CHAPTER 18
IRIS
Iyanked Baleck into his hut and shut the door behind us.
The space was small and sparse—a single room with a sleeping platform built into one corner, a table with two chairs, storage compartments built into the walls, and a door that presumably led to a bathroom. Everything was clean and just a little unorganized. A few articles of clothing lay heaped in a corner. The bed was made, but hastily. A stack of data pads sat on the table with a few more scattered on the surface.
It was so perfectly him that something in my chest squeezed tight.
“This is it,” Baleck said, sounding almost apologetic as he scooped up the small pile of laundry. “Not much, but it’s mine.”
I turned to face him, and the vulnerability in his eyes made me forget about the room entirely. We’d spent the last day running for our lives, hiding from Brakken patrols, and planning our escape. But now, standing here in the privacy of his home, the adrenaline was fading and leaving something else in its wake.
Want. Raw and undeniable.
“It’s perfect,” I said, and meant it.
He moved closer, his hand coming up to cup my jaw. His thumb traced my cheekbone, gentle despite the calluses. “I was afraid I’d lost you. When I realized Vax had taken you?—”
“But you didn’t.” I covered his hand with mine. “You found me.”
“I would have torn this planet apart looking for you.”
The intensity in his voice sent heat pooling low in my belly. I’d spent years keeping people at arm’s length, protecting myself from exactly this kind of vulnerability. But with Baleck, I didn’t want to protect myself. I wanted to fall.
“I need to clean up,” I said, because I was still covered in dust and sweat from our escape. “You probably do too.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “There’s a shower. Water’s recycled but it works. I’ll get us something to drink.”
The bathroom was as utilitarian as the rest of the hut, but the water was hot and the pressure was decent. I stripped off my filthy clothes and stood under the spray, letting it wash away the grime of the ruins and the tension of the last twenty-four hours.
My body ached in a dozen places—bruises from being abducted, muscles sore from crouching in that underground chamber, cuts and scrapes from navigating the ruins. But underneath the pain was something else. Anticipation.
I wanted Baleck. I’d wanted him for longer than I cared to admit, and now there was nothing stopping us.
When I emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I found him setting two cups on the small table. He’d pulled out what looked like locally made alcohol, amber-colored liquid that smelled faintly sweet.
“I don’t have much,” he said, gesturing to the drink. “But this is decent. The D’tran make it from some kind of fruit that grows in the valley.”
“I’m not picky.” I took the cup he offered and downed half of it in one swallow. It burned pleasantly, warming me from the inside.
Baleck’s gaze tracked over me, taking in the towel and my damp hair. His skin shifted through shades of blue and purple, and I was learning to read those colors. Desire. Need.
“Shower’s yours,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
He nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. I heard the water start up again and took the opportunity to dig through the storage compartments until I found what looked like clothing. I pulled out an oversized shirt that smelled like him—clean and masculine with an underlying musk that was pure D’tran—and slipped it on.
It fell to mid-thigh, the fabric soft against my skin. I’d left my underwear in the bathroom with my dirty clothes. If we were doing this, I wasn’t going to half-ass it.
I was sitting on the edge of his sleeping platform when he emerged, and the sight of him made my mouth go dry.
He’d put on a pair of loose pants made from thin fabric that hung low on his hips. And that was it. No shirt. Just miles of blue skin stretched over lean muscle. His broad chest and scarred abdomen were ridged with definition that came from actual physical labor, not a gym.
And the pants did absolutely nothing to hide the thick ridge of his erection jutting against the fabric.
“Fuck,” I said, because subtlety had never been my strong suit.
His mouth curved into a smile that was pure male satisfaction. “You’re wearing my shirt.”
