Page 68 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
But beneath it all, cutting through the industrial stink, was her: warm fur, that maddeningly sweet musk, a scent that coiled low in Carmen’s belly despite the cold dread of their situation.
Mila.
Carmen wedged her shoulder harder against the bulkhead, trying to gain another inch of leverage. Sweat plastered her tank top to her back. Her knuckles ached where she gripped the micro torque driver, its high-pitched whine echoing in the cramped space as she fought a stubborn bolt securing the salvaged plasma-flow regulator to the cracked initiator matrix housing. The damned thing was fused, probably from the core breach. Like everything else on this cursed ship.
“Counter-clockwise pressure, Captain,” Mila’s voice came from inches away, soft but clear.
She was crouched opposite Carmen in the tube, her body folded with unnatural grace into the minimal space. Her green eyes, luminous in the dim work-light glow, tracked Carmen’s hands.
“The housing alloy expanded unevenly during the thermal spike. You may need to apply localized heat from the induction probe on setting three before the bolt yields.”
Carmen gritted her teeth. She knew that. Zed had already suggested it twice. Hearing it from Mila, though, with that calm, competent certainty, pricked her pride. Like being schooled by the walking bio-contaminant currently flooding the cramped tube with pheromones that made Carmen’s skin feel too tight.
“Igotit,” she snapped.
She thumbed the induction probe Zed had passed down earlier, the tip glowing cherry-red. She pressed it against the bolthead. Metal hissed. The smell of superheated alloy joined the olfactory cacophony.
“Just manage the thermal shunt,” she ordered. “Keep the bleed-off contained. Last thing we need is this whole junction cooking because you got distracted.”
The accusation hung in the air, unfair but reflexive. A defense mechanism.
Mila didn’t flinch. Her clawed fingers moved with delicate precision, adjusting the heavy thermal shunt clamped around the regulator housing.
“Thermal gradient stable, Captain. Bleed-off nominal.”
Her gaze lifted from the shunt, meeting Carmen’s. There was no reproach, only that unnerving focus.
“Distraction is unlikely. The task requires full attention.” A pause, then, softer, “As does navigating our current predicament.”
Carmen’s hand tightened on the torque driver. The implication was clear.
Stop being distracted by me.
“I’mnotdistracted,” she said, gritting her teeth as she fought the fused bolt.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I have a lot to think about. It’s not like this situation is easy to fix.”
“True,” Mila commented. “I would imagine trying to control all the variables yourself would be overwhelming.”
Carmen stopped working and stared at her. Was Mila making an accusation? Was she telling Carmen she couldn’t do it?
The Xena’s gaze was unreadable. Carmen shook her head and returned to fighting the induction probe. The sweet scent of those pheromones seemed to intensify with the renewed fire of the tool’s tip. Frustration settled around her shoulders like a blanket.
“Letitia’s right,” she said.
“What about?”
“I think better after I’ve been laid.”
As soon as the confession was out of her mouth, she wanted to die. Had she really said that out loud? Damn but their predicament was making her careless. She needed to get ahold of herself.
“Are you asking me to have sex with you?” Mila said, no surprise or confusion in her tone.
Heat unrelated to the induction probe flooded Carmen’s cheeks. She refused to look at the Xena, instead jamming the driver hard into the bolt, throwing her weight into it. The metal screamed, then finally yielded with a metallic pop. She almost overbalanced, catching herself against the vibrating bulkhead. Her elbow brushed against Mila’s furred arm.
The contact was brief, incidental. But it sent a jolt through Carmen, electric and unwelcome – especially with that damnable slip of the tongue out there. She jerked her arm back as if burned.