Space Wrangler by Kate Donovan Page A

was as if she had spread whipped cream over herself, daring Rick to lick it off. And given the delicate straps holding the whole thing up, he sensed there was no bra to interfere with the feast.
    TJ seemed equally mesmerized, although he showed enough sophistication to murmur, “Thanks for coming, Lexie. You look great.”
    â€œThanks. I still can’t believe I’m here. Or you’re here. With me, I mean.” She flung her arms around her old friend’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve thought about this moment for so long.”
    â€œYeah,” TJ said, his tone still dazed. “Me too.”
    Turning to Rick, she smiled playfully. “Hey, cowboy.”
    Despite his thick tongue, he managed to murmur, “Nice to see you again, Ms. Montoya.”
    â€œCall me Alexia. And I’ll call you Captain, okay?” Flushing, she added quickly, “Because you’re the captain of a spaceship, right? Not because of your military history.”
    â€œMy military history?” he asked, momentarily confused. Then he realized what she meant and sent TJ a pointed scowl. “Don’t believe everything you hear. And just call me Rick, okay?”
    To his surprise, she stepped right up to him and reached for his face, soothing his jaw with her fingertips. “I badgered TJ for details about your past. But only so I wouldn’t say anything stupid tonight.” With a wry smile, she added, “Mission accomplished, right?”
    The golden glow of sympathy in her eyes transfixed him, and he could barely manage to insist, “It’s fine.”
    â€œNo it isn’t.” She shifted her hand to his shirtfront. “I’ll never understand why some of us are asked to bear so much death and loneliness. Especially you. I know you’re tough, but still, it’s unfair.”
    The last thing Rick wanted was sympathy, but her warmth—emotional and physical—seduced him. And while it felt amazingly good, he was grateful when TJ put a quick end to it by saying, “Did you two want to be alone?”
    Alexia huffed. “Grow a conscience, would you? We’re having a beautiful moment.”
    Before anyone could react, she turned to the dining table, which was laden with covered dishes, and sniffed appreciatively. “Cheese enchiladas?”
    TJ nodded. “Just like your grandma used to make. Are they still your favorite?”
    â€œYum, all is forgiven,” she assured him. Then she gave Rick a reassuring wink. “You’ve never tasted anything like this in your life, I promise.”
    For the next hour, he listened in annoyed silence as TJ and Alexia reminisced. Stories about Trent; about Trent and TJ; about Trent and Alexia; and of course, about Alexia and TJ, although the infamous hand job wasn’t mentioned.
    Only two things kept him from fleeing the scene—the enchiladas and Alexia’s meringue-coated chest.
    He wasn’t sure which was more mouth-watering, especially when she gestured wildly to illustrate her stories, punctuating them with her breasts. It made him appreciate the bio-girls, mostly because they wouldn’t tease a guy like this. If one of them were wearing that provocative outfit, she’d already be in Rick’s lap.
    Still, the food at the Trading Post couldn’t rival these enchiladas. Warm, stretchy cheese peppered with spicy green chilies, wrapped in flaky flour tortillas and smothered in a garlicky sauce—better than anything he had tasted this side of the sinkhole. He usually opted for a steak dinner when in dock, considering it a sensory miracle compared to the powdered eggs and milk, chicken jerky and assorted dried vegetables that made up the bulk of his diet for months at a time.
    And so he concentrated on the meal while trying to screen out the chatter. Not that he wouldn’t appreciate a glimpse or two into the background that had produced the formidable Montoya clan.