Thalia smiled, delighted how he sounded almost nervous. “Sure. I’d like a drink and a stretch before the next movie.”
In the kitchen area, she made herself a cup of coffee, or the closest thing to it they had on the ship. The dark brew had a bitter taste but hit enough of the coffee notes that she felt satisfied, especially when she added a powdered creamer. Whatever it was, particularly if it was ground bugs or something, she didn’t want to know.
“Shouldn’t you be flying the ship?” she asked before blowing across the steaming mug.
“Autopilot. The computer will notify me if an issue requires attention.”
“So, it’s just you and Ren on the ship?”
His back stiffened and his tail, once lazily waving behind him, tucked down next to his leg. “We are without a clan. You were aware of the situation when you agreed to the mission,” he said.
The sharpness in his tone felt bitter, almost brittle, and Thalia knew not to press the point. Havik, a mystery man without a wife and a clan, could keep his secrets.
The door opened at a touch. Steam hung in the air, but Thalia could see the massive red man in the shower just fine.
The perfectly shaped ass and thick thighs flexed as he soaped. The tail swayed from side to side. Long black hair hung in strands down his back. Seeing his hair undone felt more vulnerable and intimate than his naked butt and tail.
Thalia knew it was wrong to stare. She should back away and pretend she saw nothing, that the door had been locked—because who doesn’t lock the cleansing room door? —but her feet refused to move.
Havik reached down and lathered the length of his tail.
Thalia made some strangled gurgle that might be construed as attraction but had zero ability to actually attract anything. She dropped her towel and hairbrush.
Havik spun on his heel, surprise on his face.
She shouldn’t look down.
Water beaded on his broad chest, trickling down.
She looked down.
She blinked and quickly looked back up. “I’m so sorry. The door wasn’t locked and…” She glanced down again because what was wrong with her?
“Leave! Can a male have no privacy?”
“I’m really sorry.” She scrambled to pick up her towel and hairbrush, backing up and dropping the damn brush again.
Thalia hustled back to her cabin. Safely behind a closed—and locked, thank you very much—door, she collapsed into a chair. She buried her face into the towel and screamed in frustration.
Why did she act like such a perv, and why didn’t she feel worse about it? She was gross, leering at the gorgeous muscular alien with an ass that wouldn’t quit. She wanted to get her hands on that tail and tug.
She was so gross.
Danger B was built, which was no surprise because he liked to wear pants so tight, they could be painted on. The surprise was what hung between his legs.
Or didn’t.
His dick wasn’t there. Sure, a bulge suggested something internal, and she really hoped that something was comparable to a penis. It had to be. The Mahdfel came to Earth to make babies, and everything she had read and seen in the media suggested those babies were made the old-fashioned way.
Okay, okay. Dick crisis over.
She just wished she knew more about alien biology and that she wasn’t such a creep.
Havik
“Who’s a pretty sand demon? You are. Yes, you are,” Thalia cooed, applying a clear coat to the painted design on the kumakre’s back.
“What have you done?”
Clutching the small bottle of paint, Thalia stared at him with wide eyes. Before she could say something clever and make his ill temper vanish, he swooped in and grabbed the kumakre.
“Be careful. You’ll smudge the nail polish,” she managed to say.
He touched the design, finding it tacky. He shook his finger to rid himself of the sensation. “What do you call this?”
“Mile High Blue Sky. We match. See.” She held up a hand and wiggled her fingers, drawing attention to the blue paint on her nails.
“Why?”
“It’s the only color I have. I think it looks nice,” she answered.
“No, why did you adorn the kumakre with this—” He waved a hand.
“Insignia. To denote his rank.”
“He is a wild predator. He has no rank and this folly is undignified,” he said.
“His name is Lieutenant Stabs, and he deserves your respect,” Thalia said in a breezy tone, as if unfazed by his displeasure.
“You named my kumakre?”
“You’re just upset because Lieutenant Stabs outranks you,” she said.
Havik sputtered. “I am the captain.”
Thalia leaned down. “What’s that? Admiral Stabs?” The kumakre’s mandibles played with the loose strands of her hair. “Congratulations on your sudden and unexpected promotion, Admiral.”
Ridiculous.
Unable to fight a bemused grin, he turned away. No one needed to see that.
“This program is inferior. The actors simply stare at each other.” Havik had little patience for sitting idle and watching holographic images flicker, but when Thalia invited him to watch a show with her, he accepted.
“Are you blind? Look at them. So much emotion.” Thalia held up her bowl of noodles and slurped. Excess sauce clung to her bottom lip, begging for him to run his thumb over it and taste.
He forced himself to look away. “Terran faces all look the same,” he said.
“First off, rude, and a little racist.” She set the bowl down. Stabs—he refused to acknowledge the kumakre’s rank of admiral—scurried forward to investigate. “It’s all in the eyebrows. Like this one is super serious and pissed.”
If she did something with her face, he could not tell.
“And this one is surprised.”
Nothing.
“And this one is amused.”
Her face remained the same.
“This is pointless. If you are a civilized being, use words,” he huffed. “This nuance is unreasonable.”
She grinned.
“…you are teasing me,” he said.
And she laughed, tossing
