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Authors: Michelle O'Leary
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voice without looking at him. “That sounded like a threat.”
“When I make a threat, you’ll know it,” he grumbled, shooting her an annoyed glance.
“You mean like, ‘I’ll knock your ass out and drag you?’”
He nearly winced when he remembered that he’d used those very words to shut her up when they were escaping the town. He thought about telling her that he wouldn’t have done it, just gagged and carried her, but reconsidered when he imagined her reaction. So all he said was, “Good example,” and concentrated on finishing his meal.
She was still picking at hers even after he’d taken his last bite, drained the pouch of liquid, cleaned the container, and stowed everything away. He approached the chair and stood with his hands on hips, contemplating her bent head. She went as still as a mouse in a hawk’s shadow.
“Need the chair,” he said as gently as he could. She scrambled out of the seat so fast that he thought she was going to land on her face. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she skittered away from his touch and curled up in the passenger’s seat he’d vacated. Clenching his jaw, he counseled himself to patience, swinging the seat around to face the console and setting the controls for the night. “We’re about ten days out from the nearest ‘port. We’ll tranq it tomorrow and hiber-sleep the rest of the way, but I need a normal night’s rest tonight.”
“Why hiber-sleep? Ten days doesn’t seem like so long.”
“Trust me, in this skinny little cutter, ten days with nothing to do but stare at the hull is an eternity. I’ll be putting her into zero G for the night, so if you want to clean up, I recommend doing it now.”
“Oh, ah…”
Stryker didn’t have to look to know she was staring at the cleanser with doubt all over her face. He curled a corner of his mouth. “Need privacy?”
“If-if that’s possible, I’d be grateful.”
He turned to his left and unlatched the stiff divider—he hadn’t had much occasion to use it so far in his solitary journey. He pulled it along its track until most of the cabin was hidden from view behind the thin, gray screen. “It ain’t perfect, but it’s all we got.”
“Thank you,” she responded and though he could no longer see her, he could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice. He could also hear every move she made. He busied himself with plotting evasive courses in case the Collectors came sniffing around, but the sounds behind him created an evolving picture in his head. Cleaning and stowing the foodware. Unpacking her duffel. Repacking her duffel. Stripping off her clothes…
He gritted his teeth and tried to think of anything else besides her slim body becoming tantalizingly naked in such close proximity. He thought about star charts and Collectors, but his body reacted anyway, heart thudding and erection straining against his clothes.
Stupid.
All this for a slip of a woman who winced from his slightest touch. She might think the worst of him, but besides not being a baby killer, he was also not a rapist.
He listened to the cleanser rustle over her, listened while she went through her private rituals of cleaning and preparing for sleep. He was so attuned to her that by the time she was finished, he heard her draw breath to speak.
“I’m done, thank you,” she called softly.
Without comment, he pushed the divider back into place and latched it.
“I-I should probably look at your wrists,” she offered.
Stryker considered it briefly. She might be less skittish if she had the experience of being close without him pouncing—but then he remembered the petting. “No,” he responded with a bit more force than was necessary. Taking a careful breath and modifying his tone, he repeated, “No, it’s fine.” In his current condition, her touching him was a very bad idea.
Confirming that the controls were set, he shut down the grav drive. With a gentle push and twist, he floated up from
“When I make a threat, you’ll know it,” he grumbled, shooting her an annoyed glance.
“You mean like, ‘I’ll knock your ass out and drag you?’”
He nearly winced when he remembered that he’d used those very words to shut her up when they were escaping the town. He thought about telling her that he wouldn’t have done it, just gagged and carried her, but reconsidered when he imagined her reaction. So all he said was, “Good example,” and concentrated on finishing his meal.
She was still picking at hers even after he’d taken his last bite, drained the pouch of liquid, cleaned the container, and stowed everything away. He approached the chair and stood with his hands on hips, contemplating her bent head. She went as still as a mouse in a hawk’s shadow.
“Need the chair,” he said as gently as he could. She scrambled out of the seat so fast that he thought she was going to land on her face. He reached out a hand to steady her, but she skittered away from his touch and curled up in the passenger’s seat he’d vacated. Clenching his jaw, he counseled himself to patience, swinging the seat around to face the console and setting the controls for the night. “We’re about ten days out from the nearest ‘port. We’ll tranq it tomorrow and hiber-sleep the rest of the way, but I need a normal night’s rest tonight.”
“Why hiber-sleep? Ten days doesn’t seem like so long.”
“Trust me, in this skinny little cutter, ten days with nothing to do but stare at the hull is an eternity. I’ll be putting her into zero G for the night, so if you want to clean up, I recommend doing it now.”
“Oh, ah…”
Stryker didn’t have to look to know she was staring at the cleanser with doubt all over her face. He curled a corner of his mouth. “Need privacy?”
“If-if that’s possible, I’d be grateful.”
He turned to his left and unlatched the stiff divider—he hadn’t had much occasion to use it so far in his solitary journey. He pulled it along its track until most of the cabin was hidden from view behind the thin, gray screen. “It ain’t perfect, but it’s all we got.”
“Thank you,” she responded and though he could no longer see her, he could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice. He could also hear every move she made. He busied himself with plotting evasive courses in case the Collectors came sniffing around, but the sounds behind him created an evolving picture in his head. Cleaning and stowing the foodware. Unpacking her duffel. Repacking her duffel. Stripping off her clothes…
He gritted his teeth and tried to think of anything else besides her slim body becoming tantalizingly naked in such close proximity. He thought about star charts and Collectors, but his body reacted anyway, heart thudding and erection straining against his clothes.
Stupid.
All this for a slip of a woman who winced from his slightest touch. She might think the worst of him, but besides not being a baby killer, he was also not a rapist.
He listened to the cleanser rustle over her, listened while she went through her private rituals of cleaning and preparing for sleep. He was so attuned to her that by the time she was finished, he heard her draw breath to speak.
“I’m done, thank you,” she called softly.
Without comment, he pushed the divider back into place and latched it.
“I-I should probably look at your wrists,” she offered.
Stryker considered it briefly. She might be less skittish if she had the experience of being close without him pouncing—but then he remembered the petting. “No,” he responded with a bit more force than was necessary. Taking a careful breath and modifying his tone, he repeated, “No, it’s fine.” In his current condition, her touching him was a very bad idea.
Confirming that the controls were set, he shut down the grav drive. With a gentle push and twist, he floated up from
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