Read Online Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kaitlyn O'Connor
Ads: Link
her mad dash to reach safety. “No,” she said finally instead of pointing out that that was because she’d had enough sense of self-preservation to get as far away from the battle as fast as she could. If she’d been caught in the crossfire they could’ve knocked her head clean off her shoulders, or landed on her and crushed her.
“Can you get out?”
She couldn’t prevent a blush as his gaze assessed the space she’d crammed herself into. The question, though, was did she want to? And could he make her get out if she didn’t want to?
He took the locker apart shelve by shelf. She wasn’t certain if the shelves had been designed to be removable, but he removed them anyway. When he’d removed the shelves, he reached in, grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her out.
Chapter Five
Bronte had to lock her knees to keep from falling when he set her on her feet. She winced as she straightened, every muscle and joint in her body protesting from being cramped up so long.
Apparently he saw the wince. He moved his hands over her, carefully checking bones and joints for breakage, she supposed. Just as she was lulled by the gentleness of his touch, he grabbed the front of the suit and ripped it open from neck to crotch. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, too stunned even to protest as he casually stripped the suit off of her. By the time she’d caught her breath, she discovered that he was still examining her, her flesh now instead of the bones, though why he thought he needed to when he could see at a glance that she wasn’t bleeding was beyond her. A frown drew his brows together as he examined the long bruises on her forearms and those on her shins from her dive into her hiding place.
“Get dressed,” he said finally and moved away.
Relieved, Bronte bent to grab the suit puddled around her ankles and pulled it up, shoving her arms into the sleeves. She was still trying to align the mesh on the front closure when his hand closed around her wrist. Without a word, he dragged her toward the bunk. She tripped over the pant legs as they reached the bunk, sprawling across his lap as he sat down and tugged her toward him.
She nearly impaled herself on the scalpel he held in his hand. Fortunately, he could move fast. He dropped it before she could fall on it. He gave her a reproving look as he righted her—as if she’d dove toward the thing on purpose!
Pushing her back so that she plopped down on his knee, which was behind her, he caught one wrist and straightened her arm. “Hold still,” he said, a thread of irritation in his voice as he picked up the scalpel he’d dropped.
Bronte shot to her feet, or rather tried. He hooked his other arm around her waist and held her, giving her a look that dared her to move. She would’ve jumped to her feet again anyway except that the second time, he grabbed the sleeve and slit the excess fabric before she had time to try to snatch her arm back or jump to her feet.
“Oh,” she said weakly when she realized he was only trying to cut the suit down to size.
He sent her a dry look as he caught her other arm and cut the end off of that sleeve. Feeling more than a little sheepish, she lifted her leg and placed it across his opposite knee when he’d finished trimming the sleeves. He sent her a look, but instead of pointing out that she could trim the pants legs as easily as he could—which she belatedly realized—he merely pinched the fabric up and trimmed the material off just above her ankle.
“I can do that,” she said uncomfortably as he reached for her other leg.
He ignored her, grasping her ankle and lifting her leg. The move overbalanced her. She made a grab for him as she felt herself tipping backwards and clawed three furrows across his chest before she managed to hook her hand around his upper arm and catch herself. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep enough to draw blood, only to raise welts. Feeling a little nauseated, she checked under her nails for
“Can you get out?”
She couldn’t prevent a blush as his gaze assessed the space she’d crammed herself into. The question, though, was did she want to? And could he make her get out if she didn’t want to?
He took the locker apart shelve by shelf. She wasn’t certain if the shelves had been designed to be removable, but he removed them anyway. When he’d removed the shelves, he reached in, grabbed her by her upper arms and hauled her out.
Chapter Five
Bronte had to lock her knees to keep from falling when he set her on her feet. She winced as she straightened, every muscle and joint in her body protesting from being cramped up so long.
Apparently he saw the wince. He moved his hands over her, carefully checking bones and joints for breakage, she supposed. Just as she was lulled by the gentleness of his touch, he grabbed the front of the suit and ripped it open from neck to crotch. Bronte sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, too stunned even to protest as he casually stripped the suit off of her. By the time she’d caught her breath, she discovered that he was still examining her, her flesh now instead of the bones, though why he thought he needed to when he could see at a glance that she wasn’t bleeding was beyond her. A frown drew his brows together as he examined the long bruises on her forearms and those on her shins from her dive into her hiding place.
“Get dressed,” he said finally and moved away.
Relieved, Bronte bent to grab the suit puddled around her ankles and pulled it up, shoving her arms into the sleeves. She was still trying to align the mesh on the front closure when his hand closed around her wrist. Without a word, he dragged her toward the bunk. She tripped over the pant legs as they reached the bunk, sprawling across his lap as he sat down and tugged her toward him.
She nearly impaled herself on the scalpel he held in his hand. Fortunately, he could move fast. He dropped it before she could fall on it. He gave her a reproving look as he righted her—as if she’d dove toward the thing on purpose!
Pushing her back so that she plopped down on his knee, which was behind her, he caught one wrist and straightened her arm. “Hold still,” he said, a thread of irritation in his voice as he picked up the scalpel he’d dropped.
Bronte shot to her feet, or rather tried. He hooked his other arm around her waist and held her, giving her a look that dared her to move. She would’ve jumped to her feet again anyway except that the second time, he grabbed the sleeve and slit the excess fabric before she had time to try to snatch her arm back or jump to her feet.
“Oh,” she said weakly when she realized he was only trying to cut the suit down to size.
He sent her a dry look as he caught her other arm and cut the end off of that sleeve. Feeling more than a little sheepish, she lifted her leg and placed it across his opposite knee when he’d finished trimming the sleeves. He sent her a look, but instead of pointing out that she could trim the pants legs as easily as he could—which she belatedly realized—he merely pinched the fabric up and trimmed the material off just above her ankle.
“I can do that,” she said uncomfortably as he reached for her other leg.
He ignored her, grasping her ankle and lifting her leg. The move overbalanced her. She made a grab for him as she felt herself tipping backwards and clawed three furrows across his chest before she managed to hook her hand around his upper arm and catch herself. Fortunately, it wasn’t deep enough to draw blood, only to raise welts. Feeling a little nauseated, she checked under her nails for
Similar Books
