familiarized himself with the ship’s specs. The cockpit at the front connected to a galley, and sleeping quarters lay just beyond that. For one person, the ship would be small but comfortable. For two, however, the situation would be less accommodating. Extremely uncomfortable, actually.
He navigated quickly through the narrow passages to stand just outside the cockpit. Mara sat in the captain’s chair, running a diagnostic and plotting a course. Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of his boots on the floor. She didn’t turn around.
“I’d tell you to grab a seat for take off,” she said, “but there isn’t one.”
“Incorrect.” He dropped his bag and strode toward the galley. There, at a tiny table, were two seats, the only grudging acknowledgment that someone other than Mara Skiren might be on her ship.
He unlatched one chair and carried it back to the cockpit. She did turn around then, watching as he latched the chair down to the metal grid on the floor of the cockpit. Right beside her. He gave it an experimental shake and was glad to see that it didn’t budge.
“Now you have a copilot.” He dropped into the seat and fought his smile when she scowled at him.
Swiveling back to the control panel, she punched in the launch sequence. The ship hummed to life. The bay doors retracted, revealing the darkness of space, the multitudes of star systems and the gleaming lights of 8th Wing ships on patrol. His pulse kicked a little just to see it. Didn’t matter how many times he launched for his own patrol or on a mission. In some ways, he was still that dirty-faced kid staring up at the night sky, wishing himself among the stars.
This wasn’t a routine mission, not by a long shot. He had a difficult task ahead of him, and an even more difficult woman beside him.
The lights from the control panel illuminated her face, and again he was struck by how incongruously aristocratic she looked, how coolly beautiful. The sidelong glance she gave him, though, revealed that she was profoundly unnerved by his presence.
Well, she rattled him too. They were even.
“Launching,” she murmured, “in five, four, three, two, one. Hang on to your balls, Commander.”
They blasted off.
Chapter Two
The ship was too small. It never had been before. There had always been plenty of room for her. Mara knew that technically, the Arcadia hadn’t actually shrunk. But now the bulkheads felt too close, the passageways too narrow, and the cockpit felt like a Meruvian snuffbox.
Not very difficult to find the culprit behind the Arcadia’s sudden loss of size.
As she piloted toward the Smoke Quadrant, she sent another wary glance out of the corner of her eye. The 8th Wing flyboy was studying the control panel intently, his dark brows drawn down in concentration. His presence beside her was large, warm, masculine. Foreign. Unwanted.
“Planning a mutiny?”
Frayne didn’t look up from his scrutiny of the controls. “If I jettison you, I can’t get to the Smoke Quadrant.”
Nice. “Why the inspection?”
“I always learn whatever ship I’m on. Never know when I’ll need to take the controls.”
Mara bristled. “You aren’t getting your hands on my ship. I promise you that.”
He turned to her, and even this slight adjustment of his posture made her feel hemmed in, overwhelmed. She told herself it was because he was 8th Wing, a representative of everything she avoided—order, discipline, regulations. Obligations. Yet she knew, deep down, that his gray uniform accounted for only a very small part of what unsettled her.
His eyes, darker than the depths of space, held hers. “Tell me what I can get my hands on.”
“Keep them to yourself,” she snapped, but a pulse of heat worked through her.
He lifted his broad shoulders in a negligent shrug. Yet he wasn’t as indifferent as he tried to look. Mara felt his gaze on her as she slid out of her seat to make some adjustments to the ship’s climate controls. Felt his gaze all over her body. It was too damned hot in here.
“How long until the Smoke Quadrant’s outer perimeter?”
“About twenty solar hours.”
With a muttered curse, he surged to his feet to stand in the galley space behind the cockpit. He prowled like a caged beast, all sinewy, supple motion. Even though she stayed in the cockpit while he paced in the galley, she was still able to sense the power of his body. His large hands clenched and unclenched reflexively.
“We need to talk strategy. Part of me just wants to go in with