respect for Che's fear that they needed a chaperone. "Go on, try the beer. You've tasted it before, right?"
"No, I have not."
"Not on your trip to LA?"
His mouth thinned. "That visit was to bring Klark home. I returned to Eireya immediately afterward."
"You'll have to make up for that on your holiday."
"I plan to, yes." He sniffed the vapor swirling out of the mouth of the bottle. Then he took a swallow, and his eyes lit up. "Beer," he murmured, studying the label before he took another drink. "Ah. It is quite good."
"Quite good?" She rolled her eyes. "Admit it, Ché. It's fantastic. You have nothing else like it in the galaxy. The Federation loves it. I know the man who brews Red Rocket Ale. Dan Brady. Purveyor to the king. He can't keep up with demand. I can't believe you missed out."
"I am afraid my family has never ordered beer for the kitchens."
"Why not? Too Earth for the Vedlas"
He tipped his head, putting on that mask of politeness she suspected he used when he didn't want to reveal what he really thought. Royal tact. like his posture, she'd bet that had been drilled into him from birth.
Of course, that made it more tempting to push his buttons. "If your family ever wants to understand us— and I have the feeling they do— they'll have to get over their fear of our exports."
"To admit that Earth could exert an influence on our culture, however small, would be the same as accepting it. By banning Earth products from Eireya, we can keep ourselves pure."
"Really," she said flatly.
"That was our belief. Then Rom chose your brother as heir to the throne." Smoothly he used his fingers to comb his hair back from his face. "I was one of your brother's first supporters, Ilana. If assuring his acceptance in the realm means importing Earth products, then I will have my family do it." He lifted the bottle. "It would seem that they do not know what they are missing."
She clinked her bottle against his. "Damn right, they don't."
He smiled. "Damn."
"That's another bad word," she warned sheepishly.
"I know. Ian taught it to me."
"My goody-twoshoes brother?" she asked approvingly.
Closing his eyes, Ché appeared to savor the taste of the icy ale before swallowing. His throat moved; the muscles in his jaw flexed. His eyes were heavy-lidded, as if he found the flavor of the ale pleasurable on a sensual level.
Talk about decadence, the Vash royal lifestyle defined the word. Ché had probably sampled every extravagance available to the very privileged, and then some. And yet, she'd been able to introduce him to something new. She liked that, considering how much effort the Vash put into their cuisine, which also reminded her that she was about to serve him reheated leftovers. Well, he'd deal with it. Her staff was on vacation. Snort.
"I like this 'soccer'," he said, his attention back on the game.
"You and the rest of the population. It's the most-watched sport in the world. We have some great local teams. I played a few seasons on one. I can take you to a game, if you want to go." She conjured a picture of wealthy, sophisticated Ché rooting for the home team on the rutted field behind Long's Drugs.
His eyes shifted from the TV to her. "You played with men?"
She'd played with plenty of men, actually, but she had the feeling that was not what he was asking. "It was a women's league."
He grew even more doubtful. "A team of females?"
Her chin came up. "Yeah. So?"
Che's initial disapproval melted into genuine interest. "Vash Nadah royal women… they do not play sports."
The remark sounded more like a statement of fact than a criticism, a way of coaxing her into telling him more. But it didn't mean he didn't deserve a sassy reply. "Getting down and dirty in the grass and mud— it's the best way to reduce stress. Well, one of the best ways." She smiled slowly, rubbing the cold lip of the bottle against her lips. "Your women ought to try it. I bet it'd do more for your sex lives than those old books of
"No, I have not."
"Not on your trip to LA?"
His mouth thinned. "That visit was to bring Klark home. I returned to Eireya immediately afterward."
"You'll have to make up for that on your holiday."
"I plan to, yes." He sniffed the vapor swirling out of the mouth of the bottle. Then he took a swallow, and his eyes lit up. "Beer," he murmured, studying the label before he took another drink. "Ah. It is quite good."
"Quite good?" She rolled her eyes. "Admit it, Ché. It's fantastic. You have nothing else like it in the galaxy. The Federation loves it. I know the man who brews Red Rocket Ale. Dan Brady. Purveyor to the king. He can't keep up with demand. I can't believe you missed out."
"I am afraid my family has never ordered beer for the kitchens."
"Why not? Too Earth for the Vedlas"
He tipped his head, putting on that mask of politeness she suspected he used when he didn't want to reveal what he really thought. Royal tact. like his posture, she'd bet that had been drilled into him from birth.
Of course, that made it more tempting to push his buttons. "If your family ever wants to understand us— and I have the feeling they do— they'll have to get over their fear of our exports."
"To admit that Earth could exert an influence on our culture, however small, would be the same as accepting it. By banning Earth products from Eireya, we can keep ourselves pure."
"Really," she said flatly.
"That was our belief. Then Rom chose your brother as heir to the throne." Smoothly he used his fingers to comb his hair back from his face. "I was one of your brother's first supporters, Ilana. If assuring his acceptance in the realm means importing Earth products, then I will have my family do it." He lifted the bottle. "It would seem that they do not know what they are missing."
She clinked her bottle against his. "Damn right, they don't."
He smiled. "Damn."
"That's another bad word," she warned sheepishly.
"I know. Ian taught it to me."
"My goody-twoshoes brother?" she asked approvingly.
Closing his eyes, Ché appeared to savor the taste of the icy ale before swallowing. His throat moved; the muscles in his jaw flexed. His eyes were heavy-lidded, as if he found the flavor of the ale pleasurable on a sensual level.
Talk about decadence, the Vash royal lifestyle defined the word. Ché had probably sampled every extravagance available to the very privileged, and then some. And yet, she'd been able to introduce him to something new. She liked that, considering how much effort the Vash put into their cuisine, which also reminded her that she was about to serve him reheated leftovers. Well, he'd deal with it. Her staff was on vacation. Snort.
"I like this 'soccer'," he said, his attention back on the game.
"You and the rest of the population. It's the most-watched sport in the world. We have some great local teams. I played a few seasons on one. I can take you to a game, if you want to go." She conjured a picture of wealthy, sophisticated Ché rooting for the home team on the rutted field behind Long's Drugs.
His eyes shifted from the TV to her. "You played with men?"
She'd played with plenty of men, actually, but she had the feeling that was not what he was asking. "It was a women's league."
He grew even more doubtful. "A team of females?"
Her chin came up. "Yeah. So?"
Che's initial disapproval melted into genuine interest. "Vash Nadah royal women… they do not play sports."
The remark sounded more like a statement of fact than a criticism, a way of coaxing her into telling him more. But it didn't mean he didn't deserve a sassy reply. "Getting down and dirty in the grass and mud— it's the best way to reduce stress. Well, one of the best ways." She smiled slowly, rubbing the cold lip of the bottle against her lips. "Your women ought to try it. I bet it'd do more for your sex lives than those old books of
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