Christie Golden - Valerian and the City of a Thousand Planets

But for the present moment, all was well in his world. Laureline made no move to change her position, continuing to sip her drink and peruse him with blue eyes bright with humor.

“They say memory blanks are the first sign that you’re getting old,” she said. Her eyes narrowed, focusing in on something. “After gray hairs,” she corrected. With the comment, she reached out to stroke his hair—and plucked one.

“Ouch!” he yelped.

She brandished it toward him like a weapon, with a triumphant, “See?”

His hair was dark brown. The treasonous hair she showed him was most definitely not. He stared at it for a moment, then his gaze slid to Laureline, dark with suspicion.

“You dyed it while I was sleeping!” Valerian said.

Laureline laughed. “Right,” she said, still grinning. “Like I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Gray hairs. He was getting old at twenty-seven. It was not a happy thought. He returned his focus to the gorgeous woman in front of him, her own hair shining in the sun, glorious and most definitely not gray.

He reached up and brushed a small, rebellious strand from her face, lingering on her skin. “I feel horrible that I forgot,” he said. Then, with a slightly lascivious smile, he asked, “What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Beginning descent in three minutes,” came a clipped, polished voice. Next to them, a small black pod started to flash a red light. Valerian closed his eyes in misery. Talk about bad timing , he thought.

“Nothing that you can get done in three minutes,” quipped Laureline, her grin broad as she slipped out of his grasp.

Valerian reached out, both playful and pleading. “C’mon…” he wheedled, under no illusion that she would acquiesce but, apparently, incapable of not trying anyway.

Laureline scolded him, pretending to be serious, though her slight smile betrayed her. “Now, now, don’t start something you can’t finish!”

“Who taught you a dumb saying like that?”

“My mother.”

“Oh… sorry.” He was batting a thousand today, wasn’t he? Gray hairs, forgetting her birthday—how the hell had that happened?—accidentally insulting her mom…

Laureline pressed the flashing red light, and reality intruded upon their private paradise.

The languidly waving palms and the ocean itself ceased their motion instantly. Clouds paused and the seagulls that had been wheeling froze in mid-flight. The blue sky that arched above splintered, like ice that had been struck, melting away swiftly to reveal the familiar black metallic interior of their spaceship, the Intruder XB982 —or, as Valerian liked to quip, “Alex’s House.”

Still in their swimsuits, the two agents padded barefoot along the Intruder ’s hallways, Laureline striding briskly, ready to get to work, and Valerian tagging along after her like a still-hopeful puppy.

“Come on, Laureline,” he wheedled as they passed rows of monitors, empty space suits, and various pieces of equipment. “I know you’re attracted to me. Why deny the obvious?”

She shot him a look that was both scathing and mirthful. He never knew how she managed it. “It’s obvious?” The acidic sarcasm that dripped from the words could have eaten its way through the bulkhead.

But Valerian was uncowed. “Sure,” he continued. He was joking, of course. Well, a little, at any rate. “Don’t feel too bad. It’s only natural. Little goody two shoes with an Ivy League education are always attracted to galaxy-hopping bad boys like me.”

“My Ivy League education taught me to steer clear of bad boys like you,” Laureline retorted, having no visible problem sticking to what she had allegedly learned.

But Valerian continued like a used shuttle salesman who knows he has about thirty seconds left to make his pitch. “You won’t find better than me on the market,” he promised. “Straight up. Take a good look.”

He darted in front of her, but as she refused to slow, he had to walk backward while he tried to interest the potential customer. He spread his arms, indicating his regulation-fit physique. “Handsome, smart—”

“Modest!” exclaimed Laureline. He noticed that she was smiling despite herself. This was a game they played… well, almost constantly. Valerian always enjoyed it—even if it never ended with what he wanted—and he knew she did, too. Laureline was no pushover. If she disliked the game, she’d have put an end to it the first time he’d started flirting. With, say, a right hook that left no question as to her sentiments.

So he continued. “Brave,” Valerian reminded her in a serious voice, striking a heroic pose—which, damn it, was impressive considering that he was walking, backwards, fast.

“Suicidal,” Laureline corrected.

“Determined.” She could not possibly argue that one, given what he was doing this precise moment.

“Pigheaded.”

Yeah, okay, he supposed he had to admit that one.

“Faithful,” he said.

The word was there, lobbed out by some impulse Valerian was now utterly flummoxed by. It hadn’t been what he had intended to say. It had come out, unbidden… real. For a moment, they both dropped the act and stared at each other, their eyes wide.

Then Laureline lowered her eyes and pushed past him, muttering under her breath, “To yourself.”

Valerian was annoyed, and angry. He wasn’t sure why. With her? With himself?

“Why don’t you speak with your heart not your head for once?” he asked.

She threw him a cold look over her shoulder. “Because I don’t feel like being just another name on your list of conquests.”

“Who are you talking about? What list?”

“Alex? Can we see the playlist?”

Dozens of images flashed up on one of the many screens: pictures of attractive humanoid females, one after another. Slightly panicked, Valerian stared at the images, as if the women were about to attack him.

One attractive woman who was standing right in front of him just might. Laureline advanced past him, her jaw set. Valerian felt his face grow hot. How the hell had she known about this?

“Hey!” he protested. “Most of them are coworkers, that’s it!” It was true.

Well, mostly.

Laureline turned, arching a brow. “Really? Coworkers?”

He nodded.

“Well, in that case, where’s my picture?”

Valerian had no answer for that, and so simply stared at her like a woodland creature in a beam of bright light.

“Yeah,” she said, and it seemed to him that there was genuine emotion in her words, “that’s what I thought.”

Valerian grasped her arm. “Laureline, those girls mean nothing to me. Okay, I admit it, I took a few… detours… when I was younger, but so what?”

The sergeant pointed to one of the pictures. It was of a stunning young woman with dark skin and laughing eyes. “Your last ‘detour’ was one week ago.”

Valerian was a superlative pilot. But even the best pilots didn’t always bring their vessels in without taking damage. He knew when a ship was about to crash and, likely, burn. He was experiencing that realization at this moment and, desperate to divert the course of his vessel of romance, he turned up the charm full throttle.

“With you, it’s different. You know it. My heart is yours and nobody else’s!”

Laureline was unmoved by his plea. “My heart will belong to the man who will have only my name on his playlist.”

“That’s what I’m saying! I’m that man!”

Laureline smiled, her face softening. The anger in her blue eyes was gone. But her words were no less devastating for being spoken gently.

“Your illogic is adorable. You know, you’re quite the lady-killer,” she admitted, and for a glorious second he thought the prize won. Her next words proved him wrong. “But how come you lose interest in a girl as soon as you win her heart?”