Celene did not immediately rise from her seat. Instead, she stared out the window. “I thought I’d be glad to get back.”

Before he could ask her to clarify this, the door to the Phantom opened, and Admiral Gamlyn entered the small ship.

He and Celene finally got to their feet and saluted. It felt oddly uncomfortable to have the admiral on board, as if she were trespassing. Ludicrous. She was an admiral of the 8th Wing, and had every right to be on the Phantom. Yet it felt like a violation of privacy, just the same.

“Excellent work, Lieutenants,” said the admiral. “The fleet let out a collective sigh of relief when we learned that the disruptor will no longer be a threat.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he and Celene said in unison.

Admiral Gamlyn gestured for them to precede her out of the Phantom. With peculiarly heavy feet, he did so. When he stepped out of the ship, he felt a strange tightness over his skin, as if his old self tried to reclaim him. But he refused to sink into that former identity. When Commander Frayne strode forward to shake Nils’s hand, Nils returned the shake firmly and looked the commander right in the eye. The commander’s grip did not seem as crushing as it once did. Or maybe Nils had more strength than before. Frayne’s brow rose, and new respect appeared in his gaze.

“Lieutenant,” Major Ishan stepped forward, “you’ve given Engineering bragging rights for the next twenty solar cycles.”

“Should be thirty,” Celene said before Nils could speak.

Murmurs of agreement rose up from the gathered Engineering crew.

“Looks like the legend of Stainless Jur is only going to grow.” Ensign Skiren knocked a fist into Celene’s shoulder. “They’re using Jur as a verb now. You know, ‘If you want something done right, you have to Jur it yourself.’”

The Black Wraith pilots chuckled amongst themselves, nudging each other with their elbows.

Admiral Gamlyn cleared her throat. “Pleased as Command is by your results, we will need to conduct a thorough debriefing, as well as an inquiry into why Marek was not brought back for court-martial.”

“Impossible to court-martial a dead man,” Nils answered. Then added, “Ma’am.”

Everyone looked stunned by his response, except Ensign Skiren, who grinned.

The admiral cleared her throat again. “We’ll have the debriefing in a few minutes.”

Friends of his from Engineering swarmed around him, all asking questions. “What was the composition of the disruptor?”

“Did you get a chance to use the code hacking device you were developing?”

“Did you fire an actual blaster?”

As he tried to answer their questions, he saw her across the docking bay. Black Wraith pilots gathered around her, noisy and boisterous as they demanded her account of the mission. She grinned and spoke, but he couldn’t hear what she was saying. She wasn’t looking at him.

Both of them in their worlds. Back to who they had been before.

He would go back to Engineering, back to his training and hearing about her daring exploits. And eventually their time together would grow more and more distant, the stuff of a faded history vid.

This had been coming. He knew it would happen. And he’d been prepared to accept it. Walk away as if what they’d shared was an interlude in their normal lives.

No. If she wanted to end things, she would have to say so. He was determined to fight for her, for them.

Major Ishan was saying something to him, but he didn’t hear, didn’t answer. Instead, he paced forward.

He’d have to shoulder a path through the Wraith pilots, push his way toward Celene.

His heart pounded. He could be facing his greatest humiliation, and loss. If Celene rejected him, Engineering would see it. The Black Wraith Squadron would see it, and so would Command. News would be all over the base within minutes.

So be it. He wouldn’t huddle in Engineering, wondering what might have been.

But, suddenly, she moved. She stepped through the circle of pilots and walked toward him. Her face was set, determined.

And then she was in his arms, he in hers. And they were kissing. In front of everyone. No one said anything. All that mattered was Celene’s mouth on his, and the very public message this kiss sent to the 8th Wing. The tension in him turned to vapor. He felt the disparate parts of himself unite, just as he felt his hunger for her return with the ferocity of a solar storm.

Ensign Skiren broke the silence. “Nice flying, NerdWorks!” she shouted before Commander Frayne pulled her out of the docking bay. The rest of the officers and crewmen followed, the pilots, the engineers, even a startled and red-faced Admiral Gamlyn, muttering something about conducting the debriefing later.

He pulled back slightly. “This’ll tarnish your stainless reputation.”

“To hells with my reputation.” Her silver gaze met his. “It never made me laugh, or feel cherished. It never made me feel like a woman.”

“Of course you’re a woman,” he said immediately. “You’re your own woman, but you are also my woman.”

“Never had a real relationship before. Never cared about someone the way I care about you. I’m still scared.” She traced a finger along his collar.

“Me, too. But isn’t that the definition of bravery? Being frightened by something, and doing it anyway?”

Her mouth met his for another searing kiss. Eventually he broke the kiss with a groan. “Though I want to, I can’t make love to you in Docking Bay 24-Zed.” He took her hand in his. “We’re going to my quarters.”

“We could go to mine.”

He shook his head. “The Nifalian chess set is in my quarters, and I’ve got some very interesting variations on the game I think you’ll enjoy.”

“Never been so aroused by chess before.” She laughed. But just before they left the docking bay, he felt her tug on his hand, forcing him to stop. He turned to face her, and saw an uncharacteristic concern in her eyes. “Nils, if we’re together…it means you’re going to be noticed. A lot more. And the scrutiny can be difficult. I don’t want you regretting your choice.”

He stepped closer, bridging the distance between them. “Love, when it comes to you, I have no regrets. Except,” he added, thoughtful, “wearing a mask all those months ago.”

“No masks now,” she whispered.

“None,” he agreed. They saw each other as they truly were, and he had never felt stronger. He grinned. “Now, let’s play chess.”

About the Author

Zoë Archer is a RITA Award–nominated romance author who writes romance novels chock-full of adventure, sexy men, and women who make no apologies about kicking ass. Her books include The Hellraisers paranormal historical series and the acclaimed Blades of the Rose paranormal historical adventure series. She enjoys baking, tweeting about boots and listening to music from the ’80s. Zoë and her husband, fellow romance author Nico Rosso, live in Los Angeles.


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ISBN: 978-1-4268-9303-2

Copyright © 2012 by Ami Silber

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