Solara recoiled like he’d demanded to know her bra size. “No. Have you?”
“Once.” It had happened the morning of the Pesirus hellberry festival, after he’d spent an hour hauling and stacking crates. He’d accidentally collided with Cassia in the washroom, and although sweat had soaked the front of her shirt, nothing but the scent of orchids had emanated from her skin. Only one thing suppressed natural body odor like that, and the procedure was so painful and expensive that even he’d turned it down.
“She has perfume microbes implanted in her sweat glands,” he said. “They’re rare and invasive. I’ve only met one other person who had it done, and he’s a Solar League diplomat. That means she’s not just loaded; she’s important.”
He waited for Solara to say something, but she just stood there, glaring at him.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head and slung the gown over one shoulder, then left without a word.
As Solara charged down the hall, she recalled something Doran had told her on board the Zenith: Anyone who stinks like a toolshed is safe from my advances. She’d forgotten about that, and now she wondered what she smelled like after a week with no shower.
Certainly not perfume.
It was none of her business and she didn’t know why she cared, but under what circumstances had Doran smelled Cassia really close-up? The two hadn’t spent much time together, at least not that she knew of, but then again, romantic trysts didn’t take long. Cassia had openly announced that hookups were the best way to fight transport madness. Had the pair secretly decided to help each other rev up those endorphins?
Solara’s stomach felt sick.
She shouldn’t be doing this, speculating and jumping to conclusions as if she owned him. It wasn’t like she wanted Doran to boost her endorphins.
So why was her face throbbing in time with her pulse?
“Let it go,” she muttered. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What doesn’t matter?” asked Cassia, leaning her fair head out the open door to her bedroom.
Solara stopped short, clutching the ball gown to her chest. She faked a smile and said “Nothing,” but she couldn’t help surveying the girl with new eyes. She looked past the dishwater blond dreadlocks, dull and coarse from months of neglect, and beyond the unmade copper-hued face to the mannerisms beneath.
Cassia had gone to great lengths to hide her privileged upbringing, but there it was—a slightly haughty lift of her chin that allowed the tiny ship hand to look down at Solara despite their height difference. Cassia’s body language resembled Doran’s in that way, self-assured and completely in control. He was right. They were two of a kind.
“You okay?” Cassia asked.
“I’m just nervous about the job,” Solara lied. “Do you think you can make me pretty? I’ve never worn makeup before, so I need all the help I can get.”
“No problem. Come on in.”
When Solara followed inside, curiosity hijacked her body. She rushed Cassia in a hug, locking both arms around the girl under the pretense of gratitude while burying her nose for a deep whiff. An enchanted garden filled her senses, seeming to originate from beneath the skin instead of on the surface. It was heavenly. Cassia stiffened at the ambush, and Solara stepped back, battling a surge of envy. She wished she could smell of springtime breezes instead of engine grease.
“Thanks,” Solara said. “You’re the best.”
Cassia’s room bore a striking resemblance to hers, except with one bunk stacked atop the other instead of a full-size bed. She noticed Kane watching her from the top bunk, a protein bar suspended an inch from his lips. He wore the same puzzled expression as Cassia, their blond heads tipped at precisely the same angle as they tried to make sense of her abrupt display of affection.
Solara greeted him with a cool nod.
He recovered then, apologizing with his eyes. “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have run my mouth like that. I didn’t mean a word of it. That was the Crystalline talking.”
Solara wasn’t sure if she believed him. He’d seemed plenty sober to her.
“Doran’s already banged up,” Kane went on. “The last thing he needs is me making him feel worse.” Dipping his head, he asked, “Did you tell him what I said?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Then maybe we can keep it between us,” Kane suggested. “I like Doran. He’s a good guy, and I don’t want the rest of the trip to feel awkward.”
Solara rubbed the dress between her fingers, unsure of what to do. Kane seemed sincere, but her first loyalty was to Doran, and she still felt he had a right to know.
“I’ll think about it,” she said. To change the subject, she added, “We should hurry. Renny wants to leave soon.”