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  “Then you have not seen the latest headline.”

  Winter sighed. He had no idea what could possibly interest the tabloids about a father and kit on holiday. “What has happened now?”

  The tablet pinged with incoming photos.

  “Who is the female?” Chase asked.

  Winter scrolled through images of Marigold on the deck of the sailboat, holding on to his arm for balance or wrapped tight against him, her face hidden. He knew fear had been what pressed them together, but from the outside, it appeared romantic.

  Then older photos of Winter and Marigold outside the hotel, anger on their faces.

  The tabloids speculated everything from a new mate, a secret human mistress—but he questioned how secret it could be if they were seen together in public—and trouble already in their relationship. What he did not see, thankfully, were photos of Zero, despite the kit being present in each situation.

  Good. The lawyers had some effect.

  “She is not—”

  “I do not care,” Chase interrupted him, “but the investors care. The stockholders care. We are a family company. Be discreet if you must have a human lover but do not cause another scandal.”

  Winter pressed his lips together, humming and grumbling. Chase was not one to lecture about avoiding scandals. “I have spent months hiding in a house in the middle of nowhere. Shall I retreat to a locked box? Live in a cave like the prophets?”

  Chase ignored Winter’s sarcasm. Despite sunshine and foliage over his shoulder, he looked tired, as if he were the one awake in the middle of the night. Bags hung under his eyes. “Come home where I can manage the media,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

  “We plan to return to Corra for the academic year.”

  Chase’s ears perked to attention. “I hesitate to hope you listened to me, dear cousin, because you will tell me otherwise.”

  Now it was Winter’s turn to scrub a hand over his face. Chase had harped on him to return to Corra for years. Years. He loathed to return to the planet, to the memories that clung to the house he shared with his mate, but he would learn to tolerate the discomfort for Zero.

  “Zero wishes to attend school.”

  “Yes? Excellent. I have a contact at a prestigious academy. Have you contacted admissions?”

  Winter bit back the urge to answer that he planned to arrive the first day of class and ask for a spot for his kit. “Yes,” he said, and listed the schools that he and Zero had already contacted.

  “Good, good, but you need to come home now,” Chase said, nodding his head.

  “Two weeks will not make a difference.” Even though staying away as long as possible made a difference to him.

  “No, no. You do not understand. The investors are threatening to pull funding. Your,” Chase’s ears twitched in frustration, “antics will sink this deal.”

  “What do we care about investors? We have succeeded without them.” His father, Thankful Cayne, built the company. The Corra facility was initially a tax dodge, but it allowed the company to flourish even while their homeworld fell into turmoil.

  “Have you read any of the quarterly reports?”

  “I glance at them,” Winter said.

  Chase sneezed. Loudly. Rudely. “This. This is why you must be home. We are hemorrhaging credit every quarter.”

  “Sales—”

  “Are down in every sector. We need the investors. We need this infusion of credit if we’re going to survive,” Chase said.

  He had not paid attention to finances. Credits were deposited into his accounts without interruption. He assumed all was well. “Is it that dire?”

  “We’re not closing up shop, but we need a success. The new generation of consumer-class ships have more than the usual problems.”

  Winter did not want to admit that the quality of CayneTech’s products had little impact on sales. They were affordable, comfortable ships with few competitors in that end of the galaxy. They were one of a handful of major manufacturers on Corra, and the only one specializing in high-end luxury ships. How bad did the problems have to be to impact the company?

  Instead, he said, “Those problems were documented. You said those were fixed.”

  Chase looked away from the camera. “Well—”

  “You did not fix the known issues and launched a faulty product.” Not a question, because he knew the answer.

  “They were already produced.”

  “You. Skipped. Quality. Control.” Winter wanted to reach through the screen and throttle his cousin.

  “Loans were due! The new facility cost credits. If you paid even a little bit of mind to the company your father built—”

  “Do not speak of my father,” Winter snapped.

  “Thankful was my uncle and I will speak of my uncle however and whenever I please.”

  Winter’s grip tightened on the table. Claws scratched the casing. When the family fled Talmar, Thankful took in Chase, who was near the same age as Winter. He raised both kits as brothers, but it had been clear early on that Thankful favored Chase.

  Winter told himself that he did not care. He no longer lived for his father’s approval and did his bidding. He had his kit, who he loved unconditionally, and even if Winter had more kits—though the idea seemed vague and improbable—he knew he would love them all with the same, equal devotion. No favorites. No pitting the kits against each other to foster competition or ambition.

  His lips curled at the memories of Thankful doling out tokens of affection. A smile. A scratch behind an ear. Each gesture came as a prize to reward the victor of Thankful’s heartless games.

  “The female,” Chase started.

  “Is no one.”

  “Make her someone. The investors like family.”

  “We are a family.” Fractured as they were.

  “Whole families. No whispers about deceased mates.”

  “And you think a new mate will fix this? Fix our faulty products? Bring us customers?”

  “I think if you show up with a pretty human on your arm, smile at the damn cameras once in a while, and not growl at anyone in public, then yes. That will squash rumors about the…” Chase frowned, as if the next words were difficult for him to utter. “About the unpleasantness with Rebel and keep the investors happy long enough for them to give us credits.”

  “As long as they give us currency,” Winter said bitterly.

  “Do not take this as a joke. This company is Zero’s future.”

  Those words sent a chill over him.

  “Yes. You are correct. We will return to Corra as soon as possible. I will endeavor to be respectable in front of cameras,” he said.

  “With the female?”

  Winter nodded, not sure how to make that promise. He did not want a new mate, but if he had to pick, Marigold had a certain appeal.

  “I don’t care what you do. Just get here and try not to growl at any more photographers,” Chase said before disconnecting the call.

  Chapter 7

  Booze and drugs. The secret pain of Rebel Cayne, as told by those who knew her before pop stardom.

  -Tal Tattler

  Marigold

  Night stretched along the beach. With the lights of the resort behind her, Mari picked a careful path down from her cabin to the sand. The breeze from the water kept the humidity at tolerable levels. Stars reflected on the shifting and broken surface of the water.

  Mari found an abandoned lounger and settled in. Tomorrow, she would board a shuttle and return to her ordinary life. For the moment, she wanted to sit in the moonlight and enjoy the sound of the waves. Her honeymoon started horribly, but it could end peacefully.

  She sipped the fruity iced tea, perspiration clinging to the sweating glass.

  Noise from the buildings behind prompted her to turn, her heart pounding. So what if part of her kept hoping that Tomas would arrive, desperate to find her, and explain the last week away? A lapse in judgment or—fudge, she didn’t know—a brain tumor that affected t
he decision-making parts of his brains and resulted in him running off with Sandria. A brain tumor seemed adequate to balance karma’s scales.

  Not that she’d wish a brain tumor on him, because she was too much of a dang softie. Despite that they had been growing apart, it wasn’t wrong to still harbor some sentiment for him, and a week wasn’t enough time to unravel her emotions. She thought she loved him, or at least the idea of him, and believed that he loved her.

  Anger and disbelief kept her numb, but as the ice thawed, she had to wade her way out of the flood. Relief had been her first response the day of her almost-wedding, so she knew on some instinctive level. This was for the best, even if it sucked. She’d get through this. She didn’t want him back, not really. She wanted to see him for closure and all that.

  Everything about the situation was a tangled mess. She wanted equally to hug him tight and make him promise to never leave, and to punch him. Mostly punch, even though she strived to be a peaceful person, some people needed to be punched hard enough to cleanse their aura.

  It wasn’t wrong to want to be loved.

  It wasn’t wrong to want forever with a person.

  Joseph seemed content with brief but intense flings. Mari needed more. She always had. Tomas recognized that and used it against her. He whispered sweet promises, exactly what she wanted to believe, and she wasn’t crying about it.

  Mari wiped away the moisture in her eyes.

  Not crying. Shut up.

  Tomas so needed a punch, right in his root chakra, which was in the vicinity of his balls.

  The rhythmic roar of the ocean lulled her into a meditative state. Tomorrow, she’d leave behind those ugly thoughts of vengeful brain tumors and focus on a fresh start. She’d swallow her pride and move back to her mother’s. Valerian had plenty of room, having a hangar at Olympus Station. Half had been converted to living space, and they ran the family business out of the other half. There was no shame in going home. Joseph still lived there, after all. She’d miss the privacy that allowed her to wander around in nothing but her panties, but she’d cope.

  She had to.

  “I checked your credentials,” a gruff voice said.

  She jerked in surprise. The iced tea splashed over the rim of the glass. “Are you stalking me?”

  “Hardly,” Winter said with a sniff, then sat down on the lounger next to hers like he had been invited.

  “Oh, please, do join me.”

  He ignored her sarcastic tone. “You were top of your class and have a perfect safety record.”

  “So you are stalking me,” she said.

  “Yet with these credentials, you work for your mother.”

  “It’s a family-run business. Don’t you work for your brother?”

  “That is different.”

  “Oh, sure.” She settled back into the lounger, returning her gaze to the ocean.

  “We are both shareholders,” he said, almost sounding bitter. “I work for myself, not for Chase.”

  Chase. That name rang a bell, but Mari set that aside. “So if you’re not stalking me, why are you checking my credentials?”

  He sighed, loudly. Poor, put-upon Winter. “It occurs to me that I do require a pilot.”

  “I can give you the info for a great temp agency to hire a pilot.”

  “A situation has arisen, and we need to return to Corra as soon as possible. I do not have the time.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said, turning to face him.

  He cocked his head to one side, his ears moving so much he had to be expressing a novel’s worth of body language. The tip of his tail swished across the sand. For some reason, he only wore a pair of low-slung trousers, and she applauded whatever reason inspired him to leave his shirt at home. The moonlight did all sorts of yummy things for him. No one had a right to be that handsome.

  She waited.

  His ears kept doing that thing, and he continued to look handsome and more than a little arrogant—and damn it, why did she like him?

  Sighing dramatically, Mari moved to sit upright. “You have to actually ask me so I can say yes, you know.”

  Sitting up, he reached across the distance and reached for her, his thumb brushing the back of her hand. “Come with me to Corra.”

  Dang it. There was absolutely no reason for her heart to flutter like that, or for her skin to tingle in a way that Tomas never made her tingle.

  “As your pilot?” she asked, voice thick.

  His eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “As you say.”

  “What a wonderfully vague answer.”

  “Not only as a pilot. I want more from you.”

  He rose, and Mari found herself against him. Moving without thinking, she stretched her arms to wrap them behind his neck. The skin there had a wonderfully downy texture, almost like peach skin. Was the rest of him so deliciously touchable?

  “What sort of more?” she asked, having a fair idea.

  “Do you miss your former mate?” he asked, countering her question with his own.

  Mari blinked, slow to process the question. “Tomas? Stars, no.”

  “You have wept.” A thumb brushed her still damp cheek.

  “Do you miss your mate?” she countered, rather than answering.

  “I do not wish to speak of Rebel,” he replied.

  “There you go, but can you answer my first question? What sort of more do you want from me?”

  He held her gaze, eyes icy blue without the lenses. She enjoyed seeing that bit of himself that he normally hid away. His hands rubbing up and down her bare arms. The moment stretched out between them, warm and sweet.

  “I require a mate,” he said at last.

  Her eyebrows hiked right up into her hair. “And you thought you’d get a two-for-one pilot and wife special deal?”

  “You are tolerable,” he answered, which was no answer at all. “Zero likes you.”

  “I like him too,” she replied, because it was true. She did like Zero. She almost liked Winter when he kept his mouth shut.

  “You are attractive.” He paused, as if waiting for her response.

  “That’s it? I’m tolerable, attractive, and your kid likes me.”

  “Kit,” he corrected.

  “Sweet suffering nebulas, really?” Mari stepped back, breaking contact. She needed to think, and she just couldn’t string two words together when he kept touching her. It was unfair and a dirty trick. Zero said his father needed a friend, and Mari could see why. Winter had no people skills. He either held himself back with haughty aloofness or he was all intensity with no middle ground.

  “Are those reasons inadequate? My first mate was chosen on a less sincere basis,” he said.

  She breathed out, not realizing she had been holding her breath. “Explain that, please.”

  “It is not relevant.”

  “Oh, I highly doubt that. Now, explain.”

  “I will try to be succinct. Rebel is—was—the daughter of a business partner. When the troubles on Talmar began, my father moved our holdings to Corra. He had existing property there, ostensibly because land and production would be cheaper there, but I suspect it was originally meant to be a tax shelter.” His ears twitched, and he sighed. “That does not matter. We were on Corra, and Rebel’s family was desperate to get her off Talmar, but the borders had been closed. However, Corra grants citizenship to a spouse.”

  “So Rebel married you for a passport?” Mari tried to recall what she knew of Talmar’s civil war. It happened when she was a preteen, or thereabouts, and at an age when she ignored newsworthy interstellar events. Winter couldn’t be much older than her then. Zero said forty-one, right? “How old were you? You had to be a baby.”

  “Little more than a kit, but of legal age.”

  So his first marriage was not a love match, not that he was proposing a love match now. He had offered a “you’re tolerable, attractive enough, and my son likes you” match. It was insulting when it came down to those terms. She may have been ji
lted and left at the altar, but she wasn’t so desperate to accept the first guy who came along, even if the way those shorts hung off his hips was scandalous.

  Oddly, she found herself not rebuking him and throwing his lukewarm proposal back at him. Instead, she said, “Thank you for sharing that with me. I appreciate that you’re protective of your first wife.”

  His ears flicked, but he waited for her to continue.

  “I don’t understand why you think you need a wife. Why now?”

  He glanced away, then back to her, his gaze hot and intense. How had she ever thought his eyes were cold?

  “Zero requires a mother. You are suitable for the task,” he said.

  Wow, the romance and poetry of those words.

  Mari laughed, the absurdity of the situation overcoming her. “Sorry, sorry. I’m nervous. Ignore me.”

  “Impossible.” He had her in his arms again, folding her to him like they had years of practice. “Tell me yes, Marigold.”

  Sweet tea and peaches.

  “This is too much,” she said. She didn’t know him, but she thought she knew Tomas and look how that turned out. Tomas was out of her heart, yes, but it still hurt. Rushing into the next relationship seemed like inviting more heartache.

  But she wanted a change, and this is what the universe put in her path.

  “I’ll take the job. Just the job,” she said. “We’ll need to route through Olympus Station. I need to pack some things and take care of personal business.”

  His hold tightened at her words. If he was disappointed, he kept it to himself. “As you say.”

  She tilted her head back, admiring the way the moonlight softened his hard features. They were back to that sweetness that made time pliable, stretching between them. The impossible seemed a little more possible, that two strangers could have an instant connection and decide to make a life together.

  He was tolerable—she mentally grinned at the word—and growing more so every day. Attraction? Check. And she liked his son.

  Tolerability, attraction, and like. It was more than most had. Love could follow in its own time.

  He lowered his face to hers.