The Star Princess Page 12

“Get out of his face!” the driver shouted. “Or I’m calling the cops.”

  Ché swung the photographer around and pressed him belly-first over the hood of the vehicle. “As you wish.”

  The man’s knees thumped against the metal siding. Ché caught his arm and pressed it behind him, pushing it upward in an arm lock. The move would not injure the man, but it would hurt.

  But the photographer’s yowl was louder than he expected. “Ah, Jesus! It’s hot! The hood!”

  Great Mother. Ché pulled him away from the hood of the vehicle. He hadn’t meant to laminate the fellow to his ground car.

  The fellow began swearing and blathering in unintelligible English. With icy efficiency, Ché intimidated him into silence with the infamous Vedla glare used by his family for millennia to quell their foes. “You will not cross my path again,” he snarled. “You will not bother this woman.”

  Ilana appeared at his side. “Gah,” she whispered into his ear. “Where’d you get that face?”

  Ché looked at her askance. “I was born with this face.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s scary as hell. Don’t kill him, okay?”

  At that, the photographer wriggled in Ché’s grip. “I’m just trying to make a buck,” he rasped worriedly. “I didn’t hurt no one.”

  Ilana turned on him with unexpected bitterness. “Bull. You’d love it if he hit you. You’d love it if we made a scene. Scenes make news.”

  “A man of my class does not lose his temper,” Ché reminded Ilana.

  Ilana’s gaze swung back to him. “Klark did.”

  Ché struggled not to rise to the bait. “Klark thought out every step he made. Only, he chose absolutely the wrong steps to take.”

  Briefly she squeezed her eyes shut. “I know, I know.”

  Ché could tell by her expression that she did indeed understand. At times, Ilana seemed to open up to him, giving him a peek, intentionally or otherwise, into the inner workings of her mind. Then, without warning, she would push him away, as she’d tried to do a moment ago. It certainly left a man on insecure footing.

  Perhaps that was her objective.

  “I just don’t want you involved in this,” she explained.

  Or involved with her.

  What was he thinking? He couldn’t get involved with her.

  Why not? The dissenting opinion came from the rogue in Ché, the same voice that had spurred him into stealing those garden carts as a boy, and had recently urged him to visit Earth. He admitted it to no one, but the moments instigated by the rogue stood out starkly as the times in his life when he felt truly alive.

  Speculatively he studied Ilana. If he were to pursue intimacies with her, it would be horribly uncivilized and totally politically incorrect. But it wasn’t as if he’d be ruining a virginal princess. That brought his thoughts back to Cole, and he frowned.

  “It’s my problem,” Ilana snapped at him, dragging him from his lust-induced reverie.

  He took a breath. “Not so, Ilana. Those photographs are of me, as well. This oaf has invaded our privacy. He has overstepped his bounds.”

  “Actually, he hasn’t. Unfortunately. It’s the law.”

  “Bah! Regardless of what one can do, we cannot forget what’s honorable.” He tightened his grip on the wriggling man.

  “Honorable. Sheesh. You make a great knight in shining armor. But you’re barking up the wrong tree if you think I’m going to be your damsel-in-distress.”

  Why did she insist on using such incomprehensible jargon? “Speak English,” he demanded.

  “I am speaking English!”

  The photographer swore. “Do I really need to listen to this? It’s bad enough I got my wife in the car.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Ilana yelled.

  “Screw you, Ricky,” the woman in the car shouted.

  At the same time, Ché commanded, “You will speak only when spoken to!”

  There was silence for a moment. Then the man spoke. “What do you want—the film? Take it. Eat it, for all I care. Just let me get the hell out of here.” He looked peeved, henpecked, and utterly browbeaten.

  It took all of Ché’s ingrained discipline not to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. Obviously feeling the same, Ilana compressed her lips.

  Ché released the photographer with a small push. The man fell backward into his vehicle, landing on his rear with a bounce.

  Ilana showed him a small plastic rectangle pinched between her index finger and thumb. “I’m keeping your memory stick. This”—she tossed the camera into the photographer’s lap—“is yours.”

  Ché gave the paparazzi couple one last Vedla glare. “Where I come from, you would not have gotten away so easily.”

  Ilana grabbed his arm and tugged him away. They wove in and out of throngs of pedestrians—tourists and local inhabitants, he surmised.

  The day was pleasant, the weather extraordinarily fine, but Ilana did not appear to share his lighthearted frame of mind. “I’ll shower up,” she said. “And then we’ll find you a hotel.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Ché’s mood sank like a sea stone in a tide pool. He’d known it from the start—he would seek out his own quarters. It was the only proper course of action. He’d nearly forgotten that fact in the exhilaration of staying afloat in the torrent of energy that was Ilana, forgotten that he’d come to Earth in pursuit of solo adventure, to do as he wished away from Hoe’s nagging and the relentless coddling from a swarm of well-meaning staff and servants. He’d best get on his way.

  “It will not take me long to pack my things,” he replied. But he knew it would take far longer to put this exasperating, engaging, and unexpectedly enchanting Earthwoman out of his mind.

  Chapter Nine

  On the way back to Ilana’s building, yet another car appeared to trail them. It drove off at Ché’s glare.

  “This sucks,” Ilana said. She had a hunted look in her eyes. Ché knew the feeling well. He’d felt the same the day Toren showed up with grand plans for his unwanted betrothal.

  He did his best to cheer the both of them. “I think that last fellow will think twice before harassing you again. We make a good team, Ilana. A very good team indeed. Who would have guessed such a thing? Certainly not your brother. I believe Ian was rather concerned about my visit here. Worried, perhaps. He took great pains to facilitate my arrival.”

  “Really.” She appeared to ponder that. “And yet Ian forgot to tell me you were coming. He who never forgets anything.” Her narrowed eyes broadcast her suspicion. “Did he forget on purpose, so you’d show up no-notice? At night? After it was too late to find you a place to stay? Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”

  Ché wasn’t sure whether her displeasure was aimed at him, her twin, or both of them. But then, much about Ilana remained a mystery. Perhaps he should contact the crown prince and see if she came with a handbook. “Considering the short time in which he had to help me organize my journey, no. It does not. But if it were true, if Ian did want to surprise you, what would be the purpose?”

  Ilana looked even more suspicious. “To set us up. To get us together.”

  “Together…?”

  “Yeah, you know—a couple. An item. One plus one. Damn it, Ché—you’re single and eligible, by Vash standards, and so am I. What if he wants us to get married? Not only Ian—both our families might be in on this!”

  “Absurd! My family and my advisors are arranging a marriage as we speak. By the heavens, even the Great Council is in on the plan. The crown prince wouldn’t involve himself in such a scheme.” Would he?

  Of course Ché had confided in Ian as a friend. Else, the man wouldn’t have known of Ché’s predicament.

  Suspicion seeped in where it hadn’t been before.

  Ilana, on the other hand, appeared inordinately relieved, as if she’d transferred her doubts to him. “You’re right,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. Ian wouldn’t interfere like that.”

  Was she trying to reassure herself—or him? “This j
ourney was my idea and mine only from the very first. As I told you last night, I wanted to escape involvement in my wedding plans. I thought it was best I do it here.” He left out the fact that he’d wanted to see her again, to see why she’d remained in his thoughts all these months when he’d certainly had enough beautiful women to divert him.

  “And here we are,” Ilana said disgustedly,”talking about weddings and”—she shuddered—“c-commitment. The C-word.”

  Unlocking her front door, she let them in. “Thanks, by the way. Your help out there…I really appreciated it.”

  “Your gratitude magnifies our cultural differences. You do not need to thank me for what I was raised to do.”

  Her expression changed, almost imperceptibly, but Ché could detect such subtle cues: She acted as if he’d disappointed her in some way. “Oh, that’s right. Playing protector is ingrained in you. You worship and protect women. It’s part of your culture.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and studied her. “Did you expect that I would have run in the opposite direction if not for my upbringing?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Who caused you to be so cynical? Who disappointed you so?” Ian was an Earth-dweller, but Ché knew he wouldn’t run, especially if it meant leaving a woman undefended.

  A wall fell down over Ilana’s eyes. “I’m used to fending for myself, that’s all. It’s nice for once to have someone do the dirty work for me.” Her voice softened fractionally. “Really nice. Even if it was just a knee-jerk reaction because of the way you were raised.”

  “What I did, I did for you. Regardless of my background.”

  “Well, double thanks, then.” Tugging her hair from its band, she shook her tresses free. She breezed past him on the way into the kitchen. There, she filled two glasses with ice and water, offering him one. “I guess I don’t make a very good damsel-in-distress.”

  Her vernacular baffled him. “What is this damsel…?” He circled one hand.

  “Damsel in distress. A woman in need of rescue. A knight in shining armor is…someone like you. The guy who does the rescuing.”

  “And this bothers you? Being a distressed damsel?”

  She sipped her water. “I’m pretty independent, Ché.”

  “Is that a warning?”

  “I’m not like the women you know.”

  “Thank the heavens.”

  Her mouth twisted as if she couldn’t decide whether to grin or scowl. He’d flustered her.

  “Go on with what you were saying,” he coaxed indulgently. “Or do I distract you?”

  Her nostrils flared. “Hardly.” She took another swallow.

  Liar, he thought.

  She lowered her glass, searched his face. “You don’t believe me?”

  “No. I don’t.” The air between them heated. This flirtation, it was a dangerous game, but it exhilarated him. The end goal was far more tempting than hijacking a garden cart, he thought, running his gaze lazily over Ilana’s sweet curves. “But I have met the sort of fellow with whom you keep company: powerless, easily chased away. I, on the other hand, am not. That intrigues you. You argue to keep your distance from me.”

  “You egotistical pig! I—I thought you were different from the other Vash. But you’re just as full of yourself as the rest of them. You have no idea what I like in a man.”

  He exchanged his glass for the newspaper she had put down and handed it to her. “I know what you do not like.”

  Warily she took the newspaper.

  The urge to bait her proved irresistible. “Cole Miller wanted you to have it,” he informed her.

  “Tell me he didn’t come here for his dog bowl.”

  “Ah…”

  “His Acme A-one super-duper foldable doggie water bowl.”

  “Perhaps it was you he wanted. He left rather quickly after coming to the conclusion that I’d taken his place.”

  The mild exasperation tightening Ilana’s mouth told him that what feelings she’d had for the man, if any, were gone. That should have made Ché feel better. But the more he pondered Cole’s appearance, and the man’s easy acceptance that Ilana had already let another man into her bed, the more it irritated him. It was becoming clearer by the moment that he simply didn’t like the idea of Ilana having a lover. Himself, yes. Others, no. “Cole assumed I had stayed overnight with you.”

  She propped her hands on her hips. “Didn’t you?”

  “In your bed,” he corrected.

  She pulled a bathing towel out of a small closet, waving it in a circle as she tipped her head. “All you had to do was ask.”

  Ché reared back. The inability to form an urbane comeback unbalanced him. His ensuing befuddlement left him tongue-tied, which was obviously Ilana’s intent. If this were a Bajha match, at this point he’d be parrying desperately, his back to the wall, cursing himself for seriously underestimating his opponent.

  Ilana was completely outside his experience. The females in his life who weren’t family either performed a service, like a courtesan or maid, or were those with whom he was required by etiquette to entertain with charming and safe banter at royal functions: elderly widows, or women married or promised to other men. Ilana fell into none of those categories. She unaccountably blurred the lines between peer and object of lust, making her unlike any woman he’d met.

  Smiling, she breezed past him, headed for her bedroom and, he presumed, her cleansing rituals. He watched her sweet bottom swaying and the muscles in her legs flex. He wondered if she knew what additional pleasure those strong thighs could afford her while making love. He wanted to take her to bed, just to show her.

  “Perhaps I should have asked, Ilana,” he called after her. “But I am Vash, through and through, as you say. As the guest in your home, I would naturally expect any hospitality offered to come from you.”

  She appeared in the doorway of her bedroom. She’d stripped off her clothing and now held only the towel around her. Pressing it loosely to her breasts, she stepped aside. “The bed’s right here. Come on in,” she dared.

  He would not let her get away with it. Affecting lazy charm, he allowed his gaze to settle on her mouth before he returned his attention to her eyes. “I refuse to contribute to your moral recklessness when you are doing such a fine job on your own.”

  Ilana’s cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. But when her voice finally emerged, it was husky with fury, not embarrassment. That she was nearly nude and ready for a fight aroused him. How many of his bedmates feigned passion? Most of them, he realized, if not all. Ilana’s was real.

  “Let me get this straight,” she said. “If we slept together, it’d be morally wrong for me but not for you? A man can have sex and remain unattached, but when a woman does the same, her morals come into question? You, with a palace full of courtesans. I can’t believe you don’t see the hypocrisy in that!”

  Ché dismissed her judgment. “Men and women are different.”

  “Well, duh. I’m not arguing biology here.”

  He fell back on quoting the Treatise of Trade—the ultimate authority on everything was extraordinarily useful in such circumstances. “ ‘A woman’s body is sacred. It must not be abused, or used without forethought.’”

  Her eyes glinted with sudden mirth. “So. Sex with you would be abusive. If that’s supposed to scare me away, it’s not working.”

  He wouldn’t let her distract him—but by the heavens, it was growing blasted difficult! “I am referring to your body! To Cole’s use of it.”

  “Use. Use? At least I don’t have to hire anyone when I want to get laid.”

  “You are better than that,” he persisted. “You deserve more than casual relationships.”

  “Ah, yes. My vast scrapheap of boyfriends. The chicken bones of the slutty banquet of my life.”

  He shook his head at her self-deprecating irony. “You give yourself too easily, Ilana.”

  “I don’t ‘give’ myself at all.” She gathered her towel to her breasts. “Did you ever
consider that, Mister Holier-than-thou? That I have the upper hand? That I leave them? It’s not moral recklessness. It’s smart!”

  Pain glittered suddenly in her eyes, and he knew not the cause of it. Hurting her was not his intent, and he felt like a boor for doing so. But her distress ran deeper than the argument at hand; he was sure of it. Before Councilman Toren called him back to Eireya to marry, Ché vowed to find out why.

  Ilana clutched her towel and spun away from him. She left the door to her bedchamber ajar, the towel slipping lower as she swayed away. He heard the hiss of water falling as another door farther within the room opened.

  She passed into view again. Satisfied that he was watching her—how could he not!—she let the towel fall, dragging it along the floor from the tips of one finger.

  Ché’s loins tightened, hardened, reacting to the sight of Ilana’s nude body, her purposeful disregard of his presence. Her breasts were full and high, and her bottom generous. She was curvaceous, not skinny, her legs sleekly muscled. Her smooth skin was suntanned all over, except for that incredible rear end, pale and silken. He envisioned clutching her bottom as he made love to her, pressing her closer to seat himself deeper inside her.

  Great Mother. He was hard, almost painfully so. Though he was already aroused from their arguing, the intensity of his reaction shocked him. But years of discipline and sexual training kept him in control.

  Ilana paused before disappearing behind the other door. Steam rose, blurring her features. She glanced over her shoulder at him, through her tangle of streaked hair, as if daring him to follow and feeling secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t. Then she flounced smugly into her bath chamber and shut the door.

  Ché stood there, aching, his breath rapid. Sweat prickled his skin. Blast her! She was too confident—and dead wrong, if she thought a Vedla would allow a woman to tantalize him so and then escape unscathed. Fists clenched, he strode into her private quarters and across the room to where she’d gone. He pushed open the door, releasing a cloud of scented steam, and stepped inside. She had no idea what she’d called upon herself by dangling the invitation of her body in front of him. But she was about to find out—in one unforgettable, exquisitely administered lesson.