Page 7

Not a misguided quack on the loose, then.

‘What thefokkwas that?’

She leaned in so only he could hear, voice sultry, hella husky. ‘Me, saving your ass.’

To his sheer, unbelieving incredulity, she turned and sauntered away.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed, blazing, still clueless about who she was and where she came from other than her title.

Not one freakin’ idea. He’d never seen her before.

Yet here she was.

In fitted scrubs that hugged her curves.

Petite frame, a straight spine, muscled limbs, and a tiny waist, leading to a shapely derriere. Below that legs for days despite her size.

Plump, round tits, those freakish stunning cosmic eyes, a cloud of thick dark gold hair.

A mouth his traitorous lips wanted to sample, given how much they and his cock were tingling.

Shiiiit.

He heard a wave of titters and realized he had an entire corridor of medics and patients staring at him.

He glared at them all, his glowing eyes flashing with fire.

In a flurry of whispers and murmurs, the spectators melded away like ashes in the wind, burned by his derision.

His nostrils flared; he had to let her go, his eyes tracking her rolling hips.

However, from what he could tell, she was trouble.

Scrap that.

She was a swaying, sashayinghatari,a freakin’ imperilmentthat sent him into a hellscape and maelstrom of feeling.

Sucking his teeth, Ki’Remi’s eyes raked down her retreating figure, taking in the utter ease in her gait, the way she moved with the confidence of a woman who was well aware of her magnitude.

A lurch of indecipherable emotion hit hard.

His hands clenched, his nostrils flared, and his heart pounded even as a clean-up crew and a hefty hover lifter arrived to cart the unconscious Iccythrian away.

Who and what the fokk had just happened?

He got his answer later that evening.

The notes of early-century jazz permeatedTheVoid’sEdge, the ship’s premier officers’ lounge.

The space was a blend of industrial steel and deep, burnished wood.

Its sleek lighting panels cast a soft radiance over the gleaming bottles lined across the long, curved bar.

Ki’Remi leaned back in his chair, his muscled arms resting on the polished table before him.

Eyes on the glass in his hand as its crystalline facets caught the ambient glow of the bar’s dimmed illumination.

The rare rum within was dark amber, like sun-scorched honey.