Page 23 of Smuggler's Beauty

Aiden waved at Veselko without turning his attention from the board. He capped the pen and turned back to Evelyn.

“We need to do more research about the situation on your planet. See who the players are.”

“I had L.I.N.D.A. start gathering some of that information last night. Should be ready soon.” She fiddled with the buttons on the cardigan. “Does this sweater adapt sizes to the wearer? Can clothes do that now? It seems too small for Veselko. Anddid he say it was palakan?” If she was remembering her biology correctly, the fluffy creatures were known for using their razor sharp teeth to sever the fingers of those who tried to shear them without the proper protective equipment.

“Oh, he made it. It was for an old girlfriend, but the sweater curse hit before he finished it, and they split. He refused to not complete it, and it’s been in his closet for, like, a year.”

“Sweater curse?”

“It’s a knitter thing. I’m assured it is both a real phenomenon and that he should have known better than to start the project before they were married.”

“Where did he get the wool? Aren’t palakans super vicious when approached? Cute but lethal?”

“Yeah, exactly why their super soft fur goes for so many credits. We did a job transporting a small herd of them to a boutique weaving colony near Triton Four. It took him two weeks to get the damn things to stop biting him every time he entered the pen to feed them.” Aiden put the pen on the lip of the whiteboard. “Took forever to get the smell out of the hold. Lillian vetoed livestock for six months after that.”

“Huh,” Evelyn said. “I’ve never had a cursed sweater before.”

“This is a very strange week for all of us,” Aiden said, nodding. His face was set in serious lines, but Evelyn could see the humor dancing in his eyes.

“I bet this isn’t even in your top three,” Evelyn said. “You must encounter all sorts of bizarre situations transporting sundries across the galaxy.”

“Oh, I see my share of strange shit. But I don’t get dragged into convoluted political plots every day of the week.” Aiden frowned as he shoved his hands in his pockets. It seemed deliberate to her, like he was actively preventing himself from touching her again.

“Do you save those for the holidays?” she asked.

“Naturally,” he said. She laughed at his nonchalant tone.

L.I.N.D.A.’s notification beep sounded.

“Yes, L.I.N.D.A.?” Aiden asked.

“The historical data Evelyn has requested is loaded onto her tablet.”

“Time for homework,” Evelyn said. She stretched her arms above her head, then out to her sides. She felt his eyes follow the movements and noted with immense satisfaction that the hands in his pockets had fisted. “I need caffeine for this. Also the tablet would probably help.”

“The tablet is in the side table in your quarters, Evelyn.”

“Thank you, L.I.N.D.A.”

Evelyn had no idea how to exit the room smoothly. She knew double finger guns and a backwards exit was the absolute worst idea she could have and tamped down on that urge hard. She settled for tapping awkwardly on his desk and saying, “Well, I’ll see you later.”

Aiden wrenched a hand from his pocket to grab hers and gave it a squeeze. She looked up at him and couldn’t contain the shiver that coursed through her at the dark promises in his eyes.

“Later,” he said. A single word shouldn’t have been able to set her entire body aflame in anticipation, but he had managed it.

She knew exactly what he meant.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Aiden admiredEvelyn’s single-minded focus. It was a quality that he himself also possessed. Game recognized game. He was usually focused on logistics, on finding flaws in plans that could come back to bite his crew on the ass. Evelyn was focused on picking apart the past. Monday morning quarterbacking her own sacrificial actions was starting to take a toll on her.

She’d spent most of the past two days scrutinizing the data that L.I.N.D.A. had collated for her. Aiden realized that this was not an unusual way for her to spend her time — she’d just swapped her usual literary diet of romance, cozy mysteries, and fantasy with a steady stream of historical and current events, articles and news clips flying over the screen of her tablet as quickly as she could get through them. Sprawled across sofas in the lobby, perched on cafe chairs drinking lattes, lying on the banquette in the observation deck, Aiden watched as Evelyn set out on the bizarre exercise of reading her own life from a historical context.

Every time a historian painted her as a selfless martyr, she groaned.

“Martyrs have to suffer. It’s in the definition. I took a nap,” she repeatedly muttered, flicking through to the next article in disgust.

He’d brought her a variety of snacks and beverages to keep her energy up. Half the time he managed to sneak up on her and switch out plates or cups undisturbed. When she did notice, she would grant him a sheepish smile that took his breath away.