Jenna stiffened. It wasn’t a question, but a statement—and it had caught her off-guard. It surprised her the captain recognized the perfume she wore. Nonetheless, she had been in close quarters with him twice since nearly face-planting while boarding the shuttle—and the scent was a distinctive one.
“Yes,” she admitted. “It’s my favorite perfume.”
His visored gaze remained upon her. “It suits you.”
Silence fell, and Jenna picked up her fork. This conversation wasn’t going as she’d envisaged. Instead of establishing control, she was starting to feel self-conscious. She needed to steer their exchange in another direction. “Why are you wearing your helmet while eating?” she asked. “Surely, it’s uncomfortable?”
“I always wear it on duty.”
“Can you remove it please.”
Captain Malik, who’d been about to take a bite of flatbread and cheese, froze. “Excuse me?”
“Take off your helmet, Captain. I find it off-putting talking to someone when I can’t see their eyes.”
Tension rippled across those broad shoulders, his jaw tightening. Victory thrilled through Jenna. Finally, she’d put this man on the back foot.
Moments passed before the captain put down his piece of bread and reached up with both hands. He removed his helmet and placed it on the table next to him.
And then he raised his chin, his gaze fusing with hers.
Jenna observed his face frankly.
Violet eyes, framed by dark brows, high cheekbones, and a proud aquiline nose—no one would ever mistake this man for anything but an Idral native. He had jet-black hair, tousled by removing the helmet, and skin that was bronzed even without going out in the blazing Idral sun. Of course, as he’d just reminded her, the Mir-Dravens had originated here. Nonetheless, his looks were also distinctive, and that gaze would give him away anywhere. The only humans she’d seen with purple eyes hailed from Idral.
No one in Jenna’s family had eyes of that color, for the Mir-Brennan ruling-family were from off-world. They’d only been living on Idral for around fifty years. Her family hailed from Staturine II.
Seconds passed, and discomfort feathered down Jenna’s spine. Perhaps it had been a mistake to ask him to take off his helmet. The man’s violet gaze speared her with such intensity, it was difficult to hold his eye.
But she did.
“That’s better,” she murmured. “There’s a man under there, after all.”
Jenna then took a forkful of fish and began to eat. Often synth food lacked the flavor of the real thing—the Mir-Brennan food replicators weren’t as good as the Mir-Ferrin ones—but this was tasty. Hunger hollowed out her belly. Even Malik Mir-Draven’s brooding presence couldn’t prevent her enjoyment.
The captain eyed her. “You’ve recovered from your space-sickness then?”
Nodding, she took another mouthful of poached fish, chewed, and swallowed. “Yes, thank you for your concern, Captain … it always subsides once we’re underway.”
His mouth lifted at the corners. He picked up his glass and drained the contents.
“Lady Jenna.” Pelicon Mir-Barus appeared in the gangway, the hem of his black and gold robes brushing the deck as he bowed. “Did you enjoy your rest?”
“I did,” Jenna replied, reaching for her own glass. “I was more tired than I realized.”
Her aide’s long snout twitched. “Are you ready to discuss the negotiations?”
“I’ll be right there … I’ve almost finished my meal.”
“Of course, My Lady. I shall await you in the cabin.” With a swish of robes, Mir-Barus retreated.
“An ambassador has many demands on her time,” Captain Malik observed when they were alone once more. “Mir-Barus is eager to get to work already.”
Jenna picked up her fork and speared another chunk of fish. “As am I.”
The shuttle came out of hyperspace with a lurch, its fuselage shuddering.
The jolt didn’t bother Malik. He’d gotten used to it over the years. Nonetheless, the woman seated next to him bristled with tension. The ambassador would never be a spacer, that was for certain.
