"You should go check our supplies," she managed, proud when her voice came out steady. Professional. Nothing like the mess of want and confusion churning in her chest. "See if we have any food. We'll be stuck here for a few days."
"Are you sure?" His voice had gone rough, deep in a way that made her insides clench.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak again. If she opened her mouth, she might beg him to stay. Might throw away the last shreds of her self-preservation and dive headfirst into the thing growing between them.
He hesitated for a moment, studying her with those impossible fire-touched eyes. She could see him fighting the same battle, weighing desire against practicality. Then he stood, moving with that predatory grace she should have recognized from the beginning.
The moment he left the cockpit, she collapsed back against the pilot's seat. Her lips still tingled from his kiss. She could still feel the ghost of his hands on her skin, the hard press of his body against hers.
She was in so much trouble.
Her carefully constructed walls, the ones that had protected her through twenty years of abandonment and loneliness, had crumbled to dust at his touch. All her rules about not trusting charming men, about keeping people at safe distances, about never letting anyone close enough to hurt her, had evaporated.
She'd kissed a dragon. A lying, manipulative, too-handsome-for-his-own-good dragon who'd hidden his true nature while her ship died around them.
And worse, far worse, she wanted to do it again.
She might survive this physically. The pirates were behind them, the shuttle was holding together, and they had a destination. But emotionally?
She was completely, utterly screwed.
10
Zane wanted to crawl out of his skin.
The shuttle that had seemed perfectly adequate during their escape now felt so incredibly tiny. Every breath brought Mercy's scent, and it called to his dragon like nothing else ever had. Every shift of his weight reminded him of how she'd felt pressed against him, how perfectly she'd fit in his arms.
He sat in the cargo area, ostensibly checking their supplies but really just trying to put distance between them. The kiss played on endless repeat in his mind. The way she'd grabbed him, fierce and demanding. The little sounds she'd made when he'd touched her. The heat of her mouth and the silk of her skin and the way she'd responded like she was starving for it.
His mate. His brilliant, infuriating, impossible mate who looked at him now like a polite stranger.
Three days of this hell. Three days of careful distance and professional courtesy while his dragon raged against its chains. Three days of watching her pilot the shuttle with the same competence she'd shown flying her own ship, remembering how those clever hands had felt in his hair.
The nav computer chimed their approach to Tonus, and Zane forced himself to focus. The Saffron Court resort spread below them like a jewel against velvet, all golden lights and manicured gardens.
Even from orbit, he could see the careful artistry that went into maintaining the illusion of perfection.
"That's where we're going?" Mercy's voice held careful neutrality.
"It'll do."
He bit back a laugh at the irony. This was exactly the kind of place the dissolute failure of a third son would frequent. Expensive enough to impress, seedy enough to find whatever vice you wanted, discreet enough to keep secrets. He'd cultivated contacts here over the years, playing his role to perfection.
The landing pad materialized from seemingly empty desert, holographic camouflage dropping to reveal pristine metal and waiting staff. Mercy handled the approach with her usual skill, setting them down soft as silk.
"Nice flying."
She shrugged, already powering down systems. "It's what I do."
What she used to do. Before pirates destroyed her ship and kidnapped her for blood they thought held treasure maps. Before she'd saved his life by disabling those cuffs with nothing but a broken tool and steady hands.
They unfastened their seatbelts and moved to exit the ship.
Zane had met the security staff a time or two and recognized Myles Judd as he emerged from the resort's discreet entrance. The man moved with the gait of someone accustomed to authority. Silver threads at his temples caught in the light, and his weathered hands rested casually near the blaster at his hip.
Beside him, Mercy’s shoulders snapped straight, and her breath caught audibly.
"Judd?"
