Nykyrian's own words drifted through her mind. Emotions are bred out of us during training. She still refused to believe he was emotionless. Were that true, he wouldn't have comforted her while she cried.
A wicked smile curved her lips as she studied his lean, muscular build. She had seen and been held by many men who constantly worked to improve their physical appearance, but none of them had ever appealed to her as much as the man before her now. A man whose distance annoyed her.
She wasn't used to having to fight for someone's attention. Usually, she fought to escape it. Kiara wondered if maybe that was part of her attraction for him— the old hard-to-get routine.
But as she studied him, she realized even if that were part of it, there was much m ore to her desire than just the challenge of the aloof. There was something about him that called out to her like a hurt child needing comfort. Kiara almost laughed aloud at the thought. She stared at Nykyrian, his jaw tense, his features blank. No, there didn't appear to be anything about him even close to frail.
So why did she feel this way? "What are you working on?" she finally asked.
He growled a low warning in his throat that made her a bit uneasy. "I have a lot of work that needs to be finished. I'm not here to be sociable. I'm here only to protect you."
Kiara folded her arm s around her leg and rested her chin on her knee. She watched his flying fingers, the keys of the terminal clicking beneath them. "But since you're here . .
." His fingers stopped, the sudden silence echoed around her, increasing her discom fort.
"I just thought you might as well tell me something about yourself. We could end up spending days together, weeks, and I for— "
"Fine," he snapped, cutting her off.
Kiara hid her triumphant smile behind her knee, but she was sure her eyes glowed in mischief.
Nykyrian sat back and defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "If it will solace your mind, I will allow you to ask eight questions about me. After that, you'll never again ask me another thing about my past, or my friends, and you'll remain quiet and let me finish what I'm doing."
The sharp, clipped words irked her. She stared at him, trying to think of things that would give her some advantage over him. "Okay," she said, as she thought of the first one. "What's your surnam e?"
"One, Quiakides."
Surprise widened her eyes. "As in the universally famed and acclaimed Com mander Huwin Quiakides of the Intergalactic League of Peacekeepers?"
He sighed. "Two, yes."
"Was he your father?"
She thought she noticed his teeth clench before he answered, "Three, yes."
Kiara gave an unladylike snort. "That doesn't count. You should have said that when I asked the second question."
He shrugged in an aggravating manner of disinterest. "Be specific. Anything counts."
Kiara sat for a m inute, thinking over what little information Mira had given her while she had been in the OMG's base. "If he was your father, why did you leave the League?"
This time, she definitely saw the angry tick in his jaw as his features hardened. "How did you know I was in the League?"
Kiara gulped at the harsh, deadly tone. At that moment, she could easily imagine him tearing someone into pieces and she had no desire for that someone to be either her or Mira. "I just heard it somewhere. It is true, isn't it? You were a League Assassin?"
Some of the tenseness left his lips, and she wondered why. "Four, yes."
Kiara was getting tired of him numbering his answers. "You know, you could try and be a little friendlier."
"I'm not paid to be nice. I'm paid to kill."
A lump of dread closed her throat at the thought. "Do you like to kill?" she asked, her throat growing tighter by the heartbeat.
Kiara witnessed the first visible, emotional response from him— he winced as if she had struck him. His breathing became labored in anger and he slammed the terminal closed with a sharp snap before he tossed it aside. Without a word, he left the room.
Kiara sat in her chair for several minutes, wondering about his reaction. Since he brought the subject of his killings up so often, why would her question bother him? She went to find out.
He stood in front of the blast shields in her studio, She watched him from the doorway as he slid his hand over the plastic panels as if looking for a hole. He appeared calm.
"You said you would answer my questions," she said softly, wishing she could see inside him for a minute and find out why he was so distant.
He dropped his hand. "I didn't expect you to ask that one."
She rubbed the chills from her arms. "Why not?"
Nykyrian crossed the room to stand before her. His nearness intoxicated her more than a thousand cups of larna could ever do. For a moment, she thought he might actually touch her, but he remained less than a foot from her— just close enough to warm her with his body heat, with an intangible wall so thick around him, she didn't dare reach out and touch him the way her heart cried for her to.
"Why would you care how anything makes me feel?" His soft voice seemed somehow humble, searching.