The Star Princess (33 page)

He and Hoe had agreed that victory or defeat hinged on having only the two of them being involved in this game of political Bajha. The Vedlas had suffered much humiliation recently, and Klark would give his life to repair his family's reputation. That was why no others must know of the plan, even if they would agree with it, which Klark suspected they would not. But no matter how this coldheartedly brilliant game played out, someone would have to die.

Chapter Twenty-one

Mission accomplished, Muffin thought as he observed Ilana Hamilton and Prince Ché from his parked car across the street.

Ché and Ilana walked up the stairs to her home, arm in arm, as if they no longer cared about paparazzi. On the landing by her front door, unaware that he was being watched, the once-reserved prince drew Ian's sister close for a kiss before the pair disappeared inside for what Muffin speculated would be more of the same, it had been this way ever since they'd returned from their night away.

Starting up his ground car, Muffin looked for an opening in traffic. If he stayed much longer, Copper would wonder where he was, and he didn't want to be late for their dinner out.

As he drove into the road, one thought clung like a thorn-toed hissock: As soon as Muffin reported that Ilana and Ché were most definitely a couple, Ian Hamilton would likely call him back to Sienna. But maybe he'd wait a little longer before relaying his news. He had a few loose ends to wrap up first, namely those tied to a certain redhead known as Trouble.

In the hour before the Eireyan sun peeked over the endless sea, droplets of bright crimson spattered into a sink the color of midnight.

Sweat broke out on Klark's brow as he dug a small blade into his flesh. Pain blossomed from the cut, raw and white-hot. Only the discipline forged by Bajha kept him from making a sound. That, and the knowledge that what he was about to do would save his family from shame.

He had to take charge. He couldn't and wouldn't let a mere counselor take the reins of something so critical to the future. Klark and not Hoe would act as the angel of death.

A red haze of pain blurred his vision as the blade hunted. Then he heard and felt a faint metallic click, muffled by blood and sinew. He didn't need to see his reflection in the mirror to know that he'd located his treasure.

With steady fingers, he reached into the incision he'd made near his skull, behind his right ear. Scooping out the tiny locator device implanted there when his imprisonment had commenced, he let out the ragged breath he'd been holding.

The locator dropped into the sink with a drizzle of blood. Klark let the tiny computer sit there as he tended to his wound, sterilizing the cut, cauterizing it, and then hiding what he had done with a bandage. The sharp, throbbing pain was distracting, yes, but he could afford no more than the topical anesthetic he'd applied. Pain pills would blunt his ability to think, and everything he'd ever desired hinged on his mind being razor-sharp.

He cleaned himself and the work area, then wrapped the locator in a swatch of cloth, brought it to his bed, and placed it under the head cushions. "Sleep well, Prince Klark." Then, dressed humbly in the manner of a palace servant, he slipped past the guards and off to freedom.

He and Ché had suffered much scolding for their sins of hijacking garden carts when they were boys. But from those innocent antics, Klark had learned invaluable skills. Tonight, and in the days to come, he would finally put them to the test. This time he would not fail.

With his long legs bent at the knee, Ché sank deep into Ilana's bathtub, his eyes closed in pleasure. Droplets glistened on his shoulders and chest. A water buff, he needed at least one bath a day, even if he showered, which never seemed to satisfy him the way it did her.

Hot mist carried the scents of the bath oils she'd poured in for him. Dressed in a bra and thong, she leaned toward the bathroom mirror to apply a couple of coats of mascara. Waterproof mascara. When Ché launched into space in a few hours, her eyes weren't going to stay dry.

All over again, the pressure of tears built behind her eyes and made her throat close. The wand pinched between her fingers shook. "Bite me," she muttered under her breath, grabbing a tissue to clean the smudge she'd made. She couldn't start crying, not yet.

Ché opened an eye. "Bite me?" he queried.

"It's an expression. Slang for being pissed, which is lingo for being scared, mad, sad, and frustrated."

She shoved the wand into the tube of mascara. "But," she said with a sigh, "I'll get over it"

Turning, she intended to exchange the bathroom for the quiet solitude of her bedroom, at least until she could get a better grip on her emotions. But there was a tremendous sloshing from the tub. Ché grabbed her wrist and pulled. * **

She shrieked. "Ché!" She landed on her butt in the bath with a splash, her legs splayed awkwardly. Ché pulled her backward until her shoulder blades impacted solidly with his chest His arms came around her, his hard thighs corralling her hips. Water spilled onto the bathroom floor. "What are you doing!"

"When I first arrived here, you called me a beast." He nipped her on the side of the neck. "I would not want you to think I had changed."

At the side of her throat, his mouth was warm and wet, his beard prickling. She sighed and tipped her head back, closing her eyes as his hands smoothed over her stomach and around her ribcage, and up to where they slipped under her bra to caress her slippery breasts. "Mmm," she said and arched her back. "You haven't changed. You're still the same arrogant, spoiled, incredibly sexy charmer as when you got here."

"And you are just as wild, just as willful as when I first saw you," he said low in her ear.

"Then what happened?" she whispered. "How the hell did we fall in love?"

Ché went still. Ilana blushed as she realized what she'd said. He shifted her as she turned her head to look at him. His voice was quiet. Calm. "Do you love me, Ilana?"

Her chest felt suddenly tight. "I'm getting pretty damed close," she whispered.

He touched his fingertips to her face, as if in won-der. His eyes were more midnight than gold. She held her breath.

Running his hands over her face, he kissed her. And then again, groaning softly. Breathless, she turned, angling her head to deepen the kiss. His mouth tasted salty in contrast to the sweet-scented bathwater that wet his face. His tongue stroked hers. Desire scorched through her, and she slid her arms over his shoulders as the kiss went on and on.

What if this was their last time? She squeezed her eyes shut Heartache and desire twisted sharply together until she couldn't separate them. The embrace intensified, and she wondered if Ché knew what she was thinking.

She came up on her knees, tugging off her panties. Blinded by tears, she reached desperately for Ché, straddling him. His rigid sex slid through her soft folds. Quivering, she took him in fully, welcoming the thrust that plunged deep inside her.

Ilana let out «a low, guttural cry of pleasure. Ché grasped her hips, his fingers sinking deep into the pliant skin there as he moved inside her, rubbing her most sensitive point against him with each upward stroke.

Tightening her arms around his neck, she held him close as her oiled body moved slickly against his. The bathtub was small; there wasn't a lot of room to move. Knees banged, elbows skidded off the tub walls. But cramped quarters weren't the only reason they stayed pressed close together.

As if by mutual consent, they couldn't bear even an inch of physical separation. They gripped each other. Their mouths never parted, though she rode him hard, sloshing water over the edge and onto the floor. It was fierce, their coupling. Intense. A breathless kind of lovemaking. She had never felt anything like it, this storm of sensations: the feverishness of the emotional bond she felt with Ché, coupled with an almost overwhelming physical demand for satiation that shattered the last shreds of control.

The pressure deep inside her built. Her head tipped back, and she couldn't keep from crying out. But Ché brought her back to him, crushed her hard to his chest, his mouth searching for hers, feverishly, even as he groaned, his entire body taut as he fought against his own release.

They seemed to hover there forever, at the peak of pleasure. She wasn't sure if either of them breathed.

Then, his muscles going rigid, Ché shoved into her, deep and hard, his body shuddering. She wasn't sure who came before the other, or if it was at the same time. Ilana's inner muscles clamped down, pulsing with each contraction. She felt it in her womb. She felt it clear to her breasts and down to her curled toes, a physical and emotional upheaval that shook her to the core and plunged them both into stunned exhaustion.

By the time she became aware of her surroundings again, the bathwater was noticeably cooler. Ilana lifted her hips and turned, sagging weakly against Che's chest. "Wow."

He chuckled deeply. Sated, affectionate, they kissed, smiling as they did so, tender, after-the-loving kisses. He stroked her hair, her face, and she smoothed her hands over his jaw, his strong neck, the back of his head.

Only the knowledge that they had to get to the airport sometime that afternoon ruined the mood. "God, Ché. You seem so relaxed, like you're not nervous about the flight at all."

"I am not."

"I'd give anything to be that calm when I leave with

Linda." And she'd give anything to have Ché traveling with her, but she left that part out. It wouldn't take much to convince him to remain behind until they could leave together. But his family was champing at the bit to get him home, and she didn't want to delay him, though she prayed Che's marriage wasn't as imminent as Hoe made him believe.

But, if irritating, the advisor's position was understandable. He was under tremendous pressure to get Ché home, while dealing with the volatile Klark. "At least I'll have Linda with me— if she ever gets her clearance. Damn bureaucracy. I don't know who's to blame, yours or mine."

Ché pressed his mouth to her wet and tangled hair. Then, with his hand, he pushed aside her damp curls and took her earlobe in his teeth. "Ours," he reminded her with a playful tug.

She snorted. "Fine. Ours. I'll blame both governments for losing Linda's passport."

"Hoe said he would track down who made the error."

"No offense, but didn't it seem to you that things got even more bogged down after he got involved? I think we should leave it up to Ian, but I sure wish I knew who to throttle for screwing this up. It's the only reason we can't travel together."

"Do as I suggested-— sit near the pilot when you are nervous, close enough to see everything he will see. It will give you the same sense of control as when we flew together." Ché took her arms by the wrists, raising her hands out of the water. "The flight controls in a starspeeder are somewhat different from our Cessna."

"I figured that." She laughed, but quieted as he maneuvered her hands, aware that he'd become very serious about familiarizing her with the steering of a starcraft. She remembered he'd told her that he empowered himself with knowledge. The more skills you have," she whispered, paraphrasing him, "the less likely you are to find yourself helpless in any situation, right?"

His fingers clenched around her wrists. Yes, the movement told her, and she felt a rush of gratitude at his desire to ensure that she didn't panic when she got on that speeder with Linda.

There is a stick, not a yoke," he went on. "And the onboard computer controls much of what we did today in the Cessna… "

The flying lesson went on for a long while, long enough for her to replace the initial butterflies in her stomach with genuine interest. Then, from her bedroom, she could hear her comm box chiming, the one connected directly to her family on Sienna. She splashed upright "That's Ian."

They exchanged a questioning glance. Without her having to ask, he said quietly, "I know you feel quite alone in this. But I ask that you refrain from telling your brother about our plans to marry until I speak to my father. I have played this game of political Bajha all my life. Trust me when I say it is for the best that we take one step at a time. In case there are any complications."

"Like, when your dad says I'm the wrong girl."

"He will not."

"Okay. Sure."

Che's mouth flattened. "Ilana. Give me some credit for knowing my family."

"What about Klark? Do you know him?" she challenged. "I know my father's true colors— I think we both do. But I wonder sometimes if you really know your brother. I have this bad feeling— "

The comm chimed again. Ilana hesitated before leaving the bathroom. Ché had fallen into his brooding again, and she watched helplessly. Klark was going to be an issue in their marriage— that was a fact. Marrying Ché would bind her to Klark in a lopsided triangle of feelings. She'd love Ché, he'd love both her and his brother, and Klark would love Ché. That was where the breakdown occurred. She had a tough time imagining any feelings besides resentment between herself and Klark. Her upbringing and her faith told her that she should forgive Klark. But the possibility of forgiving the man whose fanaticism remained a real threat to her family seemed beyond her at the moment. There was enough other crap to deal with, and she pushed the issue to the back of her mind, knowing they'd have to address it once they were reunited at the Wheel.

"I'll give your regards to Ian," she said, wrapping her robe over her drenched underwear.

At that, a strange sort of masculine admiration replaced the gloom in Che's eyes. He lifted his arms, linking his fingers behind his head. Water dripped from his triceps and ran down his slick, bronzed chest. "You and I talk of Klark and his schemes, but your brother's are even more admirable."

She stopped in the doorway, scrubbing a towel over her hair. "Huh?"

"Ever since you admitted to your role in distracting me from my wedding plans, I have been suspicious of the man."

"It was Ian's idea, the bet we made."

"He wanted this all along— us, together. Everything points to it. His not announcing my arrival, so that I would surprise you. His goading you into a wager, where you would tempt me with your female friends, knowing I never would take the bait. He knew from the start I wanted you, I think. And he has done everything in his power to make it happen. He knew that we suited."