Page 44 of Alien Healer’s Mate

“I touched his arm.” The smile didn’t waver. “Among my people, that is a gesture of respect. Perhaps humans do things differently.”

Delilah’s face went hot. The warlady wasn’t even angry. She was amused, and gracious, reasonable in a way that made her want to scream.

“I understand this must be difficult for you,” the warlady continued. “You’re far from home and interacting in a culture you don’t understand. It’s natural to feel overset and emotional.”

“I am not overset!”

The warlady’s expression shifted slightly, something a little too close to pity for Delilah’s liking flickering behind her eyes.

“Perhaps,” she said, “I am not the person you need to be talking to.”

She turned back to her companions, indicating that their conversation was over, which left Delilah standing there, her face burning and unable to say anything without proving the warlady’s point for her.

A little girl throwing a tantrum at the grown-ups’ table.

“Delilah.”

Kellat’s voice was low and controlled, and his hand closed around her elbow before she’d even realized he was near. She turned, looking up at him. His expression was calm, the professional mask she hated locked down tight.

“What the draanth are you doing?” His voice was barely above a murmur. “Amaelii is a vorrtan warlady. An ally of the empire.”

“I know who she is.”

“Then you know you can’t speak to her that way.” He steered her away from the refreshment table, his pace too fast for her to dig her heels in.

The crowd parted around them, everyone who glanced at them clocking Kellat’s body language and expression and suddenly finding something far more interesting to look at. Her face burned hotter.

“She’s playing you.” She yanked her arm out of his grip and spun to face him. They’d stopped near the edge of the hall, half-hidden behind a pillar. “She’s playing you, and you’re too busy being flattered to notice.”

“She’s not flattering me, nor do I take it as such. She’s a diplomat.” He folded his arms over his chest, looking down at her. His calmness made her want to scream. “Touching is a gesture of respect among the vorrtan. It’s not an invitation.”

She folded her arms and glared up at him. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on their customs?”

“I read the briefing files.” His jaw tightened. “Which is more than you did, apparently.”

The words hit like a slap.

“This isn’t about the bloody vorrtan!” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a hiss. “This is about you. You bring me here, you give me beautiful dresses and spend two days making me feel like…” Her voice broke, and she stopped, glaring at him again. “But then you left. You fucked me, and you left, and now you’re acting as if nothing happened.”

His expression flickered, something dark in the back of his eyes. But it was gone before she could recognize it.

“This is not the time for this discussion.”

“When is the time then? When you’ve finished charming the warlady? When I’m back on Devan Station and matched to someone else, and you can pretend I was never anything but a case file?”

He didn’t answer. His face was closed, locked down. “We’ll discuss this later. When you’ve had time to calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You’re acting out of petty jealousy, and it’s putting diplomatic relationships at risk.”

Petty.

The word went through her. She stared at him, her mouth opening, and nothing came out. Because he was right, wasn’t he? She’d confronted the warlady because she’d seen another woman touching him and lost her mind. She’d proven exactly what the warlady obviously thought she was… a jealous little human who couldn’t control herself.

And he’d called her petty. He’d looked at her and called her petty, and the worst part…

She loved him. She loved him, and he stood there treating her like a child who’d embarrassed him in public. The tears pressed at the backs of her eyes. Swallowing hard, she ignored them. She would not cry. Not here. Not now. And definitely not in front of him.