Pirate: Space Gypsy Chronicles, #1 by Eve Langlais Page A

cargo space, even the captain sleeps with the crew.”
    A crew of one. Her. And him. And they would share this tiny space.
    But not a bed. That she could promise.

Chapter Nine
    I t won’t be long before we’re sharing a bed.
    His confidence would allow nothing less. Although, as Rafe eyed the thin bunks, it did occur to him that they might have to get innovative.
    Usually, when he entertained a woman—in other words, made her ride him with wild abandon—it was on a space station or in a bordello. Which, for the uninformed, was the safest place to have sex in the universe.
    Hooking up, as the humans called it, for fornication with strangers proved risky. Those working in brothels were checked daily, got their immunization shots against all the known diseases, and provided exemplary service. Drunken trysts, on the other hand, sometime resulted waking with a sore head, empty pockets, and a rash that required several large needles to counter.
    But he didn’t need to worry about catching the galactic clap from Emma. Or did he? Earth had its fair share of communicable diseases.
    “How long since your last medical checkup?” he asked.
    “How about none of your business?” she replied with a false sweetness. “If this is a bid to find out if I’m clean so you can put the moves on me, forget it. If I’m going to be stuck on this ship with you, then you can keep your hands, and other parts”—she cast a distinct look below his belt—“to yourself.”
    “Is that any way to talk to your captain?”
    “The captain can talk to his hand if he’s feeling unloved.”
    A laugh erupted from him at her sassy response. His newest crewmember might not have arrived willingly, and would have to adapt, but he had to admit to enjoying her feisty attitude.
    However, he didn’t appreciate her rejection as much. Let her see how she felt after a few weeks in space with nothing to do but watch and re-watch the same videos over and over. Read and re-read the same stories. As a merchant vessel, his ship carried little in the way of entertainment. She’d come around when she got bored enough.
    The shame of relying on boredom almost made him bounce his head off a wall. He needed to get away from her.
    “Get settled in while I check on the ship.”
    “Can’t you like demand a progress report?” she asked.
    Was she trying to get him to stay? “I could, but again, a computer is fallible. I prefer to check on things myself.”
    “But what of the tour? You said there were three levels, and I’ve only seen two.”
    “The engine rooms and other items on the third will have to wait. We have time.” Lots of it.
    Time enough for her to come to her senses.
    Rejection really didn’t sit well.
    Leaving Emma, he retraced his steps to the bridge, mulling his next plan of action. He wouldn’t allow a foolish thing like her dislike of him to get in the way of his seduction. The travel between worlds and civilized places was long. It required entertainment, and there was no better entertainment than sex.
    Unless he counted the almost thirty seasons of The Simpsons , the one thing he’d had uploaded to his mainframe. The cartoon antics never failed to make him chuckle.
    Entering the command center, Rafe flopped into his seat. He drummed his fingers on the armrests of his chair as he stared blankly at the screen.
    “Does the captain wish a progress report?” Annabelle’s words interrupted his thinking process.
    “What the captain needs is a stiff drink, a pair of open and welcoming thighs, and a decent meal,” he muttered, because Emma was correct; space rations sucked. Good thing he kept a stash of good stuff in storage. A storage room he’d not shared.
    “Analysis shows that, given the captain’s needs are currently impossible to satisfy, the captain is screwed.”
    He squinted at the ceiling. The problem with talking with somebody who was incorporeal was he didn’t know where to address his words. “I’m having very grave concerns