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The next few days proved chaotic. With more than a quarter of the original diplomats gone, the talks faltered and ground to a near halt.

Tyelu would’ve bet that fewer talking heads guaranteed something would get done, but it hadn’t turned out that way. No one wanted to move forward with so many planetary representatives missing.

Meanwhile, Domor had grudgingly claimed salvage rights on the ruins of the Sweeper ships in orbit around the planet, if only to clear its upper atmosphere of debris. As soon as Tyelu learned of that, she sent a message to Ryn and Ziri, letting them know that the Domorians were willing to split profits with enterprising salvagers.

It wasn’t Ryn’s usual fare, but he had a ship and could easily contract with other Pruxn? possessing the necessary salvage skills.

And having Ryn’s ship, Yarinska , in orbit might ease the restless itch growing between Tyelu’s shoulder blades.

It wasn’t just the boredom of being planetside with nothing to do but watch over a bunch of skittish diplomats. It was having Jos’s gaze on her whenever they were in the same room together, watching his eyes light with a seductive flare when he spotted her, having her skin go hot and tingly just from the weight of his look, and not being able to do anything about it.

She drew on the patience and discipline learned during her years in Banam as a Lady Warrior. Hard-won patience, not a natural trait, but one honed over time. She could afford to choose the right moment, though it galled her to have to wait.

Until then, she had duties to perform, not all of them related to her position as one of Sigun’s guards. Gared, her father, sent a message requesting her aid on a matter of governance. Luden Moko cornered her one evening for a long discussion of Abyw’s exportable goods, including wool and the timber Tersi sorely needed for rebuilding after a recent Sweeper attack. When Ryn and Ziri arrived, they insisted on having meals together whenever Tyelu could make time around her duties.

And then there was Magda Bur-D’ga, Jos’s right-hand merc. The other woman leveled a hard stare at Tyelu whenever they met, a challenging, hands-off look Tyelu recognized easily. Whatever tentative emotions stretched between her and Jos, it was no one’s business, not even his dal’s.

So she arched an eyebrow and stared back, meeting that challenge head on. Magda would have to be dealt with, eventually, but not until after Tyelu had figured out what to do with Jos.

At last, Sigun announced that the talks had been postponed and the Pruxnae contingent would be leaving in two Domorian days. Most of the remaining diplomatic units from other planets would be abandoning the talks then as well. The Domorians, ever eager to celebrate, hosted a dinner the night before and hired a band hastily cobbled up from among the salvagers who’d shown up in force as soon as word got out about the Sweepers’ defeat.

Tyelu had no time to find another dress for the event and couldn’t quite muster any interest in wearing the formalwear she’d brought from home. She opted instead for the dress she’d purchased on Domor. As soon as she pulled it on, the shimmery fabric took on a red hue shot through with hints of deep purple. Not the colors she usually favored, but appropriate for her mood. Conflicted, excited anticipation.

She sucked in a sharp breath and placed a steadying palm over the nerves creating havoc in her stomach. Kraden spacer. That’s what she got for letting him pursue her.

She assigned other guards to protect Sigun for the evening, leaving her free to meet Ryn and Ziri in the building’s lobby amid a lush indoor garden. Ryn had dressed in the Pruxn? fashion, his outer layers covering him from head to toe. Ziri had opted for an arm-baring gown from Tersi, her home planet, in a shade matching her slate-blue eyes, beautifully setting off her red-gold hair.

Ryn slung one arm around Tyelu’s shoulders, his dark eyes mischievous through the small gap left by his coverings. “Domorian dress?”

Tyelu hid her nerves behind a scowl. “Yes. And?”

Ziri rolled her eyes at them, then leaned into Tyelu for a brief, tentative hug. “Father has been raving about you. He says your input on the lumber trade will ensure that Tersi can rebuild without going into debt.”

Tyelu waved that off. “He asked. I answered. Nothing more.”

Ryn squeezed her shoulders. “Take the compliment, Tyelu.”

“Who says I didn’t?”

“Prickly as ever.” He shot Ziri a gaze Tyelu couldn’t interpret, then added, “The trade agreement will work favorably for us. Loden insisted that we handle part of the trade ourselves. Ziri wants to buy another ship to handle the contract.”

“The revenue from a second ship will allow us to purchase land from our neighbor. He wants to resettle on Tersi, where his new mate lives.” She shared a secret smile with Ryn. “Without your help negotiating a new trade treaty, it would’ve taken us years.”

Music drifted to them from the makeshift ballroom, and Tyelu deftly changed the subject to a topic more comfortable than her brother and next-sister’s gratitude. Something infinitely more comfortable than the love they so easily shared.

She turned a haughty glare on Ryn. “You’re not wearing that to dinner.”

He replied with an easy grin. “That’s exactly what Ziri said.”

Ziri glanced her fingertips along Tyelu’s forearm. “Don’t worry. He’s wearing a suit under there.”

“A dinner suit, not armor,” he clarified.

Across the way, Jos strolled into view escorting the Q diplomat. The nerves in Tyelu’s stomach writhed uncomfortably and a more pleasant warmth tingled over her skin.

Ziri’s eyes widened. “I really want a dress that does that.”

Tyelu glanced down at her dress and was appalled at the deep red color it had turned, clearly displaying her passion for the kraden spacer, and at the most inopportune time. As if he’d sensed the change, Jos turned toward her. His gaze raked down her body, and when his gaze met hers, his smile was a slow, seductive promise.

She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin, challenging him despite the trembling in her knees. Oh, how some part of her wanted to give in! But giving in was a weakness, and she refused to accommodate such within herself.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Tyelu put her back to Jos and met Ryn’s laughing gaze with one daring him to comment on the dress’s change. “You may freshen up in my quarters.”

Quickly, she reminded them of how to get to and access her quarters. When she turned toward the ballroom again, Jos had disappeared. The nerves dancing in her stomach stubbornly refused to do the same.

Jos slipped away from his table with a polite bow. Their Domorian hosts had, for whatever reason, changed the seating for tonight’s dinner. The Pruxn? and Q had been placed on opposite sides of the hall, and Jos had been forced to take a seat with his back to the other planet’s diplomatic party.

He was eager to dance with Tyelu again.

He threaded through the still-seated crowd now, in time to the lively reel played by the musicians at the far end of the room. Tyelu had also taken a seat with her back to the Q delegation, probably on purpose. The thought made him grin. Such a stubborn, prickly woman. Why that aroused him, he had no idea. Yet here he was, sporting a dick at half mast, his blood nearly boiling at the thought of touching her.

Her light perfume teased him before he reached her, some indefinable scent that only aroused him more. When he stopped beside her, she half turned toward him, her lowered lashes hiding that brilliant blue gaze from him. Conversations around the table slowly petered out, but he was aware of only her.

Without speaking, he placed his left hand behind his back and held the other out toward her, his upturned palm an unspoken invitation. Her lashes fluttered, and his stomach clenched around a knot of sudden nerves. Would she refuse him now, after the kiss they’d shared?

Quietly, she dropped her napkin to the table, stood, and placed her hand in his. “Q’Mhel.”

“My lady,” he said, and couldn’t resist lifting her fingertips to his mouth, pressing another kiss there, breathing in the slight widening of her eyes, the unsteady thrum of her pulse against his thumb. His nerves vanished as abruptly as they’d appeared, washed away by a flood of triumph and the certain knowledge that she felt the heat growing between them.

He led her past the diners, still seated around their tables, and onto the dance floor in front of the makeshift bandstand. She stepped willingly into his arms, allowing him to pull her closer than propriety dictated. Much closer than he had during their first dance. Not as close as he wanted her to be. If he had his way, the next time they met it would be skin to skin.

He settled into a slow and easy box step, nearly intoxicated by the sleight weight of her hand on his shoulder, her body erratically brushing his as they moved to the music cushioning them from the crowd. Unable to resist the lure of her silky-smooth skin, he dipped his head and whispered into her ear. “Sorry about last night.”

“What’s to be sorry for?” A faint smile curved her lips. “Other than transporting into my room uninvited.”

“The stink,” he said, matching her smile with a grin. “I’m not apologizing for being there.”

“You should’ve washed off first.”

“Would you have let me stay?”

Her chin tilted up and their gazes clashed. “I had duty a few hours later.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It most certainly is.” The words held the sharp challenge he’d come to expect from her, but they were softened when she disengaged her hand from his and brushed her fingertips across the jump wings pinned to his chest above nearly two dozen small, round studs. “You parachute out of perfectly good spacecraft?”

“Occasionally.”

Her fingers drifted lower. “And these buttons.”

He shrugged, unwilling to admit that he’d pinned them there for her benefit. “Awards. Commendations.”

“You’ve been a Q-merc for a long time.”

“Long enough. You were a Queen’s Guard?”

“A long time ago, yes, beginning in my youth. My mother promised my service to her queen, when my father abducted her from her duty.”

“For the Choosing?”

“Yes.”

He twirled her in a half circle, just to shake that implacable look off her face, and was rewarded with a knowing smile and the challenging tilt of her stubborn chin. “Have you kidnapped a man for the Choosing?”

Her smile faded and she glanced away, her expression stony. “If I had, we wouldn’t be dancing now.”

“Pruxn? men must be fools to overlook a woman like you.”

“Is this part of your seduction? Flatter me with outrageous compliments until I melt at your hallowed feet?”

The words held enough pain to tweak his heart. Gently, he slowed their steps to a shuffle and tucked her more tightly against his body, pressing her closer with a hand at the dip of her waist, just above the folds of her dress’s skirt. “Need me to call you princess again?”

She laughed and relaxed against him, and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “We really shouldn’t dance like this. People will talk.”

“Griyet lubbers,” he grumbled.

“Griyet diplomats,” she reminded him. “Our employers.”

“We’re not always on the clock, Tyelu.” Unable to resist, he pressed a lingering kiss against her temple, another to the high arch of her cheek. “Leave your door unlocked.”

“We’ve hours yet until we can slip away.”

“Not hours. As soon as dinner is cleared away. Promise me.”

She drew back and gazed up at him, her eyes searching his. “I make no promises.”

“Make this one anyway.”

Her fingers trailed over his jump wings as the music ended and she stepped away. “Do not fail me, Q’Mhel.”

He tilted his head in a solemn bow and watched her whirl off the dance floor in an elegant swirl of deep red fabric. Only when she had reseated herself did he allow himself to savor the small victory of her surrender.

Tyelu stood at her quarters’ windows, overlooking Forro’s glittering streets. Night had set before she’d managed to slip away from her duties, and now she waited, like a fool, for a kraden spacer.

Why, though? Why did she wait for him , when she’d never waited for another? What about Jos Q’Mhel made her heart race and her breath catch?

Why him?

The door chimed before she could sort through the tumultuous feelings tumbling through her faster than she could catalog them.

“Enter,” she said without turning, and watched the reflection of the door sliding open in the window. He still wore his dress blacks, still stood as erect and commanding as a man of his rank and status should.

Her heart skipped a beat, claiming another breath. She forced her expression to remain calm as he strode across the room and stopped behind her, not quite touching her.

His gaze clashed with hers in the window’s reflection. “Have I mentioned how much I love this dress?”

“It’s just a dress,” she countered coolly.

“Not on you.” He trailed a finger down her bare spine and hooked it in the dip of fabric covering her lower back. “On you, it’s a frekking piece of art.”

She dipped her head, hiding a small, pleased smile. “Such a way with words.”

“I know what I like.”

His hands found her waist, and he cupped it lightly as he dipped his head and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the side of her throat. His lips were soft against her skin, his tongue a rough rasp as he licked the spot he’d kissed and pulled her into his strength.

Her limbs weakened on a rush of tingling heat, and she cursed herself for rolling her head to the side, allowing his talented mouth better access. Cursed herself for leaning into him, for enjoying the feel of him at her back, for wanting him so much it took every ounce of willpower she possessed not to turn and touch him in return.

Deftly, his fingers released the hidden closure holding the back of her dress together. She stiffened against him, expecting him to take advantage of her weakness, waiting for his hands to slide inside the thin folds of fabric and touch her more intimately. Was she ready for the unspoken promise she’d made when she’d agreed to meet him here? Could she commit herself to a brief affair with a man of the sword, however passionate it might be, when she yearned for a deeper connection?

Jos wrapped his arms around her and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. “We can go as slow as you need.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then we can find something else to do. Entertainment vids, maybe. There’s a bar a coupla blocks from here that caters to humans.”

And just like that, her doubts dissipated. She covered his hands with hers and guided one to her thigh. “Are you backing down?” she challenged.

He groaned and buried his face in her throat. “You’re the most frustrating, interesting, bedeviling woman I’ve ever met.”

“Not beautiful?”

“You know you are.” His fingers slowly gathered the skirt of her dress into a bunch at her thigh, lifting the hem, and his other hand slid under the fabric and found her core. He moaned low against her throat. “If I’d known you weren’t wearing anything under this dress while we were dancing, we wouldn’t have made it off the dance floor.”

She laughed huskily, then gasped as he flicked his fingertips across her clit. “I thought we were going slow.”

“Changed my mind. Don’t think I can wait.”

Abruptly, he turned her around and backed her into the glass, lifted her thigh with one hand while his other fumbled with the fastenings of his pants and his mouth found hers, sliding across her lips in a roughly savage kiss, then the head of his erection pressed against her core, and he broke the kiss and lowered his forehead to hers, his panted breaths feathering across her kiss-swollen lips.

“Tell me you want me,” he demanded.

She cupped his cheek, unable to resist the hot need in his gaze, and said, simply, “Yes.”

“Thank frek.”

Her laugh morphed into a breathy gasp as he pushed into her, stretching her deliciously.

“Gods’ mercy,” he breathed. “Frekking tight, can’t…stop… frek , need you.”

Need . Yes, that was it. She needed him, desperately, had since the first moment they’d met, there on Yarinska , surrounded by chaos. Hadn’t she suspected then how it would be between them? Hadn’t she known , and in the knowing, fought the inevitable?

She curled one hand around his nape and opened for him, relaxing into his thrusts, straining into him as he filled her. He trailed hot kisses across her mouth, nipped her lips sharply, and she coaxed his tongue into her mouth with her own, eager for him now as he pushed them both ever higher with every thrust of his body against hers. Every nerve in her body lit with the molten heat of his touch.

This man , she thought dimly. How had he known what she needed?

“Jos,” she breathed.

“So wet,” he replied, then his fingers found her clit and tweaked it in a rhythm counter to his thrusts, and her body tightened around him and she arched into him, her fingernails digging into his skin as she shattered into a haze of ecstasy and heat, crying his name into the room’s darkness, barely aware of him pulling out of her and lifting her into his arms, high against his chest, his words a guttural murmur of pleasure and praise.

When her senses returned to her and her heart had calmed to a dull thud in her chest, she realized that he’d carried her into her bedroom and laid her on the bed. He stood now beside her, his expression like granite, his erection glimmering wetly in the faint light cast through the windows by Domor’s rising moons.

A hint of nerves shot through the languid heat loosening her limbs, and she curled her fingers into the bed’s coverlet, all too aware of how she must look to him, with her hair falling out of its pins and her dress pooled over her thighs. She could still feel him there, inside her, could still feel the rawness of his need, the urgent heat of his hands skimming roughly over her skin.

“You didn’t find release,” she said, and hated the questioning lilt betraying her own insecurities. Her weakness. Hated, in that moment, the desire throbbing between her thighs and low in her gut, in the sensitive peaks of her nipples and the softening of her body, hated the hard control he’d clung to when her own had shattered under his masterful touch.

Hated those minute betrayals, but could not hate him for giving them to her.

One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile she couldn’t interpret. “Not yet.”

Her gaze dropped to his rigid length and the evidence of her own release. Of her own need. As if he could read her thoughts, he lifted one hand and stroked it over that wetness, spreading it along the hard length his cock. A drop of precum dribbled from the tip, and a low, satisfied moan rumbled out of him.

“Take off your dress,” he gritted out.

Her eyes flew to him, widening at the heat in his gaze, the command in his voice. “Why?”

“Because I’m not finished with you, princess. Not by a long shot.”