Page 17 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

His trousers were dark gray, knife-creased, fitting his massive legs like they’d been cut for him alone.

His premium leather boots were tapered and matte, stylish yet understated.

Still, it was his gaze that she locked onto, her body thrumming, wondering how he was able to ruin her with just a look.

Worse, his scorching focus made it clear he might like to worship her body, too.

He gave her that crooked smile, packed with roguish mystery, and her pulse misfired again, in a frantic rhythm that pulsated through her veins.

Dinner arrived steaming, aromatic, and sinfully plated.

The grilled fish was basted in a delicate citrus-ginger glaze that shimmered under the ambient light, its skin crisp and golden.

Truffle-dusted greens curled beside it, while on a second platter, lamb ribs glistened with a honeyed dark sheen.

The scent alone was mouthwatering, promising a feast for the senses.

Rina’s eyes widened as the server uncovered each dish, her breath catching in her throat.

‘This looks insane,’ she breathed.

Mo’s eyes never left her, a slow, intimate quirk on his lips.

‘Savor it first,’ he murmured, his rough utterance vibrating through her.

He sliced a delicate piece of the fish and lifted it to her mouth with the edge of his fork.

It was a gesture so gentle it was at odds with his formidable size.

She hesitated, needing a second to steady herself.

With a smile, she leaned in and bit in. The flavor was sublime.

Layers of spice, heat, and citrus bloomed across her tongue in a perfect symphony.

‘ Fokk ,’ she whispered, swallowing, her eyes dilated with genuine pleasure. ‘I wasn’t even hungry. Now, I want to devour everything in sight.’

Mo’s laugh was a rough, velvet soundscape.

He poured more wine into her glass with one hand, never breaking eye contact, as if their connection was the only thing that mattered in the world.

‘You’re quite the host.’

‘It was my primary job at The Osirian to nurture the needs of our clientele, even though I was guarding them. Can’t get rid of old habits.’

She tilted her head, eyeing him through her lashes, a new wave of fascination washing over her. ‘You make it feel like a ritual.’

‘It is,’ he said, his voice dropping to a solemn tone. ‘Feeding someone, caring for them, that’s sacred, a value my mother taught me. Tis my way of honoring the living.’

A soft pause stretched between them, laden with the heft of his simple, profound statement.

‘You do it well,’ she murmured, her heart thrumming in her chest.

He gave a single nod, a silent acknowledgment, then shifted his broad frame and stood, the dark stretch of fabric drawing tight over his shoulders.

‘The next course, the mains, calls for the unexpected.’

He crossed to the bar, his movements unhurried and confident. ‘I’ll make you a cocktail that’ll pair with it.’

‘Cocktails don’t go with mains,’ she teased, resting her chin on her hand, gazing at him with amused curiosity.

‘Says who?’ he rumbled without looking back. ‘You should know by now that I’m not a man who follows rules.’

She huffed, even as she savored the sight of him.

Her traitorous eyes trailed over that delicious ass encased in sinuous material, as his hands moved with unhurried confidence, each motion measured and deft.

A careful pour of iridescent violet liqueur followed the clink of ice.

A flame ignited, flicked across a citrus peel, illuminating the side of his face in a brief, fiery glow.

He took his time, stirring the concoction, then, with one final twist of his wrist, he returned to her with his wicked presentation.

‘This,’ he said, placing the glass in front of her like a sacred offering, ‘is a Black Comet . An Osirian classic that’ll fly you right into the twin suns.’

She took the crystal goblet, tilted it to catch the light. It sparkled with dark mystery, rimmed in a thin sheen of sugar and burnt zest. ‘It’s beautiful. What’s in it?’

‘Vodka, dry vermouth, ebony cherries, with a splash of bold, flower-based liqueur. If you’re not ready, it kicks.’

‘How hard?’ she added, in a murmur, a silent dare.

He smiled, slow and deliberate, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. ‘Steel hard. Like me.’

She arched a brow, their eyes dancing with a flirtatious challenge as she took a sip.

It was stunning; deep and dark, with a floral scent and a smoky burn that lingered on her tongue. ‘Stars. That’s freakin’ good.’

They ate and exchanged bites from each other’s plates, her foot brushing his under the table more than once.

With every stolen glance and shared chuckle, the world beyond their little sanctuary began to blur.

Their conversation shifted to lighter topics, the kind that helped them seem more like people and less like machines of war.

‘Hiking, huh?’ she said, surprised, when he told her he preferred mountains to cities when off duty. ‘Didn’t expect that one from you.’

He leaned back, the movement stretching his shirt over his broad shoulders while he sipped his drink. ‘Why not?’

‘You come across as city-forged. Like you grew up with walls, malls, and weapons.’

He chuckled, the sound a timbred resonance in the quiet air. ‘That’s the job. Not the man.’

‘Where have you hiked?’

‘In the best places out of Eden II, when I get the chance to travel. Huron Peaks of Rhesia, the Shards of Kiar on Sartixia, and even the Viskandar cliffs on Galicia. I almost died at the last location, but it was worth it. What about you, Colonel? How do you unwind?’

She pushed a hand through her hair while she sipped her drink.

‘I grew up on Dunia. My family ran a horse farm near the Kora Highlands in Rambasa Province. I’d take my mare out at dawn, ride until the sun was high.

There were these trails, carved into the earth like veins, that wound through the trees.

I’d mount with no saddle, nothing but wind and silence, loving the sensation that seemed like flying. ’

Mo went still at her words. His glass paused mid-air.

Emotion flickered in his eyes, unexpected and involuntary, before he masked it. Then he coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Sounds entrancing.’

She took note of his discomfort, her gaze softening. ‘You okay?’

He nodded, his voice a little rougher now. ‘ Naam . You just caught me off guard.’

‘I can do that,’ she murmured, a small smile playing on her lips.

A lull settled between them. Heavy, laced with a thousand unspoken sentiments.

She set her chalice down and leaned closer. ‘You’re not who I thought you were.’

He locked gazes with her. ‘Same. Didn’t know peacekeepers came with this much fire.’

‘You like fire?’ she asked, her tone a little too soft, a little too suggestive.

‘I worship it,’ he said, the words a promise.

He reclined in his seat, arms spread on the rest behind him, all male energy, showing off his sinewed muscled power, sensuality rolling off him in waves.

‘I see you’re thinking about giving me a chance.’

She choked a little and blinked at him. ‘What?’

His eyes, scorching and gleaming, were dialing up the heat.

‘Woman, I can sense it. You’re craving my dance.’

She scoffed, a quick, defensive sound, but didn’t look at him. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He chuckled and bit his lip for a beat. ‘Don’t hide it. You like me.’

Her head snapped up then, her eyes dilating. ‘Is that right?’

‘You know it. I must admit I’m not the kind to rush things, but I find I can’t stop thinking about how good we’ll be together,’ he growled.

Their gazes locked, and he felt the familiar pull, a connection that went beyond simple desire.

She jolted, a raw hunger in her expression, mirroring his own.

‘From the moment we first locked eyes,’ he said, the memory clear as day, ‘I knew I had to have you.’

She flinched at the brazen words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face.

He pushed away from his seat, moving closer.

‘I don’t like pussy footing,’ he rasped, his voice dropping to a near whisper. ‘You know I want you, babe.’

Rina turned away, a conflict of emotions warring on her face, trying to maintain the composure of the perfect woman, the one who had her life together.

He took her hand, his thumb tracing the soft skin of her palm.

She let him, staring at him with parted lips.

‘I see you sneaking those looks at me, and woman, I love it. Thing is, I might act all cool and shit, but Rina, I’m all kinds of feverish around you.’

He pulled her closer, his voice a final, sincere confession. ‘So, mi kaya , it’s time we explored what this could be, don’t you think?’

When she stuttered, he placed a lean forefinger on her lips. ‘We’ll discuss when and where later.’

Damn, Mo was forceful, and freakin masterful, for few men had the power to slay her like he did.

Desire arced and tightened around them.

His eyes dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, and the air between them grew thick and charged.

Without thinking, he reached across and brushed a thumb against her cheek, then over her mouth.

‘What? Do I have spinach stuck in my teeth?’ she asked, her breath catching in her throat.

‘ Nada ,’ he said, his voice a husky whisper. ‘I just can’t help but touch you. Is that OK, mi kaya ?’

Again, with that soft-burred endearment.

She wondered what it meant even as she nodded her approval.

His eyes gleamed.

She couldn’t remember the last time any man looked at her like that, with such unguarded yearning.

Like she was a woman worthy of attention and tender loving care, one he wanted to undress not just with his eyes, but with time and focus.

Her barriers, guarded and brittle, crumbled, giving way to a new kind of vulnerability.

‘What’s the formula to unlock you?’ he rasped, his eyes dark with a question that went beyond the surface.

She instinctively knew what he was asking. ‘As soon as I walk through the door, it’s dress on the floor, lit candles, lights turned down, and a delicious drink, like this one, in my hand.’

‘I can master that.’

Her entire womb convulsed.

She reached for her glass again, swallowing the rest in one bold tilt. ‘Make me another?’ she whispered.

He nodded once, a slow, deliberate movement, his voice husky with anticipation. ‘My pleasure, but fair warning, keep going and you won’t ever want to quit. You’ll be so addicted.’

She flushed, aware he was not talking about any spirit or cocktail.

MOLAN

Mo could not tear his gaze from her.

Under the soft lamplight, Rina’s skin seemed to glow like burnished bronze, kissed with the warm, golden hue of the hundreds of suspended orbs.

Even the elegant line of her collarbone caught the ambient light, drawing his eye to the graceful curve of her neck.

The sleek black jumpsuit she wore clung to her, accentuating every deliberate movement with an ease and purpose that was both captivating and dangerous.

Fokk , those eyes.

They pinned him in place, holding him with force, like gravity itself had been rerouted through her.

She was a magnet, a singular point of irresistible pull, and he was too far gone even to try to fight the inevitable attraction.

When she spoke of Dunia, of horses and ridges and the simple, profound joy of riding at dawn, an unfamiliar emotion stuttered inside him.

It wasn’t jealousy, nor was it the usual yearning she inspired.

It was recognition, a flash of a long-buried and half-remembered memory.

He got hit with a ghost of hooves on hard-packed earth.

The scent of hay and sweet grass, a soft, warm voice speaking to him.

And the steady, patient gaze of stallions peering at him over the edge of a stall.

The fragmented image slipped past before he grasped it, and he turned from her, shaking his head, forcing his focus onto the drink in his hand.

He moved to the bar, clearing his throat, his fingers reaching for the familiar, grounding ritual of ice and the half-empty bottle of violet liqueur.

The rhythm was a comfort he had always relied on: pour, stir, flame, a twist of citrus peel.

Yet, her words lingered in the quiet space between them.

Her smile haunted him, even as her description of the horse farm cracked open a raw aching inside him, as if a truth was rising to the surface.

One he kept buried for decades.

He was about to seize the memory, to finally understand the feeling stirring at the edge of his mind, when the air around him shifted.

She came to him, her heels clicking a soft, rhythmic beat across the lounge floor.

Before he could speak, she was beside him, taking the glass from his hand.

She raised it to her lips and drained the contents in a single, fluid motion, her mouth wet with the scent of citrus and heat.

Mo arched a brow. Fokk, she was ready to let loose.

Shedding the tight skin of command and control, she was casting off the strain of endless negotiation, the burden of military tact, and the suffocating weight of wartime tension.

For one night, she was dropping her barriers, and he welcomed it with an intensity that bordered on reverence.

Her enticing floral perfume flooded his senses, a heady, intoxicating mix that erased all other thought.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, she reached down, her fingers curling around his hand with a firm grip, and led him away from the bar.

The second her hand slid into his and tugged him, silent and sure, all safeguards snapped away.

Thought dissolved, all control scattered.

He prowled in her wake like a storm tethered to lightning, following her out of the private suite, down the grand staircase, and toward the elevator.

Whatever thoughts he’d had, even the haunted memory, burned away under the heat of her nearness.

All that existed in that moment was her hand in his.

And, the elegant curve of her back just ahead of him, and the intoxicating promise.

She didn’t have to turn around to confirm her claim on him.

Mo was already hers.