Chapter 13
The gentle hum of the engines was a counterpoint to the methodical tapping of her fingers on the edge of the display. She’d been staring at the same logistics form for twenty minutes, but the information stubbornly refused to stick in her brain.
Your attention span is diminished by approximately seventy-eight percent, Fred noted. Would you like me to take over the manifest preparations?
“I’m fine.”
The evidence suggests otherwise.
She sighed and pushed away from the console. “Fine. Put the cargo bay feed on the main screen.”
As you wish. Fred’s tone was smug. Though I would like to note that this is the third time you’ve made this request in the past hour. You were never so interested in our cargo before.
She sighed. “Just do it.”
The screen flickered to life, and there he was. Raaze moved through the cargo bay with the controlled power of a predator, all coiled strength and precise movements. He’d stripped down to loose pants, his bare chest gleaming with sweat as he worked through his drills.
He’d adapted the cargo bay into a training room, piling up crates to create what looked like an assault course.
She recognized items from the ship’s long-term storage, like spare bunk mattress pads now being used as strike zones and attached to various points around the room.
Frowning, she tapped the screen to alter the camera angle.
Yeah, there was even one on the ceiling.
Leaning forward, she propped her chin on her hand. Watching him was educational. At least, that’s what she told herself. She was just… assessing his capabilities and physical condition before the match.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the way his muscles flexed under tanned skin, or how his hair had come loose from its tie to frame his face in dark strands.
New gloves from the market hugged his hands, the reinforced knuckles flexing as he worked through drills. He dropped into a crouch, then exploded upward in a move that would have sent an opponent flying if one had been there.
Sweat glistened on his bare chest, catching the harsh overhead lights. He reset his stance, planted his feet, and within a second was off again as he launched into a series of explosive pivots, lashing out at all the strike zones within reach.
Opponents, she realized suddenly. He was simulating a fight with multiple opponent players.
Dropping back, he reset his stance, then looked directly at the camera… and winked.
Heat flared across her cheeks. He knew she was watching him. Of course, he knew. Grinning, he turned back to his drill.
I believe the phrase is ‘caught red-handed,’ Fred commented.
“Shut up,” she muttered. “Just monitoring crew activity. Standard procedure.”
Standard procedure usually involves less drooling.
She ignored him, watching as Raaze finished another set, chest heaving, and looked directly into the camera again. He just grinned, rolling his shoulders slowly, the heavy muscles shifting under his scarred skin in a way that made her thighs press together without permission.
She forced her attention back to the primary display and tried to focus on their arrival plans.
The Summer League qualifying match was in three days. They needed credentials, cover stories, and a way to access the private boxes where the R'Tev would be watching. Which meant that she had forms to forge, security to research, and contingencies to plan.
But her brain refused to cooperate. Instead, it kept replaying images of Raaze. Of his big, muscled body in motion, the controlled power in each movement, the way his skin had glistened with sweat…
The way those big hands had gripped her hips in the corridor days ago. The other night, he’d lifted her as if she weighed nothing, pinned her to the bulkhead, and driven into her until she’d seen stars.
You appear distracted, Fred said.
“I’m working.”
Are you? Because you’ve been staring at the same paragraph for seven minutes and forty-three seconds.
She groaned and pushed away from the console again. “I need a break.”
Might I suggest a cold shower?
She glared at his cartridge. “I will deactivate you.”
Unlikely. You need me too much.
Cait retreated to her quarters, determined to focus on something, anything, other than the Izaean currently using the shower in the cargo bay.
Iwillnotlook, Iwillnotlook, Iwillnotlook.
She pulled up the security schematics for the arena and forced herself to study the stadium layout.
Private boxes were on the upper level with security checkpoints at each entrance. Staff access was through service corridors, so if she could forge the right credentials, she could—
Her door chimed.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up from the tablet.
The door slid open. She glanced up and dropped the tablet.
Raaze stood in the doorway, fresh from the shower, water still beading on his tanned skin and tracing paths down the hard planes of his chest and abs.
His hair was slicked back, dark and gleaming, and a towel clung low on his hips.
Barely knotted, it threatened to slip with every shift of those powerful thighs.
Scars stood out pale against his damp skin… older ones from his time playing, and newer ones that must be from Parac’Norr. He smelled of ship’s soap and pure male, a scent that hit her straight in the gut.
“Working hard?” he asked, lips quirking at the corners in a way that made her stomach do back flips.
“I—yes. Planning. For the arena.” She scrambled to retrieve the tablet. “Security layouts, credentials, that sort of thing.”
“Important work.” He nodded seriously, but his eyes danced with amusement. “But I think you’ve done enough for today.”
“I’ve barely started—”
In two strides, he crossed the room and scooped her up in his arms. She squeaked, actually squeaked, a sound she hadn’t made since she was twelve, as he lifted her effortlessly.
“No more work,” he announced, carrying her toward the bed.
“Raaze! Put me down!” she giggled in protest, clinging to his shoulders.
“As you wish,” he said, dropping her onto the mattress.
She bounced, looking up at him towering over her. Water droplets fell from his hair onto her shirt, dark spots blooming on the fabric.
“You’re getting me wet,” she complained.
His grin turned wicked. “That was the plan.”
Before she could respond to that, he was crawling over her, one knee on the bed, hands braced on either side of her head.
The towel slipped a fraction lower. Her hands came up automatically, her palms flattening against his still damp chest and feeling the steady beat of his heart.
Heat radiated off him, chasing away the recycled chill of the ship.
“You’ve been watching me,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she felt in her bones.
“You knew I was watching.”
“I did.” He lowered his head until his lips hovered just above hers. “I liked it.”
“I noticed,” she breathed.
His mouth crashed down over hers. The kiss started demanding, his mouth hot and sure, tongue sweeping in like he owned the territory.
Owned her. She responded immediately, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.
He tasted like mint and smelled like the ship’s standard-issue soap, but underneath was something uniquely him… spice and heat and all male.
The towel was damp against her clothes as he pressed his body to hers. His weight over her should have panicked her, but it grounded her, anchoring her when she felt like she might float away on a tide of sensation.
He broke the kiss just enough to trail his mouth along her jaw, then lower. He used those sharp canines to graze her pulse point, not breaking the skin and sending shivers down her spine.
Her back arched off the bunk as lips brushed her collarbone. Then the swell of her breast through thin fabric. Lower still, mapping a path.
His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, pushing it up to expose her stomach.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmured against her skin. “Watching you watching me. Knowing what you were thinking.”
“You don’t know what I was thinking,” she managed, her voice shaky.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through her. “Don’t I?”
His mouth moved, and she couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped her when he nipped at her ribs, couldn’t stop her legs from parting to make room for his bulk between them.
“I was thinking about the mission,” she insisted weakly.
“Liar.” He slid his hands under her top, pushing it up over her breasts. She gasped as her nipples beaded instantly in the cooler air. “You were thinking about my hands.”
As if to prove his point, his fingers traced patterns around her nipples, each touch sending sparks through her nerves.
“And my mouth.” His lips followed the path of his hands, pressing soft kisses to her heated skin. “And what I could do to you if you’d just stop working for five minutes.”
She couldn’t deny it. Not when he was right… painfully, embarrassingly right. She’d been thinking exactly that, imagining his hands on her body, his mouth on her skin.
And now it was happening, and it was so much better than her imagination.
He tugged at her shirt. “Off.”
She sat up just enough to let him pull it over her head before falling back against the pillows. His eyes darkened as they swept over her, taking in the simple black bra she wore.
“Beautiful,” he murmured before bending to press a kiss to the center of her chest.
His mouth moved lower, trailing down her stomach, his hands following to unfasten her pants. She lifted her hips to help him slide them down her legs, leaving her in just her underwear.
He paused, looking up at her from his position between her thighs, his eyes asking a question.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
His smile was slow and predatory. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
And then his mouth was on her again, kissing down her body with intent, and she forgot about everything that wasn’t the feel of his lips on her skin.