Page 139 of Seven Oars
She looked at him, gauging if he truly didn’t care or simply hid his emotions well.
No, she just forgot. He didn’t have any emotions.
Self-conscious under his scrutiny, Rosamma gripped her braid.
“I know I’m being foolish, looking at the stars when there are so many things to worry about.”
“Watch them if you like,” he said, his voice soft.
Reassured and emboldened by the shimmering camaraderie that had sprung between them, she asked,“What do you wish to see out of your window, Striker Fincros?”
He didn’t have to think about it.“I wish to see no windows. Just trees and sounds of the forest and cold wind on my skin.”
He touched her then, placing his fingers in the crook of her elbow, exposed where her sleeve was pushed up.
His fingers were cool, but his touch burned, shattering Rosamma’s newfound easiness and replacing it with something darker, but no less powerful.
“We have something in common, Rosamma,” he said, low.“I, too, like being alone. With you.”
The something dark and powerful expanded, filling the space between them. Rosamma teetered on the edge of what she couldn’t put in words but identified with a feminine instinct.
Her eyes searched Fincros’face, seeking reassurances and finding nothing but hard planes and scars.
“What happened to your face?” The question burst out, a desperate attempt to break the spell that threatened to swallow her.
“An acid spill,” he admitted.
He removed his hand from her, relieving some of her turmoil.
“Who did this to you?”
A corner of his mouth curved up.“No one. It was an accident at Metalworks.”
“What is Metalworks?”
“It was a place on Sir-Sar where we built and repaired spacecraft. A whole town made up of garages and hangars and welding pits.”
“You were assigned to build ships?” She dug deeper, unsettled by the need to know bits and pieces of his life journey.
This time, his smile revealed those dark, long teeth, reminding Rosamma again of how unlike they were.
“Assigned… You could say that. Yes, I worked on building ships there.”His hand made a fist before relaxing.
The flex went through Rosamma. Such raw power. So much of it.
“I’d been taking old damaged fighters apart when the spill happened,” he said.“I screwed up and got in the way.”
“You could’ve died then, Fincros.”
He chuckled.“No, not then. It’s just ugly, and it hurt like fire, especially when my handler beat the living shit out of me for my mistake. I was very young then. It was a long time ago.”
He reached for her again and caressed her cheek, the backs of his fingers rough, his touch tender.
She gave in and leaned into his touch.
She shouldn’t crave it, shouldn’t long for his closeness, shouldn’t yearn for this man. How to stop it?
There was no answer, only the insidious warmth filling her whole being when he was near. Only the rousing dreams that intruded when he was far.
