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It was, unsurprisingly, beautiful.

It was minimal, with touches of well-appointed luxury.

The stone-tiled floors warmed beneath her bare feet as she entered, her gaze sweeping the space.

Xander remained at the entrance door, leaning against the jamb, hands crossed over his massive chest, as she wandered further in.

The living room included a generous divan, armchairs, and a fireplace that gave off notes of pine and wood smoke.

A small kitchenette sat to one side.

The single bedroom was spacious, the bed enormous, draped in shimmering silken cream sheets. A hand-stitched, heavy, woven throw rested at the end.

One wall held a touchscreen climate panel; another opened to a bathroom with a rainfall shower.

When her tour was done, she found him waiting in the same spot, framed by the door and the moonlit mystery pouring in from outside.

‘You’re safe here,’ Xander rasped. ‘No external transmissions, no feeds. This cabin is off-grid from general ship comms.’

He crossed the room to the built-in wall console near the kitchen alcove and moved beside her, pressing a small keypad.

He tapped it once, and it lit up, the holo screen blinking to life.

‘This is your secure intercom. It links only to my lodge next door, Miral, and the bridge team. If you need anything, ask for it; if you see it, use it.’

She nodded, eyes still roaming the space, soaking in the impossible comfort.

He gazed at her momentarily, then inclined his head. ‘Rest,micielo. You’ve earned it.’

Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned.

He crossed the floor with that smooth, stalking grace, part man, predator, and wolf, and opened the door.

She thought she imagined flashes of a glowing charge whipping around him.

He paused, just once, glancing back over his shoulder.

The gaze was all heat, heavy-lidded and smoldering beneath the cool.

Then he was gone, the door whispering closed behind him.

Fokk, that man could cast a spell.

How was she going to last without wanting to fling herself at him?

She needed a shower to cool her heated skin right down.

Grabbing her bag, she headed into the bedroom, stripped, and entered the bathroom.

She turned on the water and let the delicious steam envelop her, the rainfall effect cascading down her back like warm silk.

The heat eased her muscles, yes, but not the wildfire going off under her skin. Not the slow, electric pulse that still radiated from where Xander’s fingers grazed her hand, waist, and spine from earlier that day.

She took her time, letting the citrus-scented soap ease across her body, rinsing away the day, but not the memory of his voice.

Not the curve of his mouth when he saidmi cielolike it meant something far more dangerous than endearment.

She toweled off, then stood in the bathroom’s center for a beat, staring at her reflection.