Page 27 of Star-Crossed Captive
After redressing in the purple top and black leggings, she returned to the main room. Mace sat at the table eating rations. He wasn’t facing her directly, but she could still feel his amusement.
Blood rushed to her face. He thought she was something to laugh at? Was she here to entertain him? He’d abducted her, and he wasamused?
Striding to the table, every nerve ready to do battle, she faced off with him. “What do you want from me?”
He looked up from his meal, pale blue eyes sparking.
She waved her hands at the room. “What’s my job? A media performer? Is it funny I’m here? A joke? Have you laughed with all your warrior fucking buddies about killing my colleagues?” The last sentence almost came out a sob. Her hands fell to her sides. “What do you want from me?”
Mace’s face changed from startled to a steely mask by the end of her tirade. He swallowed his mouthful, stood, and walked to the door.
“Your shift starts in ten minutes,” he said, looking above her head. “Six hours this time.”
Nia exhaled, shoulders slumping, and went to stand beside him. What else was she supposed to do? Sit in his quarters and stare at the bulkhead all day until the end of time? She’d go mad. The suicide option would become more appealing with each passing hour.
Until the end of time.Her fingers twitched, wanting to touch the locket under her shirt. Someone would rescue her. Her family would come for her.
Mace touched his vambrace and her wrists clicked together. She glared at him and caught his gaze—regret?—before he looked away.
Nia set her shoulders and held her head high throughout the journey to the medical bay. They rounded the last corner behind the two medics who’d been hostile to her the day before, Faas and Mayra. Both seemed unaware she and Mace were only a couple meters behind them.
“I’m a surgeon and soooo much better than you. Thank you,” Mayra said, affecting an exaggerated CORE Common accent.
“Pleeeaase. Keep your dirty Tell hands off me,” Faas said, pitching his voice high.
Nia’s face flamed as she glanced at Mace, wondering what he felt about the barbs directed at her. A frown pinched his brow.
Faas laughed. “From the way he looks at her, I bet the commander has her bent over a table day and night. Did you hear he—”
Mace clapped a hand on each of their shoulders. Nia’s heart lurched in her chest. Both medics sputtered.
“Commander. I meant no disrespect. I mean—I didn’t think—”
Mace cut off Faas’s blubbering. “If I hear either of you speaking disrespectfully again, I will see you removed from your posts at this station. Is that understood?” He spoke each word with deadly quiet.
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” They both scurried into the medical bay ahead of them.
Mace disengaged her bonds but touched her hand before she could reach for her medical jacket. Her pulse jumped beneath the light pressure.
“If you have any trouble, you contact me.” His eyes flicked to her bonds.
Nia nodded, aware of how warm her skin felt beneath his fingers, how wrong his touch should feel. But instead, it was…pleasant.
Mace ran a shaky hand through his hair. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d touched Nia when he knew how much she hated it.
And last night, when he’d returned to his quarters after training the tyros longer and harder than he should have, he’d seen she was asleep and had lay beside her on the bed instead of leaving and staying in the barracks. Curled against the bulkhead, she’d seemed so small and vulnerable. He’d kept to the edge of the bed, a barrier against the rest of the system.
But, one centimeter at a time, she’d moved closer, until her body pressed into his—and she’d sighed in contentment.
It was her sigh that cracked something inside him.
He hadn’t done the noble thing and broken the contact—or woke her to let her know what she was doing. No, he’d stayed still and allowed her melt into him, taking the warmth her soft body offered.
Then she’d bared her soul while shouting questions, and he hadn’t a response, couldn’t speak for the tightness in his chest.
He needed to get her face out of his head, the feel of her skin off his flesh.
Limbs jerky with agitation, Mace strode into training. In the sparring arena, Grey had the tyros in two lines facing him. Mace jogged down the steps and stood beside Grey. His friend’s usually relaxed features were pulled into a frown.
