The Star Princess (18 page)

"No. The conversation came about when we discussed your aversion to flying."

Blood rushed to Ilana's face.

"Barrie told me you have struggled with this for many years. And because of it, you are loath to travel into space."

"Loath." She wrinkled her nose. "That's too nice a word." Che's educated speech and accent made everything sound so… pleasant.

"So, it is true?"

"How did this come up? You were supposed to be getting to know Barrie. Not talking about me."

"You are all we wanted to discuss."

Ilana almost growled. That was it. Barrie was out of the running. She'd blown it. Maybe it was time for Chessie to step up to the plate.

"Barrie feels bad knowing you do not care for space travel. She worries you may be 'stressed' about your upcoming journey."

"I am not stressed!"

He gave her a knowing smile.

"Concerned, maybe," she admitted. "Not stressed." Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Her inner voice was out of line. She fought the childish urge to slap her hands over her ears and sing, "La, la, la."

"Since I am Latvian," Ché continued with a subtle smile, "she thought I might have some words of advice for you. She assumes I am a world-traveler."

"You are. Just not this world."

"All the better. I will help you solve this problem."

Guys. They always wanted to "fix" you. "I don't need a problem solver in my life."

"I am not 'in your life.'"

"Bull! You are, too."

Che's mouth curved in a sanctimonious twist. "Of course."

She would not react. She would not. He'd turned her words on her again, trapping her into admitting the truth. She was involved with him. Maybe not in the sexual way she was used to, but she was involved nonetheless.

"It is true, then? You fear flying?"

From the way he watched her with such rapt patience, she knew he wasn't going to let this go. There was no use denying it; he would see the lie in her eyes. "Yeah. So what? There are worse things. I'll deal with it."

"It can be conquered, Ilana. Like all inner demons."

"I made a treaty with my 'demons' a long time ago, Ché. I let them be, and they let me be."

She realized that her stomach muscles had clenched. The conversation had veered into uneasy territory. It had become too personal. Deftly she masked her emotional retreat with a physical advance, which always worked. "This is a dance, not an interrogation."

Faking a smile, she leaned her cheek against his chest. His heart thudded under her ear. And he smelled great. Closing her eyes, she melted against him as he held her close. His body was warm and strong. She felt good with him. Safe. You could fall for a man like him.

Maybe if he were from Earth. Maybe if he weren't heir to a family that to her symbolized the polar opposite of everything she'd worked toward all her life. Maybe if he weren't Prince Ché Vedla.

He was starting to seep into her heart, and it was the last thing she wanted.

" 'Hurry, hurry, baby.'" Under her breath, she sang along with the song playing. " 'Baby, hold on tight. Don't let me fly away"

When the song ended, she blinked, as if waking from a particularly vivid dream. Ché tucked a finger under her chin and moved her back. His brows lifted. He was going to bring up flying again; she could tell by the expression on his face. "Ché, let's just drop it."

Puzzlement washed over his face. "Drop… what?"

She fought a smile. He was so fluent in English that it took her by surprise when slang threw him. "The flying issue. I'm never going to like being in an airplane. Nothing you say is going to help."

Ché dropped his hands onto her shoulders. "When you are seated with your hands on the controls, flying will be a different experience entirely."

Her stomach flipped. "What do you mean?"

"I am going to teach you how to fly."

Chapter Twelve

Ilana's first impulse was to flee. Ché wanted to teach her to fly a plane? No one had ever suggested such a thing!

Not her parents, her stepfather Rom, or any of the other pilots in her life. There was a reason for that, Ilana knew.

They wanted to keep the skies safe. They didn't want anyone at the controls of a plane who believed that too many passengers waiting to use the restroom in an airliner might upset the delicate balance of weight and send the jet spinning to the ground.

Only not Ché. He thought she could fly an airplane. Acted as if he hadn't any doubts. She stepped away from him.

He caught her hand and tugged her back. They collided.

She blew strands of hair out of her eyes. "Oh, so now we're doing the tango?"

"The tango… "

"A sexy Earth dance."

"Ah." Ché caught her around the waist and pressed her to him, close enough for her to feel the hard contours of his body through the negligible scrap of a dress she wore. He was a veteran of the Vash social scene. He'd danced with queens and the beautiful women of the royal court. Now he expected her to bend to his charm like the rest of them, to make her forget through the sheer potency of his masculinity that he hadn't just made the most laughable proposition she'd ever heard.

"Is this how the tango is accomplished?" he inquired.

"No."

He pulled her closer. Her physical reaction to him was immediate. Her skin warmed, and she tingled low in her belly. But in that irritating way of his, Ché managed to look cool and composed.

Holding her gaze, he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing them to the heel of her palm, and then the inside of her wrist. Goosebumps prickled her arms. "Is this?"

Her lips compressed. If he kept this up, she was going to have to make an emergency rendezvous with the ice cubes in her mineral water. But if she did, he'd think he'd gotten to her. Quickly she took the offensive. "No. The tango is much more intense. Rougher." Smiling her best sultry smile, she smoothed her hands over and behind his solid hips. "Do you like it rough, Ché?" she asked and gave his rear a firm little push.

His pupils dilated, darkening his gray eyes, and she faced the aroused and hungry male who had come to her in the shower. The familiar dimple in his jaw deepened. "Do you think we Vedlas are so easily distracted?" he challenged.

"If you insult one Vash Nadah, you insult them all," she muttered. "I'm not arguing with your entire family, Ché. I'm arguing with you. And you're trying to change the subject, trying to get me to argue about something else. That falls in the same category as distraction. You're guilty of it, too."

"Ilana, I… " He stopped. Sighed. "I did not do this on purpose."

She grinned. "You know, you're getting pretty darn good at those almost-apologies."

After a moment of incredulity, Ché laughed; he actually laughed, deep and rich. Even with the contact lenses on, the delight in his eyes shined through. It made her want to laugh, too.

Something fleeting and wonderful flashed in his eyes. "I made a wise choice in tour guides; For this is exactly what I came here to find." He surprised her by taking her in his arms and whirling her around. It was the most spontaneous she'd seen him, the most relaxed. She wanted to kiss him. Badly. But she'd brought him here as bachelorette bait; she couldn't steal the lure.

Still chuckling, he hugged her close, swaying slowly as the music changed to a tune that at long last suited their slow dancing. Ché brought his mouth to her ear so she could hear him. His lips brushed her earlobe; her diamond earring clicked against his teeth. "See? The melody changed for us."

She smiled. "Dream on, Ché." But she guessed that when you were prince of a good chunk of the galaxy, it was easy to believe that fortune bowed to your wants and desires instead of the other way around.

But, just once, wouldn't it be nice to go along with the fantasy? Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty— every fairy tale she'd ever read as a kid, where Prince Charming came and swept you off your feet, protecting you, loving you, forever and ever. Never sleeping around. Never sneaking around with other women behind your back. Yeah, it was a fairy tale, the happily ever after. Then there was real life. No one could say Ilana Hamilton didn't know the difference.

"Excuse me," she told Ché. "I have to go freshen up."

She walked off the dance floor and spent the next twenty minutes locked in a stall in the women's bathroom, wondering what the hell she was going to do about Che's offer to teach her how to fly a plane.

Ché was waiting for her when she came out, his drink in one hand and a fresh mineral water and lime in the other. She sighed, veering toward a warren of luxurious private vestibules and conversation nooks. Plush walls muffled the music but magnified the odors of sweat, liquor, and perfume.

She found an empty nook. He followed her inside. Shadows fell across his handsome face. "You've said nary a word about flying," he said, and handed her the glass of water.

"Well, duh. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out it's not my favorite topic. How do you think you're going to teach me how to fly anyway? You don't have enough time left here to become an instructor."

"I already am a pilot."

She tipped back her head. "Help! This is some kind of cruel joke."

But Ché as adventurer intrigued her. She took a deep swallow of her fizzy drink. It made her eyes water. "I didn't know you flew."

"I hold ratings in several varieties of sub-atmospheric craft and starfighters. I even docked a starcruiser once. It would not take long to earn clearance to fly your small, private sub-atmospheric Earth craft."

"Airplanes," she corrected automatically. "Coast Muni is near my house. They rent planes." Her heart thumped harder. Why was she giving him this information?

Because if you don't, he'll find out anyway.

"But you'll need ID, Mister French of Latvia. A pilot's license. You don't have either." She pretended to be disappointed for him, for them. "I guess your plan won't work. Thanks for offering, though— "

"On the contrary, Ilana. My flying credentials are in the galactic database, and under my real name. They will be able to access the records."

"I thought your visit was secret."

"From most, yes. Only my advisor, my brother, and yours know where I am. The treaty the Federation signed with your world requires me to enter your world using my real name. But without any mention of 'prince,' or the presence of a diplomatic entourage, no one cared." His mouth curved. "It was not until I was linked to you that the paparazzi came after me."

"Don't remind me." She sagged against the plush wall. Without a thumbs-up from Earth System Patrol and Customs— ESPAC— Ché would have been denied entry. As a high-ranking Vash Nadah and a member of the Great Council, he would have caused an interstellar incident if he'd been caught sneaking past Earth's border-patrol starships with fake ID.

She drank more water, wishing suddenly it were a margarita— a strong margarita. "I know you princes don't have outside careers. Is flying a hobby? Do you fly much? Lack of practice makes a pilot rusty. I'm warning you, Ché, if I suspect even one rust flake, I'll refuse to listen to another word about you taking me"— she swallowed— "up there."

"I am not forbidden to pursue an outside career. There simply is no time for it. My piloting is a hobby, yes, but more than that. It is a way to empower myself. For the same reason I strive to be fluent in English. The more skills a man has, the less likely he is to find himself helpless in any situation."

She clutched her glass in sweating hands. "How can you not feel helpless flying? You are so not in control when you're in a plane. No sane person could actually like strapping into something resembling a tin can with wings, flying miles and miles above the Earth, which is spinning on its axis at a thousand miles an hour, and whipping around the sun at eighteen-point-five miles a second! A second, Ché." Out of breath, she tried to slow down. They told me that," she said, panting. "In a clinic. They thought it would help me, knowing that even when I'm not flying, I am. Ugh! I left and never went back." From behind a wavy curtain of hair, she peeked at Che's

"The stars move as well, Ilana." He appeared almost bored by the thought. "Your sun and its solar system circle the center of the galaxy— a path it completes, I believe, approximately every two-hundred-and-twenty-million standard years. In addition, our galaxy is part of a group of galaxies. And that group is part of a massive concentration of galaxies, called the local supercluster— "

"Ché," she almost squealed. She gripped his forearm for balance.

"The supercluster is racing away from the other enormous superclusters of galaxies at an incredible velocity. The universe is expanding, every second of every day, and we are helpless to stop it— "

"But I can stop you!" She laughed and pressed her finger over his mouth. His lips were firm and warm. That touch brought a zing of attraction. "Do you know what I thought yesterday when you got out of your car? I thought you were a hit man, an assassin. I was right. You are. Your weapon of choice? Death by vertigo."

His eyes lit up with amusement. He drained his drink and set it down on a narrow sidebar. "I have never heard of this method, death by vertigo, but its uniqueness makes it worth mentioning. Alas, killing you is not on my travel agenda, Ilana. Or on any agenda."

Faint beard stubble glinted on his chin, and the amber glow from the walls of the nook filled the hollows of his cheekbones, made round by his grin. "Assassination of a princess… the aftermath would be most unpleasant. Vicious accusations between the families, shifting loyalties, volatility in the realm. And should the Great Council choose to keep me alive after the deed, which I doubt, we Vedlas would then have both heirs imprisoned. Klark and me, both. My father would not like that. It would be too damaging to family pride. At that point, he would likely be disgusted enough to dispose of us both— by his own hands."

Ché brought his hand to his chin and studied her. "But if doing away with you were made to look like an accident… Hmm. Now, that could work."

"You pig. I don't believe you." Laughing, she pushed at him. "You've given this way too much thought."