Page 19 of The Interstellar Rake's Irresistible Kiss
Trixie stood there in a pale green night robe, her blonde hair mussed as if she’d been already abed. But the dat-pad must’ve seen that she was awake.
He studied her somberly. “Nightmare?”
Some of thechurning shadows in her eyes that he once thought of as muddy suddenly cleared. She nodded hesitantly. “How did you…?”
He shifted his weight from one heel to the other. “I used to have them too.”
Her cheeks went hollow when she bit inside. “Not anymore?”
He opened his mouth to lie and was surprised to hear himself say, “Not as often.”
“I’d take that.” She let out a haggard sigh. “What’s thetrick?”
He quirked one corner of his mouth, although he couldn’t quite work up to a full smirk. “Ghost-mead,” he confessed. “Plus someone else’s body heat and another heartbeat besides my own.”
She took a step back. “Come on in.”
He blinked in surprise. “Come…in?”
“For the ghost-mead,” she clarified hastily. “Not the…other things.”
He paced behind her, casting a quick look around the dimlylit suite as if it might be a trap. But it was just one of the estate guestrooms, not so different from his own, a little generic but beautifully appointed with several of the geometric artworks favored by Thorkons adorning the walls.
She gestured toward the sunken community area with its deep triangular cushions. “Have a seat. I’ll see if I have any ghost-mead left.”
Left? So she’d alreadybeen trying his first trick. He stepped down to the couches and found his old dat-pad tuned to one of the popular entertainments.
“Ready for adventure, Great Space Racers?” The announcer was far too enthusiastic for what looked like ridiculous simulated escapades through a far-away galaxy.
Trixie stepped down beside him with a decanter and two cups in hand which he hastened to take from her.“I thought it would give me some ideas.”
“The ghost-mead?”
“That reality television show.” She silenced the device, and he tossed his beside it.
His universal translator took a moment to provide an explanation for her term. “Why,” he asked as he poured out the beverage, “is something that isn’t real called a reality show?”
“Maybe because we make our own reality.”
“That’s profound.” He handedher one cup and teased, “Have you been drinking already?”
She shook her head. “My mom’s third husband was a drunk. Watching that up close makes drinking seem less fun.”
Nor lowered the cup before it touched his lips. “Should I not have…” He waggled the cup.
“It’s fine.” She sipped from hers as if to give him permission. “I know there’s nothing wrong with a drink or two. Just like there’s nothingwrong with all men just because Mom picked losers. Repeatedly.”
He winced. “And you have not seen much improvement among non-Earther males, have you?”
She gazed at him as she took another swallow. “Raz rescued us. And he’s helping Rayna make the space station into something that will benefit the duchy and us.”
Hearing her laud the absent duke was irksome, and Nor took a long, impenitent dragoff his cup to wash down the objections clogging his throat. And yet somehow a few words bobbed to the top anyway. “I was captaining theGrandyat the time of your rescue.”
The brown striations of her eyes were like a deeper, more dangerous hue of the powerful mead as she watched him. “Yeah. You did a good thing.”
Why had he even said that? He didn’t want her praise. He’d never sought anyone’sapproval.Thatwas a good thing too, considering no one had offered it. He finished off his cup defiantly and poured another draught.
She curled up on the cushions, one foot tucked under the hem of her nightgown. With her creamy skin, blond hair, and the pale green of her gown, she looked as cool and remote as the smallest Azthronos moon. “Did you come by just because you were out of booze atyour place?”
