Torin has every intention of dumping Rain at the next moon, despite his intense attraction to the hotshot. In his line of work he can't afford to trust anyone, especially someone as infuriatingly charming and naïve as Rain. But first, he's got a mission to complete.
What Rain wants, Rain gets. And what he wants is Torin, any way he can get him. The gorgeous captain isn't making it easy, and the two are quickly embroiled in an erotic battle for supremacy. But when Rain discovers that he's not the only one in pursuit of Torin, he demands to know exactly what sort of "job" he's signed on for...
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"It's kinda romantic."
Torin turned an incredulous look on his crewmate and oldest friend. "Romantic? It's kinda dumb as a box of hair, is what it is." He snatched up his drink and tossed it back, wincing slightly at the burn. The tavern was dark and dingy, with tables scuffed from too many years of too much wear and tear, but at least they didn't water their drinks. There was nothing he hated worse than spending hard-earnedoften illegally earnedcredits on watered-down liquor.
"Well, damn, now you're just bein' sour. Boy fell in love, that's all." Cookie might look the part of a ruffian with his scruffy jaw and large, brawny frame, but inside the man was softhearted, plain and simple.
Torin snorted. "Love. That's not what I'd call it. Mathis is going to wake up tomorrow and not even remember that girl's name. And it'll be too late because even if I have to get you or Jeret to do the flying, we're getting off this back of beyond moon by nightfall."
Cookie shrugged. "Ain't like neither of us can't do it. Hell, you and me both know Jeret could fly anything with an engine before he could reach the controls."
"Maybe, but I'd rather he be in the engine room keeping us in the air. At least, that's what he's supposed to be doing, when he's not tearing things apart and putting them back together all out of order."
"But always workin' better than they did before."
Torin didn't comment. It was a bone of contention between him and Jeret and had been since he'd brought the young man on board a year ago. So, rather than rehash old arguments, he glanced around the small tavern. His mind wandered as his gaze hopped from one patron to another. They had to figure something out and soon, but the only solution coming to him was to have either Cookie or Jeret take over piloting duties. It wasn't his first choice because while Cookie could fly, he wasn't the greatest. Jeret was brilliant, but Torin needed him elsewhere. Dammit, he needed a pilot. Preferably one who wouldn't get drunk and run off with the first pretty girl who'd have him. They could probably squeeze through this job and then pick up a new pilot after, but it wasn't ideal. Didn't look like they had much choice, though.
His wandering gaze skidded to a halt abruptly, as did his troubling thoughts, and lingered on the corner booth next to theirs. It was occupied by a pair of young men, obviously lovers, who didn't seem to know the meaning of the words restraint or privacy. One had the look of the gentry about him, of money gone slumming, and it only took a glance at his companion to know why.
That one was all devil for the main course and trouble for dessert. He had one hand in the young gentleman's glossy, dark hair, the other hidden by the table. It didn't take much to imagine what was going on down there. He whispered something in his companion's ear, and Torin's cock stirred just imagining the wickedness spilling from those seductively smiling lips.
"Torin" Cookie's tone was all the warning Torin needed and his gaze snapped away from the couple in the corner and flew to the tavern entrance, now filled by three men with coats flicked back to reveal guns in unbuckled holsters, ready to be drawn.
"Fucking hell..." Torin turned back around abruptly, tossing back the last of his drink and then giving Cookie a nod. "Come on, maybe they won't see us."
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