Page 44 of New World

This was something else.

This was the unknown. Even her interactions with Josh, Ash, and Sergi hadn’t prepared her for the tsunami of conflicting emotions threatening to crush her.

She clenched her jaw, pushing past her hesitation, pushing past her instinct screaming at her to run. She would not take the coward’s way out. It was not her way.

She drew in a deep breath and silently stepped forward. The whisper of her cloak barely stirred the air as she slid through the back entrance, moving through the dimly lit corridor like a shadow returning home.

Dorane sat at the same booth as before, his back to her. His fingers loosely curled around a drink he wasn’t drinking. His thumb absently rubbed along the condensation on the outside of the glass while he fingered something with his other hand. Jammer was at the bar casually talking to Deek, though Mei could tell he was watching everything.

She crossed the space between them with quiet steps, slipping into the seat across from Dorane as if she had always belonged there.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Mei gave herself time to calm her wildly beating heart. Through the tinted goggles, she studied the intense myriad of expressions flickering through his hazel eyes. The intensity was so piercing, she was astonished she didn’t go up in flames.

She returned his gaze without hesitation.

Then—his lips curved in a reluctant smile.

“Zarath vi liera vesh’ta, ka’len tor vash.” The last time a woman sat there, she tried to kill me.

His Urvanian was smooth, casual—but the tension beneath it was not lost on her. Mei tilted her head slightly, a flicker of amusement curving her lips.

“I’m sure it was an explosive encounter,” she replied in English, her voice slightly muffled by her scarf.

Surprise flickered across his face. His breath left him, sharp and startled—recognition.

Mei knew they had a common language—the language of the ancients was, surprisingly, English. The translator Tiv gave her allowed her to understand what others were saying, but it would take time for her to learn how to speak any others. Fortunately, this was a language they spoke as a universal one. That alone made her wonder if aliens from this world had once passed through the gateway and settled on Earth.

That answer will have to wait for another time, she thought as she slowly lifted her hands.

She slid her goggles up first, revealing her dark brown, almond-shaped eyes.

Next, she pulled her scarf loose, allowing it to fall to one side. She was hyperaware of every movement he made. She recognized the moment everything changed.

She waited, caught in the snare of his scrutiny. She noted the way his body stilled, the way his lips parted, and the movement of his fingers as they tensed around his glass. Her breath caught when his carefully constructed nonchalance slipped—just for a second.

Mei knew the moment she saw it in his eyes. This wasn’t a chance encounter. This wasn’t a mistake. This was a collision course that began the moment she was chosen for the Project Gliese’s mission. Whatever they were now, whatever they would become—it was already set in motion, and neither of them would escape unscathed.

11

Dorane LeGaugh was rarely—if ever—tongue-tied. He had talked his way out of a thousand bad deals, a hundred life-or-death situations, and at least dozen ill-advised entanglements with women who had tried to kill him.

But this?

This was different.

His fingers curled reflexively as Mei’s slender, gloved hand slid the tracking device back toward him. His gaze focused on the tiny silver disk and her slender fingers.

He should just take it, pocket the damn thing, flashed her one of his usual, lazy smirks, and go back to pretending he was in control of this situation.

Instead, he covered her hand, his skin pressing against the soft material of her glove, the warmth of her fingers barely muted beneath it. A tingling sensation ran up his arm—like a live wire had been pressed directly against his skin.

She didn’t pull away.

Dorane swallowed when she turned her hand until her open palm pressed against his, the movement so effortless, so trusting, that it sent a sharp, unfamiliar ache curling in his chest.

His gaze flicked to their joined hands, his fingers still loosely wrapped around hers.

“You should keep this on you,” she murmured, her voice a husky whisper beneath the low hum of conversation and the clink of glasses around them. “For safety’s sake.”

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