Light of Kaska (8 page)

Unwrapping with quiet care, she used the facilities, blushing at the lack of privacy. But he still seemed asleep, the arm across his face not twitching even a fraction. When she was done, she hovered for a long moment in indecision. Should she wrap back up and wait for him to wake? That seemed a little too passive and unmotivated, even though she was starting to feel chills again. She certainly wasn’t brave enough to wake him, though. So she settled on heading for the controls to see what she could glean from their position and course.

Still uncertain of her z-grav skills, she pushed off gently, drifting toward the pilot seat. But she’d miscalculated a bit—her trajectory took her closer and closer to Stryker. She winced a little, realizing she would have to catch the bulkhead in order to keep from bumping into him.
Shouldn’t be a problem,
she coached herself.
I’m going slowly enough. Just have to reach up and push off before I hit him.

Trying to gauge the distance, she watched him loom closer and became distracted by the wide expanse of naked, cinnamon skin. He was all hard muscle and sinew, beautiful in a way that made her breath catch, but there was a vulnerability to the line of his throat and the relaxed curl of his fingers that fascinated her. She wondered what those fingers would feel like twined with hers, wondered how his pulse would feel under her fingertips. She had the insane urge to extend her hand and find out, to discover the texture of his skin and trace those hard ropes of muscle. What would he do if she touched him?

A moment later, she found out. Her distraction had been too complete—she’d forgotten all about catching the bulkhead and stopping her forward momentum. Her hip bumped his, twisting her axis. She began to fall into him and with a squeak she threw her arms out in a panicked attempt to halt the motion. One hand connected with his shoulder as the other brushed the bulkhead.

Then Stryker moved. One moment she was falling on him, flailing like a windmill. The next moment she was caught against his chest, a vice against the small of her back while he swung them to vertical with ridiculous ease.

Then all things seemed to stop, including time. Including her lungs and heart.
Oh, sweet Goddess.
Her hands were pressed flat against his chest, pale against his dark skin. The feel of hot, hard muscle under her palms sent a quiver through her body and held her in suspended fascination. The contrast between crisp hair and smooth skin made her want to flex her hands, to dig her fingers into his flesh. The urge sent a stronger tremor through her body and opened a shocking pool of heat between her thighs.

She took a swift breath and raised her startled gaze to his. Then she stopped breathing again. He was watching her with hot predator’s eyes, wild and dark as the most primitive night. Alarm kicked her heart back into motion, the overworked muscle beating a frantic rhythm in her chest. She braced her arms, straining away from him as she became aware of the strength of his grip and the hardness of his body pressing against her. All of him, hard. She felt his arousal against her hipbone.

“Let me go,” she said, appalled by the weakness and breathless quality of her voice. Talk about sounding like prey. To back up her feeble demand, she pushed harder against the rock of his chest.

“Can’t.” In contrast to the wildness in his gaze, his voice was calm.

Still, she panicked. “Let me go!” She tried twisting out of his hold, but the vice-like grip of his arm across her back tightened.

“I can’t let you go with you pushing so hard. You’ll bounce around this cabin like a rubber ball. Let up, Keza.”

He sounded almost amused, but it was the name that made her arms relax, eyes widening in astonishment.

“What did you call me?”

He eased his hold, moving back a bit and catching her arm in a steady, gentle grip. He tilted his head to study her, his mouth curling at one corner. “You didn’t like being called Suki. Keza fits you better."

“My family are the only ones who ever call me Keza,” she said faintly. “How did you—? How did you know I didn’t like being called Suki?”

He looked down. In belated awareness, she snatched her hands back from his chest and grabbed the bulkhead to move away from him, breaking his hold. “It was in your face,” he said in a bland tone, brushing the wrap away and turning toward the pilot seat.

Sukeza felt a frown crease her forehead. Just what exactly had he seen in her face to give him that impression? What made him chose that nickname? It gave her a warm feeling to hear the private endearment again, which was not healthy or wise when confined with a prowling male animal. She also wondered how he could be acting so calm when she was very sure he’d just been contemplating gobbling her up like a snack. Well, she had sort of thrown herself at him unintentionally. Maybe she’d interrupted a hot dream and got the backdraft from it, the fire fading when he realized she was a far cry from his dream vixen.

I should be relieved he decided against pouncing,
she thought, and she was—her heart was still racing along with that prey-animal flight response. But a small corner of her felt dim disappointment.
Stupid,
she berated herself.
Like he’d ever choose you. Even if he did, you’d be too busy running to enjoy it.

She rubbed her hand against her hip absently, trying to get rid of the lingering sensation of heated muscle. Wondering when he was going to put on his shirt, she asked, “So where is this place we’re headed?”

“Nowhere you’d recognize, farm girl,” he answered with that trace of ironic humor, his back to her while he ran his hands over the controls. “Very far away from any Exchange and just about in the middle of un-civilization.”

“But you’ve been there before?” She kept her tone neutral, trying not to be insulted by his assumption of her ignorance. She
was
ignorant of most of the Galactic Spread.

“Yeah. Un-civilization is where guys like me live and breathe.”

At that dry statement, she grimaced at his smooth back. “The place has a name, though, doesn’t it?”

He shot her a dark, unreadable look over his shoulder. Her heart gave a little sideways jump while a shiver ran down her spine.

“Names can get a person in a shit-load of trouble. How ‘bout we just call it the place that’ll get you where you need to go.”

“Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue,” she muttered, earning a snort from him. She shifted uneasily, wondering why he was being so evasive. Maybe he was having second thoughts about getting her home. Or maybe he’d never had any intention of letting her go. With hesitant persistence, she asked, “Is it some sort of secret base?”

“This ain’t some operatic, farm girl. It’s just a hole in the ass end of the galaxy, but these people are gonna help you if I ask nice and I don’t want you putting them in the line of fire if some badge asks you for your story.”

“Oh.” She felt a flush work its way up her throat and over her cheeks. “Right. That’s—a good point.”

His night wrap drifted against her legs, and she busied herself collecting it and tying it out of the way against the hull. The billowing material puffed little clouds of his scent to her, a dark spice that screamed
dangerous male animal.
It caused her breath to stutter in her chest and made her movements clumsy.

When she was done, she kicked across the cabin to repeat the process with her own wrap, keeping her gaze carefully away from him. “You—you said it was ten days out?”

“Yeah, but it’ll go in a flash. We’ll hit hiber-sleep after breakfast and be there before you know it.”

She felt a protest rise in her throat and swallowed it hastily. What was she thinking? The less time spent in his company the better. She was not the type of woman who handled danger well—the exact opposite actually—and Stryker was dangerous in so many ways that it boggled the mind. Just because he made her body sit up and beg… She considered the residual heat still throbbing between her legs from touching his bare skin and shuddered. Much better if he became an interesting memory, a story to tell her sisters about Keza’s grand adventures away from home. Okay, so this experience would be the only adventurous story she’d have to tell them about her Mater Guidance.

A wave of homesickness passed over her, weakening her knees. Breathing deeply and pressing a steadying hand to the hull, she spoke without looking at him. “So…what do you want for breakfast?”

“Thought you said you can’t cook.”

“I said I’m a bad cook—there’s a difference.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

Sukeza shot him a glance, but she couldn’t confirm the trace of humor in his tone from studying the back of his head. He still hadn’t put his shirt on. With another deep breath to loosen the band around her chest, she pushed back over to his wrap and snagged his shirt. Careful to keep a hand on anchored objects, she moved to hover next to his chair, tucking the piece of clothing over the armrest with what she hoped was subtle dignity.

He ignored her.

With a little grimace of annoyance, she watched his strong hands move over the controls, acknowledging her ignorance of their current location. None of the screens showed familiar territory. To her, the nav graphs looked like he’d plotted a course from one corner of the middle of nowhere to the other. Biting her lip in consternation, she settled her growing anxiety by focusing on something she did know.

“Let me take a look at your wrists,” she blurted, momentarily forgetting what his proximity did to her when she caught sight of the welts on his skin. They didn’t look as raw, but they still drew a reaction from deep in her gut, a clench of empathy and guilt when she remembered their source. She was reaching for him before she remembered to be nervous. To her surprise he jerked away, upsetting her balance. Catching herself on the edge of the control panel, she stared at him with wide eyes.

Stryker didn’t meet her gaze, his face immobile as he continued his work. “Wrists are fine,” he muttered. His dark eyes flashed to her face before he refocused them with fierce concentration on the screens in front of him. “Get that look off your face, farm girl. I’m not gonna eat you. Are you this scared of everybody?”

The contempt in his tone stung her. She stiffened. “No, just criminals,” she snapped then fled to the food storage, putting as much space between them as she could. But she couldn’t swallow her resentment or keep her mouth from running recklessly. “Something about thieves, murderers, and rapists makes me nervous. Go figure.”

“I’m no rapist,” he said and the underlying menace in his voice sent a chill down her spine.

Caution finally exerted itself and she pressed her lips together, shooting him a quick glance while she pulled containers out of storage. She noticed that he hadn’t denied being a thief. Or a murderer.

Looking at the containers floating in front of her, she paused, wondering what the hell she was going to do with them in zero-g. “Um, can you turn the grav back on?”

“Come here,” he said in answer and a thrill raced through her. A thrill of fear, of course. She wasn’t masochistic enough to get a thrill of pleasure out of the dark command in his rough voice—was she?

“Why?” she asked without moving.

With a heavy sigh, he shot her a hostile look over his shoulder. “Because I wanna eat in this century. You sit and watch the long range for traffic. I’ll get breakfast.”

Relieved, she moved to take his place in the pilot’s chair, avoiding his gaze. Her face was warm, and she heard him snort softly as he moved away. Residual resentment reared up again. She chewed on the inside of her cheek while she watched empty space and listened to him move around the small cabin. She’d be damned if she’d feel guilty for not trusting him. The man was a criminal. He’d put bruises on her wrist. He was a strange man in a very strange situation, just exactly the kind of thing every mother warned her daughters about. She could only be more vulnerable if she was staked out naked in the wilderness.

“What happens if I see traffic?”

“We avoid it.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Your record said you escaped months ago. I didn’t think it was possible to avoid the Collectors so long.”

“Neither did they. They’ve been on top so long they forgot what it’s like to work for it.”

She touched the controls, tracing her fingers over the worn pads and faded colors. The idea of him avoiding everyone and everything, of being out in the black of space in this tiny cutter for months all alone, did something unpleasant to her insides. To her, it seemed a different kind of prison, a different cage. No wonder he’d stopped on that planet, visited their rural community. And look what it had gotten him. “How did you stand it?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. Maybe he hadn’t heard.

A few moments later, he handed her a pouch with a straw poking out of it. She accepted it with quiet thanks and took an experimental sip. It was delicious, fruity and substantial at the same time. She had no idea what was in it and didn’t ask. It was enough to feel the concoction slide down her throat and settle in her stomach with solid satisfaction.

She lifted her head, watching him prowl the cabin and open empty compartments while grumbling under his breath. He moved with easy grace in the nil gravity, the muscles in his back and chest sliding under taut skin with a kind of fluid strength that held her mesmerized. That feeling was back, that combination of distress and awe at his beauty and hopelessness. What would happen to him? Even supposing she could exit his life without getting him caught, would he really be able to avoid the Collectors forever? The question caused a desperate pain to bloom deep in her chest.

Swallowing hard, she dragged her gaze away from his stark beauty. She had no business wondering such things, especially when her own situation was so tenuous.
Focus,
she admonished herself grimly. Her misplaced sympathy had already gotten her in a whole galaxy of trouble. She didn’t need any more.

“You ready?” his abrupt voice interrupted her train of thought.

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“For hiber-sleep,” he responded with a note of impatience, his dark eyes sweeping over her. “Farmers didn’t strip everything. Don’t suppose they’ve got a use for hiber-cuffs. The sooner we pass out, the sooner we’ll be there.”