Page 80 of Sublime Target

He didn’t say a word. He just traced his fingers up her neck and along her jawline, tilting her head to one side, his fingers moving slowly and reverently.

Possessively.

And she let him.

Because she knew that by coming here, she’d already given him the answer to his question.

“Hello, Clarissa,” he said at last, and his mouth was close to her ear; she felt the gentle caress of his breath against her cheek. His voice was a deep, warm rumble.

At last.

The confirmation of his presence did something to her.

Maybe it was the waiting—the fact that she’d intentionally held herself back for one week to sift through her own thoughts and make sure she was really certain of what she wanted.

Maybe it was the knowledge that she was now in his domain, and therefore, she had no power here. He could do whatever he wanted, and this was how he chose to greet her.

Making his intentions clear.

There was no doubt about what he wanted.

In any case, the sound of his voice was enough to trigger a sudden surge of arousal.

Her body was on fire.

“Hello, Jerik,” she replied, raising her hands to find his. If he caressed her like that one more time, she would probably fall to pieces, and she wanted to remain coherent enough to retain some semblance of control. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed. It is the greatest pleasure of all to receive you on this station.”

“The greatest?” She slowly opened her eyes as she twined her fingers through his, exploring the warm, rough surfaces of his hands.

“For now.” He maneuvered his fingers, placing his hand in hers proper. Just like a gentleman would. “Welcome.”

He gently drew her to her feet.

She felt like she was floating on a cloud.

Slowly, she turned, guided by his unwavering hand.

She was floating, and her heart was pounding faster than the speed of light, each beat coalescing to create a high-frequency thrum that reverberated through every cell and pore in her body.

For the first time, she caught sight of him.

And for a moment, she was speechless.

All she could do was stare.

Gone was the hard, impenetrable armor. He was dressed formally and sumptuously, albeit in a very Kordolian manner.

On top, he wore a garment of deep turquoise that looked like a cross between an elegant smoking jacket and a kimono. It draped perfectly across his shoulders and over his chest, accentuating his powerful physique. The folds crossed in a v-shape, treating her to a broad glimpse of his silver torso.

As suspected, the contours of his armor hadn’t lied. He was every bit as chiseled as she’d been led to believe.

A soft belt of black suede-like fabric was loosely knotted around his waist. He wore simple, loose trousers made of a lightweight silken fabric in the same rare hue as his jacket.

His feet were encased in sleek, low black shoes that reminded her a bit of loafers, only sharper, like perfectly fitted pods.

Everything about his look was understated and minimalistic, yet the highest attention had been paid to quality and construction.

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