A Runaway for the Alien Mercenary
Page 8
The wink should have warned him. Before he could say anything, she reached out and put one hand flat on his chest. Her fingers trailed over the broad stretch of muscle beneath the coveralls, slow enough that there was no mistaking what she was doing.
He held very still, his expression as flat and uninterested as he could make it without being rude. Because some females could get very funny when their advances were rejected, and the last thing he needed was to have to sleep with a knife under his pillow. Not that he wouldn’t be sleeping with a knife under his pillow, but that was quite beside the point.
He’d also never been more grateful that he’d abandoned the habit of going bare-chested once he’d left his clan. He’d traveled enough with the Reapers to know that a shirt under his jacket was normal in most places. Thank the draanthing gods because right now, it was stopping Layla’s hand from landing directly on his skin.
She was a lovely female. Bold, and apparently not bothered that they’d met less than an hour ago.
But he didn’t want her touching him.
He didn’t want any female touching him.
Not since B had dropped out of that maintenance hatch behind him, looking pissed off and entirely too good in practical work clothes. The female had dark hair shoved back out of her face, grease on her hands, along with a sharp tongue on her that could probably cut through armor plating.
And she hated him. Just one look and she’d decided he was some useless pretty male Layla needed protecting from.
Fine.
He’d never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially not where a female was concerned.
And B was going to be a challenge.
The corners of his lips quirked upward as Layla finally pulled her hand away.
“See you later, Randall,” she said, giving him another look that promised exactly what she meant by ‘later’ before she walked off down the corridor, her hips swaying.
He watched until she disappeared around the corner, then stepped back into the room. Reaching toward the door control panel, he tapped to activate it.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, he pressed it again.
Still dead.
He gave a deep sigh. Of course it was. The ship was held together with old parts—what looked like tape in a few places. Wrapping his hand around the recessed manual handle instead, he pulled.
The door dragged along its track with a squeal of abused metal. He had to put his shoulder into it for the last few inches, but eventually it sealed with a heavy clunk.
Then he stepped back and looked around the tiny room again. And snorted under his breath. The Lady’s Dream had modest crew quarters, but this place made them look luxurious. He would barely be able to turn over in the fold-down bunk without falling off. It was less a bunk and more a shelf. He’d probably be safer sleeping on the floor.
Tugging at the cuff of the coveralls, he revealed the comm device embedded in his bracer and activated a secure channel.
Jex answered him almost immediately.
“I thought you were going dark,” he said.
“I was,” Rann replied, leaning back against a wall. Reaching out, he brushed his fingers against the opposite one. “I just needed something first.”
“Yeah. Like what?” Jex sounded distracted, as though he were concentrating on something else at the same time, which Rann knew was complete and utter trall. The ex-cyborg could hold hundreds of conversations, run diagnostics on the Lady’s Dream, and pilot an entire fleet of ships without getting distracted or confused.
“I need a human charter pilot’s license,” Rann said, “and the hours log to support it.”
There was silence on the other end of the comm.
Then Jex said, “Don’t want much, do you?”
Silence fell, which he knew was the ex-cyborg just draanthing with him.
Rubbing at the stubble on his chin, Rann looked around the room again. There was a little control panel beside the fold-down bunk, yellowed with age and marked with grime around the buttons. He pressed one experimentally. A weak light flickered above the bunk, buzzed twice, then settled into a sickly glow that made the whole room look even worse.