...As she watched the inner door to the ship slide open, Sylinda knew her freedom was measured in minutes. She’d already concealed a thin, ultra sharp, plasglas blade in a secret pocket inside her tunic sleeve and another one in her pressure suit.

Now she slipped deeper into her role as Madam Ambassador and sat in the sleek, butter-soft cazleather chair facing the door, assuming an assured air of authority.

Out in the corridor, there was an exchange of orders and responses, then her door opened and the leader entered. Something in the easy way he moved—in the set of his broad shoulders and narrow hips—reminded her of her long-lost lover, Justin Kade.

“Ambassador de Corvic-Morgan?” he asked in clipped tones.

She raised her chin in defiance. “I am de Corvic-Morgan.”

He removed his helmet. Her heart stuttered, but years of practice hiding her true feelings helped her conceal her shock. Justin? Is it really him after three years?

The pirate chief drew a slim holo-tester from an outer pocket. “Say your full name,” he ordered, holding the tester flat on his palm.

Sylinda’s stomach knotted, but she recalled her cousin’s impatience with fools and used that tone to say, “I am Victoria Consuela de Corvic-Morgan, Ambassador from Atarka.” She rose to face him. “And you are in violation of interplanetary laws.”

“Planning to arrest me”—he glanced at her holographic image slowly turning above the projector in his hand—“Ambassador?”

Relieved to know she’d passed the first test of her identity, Sylinda crossed her arms so her fingers had quick access to the concealed knife. “Now that you know this is my yacht and you are on Atarkian territory, I’ll give you two minutes to collect your crew, return to your ship, and leave—all of you.”

“What makes you think I’ll obey your orders?” He prowled closer, reminding her of a sleek, dangerous wolf-panther. “Your ship is surrounded by five fully armed marauder vessels. My men are in command of your helm, engineering, and environmental controls. This vessel and you are not going anywhere without my permission.”

He leaned closer. His nostrils flared. “Your voice is abrasive, but your scent is enticing. Want to earn your freedom with a long, slow fuck?”

“Damn you!” She spat in his face. “Fuck that.”

His hand shot out. He gripped her wrist. Spittle dripped from his now-expressionless face. “A very undiplomatic action—Ambassador. Most pirates would torture and kill for that insult.”

“Not you.” She hoped she was right. “You said, ‘most pirates.’”

“Not me,” he agreed. “You have no chance to bargain for your freedom; not even if you try to use that cunning little knife concealed in your sleeve.”

Unsealing the top of his pressure suit one-handed, he drew the knife and sheath from her sleeve and tucked them inside the metallic fabric.

Maintaining his grip on her wrist, he extracted a wipe from inside the suit, cleaned his face, folded the material and stowed it in an interior pocket.

“Now you are free to beg for the lives of your crew.”

Fear and anger tore away her resolve to stay cool. “Beg for their lives? You—you pirate,” she raged. “My crew was just doing their duty in operating the ship. You’re the ones who attacked us.”

He drew her closer. “Pirates take booty. I’ll claim this bauble you’re trying to conceal.”

To her horror, he seized the chain with its precious capsule and tucked it inside his pressure suit.

“Cooperate with me, madam, and you might earn it back.”

“When it snows on planet Hell.” She gave him the same cool look she’d seen her cousin use, but her mind was in a turmoil.

Justin, you’ve changed, she thought, filled with a mix of guilt and attraction. She should hate him for killing her brother, Chase—but the warm flow of his breath across her face and his sensual lips so close to hers reminded her of their days and nights of loving; reminded her of their formal promise ceremony and plans for a lifetime bond-marriage.