Chapter 3 #2
The echoing clamor of the corridors down below softened into murmuring conversations, brief bursts of laughter, and the gentle clinking of coffee mugs in the upper lounges.
As the glass lift soared higher, her eyes glimpsed polished screens and murals adorning the walls, the luxurious carpeting in the offices, cafes, and play areas.
Families eating together, dressed in clean attire, children giggling as they chased each other.
It seemed like whipping past a totally different social class and a reality she longed for.
One that was within her reach, because her life before this one was an existence she was keen to forget.
No matter how difficult, her current survival mode was more than she might have dreamed of.
These peeks of the life she dreamed of were why Soleil cherished the ship.
She loved the unusual, floating sanctuary; to her, La última Sombra represented freedom.
It offered peace of mind.
It was a solid roof over her head, a safe space.
Although she had been there for only a few months, her focus on making this her permanent residence was high.
Even if it required starting at the plebeian rung, scrubbing grates, and cleaning filthy sanitation facilities.
Stepping off at Deck 27, her map led her away from the lake shower rooms and towards a series of stately executive cabins by the water.
Nothing like the tiny sleep cubicles she was familiar with.
Soleil sighed as she walked along, with her hover-cleaning kit gliding behind her like a devoted shadow.
The faux sun above spilled amber light through the tall-leafed canopy, casting golden patterns over the gravel path.
The serenity almost made her forget she and all the residents of this ship were freakin’ tearing through deep space.
She glanced at her commtab and map, confirming her assignment to Cabin 2.
Soleil exhaled, smoothing her uniform as she reached the private walkway flanked with flowering vines and privacy hedges.
Beyond it sat a sleek home, with an expansive terrace built with wood-grain tiles and smoked-glass railings, encircling the dwelling.
As she approached, her device pinged with cleaning instructions and a six-digit security code, which she keyed into a pad by the floor-to-ceiling carved oak door.
The lock clicked open, and the soft hiss of climate controls welcomed her inside.
The interior was modern and starkly minimalist, yet it held subtle clues to its male occupier.
It had two entrances, one facing the lake, the other the path back to the elevators.
A pair of heavy-soled boots, coated with sand, rested near the door.
Dress shoes adorned a rack, a cigar case sat on a side stand, and a book on woodworking and carving rested on a shelf.
A faint male cologne, tinged with sandalwood, permeated the air; she lifted her nose and inhaled the evocative, lush scent.
Her hover kit hissed behind her as she glanced from the lounge and into the primary bedroom.
Casual shirts and workout gear lay folded on a chair close to the bed.
The space was a blend of dark timber and burnished steel, soft leathers, and worn textures juxtaposed with polished forms.
The shelves were sturdy, made of wood, and lined with books, some well-thumbed, others pristine.
Their themes range from political theory to military history and classic poetry.
Vinyl records, a guitar, and music books rested beneath a sleek sound system, concealed behind a heavy-stitched curtain.
The artwork was abstract, featuring bold lines, violent yellows, and gilded accents.
These were not generic pieces selected from a catalog; they resembled those chosen from an expensive gallery wall.
Or so she hypothesized, given her limited experience with a refined lifestyle.
Soleil had never been privy to such elegance; she had only overheard her mother speak of it, her voice wistful as she recounted her former life, now lost forever.
Soleil forced herself to focus on the present task.
The open-plan lounge flowed seamlessly into a generous marble kitchen, a space she admired.
The sink held two glasses.
A half-finished espresso cup sat on the counter.
The space appeared lived-in, personal, and almost intimate.
The kind of sanctuary a person sought when they needed room to breathe.
Still, it needed her dab hand.
As she moved around and set up her cleaning kit, a cluster of photo frames caught her eye on a side table by the lounge.
She paused, then bent closer to examine one image: a group of men.
One of them in particular was freakin’ familiar.
Her heart jolted as she perused more photos of him, by the lake and with friends.
They were laughing, soaked, holding up fish like trophies near the same lagoon visible beyond the terrace doors.
Another snapshot showed the group around a grill, beers in hand, with lopsided grins and arms draped over shoulders.
A third captured them in an observation gallery on The Sombra, their eyes fixed on a meteor shower outside the viewport.
She was hit with a realization.
Fokk. This home belonged to him?
Santiago Alvarro. The XO, her stunning fantasy man from the shower?
She huffed in surprise, then, unable to help herself, she leaned in to study him up close in one of the shots.
His hair, thick and lush, fell in waves over his forehead and temple.
Her eyes traced the chiseled planes of his face, that impossible sculpted jawline.
His smile, those freakin’ beautiful eyes.
Fokk, he was handsome.
‘I’m flattered you think so and pleased that we meet again.’
The voice, timbred, silken, and amused, struck her spine like an electric current.
She whirled around, her eyes dilated.
Santiago stood in the open front doorway, one shoulder leaning against the frame.
Tall, muscled, fokkin’ imposing even more so than before.
He wore a charcoal tank tee that clung to every sculpted contour and dark cargo pants that sat low enough to reveal the top of his ink.
Dog tags gleamed at his chest, and his eyes held a knowing glint.
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
Here she was, half-crouched, caught gawking at his photograph like a star-struck idiot.
He arched a brow, the ghost of a smirk pulling at one corner of his lips.
‘You heard that?’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Regardless, it’s payback beautiful. Now I get to surprise you.’
Soleil’s pulse had not reverted to normal since she spun and caught his essence; towering, shirt-clad, and far too tangible for the fantasy of him she’d been revisiting.
She straightened, her heart slamming against her ribs.
‘I’m sorry, I intruded on you.’
He pushed off the doorway and moved into the lounge area, his walk a slow, panther-like prowl.
His energy evoked a profound nervousness within her.
His voice reverted to a velvet-smoke sound.
‘You’re not. I requested Wren assign you here,’ he said, his hands in his pockets. ‘After what you achieved with the beach showers, before you raced off, I decided my place could use the same thoroughness.’
Her pulse accelerated.
‘Oh. Right. Sure.’
Smooth. Real smooth, she thought. Astra will have a field day with my sheer awkwardness.
He gestured at the lakeside sliding doors.
‘I’ll be out on the terrace while you work. You’ll scarcely notice my presence.’
Relief and an instinctual pull toward him tangled in her chest.
‘That’s acceptable. That’s good. I meant to say, I have cleaned around worse.’
His brow arched.
‘I’ll try not to take that to heart.’
Soleil flushed, her face heating up.
‘Nada! I intended to say, you are neat.’
His brow rose. ‘Surprised much?’
‘Life’s full of surprises, not all good. I roll with whatever my gig brings me.’
He chuckled, the rich, timbered resonance reverberating through her.
‘Savvy as well as a badass cleaner. I like it.’
With that, he swiveled and prowled out through the glass door, leaving it semi-open.
Soleil stared at his delicious ass and let out a slow, deliberate exhale to calm her nerves, fighting the urge to fan her face.
The gentle rhythm of the lake lapping the shore filled the quiet space.
She moved to the kitchenette, where she occupied herself stacking the dishes with more intensity than necessary.
She let the sink brim with hot water, the suds blooming like white bubble clouds, and set to work: rinsing, scrubbing, and drying.
She wiped down the counter with rhythmic strokes, cleared crumbs from the edges, then knelt to clean the baseboards.
Anything to keep her hands engaged, to stop her thoughts from spiraling out of control.
She was halfway through disinfecting the stove knobs when soft footfalls behind her caused her to freeze.
Santi strolled back into the kitchen with unhurried grace.
Her heart lurched as he crossed to the fridge and retrieved a bottle beaded with condensation.
He poured the aqua out with lazy precision, lifting the tumbler to his lips.
Hell.
He was a freakin’ tall, wet glass of cool water, one she wanted to knock back in one greedy gulp.
His eyes flicked to her mid-sip.
He caught her staring.
She flushed hard, almost dropping the rag, and angled her body away as if that action would erase the past three seconds.
‘?Estás bien? You okay?’
She nodded, fast.
‘Naam. Great. Just fine. Amazing.’
His brow quirked.
‘The work’s not too difficult for you?’
She shook her head, still not quite facing him.
‘Nada. I deal with purging communal toilets and cleaning out effluent from cracked pipes. Washing dishes is a breeze in comparison.’
He smiled, a genuine, slow unfolding of his mouth.
‘I wasn’t always proficient at this. Cleaning, I mean. Growing up.’
She was babbling.
He leaned against the door frame again, his arms folded, waiting.
‘Nada?’
‘Nope,’ she blurted. ‘Two cousins, three aunts, my mother, and I in a two-bedroom apartment. One bathroom, one mirror. It was continuous chaos.’
He arched a brow, his expression encouraging her to continue.
Which she did, even as her brain screamed warnings.
‘We rotated chore duty, but most times it was just shouting, snacks, and someone weeping over a hair straightener.’
His eyes gleamed with muted amusement.
‘Where was that?’
She stiffened.
His tone had not changed, but there was a lean in his presence now. A quiet curiosity she did not welcome. It was too focused, too intentional.
She swallowed.
‘Nowhere you’d find interesting.’
His gaze shifted with a subtle, unmistakable flicker of calculation.
Frost the stars! Her plan, whatever meager fragments she still possessed, depended on maintaining anonymity.
She had no intention of revealing her past or identity to him.
Yet Santi Alvarro did not seem like a man who would permit questions to go unanswered.
She grabbed a rag from her kit and turned toward the hallway.
‘Anyway, I should move to the bathroom.’
‘Down the hall, the last door on the left,’ he rasped.
She nodded, her eyes lowered.
‘Sante.’
As she moved to pass him, she swore the air thickened between them.
An electric charge arced around them like an invisible wire pulled taut.
However, he did not touch her or impede her passage.
He stepped aside, and as she swept past, she was enveloped by the scent of his skin and his evocative cologne, still clinging to the air.
Soleil thought she caught a sound of his inhale as she entered the bathroom and closed the door.
She leaned against it for a second, catching her breath.
Then she lowered her head and began scrubbing the toilet bowl, her cheeks flushed, her mind reeling.
This assignment had just taken on a higher level of fokkin’ complexity.
One, she wasn’t sure she’d survive.