The Star Princess (19 page)

"I have not given it any thought at all. But I have spent enough time amidst the intrigues of the royal court to know what works and what does not." He regarded her more soberly. "I did not come here to hurt you."

"You are not your brother any more than I am mine, Ché."

"No," he agreed soberly. With the obvious loyalty and pride of a devoted older brother, he insisted, "I love him."

"And I love mine, too." Ilana put her nearly full glass next to Che's empty one on the sidebar. Breezily, to lighten the suddenly serious mood, she said, "We have a saying on Earth: 'You can't live with them, and you can't live without them.' I'd say that applies to brothers."

"Perhaps entire families. Our families."

They looked at each other and laughed.

"I'm glad you came, Ché. I'm glad we had the chance to really meet. What can I say? You're fun."

"Fun… " He pondered that, his mouth tipping belatedly at one end. "I have been called many things. Never that."

"It doesn't surprise me. Most of the royals wouldn't know 'fun' if it jumped up and bit them on the nose."

"Or doused them with pepper spray."

She pretended to punch him. He caught her fist, holding on to her fingers. She laughed, but her smile faded in the intensity of his gaze, a little too deep for her comfort zone. Instinctively she gave him a mental push away. An emotional push. She had to keep distance between them, keep him from getting to her.

He took her hand, pressed it to his chest. A suave, casual gesture. But the feel of him rocked her. Balanced precariously between banter and body contact, she decided that stealing a kiss didn't scare her as much as his intimate regard.

Ilana leaned toward him, hesitantly, and then with more purpose, rising up on her toes to touch her lips to his.

Their warm breath mingled. Che's hand squeezed hers, more of an involuntary movement, she suspected, than a conscious act. She kissed him lightly, tasting him, most definitely intending to entice him, here in the semiprivacy of the nook, where her girlfriends wouldn't know. Then, slowly, she moved back far enough to see the bemused expression on his face. She'd surprised him. "I was curious to see how you kissed when you weren't angry."

He made a soft sound of protest and reached for her hair. "I was not angry. Annoyed, perhaps. And curious… curious to see what you would look like." He took a few strands between his fingers, sliding them down to the ends. Her body reacted instantly, awash in tingles. "And what you felt like," he murmured.

A thought intruded. Ché was a man accustomed to courtesans meeting his sexual whims. Was this gentle caress what it seemed? Or was he only inspecting the merchandise as an objective potential consumer? She didn't know.

She wasn't supposed to care.

"And I was curious," he continued in his deep and sexy voice, "to see if you tasted as good as I suspected."

"Did I?" she whispered.

Ché cradled her face in his hands, oh-so-lightly, as if he couldn't choose between studying her upturned face and hauling her close for a kiss. She made the decision for him.

Ché responded to her kiss with a sound low in his throat. Her mouth opened, her tongue searching out his. A shudder coursed through his body, and he pressed her close, one big hand cupping the back of her head.

She ran her hands over his shoulders and back, feeling the hard muscles shirting under the fabric of his shirt. It was a lush, sensual kiss that seemed to go on and on.

His scent filled her nostrils, spicy and exotic. She sensed his arousal on an elemental, almost animal level that was shocking and new. An image of them, sweating and naked, rolling on twisted bedsheets, flared vividly in her mind. He had to feel it, too, the heat blazing between them.

"Let's go home," she said, pulling away slightly. "We'll figure out an excuse. I can have a headache," she suggested. "Or you can." And then she'd take him to bed.

Already she felt better, taking charge and putting on the moves, deciding where and how their relationship— if one could call it that— would advance.

She'd have to be careful, though. She'd already found out how dangerous he was. He was no pushover. He was a worthy challenge, an equal. Keep it light, she warned herself. Keep it casual.

Keep it physical.

Ché lazily tasted his way from one corner of her mouth to the other, "You wish to go home?"

"It's time for bed," she mumbled against his mouth.

"Sleep, yes. I suppose we must."

She chuckled huskily. "But you know we won't."

His misunderstanding showed. He did have a problem with slang. "Not sleep sleep, silly." She buried her face in the warm hollow of his neck, her arms wrapped over his shoulders. "I want you to make love to me," she whispered, moving her hips against his.

He moved her back. There was something in his eyes that was a little too direct for comfort. He shook his head. "No, Ilana."

Saying those words cost him; she could tell by the reappearance of the dent in his jaw.

"I will not bed you tonight."

Stung, she pushed away from him. He'd turned her down. She couldn't believe it. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be embarrassed or disappointed or both. No one had ever rejected her before. Granted, she chose her targets with precision, she wasn't promiscuous or indiscriminate, but Ché… she'd assumed he was equally attracted to her, and when men were attracted to her they didn't say no.

But she was wrong. She wasn't sure if she wanted to die of embarrassment, be pissed off, or both.

Somehow she managed an amazingly light, casual tone. "Bummer. And here I was, looking forward to searching for your tattoo. But I guess you're tired out from all that dancing."

"No, Ilana." Emotions played over his face, surprisingly raw and honest. "I am not too tired to make love to you all night. To wake with you in my arms, to stroke you, and kiss you, until you were ready for me once more. If I were to love you tonight, tomorrow not even the longest bath would erase the memory of me between your legs."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. Only pride kept her from whimpering at the sensual picture he painted with those words. Sure, she'd known men who could talk the sexy talk. But no one had ever done it with the carnal certainty that Ché did. His unshakable self-confidence with regard to lovemaking was an aphrodisiac all on its own. She wondered if he knew how close her knees were to giving out.

"You've made your point. You're not tired. But you are curious about me. You said so. So am I, about you. Why not spend the night together and satisfy our curiosity?"

"I am not another Cole," he said with distaste. "A toy that you can bring out when you want to play and then cast aside. When the time comes for you to remember me, it will be as the man who was different from the others." He leveled a steady gaze at her. "Nor are you a plaything to be discarded. I have thought about you since the day I saw you on that rooftop, but I have been with you now for a day. One day. If I were to take you to bed tonight, I would be treating you in the same offhand manner I do the pleasure servers in the palace. An appealing indulgence, but ultimately forgettable."

Her face grew hot. She hugged her arms tighter to her ribs.

"I do not intend to forget you, Ilana Hamilton," he said, gentler.

Ilana swallowed. It was another rout, she thought, only this time one of emotions; she felt psychologically what she'd felt physically after he left her alone in the shower.

She felt wrung out and inside-out. A curious achy feeling swamped her, as if she'd just had a long and draining cry. Leaning her weight on the cushioned wall behind her, she regarded Ché. He hadn't escaped unscathed, either. She'd seen the regret darkening his eyes. The tinge of bitterness. It was plain to see, the duty he felt he owed his family, and what it cost him personally.

Ilana might have a Vash stepfather, and a brother who seemed more and more Vash as time passed; she might have spent five years trying to figure out the Treatise of Trade, but this was the closest she'd come to understanding what it meant to be a Vash Nadah.

Ché was honorable to the core. "Fealty, fidelity, family" was the Vash warrior's creed. Like Rom, Ché had been raised on and was devoted to the ancient code of the warrior, one that stressed control and self-discipline. It was seen as an honorable way of life, one that supposedly set an example for the lower classes. As a Vedla, Ché was as Vash Nadah as you could get. If he made a promise, he would keep it. When he married, he would be fully committed to that woman, arranged marriage or not, even if he wasn't in love with the woman. Ché stood as the exact opposite of her father, whose cheating and lies had made it difficult for her to form a lasting relationship with a man.

Ilana was at a loss how to reconcile this epiphany with her fear of falling for Ché. They'd just met. But the potential was there; she could feel it. And yet she feared it. Why? If she knew the root cause, why did the thought of commitment, of permanence, scare the stuffing out of her?

Ché lowered his chin. The corners of his mouth looked to be fighting a smile. "Great Mother. Have I actually rendered you speechless?"

At that, she staggered back to something resembling composure. "Dream on."

"Slang," he reminded her.

"It means that you are so, so wrong."

"I had that feeling." He exhaled. "Ilana, I do not know how I can convince you of it, but I have no lack of desire for you. On the contrary." His eyes blazed darkly. "I have had visions of making love to you since we first met, months ago. I want you, Ilana. Surely you can tell. But," he said, "I am loath to squander my fantasies on one impulsive night."

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Took a calming breath. He was going to talk her right into an orgasm if he kept this up. "When I said you were wrong, I meant the speechless part."

He blinked. She almost smiled. "Ah," he said.

To his credit, he acted unruffled. Then again, talking about sex did not embarrass the Vash.

She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. "If you're worried that I'll see you the same as the other guys, don't. You've already pulled away from the pack. No one's ever turned me down before. You're the first. I don't think I'll be forgetting that— or you— anytime soon."

Again he gave her that helpless look.

"It's a compliment, Ché. And some humble pie, too. I figured you for the predictable one, not me. I… don't know what to say. Other than I don't like it— I don't like being predictable. I won't settle for being forgettable, either."

She picked up her glass of water, stepping backward to the nook's entrance. At Che's raised eyebrow, she waved him forward. "Come on. At least four women are dying for your attention out there. You can't spend all your time with me. We came here to have fun, and that's what we're going to do. Especially you."

"And you?" he asked.

"Hell. Don't worry about me. I always enjoy myself. Fun is my middle name. Now, go. Get out there and have a good time."

He dipped his head in that charming Vash way of his. "As you wish."

"That's more like it." When I make a bet, I don't like to lose. Smiling wickedly, Ilana sashayed out of the nook.

Chapter Thirteen

Parked across the street from her condo in Che's Porsche, Ilana killed the ignition. The lovely hush of an upscale automobile surrounded them like a luxury cocoon.

It was late, well after two a.m. They'd closed down Reach. After the nook, she'd avoided Ché, leaving the flirting to her girlfriends— that was why she'd invited them dancing in the first place— but at the end of the night, Ché had bade her friends farewell, leaving without promises for dates, without a single exchange of phone numbers. Maybe, despite her earlier coaching, he didn't "get" how dating was done on Earth. The social scene was completely foreign to him. But she wouldn't give up. She had a bet to win.

Though he appeared unaffected by the alcohol, Ché had knocked back a number of drinks. So when it came time to leave, she'd offered to drive.

She pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them over. "Cool car. Drives like a dream. Makes drinking fizzy water all night worth it. Almost."

Ché peered through the windshield into the misty night. "I will escort you inside, and then I would like to take a walk." He turned to her. "If you don't mind."

"I mind that you'll be out alone. This is LA., not the palace. It's a fairly safe neighborhood, but it's the middle of the night. The police don't swing by that often."

"I have been trained since childhood in unarmed combat. I possess the martial skills with which to defend myself."

"Still, people have knives, guns. At night the beach is deserted."

He looked startled. "How did you know I will go to the beach?"

"Where else would you go? We both love the ocean."

"Yes, we do." His expression gentled. Ilana shifted in her seat. When he gazed at her like that, a feeling of lightheartedness and lightheadedness bubbled up inside her. It made her feel like a shaken Pepsi bottle with a tight cap. If she opened the lid and released her feelings, would Ché suck the bottle dry before throwing it away?

Yuck. Pepsi bottles and exploding emotions and long-term commitment— whoa. She was getting way ahead of herself, and she was in too good a mood to live anywhere else but in the moment. She drop-kicked the thought out of her mind.

Now Ché had turned pensive, too. Maybe it was contagious. On the plus side, he didn't mention anything else about going off into the night alone. It was really pretty funny, the way she was so protective with him, when his stature and fighting skills screamed Don't mess with me.

"My wife will likely be a desert girl," he said. It took her a second to catch up to him. He was still thinking about the ocean. "Perhaps she will come to love the sea. But most of them do not, the princesses from desert worlds."

"Your homeworlds are pretty forbidding places, but not all of them are desert worlds, right?" There were eight Vash homeworlds. To the Vash they were symbols of the victory over the warlords of their dark past. Good over evil. They formed the moral fiber and unity of the Vash Nadah federation. "Look at Eireya."