Page 15 of Orc's Pretend Mate

“Dangerous,” he says, finally speaking.

Protest is on my tongue without thought but I stop. Running my mouth off is not my way, despite that I did with him before. I bite down on the immediate words and nod instead.

“I know,” I agree.He’s a good man. Alien. Urr’ki. Or… man. He’s as masculine as they come, calling him anything else is a stupid division.“But if we’re going to sell this…”

I let that thought hang. He’s smart and he knows I’m right, but still I watch his thoughts on his face. He would be terrible at poker. His face is more than an open book. It’s a full on vid,playing out in three dimensions. Clear as the blazing suns over the planet above.

I may not know him well, but I know enough to guess what he’s thinking. That yes, I’m right but it’s also dangerous and he swore to protect me. Warmth suffuses my skin and the tiniest stirrings of feather-light interest flutters down low.

Vapas exhales, the deep sound rumbling through the quiet space. His frown deepens for a heartbeat, and then, like a curtain being drawn back, his expression shifts. Determination settles over his features like a shield, a clear decision made.

“If we do this,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you stay close. You don’t speak unless necessary, and you let me handle everything.”

Excitement flares even as I nod. I struggle to keep my face neutral.

“Understood.”

His sharp gaze lingers like he’s trying to read some hidden truth in my eyes. For a moment, I think he’s going to change his mind and refuse, but then he nods. Turning he goes into the living area and opens a cabinet, grabbing a satchel.

He produces a long cloak that he holds out. I take it with a frown. When I unfold and hold it up it’s clearly too long for me, designed for an Urr’ki, not a human frame.

“Wear it,” he says, gesturing.

“Uhm, it’s long,” I say.

It is pretty though. I can’t imagine him wearing this, so where did he get it? There is a definitive feminine feel to it. The cloth isa pale violet color. The tone of his green skin is too dark for this to complement. At least no human male would wear this color, what do I know of Urr’ki? Maybe the men all wear pastels?

“Harumph,” he grumbles, taking it back.

He turns it, running his fingers along the edge until he has the bottom hem. He looks from the cloth to me then back with an appraising eye. He nods, to himself it seems, then goes to the same cabinet he got the cloak from. He gets something and sits onto the couch.

What happens next leaves me speechless. Not that I was saying anything anyway, but now I couldn’t if I wanted to. He has in his hands a needle and a spool of thread. He threads the needle with ease and in moments he is hemming the cloak. I watch, blinking, and wait.

When he finishes he stands up and flips the cloak in the air. Without trying it on it looks like he perfectly hemmed it to my height. He tilts his head, eyeing the cloak then me once more. Satisfied he nods then takes a step closer, again offering it to me.

Numb with surprise that borders on an almost awe I don’t take it. Instead I turn around. I don’t think about it, I just do it, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t do anything for long enough that I look over my shoulder.

He is standing there with the cloak in his hands staring. For a change, I can’t read his face. He’s conflicted for sure, but over what or why I can’t really decipher. He blinks, swallows, then steps up and lays the cloak onto my shoulders. His fingers linger, just for a moment, then he takes a quick step back.

The cloak fits perfectly. Well it’s too big overall, but the length is as exact as I could ever expect. I wrap my hands in the cloth and make a flourish with it then turn to face him.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling choked up. “It’s very beautiful and… perfect.”

His eyes glisten and for the briefest of moments his lips quiver. He blinks several times then nods.

“Good,” he says. “Yes. Good.”

The moment extends between us but I’m not sure what the moment is. It feels like there’s something more here but what it is, I don’t know. A feeling. Almost like aknowing. One of those moments you walk into a room for something, you can’t remember why, but you know you know it.

“Vapas—”

“Let’s go,” he says, cutting me off.

He grabs the satchel and slings it over his broad shoulder. Before I can say anything more he walks past me to the door.

8

PHOEBE

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