Born of Fire

Come on, Syn. Where’s your brain? What the hell makes you think she’d help you again? The only reason she came back for you was guilt over her sister and you were lucky she had even that much sympathy for you. Don’t count on that happening twice. You, my friend, are nothing to her. Nothing but a convict.

And Shahara hated convicts.

Sighing, he realized how true his thoughts were. He was just living an illusion like he’d done with Mara.

And just like Mara, Shahara would leave him behind without a moment’s hesitation, pausing only long enough to call the authorities on her way out the door.

He knew that as well as he knew that the Rits would kill him. So why did his mind betray him with thoughts of her? Her smell, her softness, even the little crease she got in her brow when she looked at him as if he were crazy—all were etched deeply in his conscious thoughts.

She was a beauty and he would give what little soul he had left for one night with her.

But that was a bullshit dream and he was tired of reaching for the stars, only to get body slammed by fate.

Resigned to the brutal reality of his life, he checked their settings.

Shahara felt Syn’s stare. Why was he watching her?

A quick glimpse told her it wasn’t anger.

So then what was it?

Some part of her she couldn’t name delighted at his attention. His eyes radiated heat to her and her body responded to him of its own accord.

Even now she could remember the feel of his skin, of his hands running over her body. Not since her teens had she dared think of a man other than her brother as anything but an enemy.

Now for the first time, she saw one as something more. Unbidden dreams resurfaced from the darkest corner of her mind. Dreams that tormented her with notions of a lover, of stripping his clothes from him and running her hands over his incredibly hard body until he begged her to stop.

But that wasn’t her. She’d iced her hormones a long time ago and it bothered her way too much that he was thawing them out with such ease.

“If you don’t mind . . .” Syn pushed himself up from his chair. “I’m going to lie down for awhile. I’ve set the autopilot. Let me know if we come up on anything unexpected.”

“Sure.” She watched him leave and, once she was sure he’d had enough time to reach sleeping quarters, she turned on the ship’s monitors.

Her conscience reared its ugly head over her obvious spying. She didn’t care. She wanted to observe him without the weight of those dark eyes probing her as well.

And what better time than when he was sleeping . . .

She found him in the captain’s lounge. The room was large for a craft this size, and plush, with a double-sized cot mounted against the far wall. Syn headed straight for it and sat down. Grimacing in pain, he pulled off Caillen’s boots and tossed them aside before stretching out. With a deep sigh, he draped his arm over his eyes.

Caillen’s shirt was stretched taut over the broadness of his shoulders and with his arm lifted, the whole of his hard, washboard stomach was exposed. She stared at the bared flesh, wondering what it would feel like to rub her hand over the indentations.

Nip it with her teeth . . .

Syn was a commanding figure even while lying prone. Something innate in him warned of his deadly abilities. And though he wore the air of danger around him like a comfortable old shoe, he was also well-mannered and charming.

When he wasn’t being a smartass, anyway.

How she wished she knew his thoughts.

Or at least more about his past, which had to be horrifying.

His name, she thought all of a sudden, realizing that she still didn’t know what the C.I. stood for. She had so many questions and so few answers.

Most of all, she wondered what it would be like to call Syn friend. Her brother and sister seemed to find it easy enough. Why couldn’t she?

Because she’d been betrayed by everyone she’d ever trusted. Her father had been so obsessed with his inventions and schemes that he never paid any attention to her while he pursued them. He would promise her and her siblings time and then conveniently forget.

Or get frustrated when things didn’t work out and then he’d vanish for day or two to “get his head straight” while the rest of them were left to pick up the pieces.

Her mother had tried to comfort their hurt feelings, but she’d been sick for so many years that Shahara could barely recall the time before her mother became ill. And her mother had depended on her for everything. To beg for more time to pay bills, to help her dress and care for her mother and siblings, to hide money from their father . . . There’d always been something to worry about.

Then there’d been Gaelin. He’d seemed like some mythic hero swooping down to help her just when she needed it most. Her father had barely been dead a year and she was just starting her training as a tracer. She’d met him outside the market and he’d followed along after her like a lovesick puppy.

“Come on, baby. Give me a little smile. That’s all I ask. Here, let me carry that box for you. Don’t worry, I don’t bite. I’m one of the good guys.”

He’d seemed so harmless that in no time she’d dropped her shields.