Page 51 of Star Claimed Omega
‘Hold on as tight as you can.’
So she did, hands encircling his neck as a rush of energy and a violet surge of power enveloped them, and trailing behind them like fire as he carried her away from her misery.
Somewhere along the way, relaxed by the steady beat of his heart and the swaying in his arms, she blacked out.
She woke to softness, warmth, fresh sheets, and the scent of citrus and vanilla.
Soleil blinked, her lashes clumped from sleep, her breath shallow but no longer ragged.
Her throat still ached, and her limbs still felt caught in gravity syrup, but her earlier pain had almost faded away.
She still had a fever, but it no longer had her in shuddering tremors.
She shifted, the silken coverlet rustling around her.
Her head lay on a proper pillow, a feather one, and the hum of a humidifier purred from the corner of the room.
She turned her head and recognized the decor at once.
She was in Santi Alvarro’s guest room.
One that she cleaned every week like clockwork, wiping the floor tiles, dusting the inset shelving, and folding laundry in.
She was familiar with each inch of this room, except not from this view; from inside the luxurious bed.
‘It’s bigger when horizontal,’ she murmured.
A rumble of a chuckle answered her. ‘Most things are.’
She twisted her head and jolted as she locked eyes with a sapphire-violet molten pair.
Leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, one ankle hitched over the other, was Santi, in all his devilish handsomeness.
He wore a fitted charcoal Signet jumpsuit that clung indecently to his carved frame, broad deltoids, lean waist.
His thick thighs were wrapped in storm-gray fabric, ending in a set of robust black mega-boots.
His hair was disheveled, jaw dusted with end-of-day stubble, and those eyes, deep and gleaming like galaxies folded in shadow, raked her with unreadable intensity.
She swallowed.Hard.
His gaze skimmed over her, slow and hot, his breath hitched, and she sensed a current between them tighten like the pull of twin stars.
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
‘Hey, you.’
A ping sounded out at the front door, breaking off their scorching stare.
‘It’s a medic, here to check on you,’ Santi murmured before striding away, his boots thudding down the hall.
Soleil sat up straighter, tugging the duvet to her waist, fingers smoothing the fabric with shaky, nervous strokes.
She did a quick inspection of herself and blinked.
She was clean, smelling fresh, and dressed in an oversized T-shirt and shorts that were not her own.
Her hair, although messy, was tidy, and she leaned in to see her reflection in the vanity mirror, amazed to see a spotless face.
