Page 23 of An Alien for Her Heart

If I responded immediately, I’d stutter. What does he even mean? “Not all things. Some things I like hard and…” I stop talking, my cheeks heating.

My filthy human brain is doing things it shouldn’t.

He’s talking aboutfood. Just like some people can’t take lots of spices in their meals and others absolutely crave it.

“I’m a mixed bag,” I finally say, shutting off the tap and putting the kettle on the stove. “Sometimes I don’t know what I like until I’ve had a taste of it, you know?”

The stove isn’t like what I’m used to back home. This one is like a funnel that the flame rises through with only a metal platform above it to rest the kettle on. It takes me a few tries to get it started before I turn to face Varek again.

His eyes are glued on me.

“About yesterday—” I start. It’s heavy on my chest. Something that feels like it will always be in the middle between us if I don’t clear the air. But Varek straightens.

“I was out of line,” he says. “As promised, Catherine, I will not touch you like that again…unless you ask me to.”

I’m silenced not by the fact he’s once again taking the blame for the awkward encounter that ruined our trip, but because of the last few words he uttered. “Unless you ask me to.” That sounds like a damn promise. An oath.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have climbed on you like that. I was out of line.” I turn away, opening my crates of dry goods as I search for the tea flowers New Horizons sent in my pack of supplies. The shuffling sounds as I dig are loud, but not loud enough that I don’t catch Varek’s murmur.

“You were not out of line, Catherine. Your touch, your closeness…it was not unwelcome.”

I pause, my hands stilling in the crate as his words wash over me. There’s a gentleness to his tone, a vulnerability there that makes me turn slowly, meeting his gaze across the kitchen.

His eyes are soft, but there’s an intensity there that makes my breath catch. “I apologize if my actions made you uncomfortable, but please do not think that your presence in my arms was anything less than a gift.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding in my chest. This is dangerous territory. All my demons come rushing forward,pulling me back from this line we’re both tiptoeing around. I don’t know this male. His words shouldn’t have any effect. Heck, his words shouldn’t have been said at all. My touch? A gift?

He speaks as if he really enjoyed it in a way that goes beyond innocent platonic bonds.

But he’s not joking. He takes a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he’s trying not to startle me.

Painful memories threaten to rise, yet, somehow, I stand my ground.

“I meant what I said, Catherine. I will not touch you again without your permission. But if you ever find yourself wanting to be held, wanting to feel the warmth of another…I will be here. Always.”

8

VAREK

Gods, I really am a fool.

I did too much and far too soon.

AGAIN.

As I watch Catherine hurry past me toward the whistling kettle, I’m not sure if it’s what I just proclaimed or the fact the kettle needed to be removed from the fire that made her hurry away.

Zynar said to take it slow. Warned me that if Catherine is anything like his human mate, that she might be hesitant. Skittish even. He said he’d had to let his mate come to him—a test for any Kari. One of the things he told me was that hiskahloffered to drink this ‘tee’ beverage with him in the early days and that it brought them closer together. A hot beverage didn’t sound like something I’d enjoy, but if Catherine liked it, I’d drink an entire cauldron full if it meant she’d give me some of her time. I was to simply drink this ‘tee’ with Catherine and then get back to work.

Instead, I all but confessed that I want her pressed against me and that I’ve been thinking about it. Worse still, she doesn’t even enjoy ‘tee’.

Frakk me.

If she abandons her tee making and casts me from her lodge, I deserve it.

I grimace, watching her get two drinking receptacles and fill them both with the steaming liquid. She has said nothing since my inadvertent confession. The silence between us is deadly. Her throat moves as she turns to face me again, her gaze flicking to me only briefly, as if she doesn’t want to look at me for too long. It makes something ache in my chest. My core-beat. But I deserve the pain.

She holds up two packets of dried blooms. Her voice is so soft, another part of me tightens, and it has nothing to do with chagrin. How much more despicable can I get?

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