Crown Prince Zaen of Penates was ready to wring his best friend's neck when stormy grey eyes distracted him. Unlike the ridiculous sycophants surrounding them—by the starless void, why did those silly girls have to shriek and destroy his eardrums whenever he moved?—the pixie those incredible wide eyes were attached to had her pert nose scrunched in a scowl. Did she hate this racket, too? No recorder shoved towards him—she wasn't paparazzi. In fact... was she trying to reach the check-in? Poor thing disappeared in the throng. Good fortune to her.
"Why'd you invite all these desperate elite chasers?"
Zaen narrowed his eyes at Emmed while still smiling and waving at the crowd. "I didn't, fuckwit. I thought you did."
His best friend snorted. "No rutting way. I'm not spaced. Is your aunt on another kick to find your soulmate?" Emmed eyed him, mouth twisting in distaste. "Stars... can you imagine if it was one of these annoying o-deps? Pretty... but damn." He shuddered. "They've spent too long in leaky airlocks. What would you talk about after you finished railing one?"
Zaen groaned and checked that the cuffs of his synthate gloves were well up under his wrist bracer. "Probably. And fuck you. Don't wish that disaster on me, asshole. After all, it could be you, instead."
He grinned at Emmed's wide horrified brown eyes, then beckoned to Dhevun, his bodyguard and one of the massive Cygani—a heavy gravity world that produced the strongest individuals across the known universe. King Xavix insisted on the best security currency could buy for his remaining heir. No one eluded Dhevun's starship-like limbs. "Clear out this entourage," Zaen commanded. "They've had their gawk at me. I don't want them following me all over the planet on what is supposed to be a vacation." At least, that was what he'd led the paparazzi to think—a cover to continue his search for that sharding assassin who'd killed his mother and sister.
"Yes, Sarru," rumbled Dhevun's gravelly voice. With a few words into his wrist com, his security team began ushering people into gravlifts.
Zaen and Emmed traded barbs as they waited—a skill honed from the cradle given the constant intrigues of his father's court and frequent visits with his aunt to the back-stabbing senate of Sigma Draconis, an unfortunate inheritance from his mother that his father insisted he maintain. Not that he and his best friend disliked each other. On the contrary. Between them, the insults were a game of oneupmanship, a masculine form of camaraderie that kept their wits sharp for battles in political arenas.
The surrounding noise faded as he stared into the depths of those stormy grey eyes again—this time only a handful of metres away. Endlessly deep and fascinating, he sensed the annoyance radiating as her arms crossed and that cute wrinkle reappeared on her nose. He couldn't help his smile. Not the polite wide grin he sported for the cameras. No, a bubble of true amusement sparked and expanded, lightening his chest. Not impressed with the chaos and not hiding it to keep from offending him, she was a delightful breath of honest reaction, surrounded by this sea of superficiality.
"What's got you so fascinated? Don't tell me... it's your soulmate?" Emmed teased, poking Zaen in the arm.
Zaen snorted and batted Emmed's hand away. "As if, chode. No, I'm just amused"—and intrigued, but he wasn't about to admit that—"at the unlucky traveller who arrived at the same time we did and got caught in this damned crowd."
"Ah... amusement at another expense. Yep, sounds like you, you heartless jiswinner," Emmed crowed.
After glaring at his friend, Zaen turned back, shifting to peer around people. Where had she gone? An unexpected sense of disappointment drooped his shoulders. It figured. Just when someone interesting showed up. He stifled a sigh and opened his mouth to insult Emmed when his security coaxed the next group into the lifts.
The first sight of her in her entirety had him almost stepping towards her. Stars, but she was a tiny thing. Would she even reach his shoulder? Maybe in tall boots. Certainly not in those flimsy, strappy sandals, although her slender limbs were attractively toned in the fitted blue-grey shipsuit. Despite her size, she had curves in all the right places—a lush pocket Venus. Yeah, those tits were a definite handful. And there was something—
"Ahhh... so that's who you've been eying," Emmed interrupted in an annoying, knowing tone.
Colour bloomed on the woman's cheeks, turning pale skin pink as she pivoted towards the waterfall, studiously avoiding eye contact. She'd felt his eyes, did she? He grinned at his best friend. "Indeed." Curious she'd been so bold only minutes ago. What would it take to see that honesty return?
Two gravlifts returned and Dhevun had the remaining security and paparazzi fill one, leaving the second lift for Zaen and Emmed. After they entered, Zaen held the door open. Despite eventually meeting his eyes, the sexy little sprite made no move to join them.
No, that wouldn't do. Not at all. Something about her pulled at his senses, at his memory. Had they met before? He'd not fucked her. He would have remembered, wouldn't he? That sleek fall of white-blond hair, pouty lips, and lush body? Yeah, he'd recall being with her.
"Why don't you join us?"
Those incredible eyes widened. Had she not expected the invitation? Or... had she recognized him and that's why she'd turned shy after scowling so confidently? Refreshing to have a woman not throwing herself at him, but he wasn't used to being ignored.
The gravlift dinged its annoyance, but Zaen waited.
And waited.
His grin expanded at the stiff tension vibrating her curvaceous form. I'm not going away, pixie, so you might as well give in.
Finally, with a little shift of her shoulders like she'd reclaimed her confidence, the woman snatched her suitcase and joined them, back straight with rigid determination. A subtle floral scent—lavender perhaps, with something more, something almost wild—replaced the usual leather and spicy metal notes he was accustomed to around Emmed and Dhevun.
"What floor, Nin?" asked Dhevun.
"Six."
There was a quiet, almost lyrical quality to her voice. Zaen found himself shifting closer, practically within touching range of that perky ass he was tempted to grab, to see if it was as resilient as it appeared. It sure filled out that shipsuit nicely. Her pale skin would look gorgeous with his handprint as he spanked and railed her from behind.
"What's your name?" he asked, grinning when she sucked in a breath as he leaned his nose closer to her hair. Mmm... yeah, that was her fragrance. Would she smack him if he played with the silky strands? It might be worth it to see that fire in her eyes again.
"Doctor Cadwell."
"Doctor of what?"
"Xenobotany."
The lift door opened on her floor before he could ask more and she darted out like someone had ordered a station evacuation order. As the steel door closed and the gravlift rose, Emmed poked him and chuckled. "Wow. One-word answers. You charmed the shipsuit right off of her."
"Oh shut up, you mangy starfart. Three huge guys in a lift... she was nervous."
Yet, she'd controlled it. No scent of fear had reached him and his mother's line had imparted keen senses. If he hadn't seen her fingers trembling on her suitcase handle, he wouldn't have caught it. And wasn't that intriguing? Not many had that much control. She was a contradiction.
He sucked in another breath of the delicate, complex scent that was unfortunately fading now that the source had left. Smart and sexy, Doctor Cadwell was a curious puzzle he wanted to unravel.
And see how she looked coming all over his cock.
(1270 words)