“No, it’s because yourespecthim … but not me.”
Scowling, he withdrew from her then. His gaze cut away, and he began unfastening his body armor, in sharp, angry movements. Heeling off his boots, he stripped down to his underpants, tight-fitting shorts that molded his groin like a second skin.
Jenna moved away. She knew she should avert her eyes, but she couldn’t. Instead, she stared at him, drank him in. Clothed, Malik Mir-Draven was an imposing sight—half naked, he was even more impressive. Bronzed skin covered hard, rippling muscle. It was the body of a man who trained rigorously to keep himself fighting fit.
Around his neck, he wore an amulet on a thong: a small silver hammer. Of course, his mother had once been a Jidean priestess. She would have brought up her son to revere the Goddess. Jidea was loved upon Idral. If you visited any of the many towns on the planet’s continent, you’d find shrines to the Goddess of Fortune on every street corner.
Panic started to beat in Jenna’s chest when he glanced up and caught her watching. Her mouth went dry before she croaked. “What are you doing?”
His mouth twisted. “What does it look like? I’m getting undressed so I can take a shower.”
With that, Captain Malik stalked past her and into the bathroom, the narrow door sliding shut behind him.
Alone in the cramped cubicle, Malik switched the shower on full before swearing under his breath.
Jenna Mir-Brennan thought he had no respect for her. It was just as well the woman had no idea where his mind had gone over the years, or she’d have slapped his face.
All the same, she’d caught him off-guard just now. He usually kept his cool better than that.
Muttering another curse, Malik stepped into the shower. The needles of scalding water peppered his flesh, and he stuck his face under it.
He’d scorned Lady Jenna’s plan—nother. When he’d joined the Lord’s Watch, he’d sworn to defend Cathal Mir-Brennan with his life. He liked the clan-lord and served him with pride, but that didn’t mean he wished to rush headlong into death.
Squeezing out some liquid soap, Malik washed with deft efficiency, his jaw bunched.
Idiot … why did you insist on joining her?
Lady Jenna had given him the opportunity to bow out gracefully, but instead, he’d told her she couldn’t hire mercenaries without his protection.
It wasn’t too late. He could retract his offer; he had his own neck to worry about.
Malik clenched his eyes shut. Damn her. Ever since they’d boarded the shuttle for Aura Terminal, the clan-lord’s sister had caused him no end of trouble.
She only had to look his way, fix him with her dark-brown eyes, and he lost his train of thought. Before this trip, the sexual fantasies he’d had about her had been safe—for their paths rarely crossed. He hadn’t known her at all, but ever since leaving Idral, that had changed. He’d always thought the clan-lord’s sister regal and aloof, yet he’d discovered she was a woman full of contradictions. Vulnerability and grit.
He hadn’t expected her to stand up to him as she did—and it had only served to heighten his awareness of her.
When Jenna moved close, and the scent of Desert Rose, and woman, enveloped him, he almost forgot himself. The way she’d stared at him when he’d undressed just now caused lust to flare hot in the pit of his stomach. He’d had to escape to the bathroom before her gaze traveled south and she saw the erection tightening his briefs.
The memory of her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips, made his cock harden painfully now. Malik tried to ignore it.
“Keep it in your pants, Mir-Draven,” he muttered, picking up a shampoo bottle. “You’re already digging your own grave … try to do it with dignity.”
Malik lathered up his hair and was about to rinse off when the water turned cold.
Seated on the bed, Jenna heard the muffled shout through the wall.
Her mouth thinned, both in sympathy and vindication.
I should have warned him about that.
But she hadn’t.
A short while later, she was scrolling through the Rith sector newsfeed on her tablet, and seeing far too many pictures of herself, when Malik emerged from the bathroom.
Not surprisingly, he looked pissed off.
Without a word to her, he retrieved his body armor—made of form-fitting synthetic material—and hauled it back on.
