Page 27 of Rook
"What if they take off before we?—"
"There's a flight window. They can't leave for five more nights. Trust me, Sasha, we're going to get your friends back."
When he said it like that, she almost believed him.
15
Van life definitely looked cooler on a spaceship.
Sasha was probably supposed to be more awed, but she recognized the broad strokes of living in your vehicle. There was a small bed bolted to the wall on one side. A cockpit sat in front of a viewport that probably looked out at the stars under normal circumstances, but right then was just staring at blank screens.
Normal circumstances.
Ha!
A tiny kitchenette stood against one wall—if you could even call it that. A single burner, unrecognizable alien appliances with glowing buttons, and a basin that might have been a sink occupied the space. Everything was sleek and utilitarian, all curves and burnished metal with no sharp corners to bang into during turbulence. A narrow door was set into the far wall, probably a bathroom, though Sasha wondered if dragons needed bathrooms the same way humans did. Did they even poop?
She understood why he'd been camping outside. Even with the space to stretch out her arms, this craft was a bit … dire.
"It's not much," Rook said, "but I don't need much."
He stood in the center of the ship, his massive frame making everything around him seem smaller. His eyes found hers across the space between them, hot and hungry, like he wanted to devour her whole. The air grew heavy, charged with something that made her skin prickle. Her lips felt suddenly dry, and she ran her tongue over them without thinking. His gaze tracked the movement, his jaw tightening.
"I thought you were a lord. Don't lords …"
"Travel in luxury?" he guessed.
She shrugged.
"I am here to bring fugitives to justice. This isn't a pleasure cruise."
Pleasure.
She couldn't think about pleasure with him in the room. If she thought about … that word … and him she might combust. Or do something he didn't want. He said he didn't want.
A man didn't look at a woman like Rook was looking at her if he didn't want to be kissed.
"How is your hand?" he asked.
She looked down at her palm. "What?"
"You injured it. Before."
And then he sucked on her like she was a lollipop. "It's fine."
Rook took a step towards her. "Let me see."
The space between them vanished too quickly. The ship had felt small before, but now it was tiny, claustrophobic in the best possible way. She was trapped with nowhere to run, cornered by a predator who watched her with gleaming eyes. Her heart beat fast in her chest, but her feet stayed planted.
She didn't want to escape. The thought of running never even crossed her mind.
Rook swiveled the cockpit chair around so it was facing the rest of the room. "Sit. Let me look." Going by his tone of voice, there was no telling him no.
She didn't want to tell him that anyway.
Sasha sank into the chair, the material cool against her thighs through her worn jeans. Rook dropped to one knee before her, a powerful being brought down to her level. There was something almost religious about it, something reverent. His proximity made her mouth dry. He was so close she could count his eyelashes, see the faint golden flecks in his irises that weren't quite human.
His fingers were gentle over her palm as he traced the lines. He held her like she was made of glass, turning her hand this way and that in the soft light of the ship. His touch moved up her wrist, the inside of her forearm, slowly exploring every inch of skin like he'd never felt anything so soft. His thumb stroked along her pulse point, and she knew he could feel her heartbeat racing. The burn on her finger was all but forgotten; she wasn't even sure he was looking at the right hand anymore. This had nothing to do with first aid and everything to do with touch, with contact, with need.
