“You’re in my light,” I snap.
“You’re in denial.”
“About what?”
“That you like me.”
I whip my head around, glaring. “I barely tolerate you.”
He leans in, and the smile that curls his lips is all teeth and mischief. “Your pulse just spiked.”
“I hate that you can tell.”
“Ilovethat I can tell.”
I shift away, clamping down on my reaction, but it’s no use. My skin still tingles where he brushed me. My breath stillcatches every time he gets too close. And worst of all? Heknows.He knows and he’s not even being smug about it anymore. Not really.
Justthere,radiating heat and ridiculous charm and this awful, terrible… patience.
“I’m trying to focus,” I mutter, mostly to myself.
Naull flops down onto the floor beside me, arms behind his head, tail flicking lazily. “On what? The same servo you’ve reset three times?”
“Because someone keeps interrupting me.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.”
My fingers freeze above the tablet.
He’s watching me again, eyes glowing in the dark like banked embers. Not leering. Not teasing. Just… watching. Waiting.
“The storm will pass,” I say flatly, deflecting.
“I’m not talking about the storm.”
Of course he’s not.
A tremor rolls through the floor like a belly-deep growl, rattling shelves and making one of the tool crates topple from its perch. I yelp as it falls toward me—but Naull’s already moving. One long arm snakes out, palm open, catching the crate like it weighs nothing.
His body curves protectively over mine.
Instinct. No hesitation.
I stare up at him, breath caught in my throat, as he blinks down at me with somethingferalbehind his eyes. Not hunger. Not lust.
Concern.
Real and raw and terrifying.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod.
He doesn’t move.
Neither do I.
The air between us sizzles like static. His chest rises and falls, just inches from mine. I feel the heat of his skin, the faint scent of ozone and salt and something like copper and cinnamon.
