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“You do that!” Rann lifted two fingers over his shoulder in a gesture Blythe didn’t need translated this time. He looked down at her, heat flaring in his beautiful eyes.

“I’ve got more important things to do… like claim my mate.”

It hadn’t taken them long to walk through Joe’s ship to reach the Reaper ship, and her eyes had grown steadily wider as Rann had walked through the alien ship with her in his arms.It was huge, and not just the layout but… everything. The corridors were high-ceilinged and wide enough to take at least three of that scorperio suit side by side. She felt absolutely tiny.

But her attention was only passingly on their surroundings. Mostly it was on the man who carried her, cradled against his chest like she was the most precious thing in the world. And the dark promise in his eyes every time he looked at her sent tingles through her blood.

He stopped outside a door, waiting half a beat for it to slide open in front of them. She didn’t need to ask to know these were his quarters. She tightened her arm around his neck automatically as he stepped through the door, then loosened it when she saw how much space there was.

Well. This was an improvement.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No. Just discovering what you look like in a room you don’t have to fold yourself into.”

His mouth curved, but he stayed where he was while she looked around.

A shirt hung over the back of a chair, its high collar edged with blue piping. Big enough for those shoulders. Weapons sat within easy reach, his pilot gear by the door.

His room. His belongings.

She brushed her thumb along his neck. So this was where he slept, got dressed, lived a life she’d known absolutely nothing about.

She wanted to know it now. All the boring bits, too.

Then she spotted the bed. “Oh, thank heavens. An actual bed.”

He looked smug. “Knew you only wanted me for my mattress.”

Laughing, she caught his jaw and kissed him. His lips softened beneath hers as he shifted her higher in his arms.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“Nothing.”

His eyebrow rose.

“Honestly, nothing’s wrong,” she clarified, and the ridiculousness of that nearly made her laugh again.

Nobody was trying to kill them. There wasn’t a damaged engine demanding her attention or an emergency she could blame for putting her hands all over him. Nobody needed her anywhere else.

She knew who she was kissing now. Not Randall James or Norman Smith but Rann. A Latharian mercenary and her hero, an enormous pain in the ass, and the man she loved.

Hooking her fingers into the neck of his suit, she tugged.

“Put me down. You’re overdressed.”

He obliged, keeping a hand at her waist until she had her balance. She went to work on his suit fastenings, getting a quiet instruction when one refused to cooperate.

“This is complicated,” she muttered.

“Would you like some help?”

“I’ve got it.”

He chuckled. Finally, she got the suit open and pushed it from his shoulders. She slowed at the scars across his chest and torso, resting her fingers beside one.