The Outlaw Cyborg (Cyborgs on Mars #5) - Honey Phillips Page 0,26
composed Serena smile, she lifted herself free, ignoring both the hard strength of his body and the equally hard bar of his erection. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of restarting the previous night’s game—with her in control this time—but she wasn’t as confident as she would like to have been that she would remain in control. She settled for turning to the food supplies she had rejected the night before.
“I think I’m hungry again this morning,” she said, keeping her voice cool and matter of fact.
“Then you should eat.”
Did he sound hurt? She snuck a peek over her shoulder, but he was staring thoughtfully up at the clear ceiling panel. A moment later, he rose and stretched, and she couldn’t have dragged her eyes away if her life depended on it. All that impressive muscle was clearly visible, the morning light illuminating every fascinating dip and bulge, an overwhelming display in the small habitat.
“I’ll check on Winston,” John said, apparently oblivious to her admiring gaze. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t you need your shirt?”
He flashed her that devastating grin. “No, it looks much better on you.”
He was gone before she could think of an adequate retort. By the time he returned, she was once again fully dressed in her neutral coveralls, but his gaze was just as appreciative.
“I’m not really familiar with cooking,” she said doubtfully. “I heated up some kind of broth and found some protein wafers.”
“That’s fine. I’m not fussy.” He retrieved his shirt, and she watched regretfully as he pulled it over his head. What a shame the man has to wear clothes at all, she thought, then felt her cheeks start to heat again. Fuck. Somehow, she had to stop reacting like the girl she hadn’t been in so many years.
“Do you think we’ll reach the lab today?” she asked coolly as she poured them each a cup of broth.
He shook his head. That meant another night together in the small habitat. The prospect aroused a combination of both excitement and trepidation but she vowed that tonight she would be in control.
“If we traveled faster today, we would only have a short journey tomorrow,” he added. “Are you up for that?”
He gave her a teasing grin, and she automatically responded to the challenge. “Of course.”
As soon as she emerged from the habitat, Winston came prancing over. He explored her hair, then butted his head against her chest until she stroked him. The fact that he seemed so pleased to see her eased something inside her, and by the time John had finished a remarkably speedy dismantling of their camp, she felt in control once more—or at least she did until he lifted her up on the horse and settled in behind her.
The warmth of his body triggered more memories of the previous night.
She had expected a lingering awkwardness but John was as matter-of-fact as always. If anything, he was too calm as he continued their idle conversation from the previous day. Hadn’t what had happened between them affected him at all?
They did travel faster today but Winston had an easy rocking gait that was surprisingly comfortable. The increased speed also increased the amount of cool air rushing past her, and John frowned when he helped her down during their midday break.
“Your skin is like ice.”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s appropriate—they do call me the Ice Queen.”
The words were said lightly but they hung in the air between them as John’s big, warm hand came up to cup her face.
“No, my love. You are most certainly not an Ice Queen.”
He turned away before she could respond, but perhaps that was just as well. The warmth in his eyes threatened to destroy all of her defenses. Too distracted to talk, she focused on their minimal meal, and he made no attempt to start a conversation.
After lifting her onto Winston’s back once more, he wrapped one of the thin silver thermal blankets around her. He still didn’t say anything but the warmth in his eyes hadn’t diminished. She decided that she had to regain control of the situation. She didn’t need that distracting softness and concern from him lowering her walls.
Men could not be trusted—they were to be used, manipulated into helping her achieve her purpose.
She put her plan into action as they rode, no longer sitting quietly in his arms. Instead, she took every opportunity to touch him, to tease him—although always lightly and casually. A hand running teasingly down his