Page 63 of Born for Lace

“I don’t meet girls like you often…” A moment passes while his eyes seem to roll to every inch of my being, even sliding in somehow, making my insides flip. “I see the allure of your Trade—you’re so sweet and endearing.” He flushes a little before clearing his throat, his eyes have a strange fragile hope that doesn’t make much sense to me. “We have to leave, Dahlia.” His voice rasps with effort.

I inhale hard, and he snaps his gaze to the ground. I’m glad he isn’t gazing at me like that anymore because I’m not sure how to respond. Or why my belly knots.

Men give that look to House Girls but not to Lace Girls. Not usually.

I ignore the ripple of unease in my shoulders, squaring them instead. “What do I need to do to help? Or prepare?”

“Have you been taking the hormones?” he asks delicately.

Dread sinks in as I try to recall the last time I took the little white tablets. “I missed the days that I was asleep.” I swallow. “How much formula do we have?”

“Enough for a few days,” he says, his eyes shifting as he contemplates. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be able to get some powdered milk at the first stop.”

I know that’s not enough for Spero. He needs vitamins. Minerals. More than powdered milk. “Okay,” I say, reluctant.

“Areyoufeeling strong enough to travel?” He stares back at me. “It will be rough. Lagos is getting the truck ready above ground, but it has been months since we used it, and the first stop is a day’s drive away. It will be a rough drive. It’s still windy as all Hell, even for The Cradle.”

The peculiar look in his eyes transforms into concern when he assesses the area over my ribcage. “Can you handle it? Do you want more Opi for the journey?”

“No!” I blurt out and then force myself to back up and calm down. “No,thank you,” I repeat softer. “I wasn’t myself with that much in my system. And the lack of sleep…” I pause, trying to hide the regret evident in my gaze. “I feel much better now. More myself.”

My heart beats between my legs, betraying my words.

I shuffle, my eyes losing focus as the feel of thick fingers inside me, pain and pleasure and his arousal at my spine?—

I snap out of it to see a strange kind of suspicion playing across Tomar’s expression. Concern and maybe even…anger?Or—I don’t know. I can’t read him at this moment.

“Did he touch you, Dahlia?” he asks darkly.

I gasp and step backward once. “No!” Quick to deny it. Too quick. It was obvious because I didn’t ask who or what or press for an explanation.

He moves forward, filling the space I left. “We have spent a fair amount of time together over the past few weeks, haven’t we?”

I blink at him. “Yes.”

“And in that time,” he says, watching me with disappointment that unsettles my stomach. “I’ve… Well, I’ve seen some changes in you that…worryme.”

“Like what?” is all I manage.

“First, the clothes you were wearing when Lagos rescued you. Then, the conversation yesterday about sex. You have a new Purpose, Dahlia. A pure one. Suitable for your s—” He clears his throat again, clears a word or message his mind won’t release. I hate it when people do that. Suitable for my what? “Suitable foryou,” he finishes.

His tone makes me want to apologise, but I’m not certain what for. For changing? Being unappreciative, maybe?

“I’m sorry if I’ve somehow disappointed you,” I mutter, my voice lowering.

“No.” He touches my cheek, causing my breath to hitch again. “I’m not disappointed, just worried. I didn’t think I would have to worry about you and Lagos. Not with your conditioning. I’ve known him a long time, longer than you have been alive. I saved him. I care for him, but his…” Tomar clenches his jaw, and I see the muscles beneath dancing with agitation. “Waysseem to corrupt everyone.”

“Corrupt?” I repeat, not at all liking the two syllables on my tongue, or the shift in the relationship between Tomar and Lagos, or the intimacy betweenusright now… Or the way his hand is still on my cheek and his eyes are taking me in with confident familiarity and—ownership?

“He is not a soft man but is an incredible warrior, andloyal.With glimpses of compassion only…” He pauses before saying, “He’s not good for someone pure and gentle like yourself. He can have anyone.” He laughs without mirth, the message straining. “Not you. He grows bored of people and places so quickly. I don’t want to see him ruin you, sweet Dahlia.”

Am I ruined?

For enjoying his touch?

And I realise what the look in Tomar’s eyes is now, what he feels behind them. I’ve seen it, and it won’t go away.Jealousy. It isn’t anger; he is jealous.

Of what?

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