Her tongue clicked in disapproval. Terrible. She threw the clothes back at him.
He grabbed them and scowled. What? Theyre fine.
Those clothes make me sleepy.
So Im not a fashion vid. That shouldnt matter.
She snorted. Where smugglers are concerned, appearance counts for a lot. Its all about flash.
Im going to change when we get to Ryge, but if you stroll into Beskidt By wearing that stuff,
everyones going to know you dont belong. Then good luck trying to get any intel.
Theres
no time for any side trips to a shopping barge. Irritation roughened his voice.
Wait here. A few adjustments to put the ship on autopilot, then she hopped up from her seat in the cockpit. She spent an uncomfortable, arousing moment edging past him as she threaded through the galley where he stood. She and Frayne kept bumping into each other as she tried to get through the galley. They both breathed in sharply at the brief contact.
She finally dashed out of the galley and down the passage toward her quarters. Once inside, she opened a storage panel, then pulled out a battered trunk. The thing was a little heavy, so she dragged it back down the passage to the galley.
Frayne watched her curiously as she opened it. There should be some things in here that will fit you. She rifled around until she produced some shirts and pants. Maybe these.
What the hell are you doing with mens clothing?
She shrugged. Souvenirs and trophies.
He glowered ferociously. Im supposed to wear the cast-offs of your lovers?
Not lovers, she corrected. He looked almost relieved until she added, I had sex with them,
sure, but I kicked them out after a night. That doesnt count.
Sounds like a lover to me.
A lover means sleeping with someone more than once. I never do that. Too much commitment.
She peered at him. I cant believe this is making you angry.
Im not angry, he snarled. Yet he seemed almost surprised by his heated reaction.
So She shook a handful of clothes at him. Find something.
She didnt think the words that came out of his mouth would have been approved by the 8th Wing Communication Council. For a few seconds, she almost believed hed rather go naked than wear some of the clothes worn by her nighttime entertainment. Wouldnt that make an interesting picture
Commander Frayne striding through her ship wearing nothing but his plasma pistol and boots. Her mouth became uncomfortably dry.
His big hand lashed out and grabbed a few shirts. Ill try some of these, but no goddamn way am I going to wear another mans pants.
Her brief hope that he wouldnt bother wearing anything below the waist was dashed when he snatched up his civvy pants. He stalked away to her quarters. She didnt want him in there, but room wasnt exactly plentiful on the Arcadia , and unless she wanted him stripping right in front of her, her quarters was the only place he could change.
Not that shed mind watching him peel off his 8th Wing uniform, the serviceable gray material sliding off his arms, down his hard torso and flat stomach, until he pushed the fabric down his hips, then lower
Stop it . This whole forced mission was a screw job, and tangling with the commander would make a complicated situation even more difficult. She liked things an uncomplicated as possiblebut she was coming to learn that, where the commander was concerned, nothing was simple.
In Maras quarters, Kell quickly shucked off his uniform, his movements mechanical though his mind and gut churned.
Why he was so angry? It shouldnt matter if the clothes belonged to her one-night stands. It shouldnt matter to him that she even had one-night stands.
But it did. It mattered.
He stared at Maras unmade bed. It was definitely wide enough for two. Had she brought them here, those men? Did she get these sheets twisted by writhing around with some brash space privateer?
The image of her, sweaty and wild and sleek on the bed, came all too quickly into his mind, but it was him he pictured with her, not a swaggering pirate.
As he stepped into his civilian pants, he felt the strange urge to find those random men and beat them into cosmic powder. For fucks sake, get a hold of yourself. He didnt even feel jealousy about the women he did take to bed, let alone a smuggler he had no intention of bedding. A smuggler with creamy hair and taunting eyes.
This is about the mission , he reminded himself. Nothing else.
Still, after picking the one shirt that wasnt either transparent or cut down to the navel, Kell took a grim satisfaction in using his regulation blade to shred the rest of the mens clothing. He threw the remains into a waste compartment.
Brilliant. Why dont you just piss on them while youre at it?
He finished dressing, and was glad there wasnt a mirror in her quarters. He didnt want to know what he looked like.
If the expression on Maras face was any indicator, he looked damn good. He ambled back to the galley, dressed in his closest approximation of a smuggler. She sat in the cockpit with her seat swiveled around to face him. Her eyes went wide, and he waited for her to laugh. Instead, a flush crept across her cheeks and she slowly licked her lips.