Michelle’s throat dries. She never expected instant admiration to overwhelm her. Scott belongs to Australia. Her body betrays her as it does when she reads the Osirian love novels.
Scott’s fully flexed arm muscles swell as he lifts the top of the transport console. He flips the panel upside down and places it on the bench seat. Clumps of spaghetti wires trail inside.
Her eyes follow the curves and grooves of Scott’s well-defined vanity muscles down his arms.
Caught.
He flashes her a charming smile.
Breathe. Breathe, girl. A royal princess would never faint before such a common male. Michelle scolds herself, knowing Scott’s anything but common.
He dwarfs her frame as he reaches past her. Even the smell of his sweat entices her. Not a nasty flavor, but a manly working of the body. He removes an elongated probe from the toolkit. “Do you need assistance, Princess?”
Back to my quarters. I need some alone time. In the short few seconds when she stood next to her husband, she experienced none of these current urges. “You may address me as Michelle.” Stupid.
“Michelle’s not an address, it’s your name. It means ‘she is like god,’ and ‘Aurora’ is the dawn, so your name’s as beautiful as the sunrise, just as you are.”
Her chest heaves as he draws in closer to level his jaw with hers. Her quickening heart leaves her short of breath. Licking her lips, she fails to recover moisture from the desert her mouth becomes. “You were in the procession at my wedding.”
“Oiled, and carrying your litter.”
Her hand reaches toward his arm. She extends her index finger to poke the mound of rippling flesh. “Only the strongest—most beautiful men—were selected.”
“The word you’re searching for is perfect.” His right hand balls into a fist, rippling every musculature in his arm to its full distention. “Did you come in here to ask me about your wedding? I have to repair the transporter. The crash damaged more systems than I thought.”
“I—” I don’t know. Kiss me.
His mouth inches toward hers. “You what.” His hand covers her shoulder, fingers gently tickling her back.
“I—I’m destined for a royal wedding. I must remain—”
His hot breath destroys her thought.
“I’ve never kissed before,” she admits.
“Not even to practice on one of your handmaidens?”
Before her disgust filters into words, the transporter doors whoosh open.
Scott draws away from her, the pincer tool in his hand.
Australia, still in a spotless unrumpled uniform, holds out a computer pad. “Transporter schematics. Athena did not want to release them. I could have used Doug’s assistance.”
Michelle lowers herself to the bench seat before she crashes. Her alabaster skin reddens as she flushes with embarrassment. Not because she nearly kissed Australia’s lover, as guilt will punish her later, but that she wanted him to be her first kiss. Scott’s prowess resonates over her, leaving her with a light-headed swoon.
“We recover Reynard. We put the Silver Dragon in dry dock. The crash damaged more systems. Her advanced repair systems keep her in flight. No Osirian-designed ship would ever leave the ground after such an impact.”
“Should we return to a spaceport now?” asks Australia.
“The ejection from hyperspace completing the crash damage. We inspect Guil III for the Commander. Then I need weeks to repair the Dragon.”
Australia pauses before considering. “If the Sandmen use focal points to enter our reality, Reynard must find one in order to escape.”
“You’re asking for a lot of ‘ifs.’ If he’s alive. If he escapes. If he figures out he must find a focal point. If an Osirian’s able to cross the plane of interdimensional existence.”
“The man is my protector.” Michelle jumps from her seat. “What happens to me if you don’t recover him?”
“Admiral Maxtin will make such decisions. Seek asylum with the UCP.”
“No. The Mokarran will use my action to claim the throne or just invade. My kidnapping provided a ruse to keep my people safe.”
“It won’t last forever, Michelle,” Scott says.
Does she not hear the sweetness in his tone? The draw it has. I want to lie next to him and have those arms protect me. Does she not see what he does to women?
“If Reynard’s not on Guil III, we’ll discuss your situation, Princess. Now I’ve got to repair the transporter.” Scott fishes the tool inside the console, probing until he removes a brown crystal.
“Is it damaged?” Australia inquires.
Scott flips the ocular piece over his eyes from his headset. Scrutiny—magnification—scrutiny—magnification until the fibers composing the crystal appear to his pupil.
“It appears uncracked.” Scott rotates the tool a fraction. “I’ve seen no other crystal such as this one anywhere else on the ship.”
“The connection must be the problem.”
“I hope so. I’ve no idea how to repair a single-pad transporter in a galaxy where every other matter transmission pad requires a sender and receiver pad.”
Australia draws her index finger across the pad screen. “It has no label. Following the path of the housing unit, it leads into this cluster of circuits.” She flips the pad for Scott to examine the image.
“A buffering apparatus. This crystal must hold the transported item’s physical pattern.”
“You don’t understand how the transporter works?” Michelle snaps.
“I have built transporters, but all use a two-pad system. No one has seen anything like this. If I’m unable to fix this, then I’ll have to downgrade it.”
“We lose an advantage.”
“Don’t put me in that thing ever again,” Michelle protests.
“I’ve got to finish repairs. Why did you come in here, Michelle?” Scott flashes his smile. Her panic over the energy transference subsides, leaving her coy at his glance but wondering how Australia doesn’t note his playful demeanor.
“I don’t know what else to do.” A truth she forgot for a second when unchecked desires bubbled from inside her. “You have some replacement components from the Dragon’s major systems—”
“I cannibalized much of the second deck,” Scott adds.
“Would they keep such an important component in the reserve stores?”
“It is a logical deduction, Your Majesty.” Australia never drops the formal tone due to her station.
“I’ve found little evidence of the builders of this craft. Part of me believes they scrubbed it
