Collision Course - By Zoe Archer Page 0,20
one corner of his mouth turned up, the sharp edge of a smile. “Nothing’s as dangerous as this.” He leaned close, and his nearness set alight the charged heat between them, rife with voracious hunger.
For once, Mara didn’t argue.
Chapter Five
Kell was lost.
He didn’t know the rough, mean city of Beskidt By, couldn’t say what bars watered their drinks or spiked them with something more dangerous than water. He didn’t know which sex theaters offered the best entertainment, both on stage and off. Of its many gambling dens, he didn’t know which were slightly more honest, cheating their patrons just a little rather than a lot. The tough faces staring back suspiciously at him from doorways were unknown to him, as well.
But he knew this place, knew it very well. It didn’t matter if the planet was Ryge, hidden within the Smoke Quadrant, or another planet in some other solar system. Kell knew the streets, knew the people, their avarice and need to survive. He might not have the map for this particular city soldered on the circuitry of his mind, but he understood without a doubt that, if he had to, he could find his way through this filthy maze.
Yet when it came to Mara Skiren, he felt himself wandering without guidance. Made him damn edgy.
He walked beside her through the twisted, grimy streets of Beskidt By. They dodged wasp taxis darting past, drivers bent low as the fares clutched the side bars for safety. Cries of hawkers clotted the thick air, selling everything from service drones to black market drugs to cups of steaming kahve. Overhead, glimpses of sulfurous clouds peered between the towering buildings, reminders that no one could fly in or out of Ryge until the storm dissipated. Kell and Mara had been the only ones to land in nearly twenty-four solar hours.
She led them now through the web of Beskidt By, her movements sure and confident. The city belonged to her, in its way. Kell saw this in the way she was greeted, again and again, by the various lowlifes lingering in the street. Those that didn’t seem to know her stared at her, anyway. Easy to see why. Her sleek curves, those provocative clothes, the poised, almost aristocratic way she held herself. Any male, and likely many females, would want her.
He counted himself amongst that number. Only half an hour earlier, he’d almost had her. His body still protested the loss. She’d been fire and spice and hungry, so hungry. He’d never touched a woman like her before. Now his body wanted, demanded more.
Don’t think about that now, or else you’ll be walking the streets of Beskidt By with a gigantic hard-on.
“You’re a popular character,” he noted after a one-armed woman shuffled out from a shop to pound Mara on the back.
“Yes.” She tossed the remark carelessly over her shoulder. “But now I’m legendary. Nobody else has flown through the storm.” She sent him an opaque glance. “Nobody else had the same kind of help.”
“There were two of us, but we worked as one.” Though Wraith ships could accommodate two—a pilot and a gunner—Kell usually flew alone. He hadn’t expected the seamless way he and Mara had performed together. She was a damned good pilot too. Intuitive but astute.
She also looked damned sexy with her hands on the ship’s controls. Kell couldn’t help but wonder if she might grip him with the same assured skill. An image flared in his mind—him laying back, her grasping his cock, positioning him to slide into her.
Don’t fucking think it.
“Partnership is new to me,” she said.
“Maybe you’ll grow to like it.” He certainly was.
“Doubt that.” But she smiled and edged ahead, leading the way. “Not much further.” Even if her image wasn’t already burned into him, he could find her through the thick, raucous crowds choking the streets. There weren’t many Argenti here, and her creamy white hair shone like a beacon in the grime and glare of Beskidt By. He felt the strange urge to shield her from the filth of both physical and human varieties—which was ridiculous. She was a scavenger, a dealer of stolen goods, and candidly admitted to doing what she had to in order to persevere.
She eyed the long, thin scarf he had wrapped around his neck before they had disembarked. “Do you have to wear that? Looks like your psychotic grandmother wove it on her digiloom.”
Kell fingered the garment in question. “It serves its purpose.”
“If that purpose is to cause spontaneous blindness, then