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“While we wait for Skavak to make his next move, perhaps we could…play a little sabacc?” Darmas suggested.
“I saw that one coming,” Corso muttered.
Darmas lifted a finger. “Corso, don’t be such a spoilsport. What do you say, Captain? First game’s on me.”
Talle leaned back on the couch, tucking her arms behind her head. “I was hoping we’d have a chance to get better acquainted.”
“That sounds delightful,” Darmas said, his voice dropping to a suggestive purr. “I’d love to hear all about you, my dear.”
Corso found himself stepping forward, speaking up before he could think better of it. “I may have been a bit hasty when I said we could trust Darmas.”
Talle glanced up at him. “Aw, nobody’s gonna replace you, farm boy.”
“Oh!” he said. “Um, that’s good. I mean—what are we talking about?” Apparently his mouth was still running without any input from his brain.
Darmas rose stiffly. “I beg your forgiveness, but there’s a Neimoidian who’s been requesting a round of sabacc with me all day. I really shouldn’t disappoint him.”
“Brr,” said Talle as they watched Darmas walk away. “Got chilly in here all of a sudden.”
“I—I don’t think I understand what just happened,” Corso said.
She slid him a sideways glance. “Yeah, you do,” she said. Then she yawned, kicking her feet up on the couch. “I’m gonna grab a cat nap,” she said. “Wake me up when there’s news.”
“Right, Captain,” he said. “Sure thing.”
As he settled to the floor beside her he turned her last words over in his mind. What did she mean—"yeah, you do"? Because what he thought might have happened—what it kind of sounded like—was that Darmas was making a play for his Captain, but backed off when Corso…did what? Started talking nonsense? Well, he was apparently pretty good at that, so it shouldn’t be too hard to keep it up.
Nobody’s gonna replace you, farm boy. She was saying…saying she liked him better, right? And that was why Darmas stalked off in a huff?
He glanced over at his captain, already asleep and twitching a little bit on the couch. She could nap anywhere and any time, which was a good skill for a spacer. Double good for her, since she kept irregular hours and rarely got what you’d call a full night’s sleep. Corso knew, because he was keeping an eye on her.
Because he liked her. Really, really liked her. In fact, if he was honest with himself—and if a man can’t be honest with himself, the rest of the world will lie to him too, that was something his dad used to say—if he was honest, he was pretty much in love with the swashbuckling captain. He’d sure never met another girl like her. Didn’t think there probably was one, not in the whole galaxy.
That was something he’d have to tell her, pretty soon now. Though probably not in a sabacc parlor. And besides, she needed the sleep.
***
“I don’t quite know how to do this with a lady like you, Captain. Court you, I mean.” He saw one of her sideways smiles starting, and that gave him the courage to continue. “On Ord Mantell we had rules about that sort of thing. With my fiancée, I got permission from her father first, then we had a few chaperoned dates between our families.”
A flash of her grey eyes: she’d been caught off guard. That was a rare sight, with his captain.
“Since when do you have a fiancée?” Talle demanded.
He figured she’d ask, but it still kind of warmed him that she did. He’d gone a long time with nobody caring enough to ask. He told her as forthrightly as he could: “I never saw her after my family died. My whole world blew up, and I just ran. I wish I’d let her down more gently, but…she wasn’t even in the same galaxy as you. I know it’s different here, but—Captain, may I have permission to seek your hand?”
He was hoping that he’d get one of her rare full-on grins. Instead, the smile teasing her lips died completely. “Corso,” she said, “I ain’t the marrying kind. Tried it once. Didn’t like it.”
Now he was the one off-balance. He even took a step back. “You been married, Captain?”
“Well,” she said evasively, her eyes sliding away. “I found out later it wasn’t exactly legal. On account of I was twelve.”
Corso’s brows knitted together. “Twelve?” he managed. He was trying not to sound judgmental, but he could hear that he failed.
She shrugged. “Guess what, you ain’t the only one who comes from a pissant backwater planet. Mine was called Varralia. There’s a few habitable spots, here and there, but not much between. My folks, they ran caravans between the settlements. Traded everything. Seeds, guns, pots and pans…and child brides.”
Corso’s breath hissed between his teeth. She pretended not to notice. “My dad sold me to a fat old man named Boson Hodd. Got two tractor engines in exchange. One of them even worked.”
“Talle,” he said, helplessly. He could protect her from so many things. He could stand between her and blaster fire. But he couldn’t go back in time, no matter how much he suddenly wanted to.
“I was fourteen when I finally got away,” she said. Her voice was still light, but she wasn’t looking at him, and her hands were on her hips—that was her ready position, the one she took when she sensed a fight coming. “Boson made the mistake of taking me to the spaceport. He had a new combine coming in, couldn’t wait to see it. I slipped away when he wasn’t looking. Made it on the freighter.”
He just let her talk, no matter that his blood was pounding in his ears. Twelve. Talle at twelve would’ve been…a skinny girl, all elbows and freckles and curiosity, ready to laugh at the dumbest things. Just like his own kid sister, who’d been gunned down from behind when she tried to run. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right.
“It was six months before they found me,” Talle said. Now her voice had changed—grown warm, and fond. “I’d spent that whole time watchin’ everything, figurin’ out how the whole ship worked. Was able to tell the captain that his first mate was skimmin’ off the top. Showed him the hidey-hole where the stolen goods were stored. He shot the first mate. But he took me on his crew.”
No, the galaxy wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. That’s why it needed Corso, and his captain, to make it a little bit better. He took a step towards her, and her eyes focused on him again.
“The moral of the story, Corso,” she said, “is that it’s better to ask to for forgiveness than permission.”
“I hope I never do anything to you that requires forgiveness,” he said fervently, and closed the remaining distance between them. She leaned against him as he wrapped his arms around her, and tilted up her chin.
He kissed her long and slow and deep, just like he’d been dreaming of for so many nights. He hadn’t quite imagined the little needy noises she’d make in response, or the way her arms would twine around him, one hand tangling in his hair. He lost himself in the sensations, nipping at her lips, her neck, her ear, pulling her always tighter against him. She responded by grinding her body against his. He groaned aloud.
She pulled back, eyes sparkling with mischief. “So…you’re still interested?”
“I told you, Captain,” he said, as serious as anything. “I’m your man. However you want me.”
She tilted her head, the teasing light in her eyes replaced by something more complicated. “I like you right here,” she said.
“Then I’ll be right here,” he told her, and bent down to lose himself in another kiss. He forced himself to be gentle, though all he wanted was to crush her in his arms and never let go. Sure, on some level he’d probably known that she’d been hurt before: nobody got into their line of work without a few scars to show for it. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
Didn’t mean he would ever let her be hurt again.
He found his hands wandering, tracing the curves of her back and hips, dipping maybe a little lower than a true gentleman would’ve really gone. The swell of her ass was the sweetest thing he could imagine. But she—she deserved better. Deserved to be courted properly, even if she didn’t know what that meant.
His hands found her shoulders and pushed her gently back. “Captain,” he said. “Talle. I’ll be right here. Ain’t no need to hurry.”
She made a noise of frustration. “You know, Corso, every now and then I get to thinkin’ you’re sweet on me. And then you go and shoot me down.”
He laughed, deep and rich. “I ain’t shootin’ you down, Captain. I’m just playin’ for all the neffles.”
There—the half-smile again, playing around the corners of her lips. “Neffles?”
“You never played for neffles?” He took a step back, still cupping her shoulders loosely.
“What are neffles?”
“Well,” he coughed, “they’re, um, ronto hoof clippings.”
She arched an eyebrow, and he grinned in response. “Dunno if you know this, but rontos have round feet with three toe shields on each foot—or ‘hoof,’ if you ain’t bein’ scientific about it.”
“Please, Corso,” she said drily. “You know I can’t abide it when you get unscientific about your rontos.”
He tucked an errant strand of hair back behind her ear. “Well,” he said, “those toe shields keep on growin’, no matter what you do. In their natural environment, a ronto would wear 'em down by stompin’ down the tough plants they eat. But on the ranch, our rontos get fed grain, so we gotta clip their toe shields for them. The clippings are—aw, you ain’t gonna believe this, but they’re kinda pretty.” She was laughing outright now, so he went on. “They are! They’re hard as anything, but they shine, like pearls almost. Little shiny crescent-moons. We collected 'em.”
She was still laughing. “And you—gambled with them?”
“Yes we did,” he said. He dipped in, very quick, just to nip a last kiss from her smiling lips. “I’m awful good at playin’ for neffles, Captain. Since you ain’t never done it before, you best follow my lead.”
“Corso,” she breathed, her smile dying away. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why don’t ya let me take care of me, Captain?” He swiped one thumb across her cheek. “And blast it, why don’t ya let me take care of you, too? When’s the last time you slept?”
The spark returned to her eyes. “You gonna put me to bed, Corso?”
“If I have to.”
She shifted her weight, one hip thrust out saucily. “Go ahead and do it then.”
So he swept her up in his arms, savoring her throaty chuckle as she squirmed against him. He carried her to her cabin, kissing her all the way, and laid her down in her own bed. She tried to draw him down beside her, but he only gave her a last kiss on the forehead, and pulled away.
“Night night,” he said. “Sweet dreams.”
She sighed, giving him a reproachful glance. But all she said was: “Sweet dreams, farm boy.”
“Oh,” he breathed as he sealed the cabin door behind him, “they will be.”
