“For refuel and resupply, or just to annoy the higher-ups,” he grinned. “Depends who you ask. Once the repairs on the port thrusters are complete and the power couplings are replaced, we’ll leave to head back to our patrol sectors.”
Her hand stopped moving on the couch. Her shoulders dropped, just an inch.
"Oh," she said, her voice quiet. "Yeah, that... that makes sense. You have a job to do."
She turned away, pretending to study a piece of art on the wall, but the tension in her neck gave her away.
And that… that he wasn't having.
Kirr abandoned the reports. He moved across the room, his boots silent on the thick carpet, stopping just close enough that her scent wrapped around him.
"The repairs are extensive," he said, his voice dropping low. "Engineering estimates two weeks. Maybe three."
Biting her lip, she slid him a sideways glance over her shoulder. "That's... good. For the ship, I mean.”
"And I have command," he added, taking a step closer. He waited until she turned fully to face him. "I decide where the ship and clan go. And when."
Her eyes widened. The gold flecks in her irises caught the overhead light. "You do?"
"If I had a reason to stay..." He let the sentence hang as his gaze dropped to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. "I could be… persuaded to delay our departure."
Color flooded her cheeks.
"A reason?" she squeaked.
"A compelling one."
She broke eye contact, flustered, and spun away toward the open archway on the right.
"Is this the rest of it?" she asked, her voice higher than normal as she ducked into the next room.
He bit back a grin and followed. Running away. She did that a lot. But she hadn't run out the door… she'd run into his bedroom.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the doorframe.
The bedroom was sparse compared to the main cabin. Spartan. Functional. Dominated by the bed.
It was a custom build. Latharian males were large, and Kirr was large even for a Lathar so he’d used his rank and position as head of the warclan to have custom furniture made that fit his frame. The bed was a massive slab of comfort, covered in dark, heavy furs from his home world and silk sheets that cost more than the empire paid for a small shuttle.
She stood at the foot of it, staring.
"It's..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "That's... a lot of bed."
Pushing off the doorframe, he prowled into the room.
"I told you," he murmured, coming up behind her. He didn't touch her, but he loomed, the warmth of her back beating against the broad expanse of his chest. "Mine is bigger than Rohn's."
She choked on a laugh, turning to look up at him. Her face was bright red now, her eyes sparkling with a mix of scandal and amusement. "You are impossible. You know that, right?"
He stepped closer, invading her personal bubble until she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. Her scent shifted. Sweetened. He noticed. There wasn’t a thing about her he didn’t notice.
"I sleep on the right," he said, his voice rough. "Just so you know."
Her breath caught. She glanced at the empty expanse on the left side of the bed.
"Is that... is that a rule?" she whispered.
"A preference," he said. "But I'm willing to negotiate about the pillows."
