Free Light of Kaska by Michelle O'Leary Page A

a fraction. When she was done, she hovered for a long moment in indecision. Should she wrap back up and wait for him to wake? That seemed a little too passive and unmotivated, even though she was starting to feel chills again. She certainly wasn’t brave enough to wake him, though. So she settled on heading for the controls to see what she could glean from their position and course.
    Still uncertain of her z-grav skills, she pushed off gently, drifting toward the pilot seat. But she’d miscalculated a bit—her trajectory took her closer and closer to Stryker. She winced a little, realizing she would have to catch the bulkhead in order to keep from bumping into him.
Shouldn’t be a problem,
she coached herself.
I’m going slowly enough. Just have to reach up and push off before I hit him.
    Trying to gauge the distance, she watched him loom closer and became distracted by the wide expanse of naked, cinnamon skin. He was all hard muscle and sinew, beautiful in a way that made her breath catch, but there was a vulnerability to the line of his throat and the relaxed curl of his fingers that fascinated her. She wondered what those fingers would feel like twined with hers, wondered how his pulse would feel under her fingertips. She had the insane urge to extend her hand and find out, to discover the texture of his skin and trace those hard ropes of muscle. What would he do if she touched him?
    A moment later, she found out. Her distraction had been too complete—she’d forgotten all about catching the bulkhead and stopping her forward momentum. Her hip bumped his, twisting her axis. She began to fall into him and with a squeak she threw her arms out in a panicked attempt to halt the motion. One hand connected with his shoulder as the other brushed the bulkhead.
    Then Stryker moved. One moment she was falling on him, flailing like a windmill. The next moment she was caught against his chest, a vice against the small of her back while he swung them to vertical with ridiculous ease.
    Then all things seemed to stop, including time. Including her lungs and heart.
Oh, sweet Goddess.
Her hands were pressed flat against his chest, pale against his dark skin. The feel of hot, hard muscle under her palms sent a quiver through her body and held her in suspended fascination. The contrast between crisp hair and smooth skin made her want to flex her hands, to dig her fingers into his flesh. The urge sent a stronger tremor through her body and opened a shocking pool of heat between her thighs.
    She took a swift breath and raised her startled gaze to his. Then she stopped breathing again. He was watching her with hot predator’s eyes, wild and dark as the most primitive night. Alarm kicked her heart back into motion, the overworked muscle beating a frantic rhythm in her chest. She braced her arms, straining away from him as she became aware of the strength of his grip and the hardness of his body pressing against her. All of him, hard. She felt his arousal against her hipbone.
    “Let me go,” she said, appalled by the weakness and breathless quality of her voice. Talk about sounding like prey. To back up her feeble demand, she pushed harder against the rock of his chest.
    “Can’t.” In contrast to the wildness in his gaze, his voice was calm.
    Still, she panicked. “Let me go!” She tried twisting out of his hold, but the vice-like grip of his arm across her back tightened.
    “I can’t let you go with you pushing so hard. You’ll bounce around this cabin like a rubber ball. Let up, Keza.”
    He sounded almost amused, but it was the name that made her arms relax, eyes widening in astonishment.
    “What did you call me?”
    He eased his hold, moving back a bit and catching her arm in a steady, gentle grip. He tilted his head to study her, his mouth curling at one corner. “You didn’t like being called Suki. Keza fits you better."
    “My family are the only ones who ever call me Keza,” she said faintly. “How did you—? How