“Slow down or you’ll cramp your stomach,” she said softly, lowering the jug. Setting it down next to her bag on the floor, she used the front of her shirt to wipe his face and push back his hair. The feel of his flesh and bones through the thin cloth was an arresting sensation. Avoiding his dark gaze, she turned and hurried from the room. Returning a moment later with a stool, she settled it under the window and climbed up to open the portal. Instantly, the room began to cool as fresh air flowed in.
“There, that should help some,” she stated, climbing down and returning to crouch at his side. “I’ve got some meat pastries, if you don’t mind being fed by hand.” She gave him a dubious look, pausing in the act of opening her bag.
“I’m hungry enough to eat off the floor,” he said with an ironic twist of his mouth. “But I could use more of that water first. What’s in it?”
“Electrolytes, supplements, and glucose,” she answered, grasping the jug and rising to her feet. “It probably tastes a little funny, but it’ll decrease dehydration better than straight water.”
He nodded to indicate that he heard, but his eyes were trained on the jug and his throat moved in a hard swallow. Sukeza raised the container to his lips again. He didn’t close his eyes this time, watching her instead, a thoroughly disconcerting experience.
This is why I don’t work with predators, she thought with a nervous inner grimace. They saw too much—they recognized prey when they saw it. And she felt like prey under the impact of that dark gaze, reminded forcefully of his crimes and her dangerous proximity. She had to stand close to handle the jug, her thigh brushing his, her slight form eclipsed by his powerful body. She had a sudden, shocking image of what he might do to her if his arms were free and her gaze darted to the shackles of their own volition.
He made a sound and she realized she was spilling fluid down his chin, the container unstable in her trembling hands. With a whispered curse for letting her imagination run wild, she quickly lowered the jug and wiped the water from his chin, grimacing in silent apology. The sensation of sandpaper-rough skin and firm flesh under her bare fingers snagged her attention and her movements slowed. She watched her fingertips move over his hot, dark skin with fascinated wonder, until she realized what she was doing and turned away, heat beating in her cheeks. What the hell was wrong with her?
Making her movements brisk to hide the tremor in her limbs, she set down the water and retrieved a bundle from the bag. Unwrapping the wax paper, she revealed a meat pastry and broke off a chunk, keeping her eyes on the food and not him. “I’m a terrible cook, but you’re in luck—my neighbor made these,” she said to break the oppressive silence. “He’s a genius in the kitchen and doesn’t mind sharing.”
She offered the first bite, watching his mouth as his teeth captured the bite and removed it from her fingers with a gentleness that surprised her. There was an intimacy to the act of feeding this man that made her distinctly uncomfortable. She tried to associate it with the many hours she’d spent coaxing a new capture to feed from her hand, to reduce what she was doing to a simple humane act, a part of her job. It didn’t work. He affected her too powerfully, the force of him surrounding her as if he held her hostage and not the other way around.
She broke off another bite, focusing hard on keeping her fingers from trembling when he took it from her. As he did, a lock of hair slipped forward into his eyes. Without thinking, she brushed it back and was captured again by the feel of him under her fingertips. The strands of his dark hair were amazingly soft, curling a little with the dampness of perspiration. The contrast of the silky strands with the remembered sensation of hard, stubbled chin enthralled her.
“You’re petting me again,” he said in his deep voice, the neutral tone impossible to interpret.
She jerked away as if burned.
Stryker silently cursed himself for opening his mouth. His little rescuer was skittish as hell, unnerved by the slightest move he made, even though he’d been as circumspect with her as he knew how to be. He didn’t want to scare her away, since she was his source of food and water. That was enough to make him feel charitable toward her, but she’d also given him a way out, a method of escape if Clavis followed her suggestion. As a result, he was feeling almost fond and reluctant to cause her alarm. Worse though—she’d stopped petting him.
He would have snorted in dark humor if he didn’t know it would send her running. The first time she’d stroked him, he’d been too incredulous to appreciate the sensation of being gentled like a high-strung animal. It was laughable, this terrified little woman trying to soothe him like a beast in her care. It should have been insulting, but her fingers in his hair hadn’t felt like an insult. He’d watched her face, watched her absorbed concentration when she touched him, and he hadn’t wanted her to stop. At that moment, there’d been no fear in her.
She offered him another bite without a word, fingers trembling hard enough to shake crumbs from the pastry, her gaze lowered and cheeks a delicate pink color. He had the sudden urge to lean forward and close his mouth on her fingers, to taste her skin and feel her flesh between his lips, his teeth.
Gratitude, he thought as he took the bite without touching her. That was why he was feeling this sudden, weird affinity toward her, why the sunshine smell of her skin, the warm, sweet female scent, was having such a profound affect on him. His women were usually bigger, bolder, brassier. They weren’t small, mousy creatures who jumped at his slightest movement. It was just gratitude for her help that made him want to kiss her feet. And nibble her toes. And sink his teeth into the flesh of her calves and lick the backs of her knees and spread her thighs…
The image of his hands sliding down the inside of her thighs as she lay open to him sent a violent shaft of lust through his body, making him jerk in his chains and inhale sharply. Coughing a fragment of pastry from his airway, he tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, nonplussed.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, just…stiff,” he answered with an ironic twist of his lips and a roll of his shoulders. If she looked in his lap, she’d know he wasn’t referring to his shackled arms. Pretty strong friggin’ gratitude.
“Damn it,” she breathed. “Why do they have you stretched out like that? It’s not humane.”
He lowered his gaze to see her frowning and nibbling on her lip while she studied his outstretched arms and encased wrists. “Keeps my hands apart so I don’t work the locks. Your farmers aren’t as stupid as they look.”
She said something under her breath that sounded like a curse and broke off another bite, offering it to him without taking her attention from his restraints. He took it with a quirk of his mouth, watching her while he chewed. She had that focused look again and he wondered if she was back in a petting mood. Setting the rest of the pastry on the bench, she crouched by her bag and began to remove bandages and medicinals.
Rising, she shifted to his right wrist and studied it while she laid out the supplies on the bench below. Silky dark hair escaped, swinging forward against her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, a light frown creasing her brow. In profile, the delicate line of her absorbed features became lovely rather than country cute. He studied the sun-sprinkled curve of her cheekbone and wondered if he was losing his mind.
“This won’t work,” she muttered and straightened abruptly, heading with brisk strides to the door. She paused just outside the door and hollered a startlingly loud, “Clavis!”
Damn, for a little woman, she sure did have a set of lungs on her. He kept his amusement from showing when she turned back to him, but she didn’t glance at his face, her eyes narrowed on his wrist. Then she turned her head, chin lifting when she focused outside the room, probably on the bulky law keeper. Stryker watched her back into the room and stiffened at the tension in her slim body. She was afraid again and he discovered that he didn’t like it.
The big man appeared, brow lowered and face ruddy with aggression. Stryker felt a spear of answering violence cour
se through him and flexed his confined limbs. Clavis spared him one contemptuous glance before fixing his wrath on Sukeza. “What?”
Stryker couldn’t see her face, only the tense line of her back, but her voice was calm. “I can’t tend to his injuries properly with his wrists cuffed. Would you please take them off?”
The man’s eyebrows skyrocketed, little pig eyes round and staring. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“One at a time, of course. He couldn’t possibly do anything with the rest of him chained down. Right?” She sounded a bit uncertain at the end, shooting Stryker a dubious look over her shoulder.
Much as he would love to take advantage of the opportunity, the odds against success were too high and the lure of his other escape route too enticing. Besides, good behavior now might relax the man into a false sense of security, which would only help later. Stryker nodded, looking past her at Clavis. “Hurting her or taking her hostage wouldn’t do me much good, would it?” he asked the big man with low sarcasm. “She’s fixing me up. I’ll behave.”
The man snorted but hesitated, eyes traveling from Stryker to Sukeza. His gaze narrowed and Stryker saw something in them that he didn’t like. “Sure, why not? Always did love watchin’ you work, Suki,” he said with a smirk. Lumbering forward, he kept a wary eye on Stryker while he pulled a rough key from his pocket and slid it into the shackle. Turning it, he stepped back hastily as if he expected the prisoner to explode, but Stryker gave him a humorless smile and didn’t move.
Sukeza edged around the other man and bent over Stryker’s wrist, opening the shackle and examining the welts. She had that absorbed look, but he caught her sending him a quick glance out of the corner of her eye. She was skittish again. Moving slowly, he pulled free of the restraint and flexed his arm, working the kinks out of his muscles. She watched him for a moment, eyes trained on his moving limb, and he wondered what she’d do if he asked for a massage.
Glancing at Clavis, who had backed further away and was watching them from under lowered brows with his hand on the butt of his weapon, Stryker held his wrist out to her with his palm open. Now was not the time to encourage petting. He felt her cool, gentle touch, but he didn’t take his eyes off his jailor. The man’s gaze flicked between them, wary when he looked at Stryker, greedy when he watched Sukeza. His eyes swarmed over her, an alarming contrast of lust and contempt vying for supremacy on his doughy face. Stryker tensed, understanding several things at once and liking not a single one of them.
“Seems you took a real shine to the outlander, Suki,” Clavis said, his tone conversational but with a dangerous undertone that made Stryker’s muscles twitch.
“Why, because I’m treating him like a human being?” she asked in a calm voice, not pausing in her care. The stinging and throbbing from her cleaning the area eased as she smeared a pungent ointment on him.
“You defended him. And you’re fussin’ on him like he’s a prize puller. Got a thing for bad boys, do ya?”
“Don’t be offensive,” she answered in a cooler tone, hands still working over Stryker’s wrist. “I would do the same for anyone. Even you, Clavis.”
The snarl Clavis gave her exposed back made Stryker jerk in her hold, an aggressive response he managed to curb with effort. She must have thought she’d hurt him, though, because she whispered, “Sorry,” and gentled her touch even further. A moment later, she straightened and glanced at him, her hands falling away from his bandaged wrist.
Without taking his eyes off Clavis, Stryker stretched his arm back out and placed his wrist in the shackle. She hesitated, and then closed the metal over his flesh, clicking it into place and turning the key slowly. Taking the key with her, she gathered her supplies and stepped around his knees to the other side.
Clavis watched her, jaw working as he ground his teeth, but he didn’t stop her from opening the second shackle. “Shouldn’t be feelin’ sorry for him, after what he done to the boys,” he said, his tone as easy as if he were merely cautioning her to look both ways before crossing the street. But his eyes told a different tale.
“He did nothing to those boys.”
Stryker wanted to tell her to shut up, that she was making things worse for herself, but knew any concern he showed would only fuel the fire he saw in Clavis’s eyes.
“Where’s your proof, Suki?”
“Where’s yours, Clavis? He hadn’t a speck of blood on him.”
“He cleaned up and came back to the scene,” the big man said in a mulish tone. He’d obviously had this conversation with her before and wasn’t pleased to be having it again.
“Not enough time. His ship’s all the way—”
Stryker jerked and said, “Hey, watch it,” as if she’d hurt him, though she had been doing nothing more sinister than cupping his hand while she reached for the bandages. She sent him a curious look then seemed to catch on, pressing her lips together and wrapping his wrist in silence.
When she finished, she held onto him a moment longer before she let go with a frown. He stretched his arm out, placing his wrist in the shackle. He watched her chew on her lower lip while she reached for the metal slowly and knew the instant she made the decision to take the key. Stryker held in a sigh of exasperation. The woman was as transparent as glass.
“Thank you for letting me tend him and for keeping watch, Clavis,” she said, her words accelerating while she locked the shackle and gathered her supplies, moving toward her bag. “I appreciate your vigilance. I’m not used to dealing with men in chains, so it was—”
“I’ll take the key, Suki,” Clavis interrupted, eyes narrowed on her in clear suspicion.
“W-what?” she asked in a faint tone, looking around vaguely. “Oh, right, yes.” Dropping her supplies into the bag, she stepped toward the other man and held out the key. “I’ll be staying a few more minutes. Don’t forget, you’ll need to take him to the facilities in a little while,” she said with surprising calm.
Clavis snatched the key out of her fingers and glared at her. “You done enough. I want you outta here, Suki.”
“He needs to finish his food, and I should get more fluids into him. It was a furnace in here when I arrived, Clavis. Any longer and he would have had heat stroke. I won’t be long, don’t worry.” She turned away from him, moving to Stryker’s side to inspect her handiwork again. Her air of nonchalance was credible, if the other man didn’t notice the trembling in her slim body.
Apparently, he didn’t. With a scowl at her bent head, he lumbered out of the room, slamming the door shut. Sukeza straightened immediately and went to the door, swinging it wide and propping it open. Then she paused, gripping the wooden jam with tight fingers and resting her forehead on the door.
“That was stupid,” Stryker said quietly. “He’s already suspicious of you.”
“I know,” she whispered without moving. “I just—” She shook her head and let out her breath in a heavy sigh. Then she straightened and moved back to his side, not meeting his eyes. “How do those bandages feel? Are they too bulky? I don’t want the cuff to cut off your circulation.”
“They’re fine, thanks,” he said, watching as she bent over his wrist again. She touched the edge of the bandage and grasped his hand, trying to turn it. He did it for her, showing her that there was still room inside the shackle for him to move. She nodded to herself, adjusting the edge of the bandage with one hand while the other trailed a long stroke down his forearm, sending goose bumps up his flesh and down his side. He said nothing this time, just watched her slim fingers glide over his skin with a hunger that was impossible to define or deny.
Then she straightened, seemingly unaware that she’d been petting him again. “More food?” she asked, picking up the rest of the pastry. When he nodded, she broke off another chunk and resumed feeding him. She was quiet, her eyes on her hands and a faint, thoughtful crease between her brows. The middle of the pastry didn’t have crust to hold it together, so she had to resort to mashing it together and offering it on her fingertips.
He resisted temptation as long as he could, but when she offered him a small bite, one he couldn’t take without touching her, he closed his lips over her fingers with relish.
She pulled away, slim body vibrating with tension. Pretending not to notice, he kept his gaze on her hands while he chewed and swallowed. When she didn’t break off another bite for him, he decided a distraction was in order. The woman was way too nervous for her own good.
“Let’s see it,” he said without lifting his eyes from her hands.
“What?” Her voice held a little shiver.
Light of Kaska Page 3