He should say no. He should remember that she was traumatized and vulnerable and in no state to make decisions about who shared her bed, even platonically. But she was looking at him with those warm brown eyes, and he was so tired, and when was the last time anyone had actually wanted his company? Not his skills, not his connections, not what he could provide—just him?
“All right,” he heard himself say. “But I’m keeping my boots on. In case of emergency.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“It’s practical.”
She laughed, the sound dissolving some of the tension in the small space. He settled onto the bed beside her, their sides pressed together due to the cramped quarters. He could feel her warmth through the thin gown and smell the sweet scent of her hair. It was both comforting and utterly distracting.
“This is nice,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting closed. “Is that weird to say?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t care.” She yawned. “Thank you, Doren.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Then I’m thanking you again. Deal with it.”
Her breathing slowed, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. He lay still, listening to the hum of the ship’s engines and the soft sounds of the baby in her drawer-bed. The swirling lights of hyperspace cast strange shadows across the ceiling, constantly shifting and reforming.
He should be planning. He should be thinking about Bragar’s Rest and what they’d need, about the Grorn and how to stay ahead of them, about the Vault and what having an actual Key might mean for his years-long quest.
Instead, he found himself watching her sleep. She looked younger with her face relaxed, the worry lines smoothed away. Her lips were slightly parted, and a strand of hair had fallen across her cheek. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.
She didn’t stir.
This is dangerous,he thought.She’s a complication. A distraction from everything that matters.
But lying here in the half-dark, with her warmth beside him and the baby sleeping peacefully nearby, he couldn’t quite remember why any of that mattered.
It felt... right. In a way nothing had felt for a very long time. She shifted closer, her head finding a resting place on his shoulder, and looking down at her, he felt something dangerously close to tenderness.
I’m in trouble,he thought, even as his arm curled around her shoulders.
But for once it felt like the right kind of trouble. Tomorrow, he would be practical again. Tomorrow, he would remember hispriorities and maintain appropriate boundaries and focus on the mission. Tonight, he would let himself have this one small, unexpected pleasure.
He closed his eyes and let exhaustion pull him under.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Emma woke slowly, disoriented by the unfamiliar warmth pressed against her. For a moment, she forgot where she was—forgot the cell, the ship, and the terror of the past days—and simply existed in a cocoon of comfort. Then she registered the arm wrapped around her waist.
Her eyes flew open.
Golden-furred skin. A steady heartbeat beneath her cheek. The faint scent of something spicy and distinctly male.Doren.
Her memories came flooding back. The escape. The baby. His teasing offer to share the bed and her exhausted, impulsive acceptance.
She’d slept in his arms all night. And not just slept—slept deeply and peacefully, without the nightmares she’d expected. Without waking in terror or crying out from half-remembered fears. She’d simply... rested.
That hadn’t happened since she’d been taken.
She lay still, not quite ready to move, cataloging the sensation of his body against hers. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, and his tail had somehow wound around her ankle during the night. She could feel each individual breath he took, the subtle shift of muscle beneath his skin.
This is insane,she thought.I barely know him. He’s an alien smuggler who essentially kidnapped me from my kidnappers. I should not be comfortable right now.
But she was comfortable. Inexplicably, impossibly comfortable.
