Page 2 of Stealing the Star Stone

Chapter One

On the Entertainment Cruiser (EC) Valiance.

Of all the tourist cruisers in all the galaxies in the known universe, he walks onto mine…

The oh-so-sexy Eli Thorne didn’t remember her.

That was clear. A night of passion ten years ago that, as an ex-fan and ex-virgin, Nova couldn’t forget no matter how much she wanted to.

She rubbed her hip where a tattoo of his name glowed white in the dark.

And her poor late husband had thought it meant serenity.

That tattoo was one of her more foolhardy decisions she hadn’t gotten around to rectifying.

Meeting Thorne again after all this time had her fuming.

She flicked off the sec-vid, not needing to check on her ‘honored’ guest. The ass had enough sycophants to cater to his every need. Still, he was some serious eye-candy she couldn’t resist ogling…when no one watched her.

Before her, spreading out like an antique disco ball, the ship’s console displayed their course for the rings of Velis, confirming they would make good time.

She huffed a bang off her forehead. The tip of her ponytail brushed her back.

She cast a glance at the tiny digital image of her late husband, Seth.

If he was here, with her, he’d tell her to take slow, calming breaths and find joy in the moment.

That it would steady her. Joy? With Eli on board?

“Listen, Nova…” Petr peeked through the door.

She pinched the bridge of her nose then swiveled the chair to meet the concierge’s gaze. “What this time?”

“Yeah, I echoed that…but politely.” He ventured into the cockpit, all suave and collected in his deep-burgundy uniform.

“Mr. Thorne wants to surf Velis’ clouds.

” His voice took on a pleading note. “We’re on our way home.

I know, but can’t we just do this one thing?

” He rushed on. “Captain said to sweet talk you. Said it was my turn.” He slumped in the co-pilot’s chair and batted his eyelashes at her.

The last stop had been a twelve-hour delay while Mr. Popular partied in Auralis’ city, New Liberty. Two nights ago, she’d had to hunt his ass down and peel him from not one woman but two. Bile pooled at the back of her throat, and a shudder ran down her spine.

Now she had to alter course, park the ship, and leave it…unpiloted. At least the ass had the decency to ask when Velis and Seia were visible. It would have been an immediate hell-no had they been nearing Tarnis.

She glared at Petr. “And who’s going to surf with him? Do we even have the equipment?” She mentally ticked off what sat in their stores: boards, suits, oxygen tanks. As an entertainment cruiser, they had to cater for…joyrides. “Shit.”

“I’m all thumbs when it comes to anything requiring co-ordination.

And Captain says he’s too old to even think about picking up a board.

Sharon will break a nail, and Chef just waved his meat cleaver at me.

” Petr paled and threw out his hand to catch hers.

“Please, babe, do this for me. As gorgeous as Eli Thorne is, I’ve never had a more demanding passenger. ”

She could second that. Their ‘first’ meeting had been when the crew had welcomed him aboard. Thorne had taken her hand, dusted his lips across her knuckles, and said something derogatory about how a little woman like her surely couldn’t handle a ship this big all by her lonesome.

What an ass.

Which had become evident a decade ago when his then-assistant had kicked her out of his hotel room, muttering that Thorne’s groupies—aka her—weren’t as pretty as they used to be.

In her youthful madness, she’d sought Thorne out at the next premiere.

He’d taken one look at her and treated her like an adoring fan.

So, not only had she been a pity-fuck, she hadn’t been memorable.

And of course, the years had been good to him, his acting career reaching supernova, his appearance like a fine brandy, and his bank balance with too many digits for her brain to compute.

While she’d gotten her pilot’s license, met the man of her dreams, lost him in a ‘freak’ mining accident, and now squandered her days flying spoilt rich folks across the known galaxies.

“It’s a few hours delay, nothing more.” Petr cleared his throat. “We need this. One raving review from Thorne will boost our dwindling credits.”

Business had been slow of late.

She scowled. At least she wouldn’t have to talk to him…much. “Fine, but I’m in charge. We can’t afford to have him die on us.”

Petr bounced on the spot, his smile wide. She hadn’t seen him grin like that since they’d stopped at Lunar Station VI to pick up Thorne, who’d been nothing but the award-winning pain in the ass she’d expected him to be. Petr had been run ragged.

“I’ll record you from here. We might need it for marketing.”

“Just don’t touch anything else.” She waved a hand then tapped keys on the console to add the detour to their trajectory. “Off you go. Tell the idiot he wins.”

“Confirming new course for EC Valiance ; ETA in fifteen minutes,” the computer intoned. “Logging change with Artivar Station Docking Authorities.”

She pushed off, sliding the chair back on its designated rail. “Send him to the airlock.”

En route, she braided her hair—the only style suited to a helmet. Each step she took with sheer will and determination. Three days, that’s how close they were to getting home.

She thumped her boots on the polished floors made to look like Italian marble.

The ass’s head whipped up as she approached. He frowned, not paying attention to Sharon clinging to his side. “Thanks for this,” he said.

Nova met his gaze, tapped a panel, and offered him a suit. “Coming with?” she asked Sharon.

The petite brunette scoffed. “Of course not.”

“Then get out of the airlock,” Nova snapped. “Or you will be.”

“What bee flew up your ass?” Sharon muttered as she sauntered down the corridor.

“Do I strip?” Thorne asked, eyeing the thin spacesuit.

“Yes. Boots are here.” Nova opened another panel where various sizes were stacked in neat rows.

“I’ll fetch the equipment.” And change. What she didn’t want was for him to see the tattoo.

Sure, it was in an ancient alien language a xeno-archeologist had discovered in a then-unknown solar system.

Still, she couldn’t risk Thorne learning about it.

She followed Sharon’s disappearing shoulders, intent on some privacy in the cold confines of the storeroom when Petr hurried toward Nova, boards under each arm.

Shit . And the poor guy had been so happy to be helpful.

She waved the suit at him, nudged her head at the airlock, and slipped into the first available room—a maintenance closet.

Wiggling into the damn suit took the remnants of her patience.

It was designed for short excursions in space, able to take pee, if needed, and keep her warm for a few hours.

Across her back, heavy and awkward, sat the circular bracket to which Petr would attach the oxygen tanks.

Leaving her uniform hanging from exposed pipes and her boots on the floor, she padded to the airlock.

In time to catch Eli mid-suit. Her heart leaped into her throat, her eyes widened, no doubt to absorb the absolute beauty of this man.

Hours of hard work and discipline reflected in every ripple and bulge that formed his chest. His biceps and shoulders were masterpieces.

He hadn’t been this sexy when he’d had her beneath him.

She forced her gaze away, the cold floor reminding her that she needed boots. The magnetic straps wrapped up her calves, ensuring no air or heat escaped. Same applied to the gloves, from fingers to her elbows. She dropped her pair and his on the floor, needing dexterity to prep him and herself.

“You’re not going to help?” he asked, his trademark green eyes narrowing.

“It’s a jumpsuit.” She didn’t flinch, meeting his glare head-on. “How useless can you be?” she muttered, scooping up a glove to peel onto his hand. Sure, his suit had tangled, the fabric almost too thin to feel. But she wasn’t touching his skin, even by accident.

He rolled a shoulder and, just like that, he could fasten the suit shut, finally hiding his gorgeous body from her. Petr buzzed around him, adjusting the suit, fixing the tank to his back, then offering him the helmet as she worked on the other glove.

She knelt, taking the boot from Petr and raised her gaze to Thorne’s.

He grunted and lifted his foot, allowing her better access to strap on the damn boot. But when he ‘lost’ his balance, pressing down on her head, she almost threw the offending footwear at him.

“Sorry,” he crooned, a shit-eating grin on his soft-looking lips.

A memory flashed of where he’d brushed kisses over her breast.

She scowled. “I don’t have to help you. Out there, you could die, and we wouldn’t be held responsible.

” With one violent flick of his boot’s last magnetic strap, she stood and grabbed the helmet from Petr, who then shuffled behind her to lock a tank in place.

The weight almost bowed her shoulders, but in space, it wouldn’t matter.

“You signed a waiver, remember?” She beamed at an angry Thorne, showing all her teeth.

Petr’s wince meant her pseudo-politeness had come across as a grimace. Well, fuck that. She was doing this cloud-surfing bullshit against her better judgment. Niceties weren’t part of the deal.

Petr locked the helmets in place then touched his neck. “Check check.”

His whiney-twang came through the headpieces loud and clear. “Got ya,” she said.

“Same,” Thorne said, choosing the longer board Petr had leaned against the bulkhead.

“Fresh fuel canisters on the boards and in the boots?” she asked Petr when he handed her the other board and pressed the controller in her right hand.

“Yup.” Then the smiling idiot left the airlock and watched her through the porthole after the doors had sealed.