian contemplated Tee’s entirely too-kissable mouth. “Yeah,” he said. That was exactly what he was afraid of.

On Padma Eight,Gann followed the leads Lara gave him, observing and often questioning throngs of permanent residents, starpilot students and instructors, as well as traders who arrived daily from the farthest reaches of the frontier. Lara’s decision to come to Padma Eight was an excellent one; if the Dar princess was keeping company with an Earth-dweller, there were plenty here, risk-lovingentrepreneurs taking advantage of the business opportunities the unrestrained frontier offered.

His long hours seemed to suit Lara just fine. Though sociable by nature and upbringing, Gann was willing to leave Miss Sunshine to her eternal brooding. But not tonight. A nagging sense of loneliness combined with the fruitlessness of his mission had left him in need of cheering. His sulky starpilot was going to join him for dinner and conversation, even if it killed her.

He marched into the cockpit, where she was curled up in the pilot’s chair, her fingers deftly weaving together a cluster of silver threadlike strands. Her incessant jewelry making. It seemed a frivolous pastime for such a cool, remote woman.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said.

She glanced up. As always, he saw something intense and unknown flash in her eyes before she blinked it away. It was as if, when surprised, she surfaced from a deep, dark place, a place that he had no desire to frequent if the pain she thought she was hiding was any indication of its nature.

“I already ate,” she stated.

“That was lunch. This is dinner.”

She returned her concentration to her silver-weaving. “Fraternization isn’t covered in my contract.”

He snorted.

She tried a different tack. “I ain’t hungry.”

“Then come; simply sit with me. I could use the company.”

“That’s what bars are for.”

He straightened, spreading one hand over his heart. “I prefer your company any day over what I’d find in a bar.”

She lowered her weaving and regarded him with unconvinced fawn-colored eyes. “Then you must frequent some pretty crattin’ dives, Mr. Truelénne.”

He laughed.

She frowned. “What?”

“You made a joke,” he said with a surprising degree of triumph. “At your own expense, but a joke nonetheless. And I’ll bet the rest of that bottled-up chat is ready to burst a seam. If for health reasons only, why not share a little of your word stockpile with a lonely space-hand?”

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