Page 25 of Kiss of Steel

“I worked for a company called Solutions, Inc. I was a secretary to a company officer. We, um, started seeing each other. One night, I overheard him ordering a murder. I reported it to the authorities and ended up having to testify against him. The prosecutor assured me his conviction would be a slam-dunk. But he didn’t introduce any of the documentation proving what the company was doing. Blane got acquitted, and he came after me.”

Blane had been more circumspect at company headquarters, where they ran a legitimate consulting operation as a cover. But at home, he’d been less conscientious and rather lackadaisical about his passwords. She’d been able to figure them out with a couple of educated guesses.

Figuring she would need proof to accuse an upstanding pillar of the community, before going to the police, she’d searched his home office for corroborating evidence. What she’d found had chilled her to the bone; it was worse than she’d suspected. Solutions had orchestrated the infamous Chicago Mayoral Massacre. Blane wasn’t a rogue bad apple. The entire company engaged in murder-for-hire, using legit operations as a cover for their criminal activities. She’d worked for them for a year and hadn’t had a clue.

She’d copied what she’d found and handed it over to the prosecutor. He’d introduced none of it during the trial. In hindsight, she realized the district attorney must have been paid off or threatened. “I’m lucky I’m alive,” she summed it up.

Maven nodded sympathetically. “Fortunately, you were able to come here.”

“Cosmic Mates expedited the sanctuary application review and approval. My husband and I are strangers.”

“Normally Tracorian marriages are arranged; my father and I were outliers. We met our mates ourselves and fell in love. But love can develop in arranged marriages, too,” Maven said.

Could she fall in love with Jason? Until last night, it had seemed unlikely. She’d disliked him on sight, finding him to be an impolite, self-centered jackass. Since then, she’d seen flashes of humor and concern. It had been sweet the way he’d waited for her after dinner and held her hand. He’d kept the stove stoked during the night.

But he was rough around the edges, appearing to never have learned common, polite rules of behavior. Which seemed odd since he’d worked in personnel management. A person had to have good people skills to do that job. She jotted a mental note to ask him about his former employment and find out what had driven him to Refuge.

Another contradiction—he presented as a buff, rough, tough, gruff man—at first. But, when she paid close attention, she noticed he projected an aura of vulnerability, almost innocence. There was more to his story than met the eye.

Chapter Twelve

Wearing clean trousers, Steel emerged from the bath and padded to the room where Honoria slept. He’d tarried in the shower, delaying going to bed. He’d never shared a bed with anyone. She’d insisted—ordered him, he recalled with amusement—but this would be another first for him. She unsettled his peace of mind, his equilibrium.

Normally, he performed his duty with cold precision and detachment, identifying every nuance that could upend a mission while remaining removed from it all.

Honoria distracted him; he’d lost his detachment. She’d been on his mind all day, filling his head with trivia and nonsense, her smiles, her voice—that voice!—her gestures, her delicate build, her expressions. Did she know how readable her face was?

They’d met for dinner in the mess hall and chatted about their day—he learned she’d put in six hours of paid labor.

He glanced into the main room. He’d been mystified when she dragged her empty trunk into the living area and parked it in the middle of the room. “Now we have a coffee table and ottoman,” she’d said. He’d discovered it was handy having it there.

In the bedroom, Honoria formed an motionless lump under the covers. Quietly, he moved around to the vacant side. Her enticing scent washed over him, and he found himself inhaling her essence.

He cocked an ear, listening to her slow, steady breathing. Asleep. Good. Normally, he slept naked but thought it prudent to keep his pants on since her scent and proximity had caused another hard-on. To his dismay, he had no control over his erections. That part of his anatomy acted independently. It had never happened before. Why now?

He pulled back the blanket and top sheet then slid into bed. An involuntary groan of bliss escaped his lips as the mattress cradled and supported his weight, cocooning him in luxury.

“Sounds like you find the bed more comfortable than the floor.” She chuckled and rolled to face him. Even in dim light, wearing a smug smile, she looked beautiful. His skin tingled with awareness of her nearness, and her enticing scent teased his nostrils.They should bottle that fragrance. His lips twisted with self-mockery. There was a bottle of it in the shower. But it wasn’t the same.

He shifted onto his side, the better to gaze at her face. “I like a woman who doesn’t say, ‘I told you so,’” he quipped.

“I’m not that woman.” Another chuckle. His heart fluttered. His erection felt full, heavy. He had an unusual urge to rub it, but she’d notice if he started stroking himself.

“I like you anyway.” The truth slipped off his tongue. His mouth, like his cock, operated independently of his brain. What was wrong with him? Where were these feelings coming from?

Her expression grew serious. “I like you, too.”

Warmth suffused him, and his chest tightened. Had anyone everlikedhim before? Perhaps Fury, but somehow it meant more that Honoria did.

Her grin returned. “And not just because you brought me shit-brick tongs, although that’s the sweetest present a man has ever given me.”

He barked a laugh. “No one ever said I’m not romantic.” No one ever said hewasromantic, either. He wondered what presents other men had given her. Jewelry, flowers, chocolate, lingerie, perfume, personalized mementos? Men would shower her with gifts. A woman as special as her would have many admirers bringing her many fine gifts.But could she have reacted as exuberantly as she had when he’d presented the tongs? No other man had given her that.

“It’s a loan. I have to return them,” he reminded her.

He’d spent the day getting the lay of the land. Dusty, the lead ranch hand, had given him a tour in an open battery-powered wagon similar to the one that had ferried them to Haven. Except, this time, he got to ride in the cab. They’d driven around enormous herds of hornigers. The indigenous beasts were wild, harvested for their meat, but a fledgling program attempted to domesticate them so they could be used as work animals. Part of his job would entail rounding up the calves, i.e. stealing them from their watchful, dangerous mamas.

The tour had ended at the outbuilding, after which Dusty had shown him the tack room. Several tongs had been hanging on the wall, and Steel remembered Honoria’s aversion to handling the herb cakes. He’d been allowed to borrow a set after promising he’d return them after payday.

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