Chapter 11 #2
Santi had yet to return.
So she moved through the kitchen, grounding her mind in the rhythm of familiar motions.
She found ingredients in his cupboards and refrigerator.
In a bowl, she combined flour, yeast, warm milk, caster sugar, salt, and butter.
Next, she turned the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and kneaded until smooth and elastic. She then set it aside in a covered bowl on the counter.
She peeled, chopped, and tossed a salad with crisp greens, shaved fennel, sun-cured tomatoes, and a splash of oil and vinegar.
She used up a chunk of replicator beef to create a fragrant pie.
Reaching for the dough, she shaped and popped a tray of rolls into the oven.
Soon, the house filled with the smell of fresh bread and baked deliciousness.
Soleil lit the taper candles in Santi’s dining alcove.
The deep indigo wax lent a rich and welcoming ambiance to the space.
She found cloth napkins, folded them with crisp corners, and placed them on either side of the table, along with two glasses, just in case.
She stepped back and surveyed the scene. Her heart gave a quiet, nervous beat.
It wasn’t a grand gesture, but it was her way of expressing gratitude to Santi for rescuing her and for offering a bed in his home.
Also, for the freakin’ safety, tranquility, and sanctuary she never would take for granted.
SANTIAGO
Santi pushed through his front door, the heft of his day still coiled around his shoulders like a vice.
As his boots thudded against the polished floor, a mouthwatering aroma washed over him, of fragrant spices, baked bread, and herbs.
He froze, his eyes fell on the table, on the flickering candlelight, and a pair of wine glasses caught in its glow.
He arched a brow at the setting: plates, napkins, a bottle of white wine chilling in a bucket.
His gaze shifted to the barefoot woman standing by the dining room, wearing a midnight-blue sheath dress that hugged her curves, with her hair down in soft waves.
She was placing a bread roll into a basket when she glanced up and their gazes locked.
The smile on her face sent a lurch through him.
‘Fokk,’ he muttered under his breath, a mix of awe and relief.
Soleil’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought -.’
He cut her off with a raised hand, eyes still fixed on her like she was his only light in a long tunnel of darkness.
‘Carino,’ he rasped, his timbre rough and raw. ‘You misunderstand me. I meant this is the best thing I’ve ever walked into today. Excuse the reaction. I’ve had a shit day.’
She paused mid-inhale, then nodded, a flush creeping up her neck.
He stepped further inside, but his legs gave a soft wobble beneath him, and he staggered before catching himself on the edge of the table.
The candles flickered from the shift in the air.
Eyes widening, Soleil’s gaze dropped to the blood on his collar.
She breath hitched at the dark red smudged along his arm, the ragged sleeve of his Signet XO uniform scorched from weapons fire.
‘You’re hurt,’ she said, moving toward him in alarm. ‘Santi, that looks awful. What happened?’
He blinked down at his front as if noticing the red stains all over his gear for the first time. ‘It’ll heal. There was a breach of the bridge.’
Her brow rose.
‘I thought I heard a massive bang. I think it’s best to sit down,’ she murmured, helping him to a chair at the table. ‘Let me clean you up.’
His face was pale under his tan, and sweat dampened the back of his neck.
He fell back into the seat, shoulders slumping, every inch of his war-forged body now heavy as adrenaline wore off.
The throbbing potency of his lycan aetheric power was weak, muted within him, having been drained by the battle on the bridge.
Soleil didn’t ask more. She just moved.
She brought him water from the kitchen, her fingers brushing his as he took it.
He drank, taking his time, his eyes on her, his lashes low.
Then she turned, found the med kit tucked in one of his drawers.
His eyes tracked her with mild amazement; she seemed to know every nook of his house intimately, and it felt as though she had always belonged in it.
She knelt beside him, working in silence.
His eyes traced her features as she administered care from soft, sterile wipes to clean the lacerations.
The hiss of a healing synth-device sounded as she waved it over the worst of the wounds.
Her touch was deft, efficient, and tender.
He didn’t say a word, as his eyes lingered on her, lips parted, his body torn between exhaustion and the ache swelling in his chest.
She worked on him, muttering curses at his worst injuries with such gentle ferocity that it brought a sting to his eyes.
When she finished, she set the device down and glanced up, her hazel gaze shining with concern. ‘There,’ she whispered. ‘You OK?’
‘Never been better,’ he rasped.
Fokk, she was sunshine, he thought as his entire soul and lycan spirit leaped within him.
She was becoming the reason for his every breath.
SOLEIL
The candles flickered between them, casting long shadows on the polished table.
Soleil pushed back her hair from her face, cheeks pink from the oven’s warmth, as she retrieved her pie.
She brought it to the table, where Santi was now settled, showered and patched up, and sat across from her, his broad shoulders relaxed, his sinewed muscles encased in a black tee.
He arched a brow at the flan.
‘Pepper seared steak pie, roasted root vegetables with aromatic spices, and a tangy herb salad,’ she announced. ‘Plus fresh bread buns and butter to accompany it.’
He gave her a half smile. ‘Delectable.’
Wait till you taste it first,’ she warned, waggling a finger.
‘I wasn’t talking about the food.’
At his words, the ambiance shifted into a sensual, drawn-out, locked-gaze moment.
She tore her eyes away and served him, heart pounding.
‘It’s just something simple and plain.’
He glanced down at the feast, and then back up at her with a wry look. ‘Simple, my ass.’
She laughed, and some of her nerves ebbed.
When her plate was loaded, she sat, and they ate.
Santo dug in, famished, groaning with appreciation that Soleil appreciated.
They dined in easy silence for a while, serenaded by the clink of cutlery and the soft hush of the lake breeze drifting in through the terrace doors.
After first nibbling, Soleil abandoned all decorum as she dove in, her hunger kicking in.
Soon her dish was clean.
‘You eat fast,’ Santi drawled.
She nodded. ‘Where I’m from, it’s first-person dibs.’
‘Sounds like my childhood, too.’
The tension in his frame had eased since her ministrations, and now he leaned back, a glass of red in one hand, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.
He swallowed his latest bite, jaw flexing, then tilted his head at her with a languid rasp. ‘It was delicious, sante.’
Her breath hitched at the low register of his voice. It slid over her skin like velvet, stirred the hollow beneath her ribs. ‘You’re welcome,’ she murmured.
Eventually, her curiosity overcame her.
She reached for her wine, turning the stem in her fingers. ‘What happened earlier today on the ship?’
He stilled, wine half-lifted to his mouth.
A flicker passed through his expression, wariness, perhaps. Then he exhaled, setting his chalice down.
‘We were attacked,’ he grunted. ‘Bridge incursion. Armed assailants dropped from the upper bridge ceiling. They came in hot, too, blasting with no care.’
Soleil’s spine stiffened, and her fingers tightened around the stem of her drink. ‘How?’
‘The maintenance shafts,’ he growled, his sapphire eyes flicking to her. ‘They bypassed all main corridors. Straight through engineering access. We’re still tracing how they got our security codes.’
Her skin went cold. The blood drained from her face.
She rubbed her wrists beneath the table, but Santi didn’t seem to notice.
‘Who were they?’ she managed, forcing calm into her voice even as her chest thudded with sick dread.
‘Evidence points to a pirate gang, The Red Skulls,’ he said, his tone nonchalant, but there was steel under it. ‘The kinais have been up our asses these past few weeks, aggravating our crew and imperiling innocent bystanders. I spaced them all.’
Her stomach twisted.
Spaced. Ejected. Erased.
She wished she could do the same to her handler.
Her hand trembled as she set her fork down.
‘You look pale. You OK, carino?’ he asked, eyeing her too closely now.
‘I’m shocked at the attacker’s brazenness,’ she murmured. ‘I’m also glad you’re alright.’
His gaze softened. The wariness melted into a heated flare, along with an infuriating tenderness.
She reached to clear the plates, but as she passed him, his hand shot out and caught her wrist.
Her heart lurched.
She froze.
His fingers were warm and firm around her cuff, but not tight.
His eyes, under the glow of candlelight, were unreadable and dark.
For a beat, he didn’t speak. He just studied her for a beat.
Then he smiled, making her stomach somersault.
‘Sante again,’ he murmured. ‘For the food. For looking after me. For being here.’
Soleil didn’t trust her voice. Her mouth parted, but no sound emerged.
His thumb stroked her pulse point. She shivered, and his mouth curved before he released her wrist and turned back to his wine.
But not before she caught it, the way his eyes lingered on her collarbone.
His gaze traced the soft flush in her cheeks, then to her mouth as his lips twitched like he might say more but thought better of it.
She retreated to the kitchen, breath unsteady, chest overflowing with emotion, her arm still throbbing where his fingers had rested.
Damn.