Starflight (Starflight, #1)

But instead of making himself useful, he sat there with a palm clapped over his mouth, swallowing in noisy gulps like he might lose his supper.

As Solara wiped the sweat from her hand, panic morphed into anger. She should’ve known better than to rely on Doran Spaulding in a crisis. “Never mind,” she shouted. “I’ll figure it out myself, since you’re totally helpless.”

Doran wrenched his head around and fired an all-too-familiar glare at her. “I’m not helpless, and I do matter!” He flinched as if he’d startled himself with his own words, and Solara did the same—because he’d just responded to something she’d said on board the Zenith.

“What?” She pretended not to understand him while praying it was nothing more than a fluke. If his memory had returned, there was no point in running. He would lead the Enforcers right to her. “Where did that come from?”

Twin lines appeared between his brows. “I don’t know. It just slipped out.” His tone sharpened when he added, “But don’t say that to me. I’m not helpless.”

“All right.” She released a breath and sat back, pointing at her straps. “Show me.”

With surprisingly deft fingers, he unfastened his harness before scooting over to start on hers. But as soon as he reached out, he paused with his fingertips suspended an inch from the buckles. A bloom of color fanned out across his cheeks, and he nervously licked his lips.

Solara glanced down and saw the problem. There was no way to free her from the tight straps without touching her breasts. She rolled her eyes. He was awfully prudish for someone who’d left his girlfriend’s thong in the elevator.

“This isn’t the time for modesty,” she told him. “Just do it.”

He got to work, and within seconds, she shrugged out of the harness and stood up. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her, and she gripped the wall for support. It took a few moments for the dizzy spell to pass, but then she regained her focus and opened the bedroom door.

Doran peeked over her shoulder into the dim hallway. “What now?”

That was the million-credit question. Solara didn’t know where the ship had landed or what she would find beyond the doorway, but anything was better than cowering in her room. Steeling herself, she led the way into the hall.

“Now we move.”





No free vacation was worth this.

Doran’s stomach heaved and his mouth flooded with saliva, but he gulped hard, willing himself not to vomit as he followed Lara through their rusted tin can of a ship. He hated small spaces like this. The metal walls seemed to shrink, contracting around his rib cage until he had to close his eyes to draw a lungful of air. He knew the sensation wasn’t real, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why she’d booked passage on the Banshee instead of a luxury liner. This ship was a dump. He shouldn’t have to share a room with anyone—or sleep on the damned floor. Hell, his second apartment was larger than this piece of dung.

Wait. Second apartment?

He froze in place as images flashed before him of a bright living room furnished with plush leather sofas and tables made of etched glass. Sunlight peeked between the narrow slats of UV-resistant window blinds, which he instinctively knew concealed a stunning panorama of the city skyline. He’d finessed many a date out of her skirt with that view. He recalled that down the hall and past the guest room was his master suite, with a king-sized bed facing the theater wall, so he could fall asleep watching movies. But that wasn’t the best part. He’d had the adjoining room customized to store his clothes—that way he would never have to walk inside another closet.

The luxurious penthouse was his second home, where he’d stayed on weekends or when his boarding academy was between sessions.

Doran smiled. He had more money than God.

So what the blazes was he doing here?

He jogged to catch up with Lara, who crouched at the end of the hallway and peered around the corner like a mouse looking for a place to hide.

Not a mouse, he thought. A rat.

Doran didn’t know where that’d come from, but something about this girl was off level. She still hadn’t produced a contract—possibly because there wasn’t one—and twice at supper, he’d caught her glaring at him like she wanted to drive a fork through his head. And why did she want to visit the outer realm? Only two kinds of people ended up there: settlers who couldn’t afford to live on Earth and the scum who preyed on them.

Which was Lara?

“Hey,” he whispered, making her jump. “I want answers.”

She whirled on him and slapped a palm over her heart, then whisper-yelled, “Don’t creep up on me like that!”

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