Page 69

She cleared her throat. ‘About why I’m here -.’

He cut her off, the shift in tone unmistakable.

‘Mi reina,’ he drawled, that voice like molten whiskey over gravel, ‘let’s not start with the hard talk now. How about we fish, eat, share a bottle of my finest Tansinian bourbon, and save the hard talk for later?’

She understood enough Spanish to understand he’d called her his queen.

Her soul jolted.

The way he said it, husky, slow, smiling just enough, sent a wave of heat down her spine, a ripple that landed deep in her aching soul.

Damn him.

This man was dangerous in ways she never accounted for.

What made him potentially more lethal to her heart was how he’d sucked the skepticism and worry about him being a savagesecurity operator and amostroright out of her, replacing it with heated intrigue.

Savvine clenched her jaw and glanced back out over the reservoir.

She’d need to keep a very close eye on Alexandr-Alexandr Levine Roman.

As dusk unfurled across the lake, painting the treetops in strokes of intense violet and burnt gold, Xander crouched beside the fire pit and struck the flint.

Sparks crackled, caught, and bloomed into flame, casting warm light against the smooth planes of his inked back and shoulders.

Savvine sat curled in one of the cozy outdoor chairs, a soft, woolen, violet and gold blanket shawl draped over her legs, keeping her warm.

Moments earlier, he handed it to her without a word, not asking, instinctively guessing her need for it.

This man.

She observed him in silence.

There was a precarious and sensual way he moved, unhurried, grounded.

He was barefoot, and she found her gaze lingering on his sinewed calves, and his lean, well-shaped feet, with a gentle arch, honey-toned, clean, and pedicured.

Above that, his thick thighs, and lean waist and that ass.Oh my.

His calloused hands expertly fed kindling to the growing fire, coaxing it like a ritual.

As he leaned forward to blow and stoke it, his back muscles flexed and shifted beneath sun-kissed, rune-etched skin.

The dim light turned his profile into shadowed art.

Once again, she blinked to remember she was still on a spaceship.

He stood and moved to the water, where she gazed at him wide-eyed as he cleaned and gutted the fish.

He strolled back, grabbed a pan, slathered butter across its base in one smooth stroke, and placed it on the coals.

He bathed the fish in olive oil, salt, and lemon on a separate plate and dropped the trout onto the hot pan on the fire with a satisfying hiss.

The air filled with the scent of citrus, herbs, and sizzling deliciousness.

‘Cutlery’s in the basket,guapa,’ he drawled over his shoulder, his rasp husky and heated. ‘So are the plates. Might want to make yourself useful.’

His timbred bass needed to come with a warning.