Page 27 of Star Claimed Omega
‘For two weeks,’ Zima added, tossing pebbles into the lake. ‘Every other day we’re on duty. Is he inspecting us, seeing if our work passes muster?’
Soleil busied herself with her food, cheeks warm. ‘He’s the XO, he owns the freakin place. He has the privilege to sit wherever he wants.’
Astra snorted. ‘Nada, that’s Tess from Sanitary’s job. Still, our XO is taking advantage of his privilege and running wild with it. His eyes are on you, woman, and no one else, including me, and my boobs have never failed me. He damn sure isn’t aching over how well you clean.’
Soleil didn’t answer because, in her heart, she sensed it to be true.
He was all lean, lethal grace in the way he moved and stilled.
His presence filled a room without a sound.
Those eyes, when they focused on her, made her feel singled out and scrutinized.
While scrubbing his cabin windows one afternoon, she caught his reflection as he lounged behind her, mouth tilted in that ever-sensual quirk, a glass held in his fingers.
Dark, smoldering eyes fixed on her, unblinking.
She paused mid-swipe, because that look, that look, wasn’t idle curiosity.
It was a hunter’s possessive stare.
Yet it came with a restraint she didn’t quite understand, as most men who dared gaze at her that way often acted on it. Santi did not.
It seemed he was giving her the rare freedom to approach him on her terms, which freaked her out.
Still, the truth pressed against her ribs.
He desired her.
More troublesome was the echo that rose in her belly, answering back with equal heat.
She was on fire for him, andfokk, it felt deliciously forbidden.
The thing was, men like him, spectral lycan shifters like she knew him to be, were dangerous and territorial.
She imagined him biting down on her neck, shivering at the probability he’d get his fangs into her jugular, too.
That, terrifyingly, sounded like a fantasy she wanted to come true.
Soleil was kneeling, half-tucked beneath the polished butler’s pantry sink in Cabin 2, elbow-deep in a tangle of wires and pipe, when his voice rolled over her like silk on skin.
‘Everything flowing the way it should down there?’ Santi asked, leaning against the door frame, looking like sin incarnate.
She jerked up too fast, bonking her shoulder on the underside of the counter. ‘W-what?’
He bit back a smile, slow and lazy. ‘The pipes?’ he rasped.
‘Ah,’ she nodded. ‘They’ve been acting temperamental. They’ve been squealing, and I thought the pressure was all wrong. I thought I’d fix it, given I’ve been working on dual cleaning and plumbing duties below. I think I’ve nailed it with some grease and a re-calibration of the valves. No more weird pipe noise.’
His lips quirked. ‘Wonderful. Life is always better when pipes are greased well.’
She blinked, then scrambled upright, smacking her head again.
‘Shit,’ she muttered, rubbing her scalp, mortified.
‘Careful,cariño,’ he said, stepping forward with a hand out. ‘Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself on the job.’
‘I’m fine!’ she muttered, waving his hand away and backing away like he was a live wire. ‘All fine! The conduits are clean, water’s flowing.’
