Page 45 of New World

Dorane resisted the almost overwhelming urge to pull her glove off. He wanted to see her fingers. He wanted to see all of her.

Instead, he looked up.

And was lost.

Her dark eyes were liquid pools, pulling him deeper, swallowing him whole. They were soft but sharp—holding a quiet, devastating intensity that sent a rush of heat through his veins. Black lashes framed them, thick and impossibly long. His gaze drifted lower, catching on the faint dusting of dots across the bridge of her nose.

Freckles.

He didn’t know why that detail made something inside him tighten, but it did.

Then there were her lips.

Curved in an amused smile—at his expense, no doubt. She was enjoying this.

She tugged lightly on her hand.

He reluctantly released it, feeling her fingers curl just enough to slide the tracking device back into his palm before she sat back. The absence of her warmth was immediate. He gave her a rueful, bemused smile when he noticed the quiet satisfaction in her eyes.

Dorane dragged in a breath, shaking his head as if to clear it before shifting his gaze toward Jammer.

Jammer was gawking at him from across the bar, his drink halfway to his mouth, his brow furrowed like he had just watched Dorane spontaneously combust.

Jammer mouthed three words that summed up Dorane’s current predicament perfectly:

What the fuck?

Dorane fought back a groan, raking a hand through his curls before pocketing the tracking device. He caught the subtle shift in Mei’s expression—approval.

That damn glint in her eyes of approval sent a shaft of emotion coursing through him. It made something warm settle low in his stomach, something dangerously close to pride.

He let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. He was so screwed. He cleared his throat and sat back, hoping it would help him clear his head.

“Well,” he said, forcing himself back onto familiar ground—words, wit, charm, control. “Since we’re playing nice and handing out gifts, maybe you can answer a few questions for me.”

Mei lifted a delicate brow. “Only a few?”

He chuckled and found himself leaning forward again. Resting his arms against the table, it was like he couldn’t resist closing the distance between them.

“I’ll try to keep it to less than a hundred. How did you end up on Cryon II? Where are you staying? Where exactly did you come from?” He hesitated only a fraction before adding, “Are you attached to anyone?”

Mei laughed softly, and the sound sent heat curling up his spine. The glow of the bar lights caught the faintest flush on her cheeks, subtle but unmistakable. He watched, utterly enthralled, as she tilted her head, considering him with open amusement.

“Which one would you like answered first?” she asked teasingly.

Without hesitation, he said, “The last one.”

Mei’s lips curved, but instead of answering, she reached over and claimed his drink, turning the glass in her fingers as if debating how much she wanted to tell him.

“I was smuggled onto Cryon II by a freighter that had picked up my escape pod,” she said, bypassing his last question entirely.

Damn.

Dorane’s brows lifted. “The pods the Legion has been scouring the galaxy for?”

She bowed her head in agreement. “My pod was mixed with other space debris and picked up as junk. Lucky for me, it worked out—for the most part.”

He frowned. “What happened?”

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