The man wouldn’t take no for an answer. He even ordered her clothes from the replicator and then insisted she wear them.

He dangled the plain gray uniform. “Put this on.”

She curled her lip in a disdain learned at her father’s knee. “I am not changing.”

“You can’t wear that.” He gestured to her robe. The same robe he’d thought adequate earlier that day.

“I am not changing because I am not going anywhere with you.”

“Then I guess you can go naked.”

Before she could grasp his intent, he’d leaned in and gripped the neckline of her loose gown.

It tore, easily, shredded from her body, leaving her screeching. “What is wrong with you?”

“Many things, pixie.”

Her anger gave her the strength to hurl a compulsion against him. “Leave. Now.”

But his mind didn’t cave to her demand. A slow smile curved his lips, gave his granite countenance a rugged handsomeness despite the wicked glint. “I’ll go, but you’re coming with me, pixie. Your choice, naked or…” He dangled the gray suit.

Lips pursed, she snatched it from him and tossed it over her shoulder. She planted her hands on her hips. Nudity wasn’t a comfortable state for her. She endured it because it discomfited him even more. Ruddy color infused the tops of his cheeks. He kept his gaze trained high. His fists clenched at his sides.

Did she sense a hint of fear in his aura?

By all indications he feared looking at her. A man who respected his wedding vows?

Did such a thing exist?

In her culture, the majority of married couples enjoyed a hedonistic lifestyle. Part of being long-lived. Part of being evolved. Marital alliances weren’t about anything so barbaric as love. Social advantage was always the goal.

Many contracts were accomplished when young and contained no exit clause.

But accidents happened.

Was it any wonder she had a jaundiced view of matrimony? But she did find his demeanor interesting. “Where is your wife?” Did there exist a possibility of her walking in?

“None of your damned business. Get the jumpsuit on.”

“You’re a bully.”

“And you are trying my lack of patience.” He glowered at her. Probably meant to be quite formidable.

She’d seen fiercer. She also didn’t take orders from anyone. Especially a human. “Your brutish lack of control is not my problem. Perhaps you should think about self medicating.”

“Perhaps I should put you over my fucking knee and spank you.”

“Resorting to harm?” she retorted even as she could picture it. Her bottom presented, his hand raised to strike…only instead it caressed.

She shivered.

His nostrils flared. His eyes glowed for just a second. A bright flash of heat, and his feelings—for a moment they were unguarded.

Lust.

It hit her between the legs, instantly moistening her sex. Making her insides quiver.

A reminder that, despite their different species, they were utterly compatible.

She took a step closer. Close enough to smell him.

Pungent oil, clinging to his shirt. A male who actually worked. What a novel idea.

“Anyone ever teach you to respect the bubble?” he growled.

But he didn’t move away.

How interesting.

“Why are you always so rude?” she asked, tilting her head to look at him. The tense line of his jaw fascinated.

“Why won’t you just put on the fucking jumpsuit?”

“Make me.” What she said accompanied by a mental image of his hands on her body.

She knew he received the message.

The shudder of lust in his aura, and the increasing heat of his body, hit her in a wave.

He stepped back finally.

“You really shouldn’t do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her lips.

“I won’t be seduced.”

“Won’t or can’t? Is your wife really that special?” she asked.

His mouth opened. Shut. A myriad of expressions crossed his face until it landed on resolved. “Listen, pixie. You seem to forget I’m the one in charge here.”

“Are you?” She advanced. Touch me.

“Stop it,” he snarled as he lunged.

She didn’t bother fighting. Not this time. She realized there was no point. Size gave him a huge advantage. No matter how she struggled, he could overpower her.

So she did something he didn’t expect. She undulated into him as he snared her wrists. Pressed her body against his.

A sound rumbled through him. He released a hand to snare her jumpsuit.

Ghwenn moved with him, making sure to touch him at every turn.

He sat hard on the bed. Dragging her onto his lap.

Lifting a leg for him, she drew it back for him to slip on her pants. He said nothing. Didn’t have to.

His body spoke for him.

The rigid proof under her bottom. Proof even he couldn’t control.

He is attracted to me.

And yet he did nothing. He simply tugged on her pants, without taking any untoward advantage. He pulled up the suit and maneuvered her arms. He didn’t even tickle her breasts in passing.

By the time they were done, he wasn’t the only one breathing heavily. An odd thrill that made no sense passed through her.

It surprised her to find the jumpsuit he’d dressed her in quite comfortable. The material soft, and while it didn’t cling tightly on the outside, her intimate parts felt snugly encased. Built in culottes and brassieres.

Now if only it came in a better color, and maybe with a few embellishments.

Abrams set Ghwenn on her feet. “Get your shoes on.”

“I am still not going.”

“Are you really going to keep embarrassing yourself by arguing?” He snared her shoes.

“Not arguing. Stating.”

He advanced on her. Again, she didn’t fight. She stood and lifted a foot.

“Seriously?” He arched a brow at her.

She arched one right back. Daring him.

His lips pressed into a tight line. But he dropped to his knees. Grabbed her foot in his hand, a firm grip. Skin to skin.

She stared down at the top of his head, expecting him to simply put on the shoes and stand. Instead, she felt the whispery brush of a thumb across her instep.

Her breath stuttered.

Their gazes met. Polarizing and shocking. Feelings hit her. Not just from him.

Something about him drew her. She reached out to touch his cheek.

His eyes widened then narrowed. He snapped his face from her questing fingers. A moment later, a rope went around her wrist.

Pulling it away did not release her. The tether remained snug around her arm.

The panic erupted. Fast and furious. She hated being tied. It reminded her of times her father forced her to sit by his side as he meted his cruel brand of justice. How she couldn’t escape the cuffs when she flinched.

She whispered strength to herself and yanked.

“Don’t bother, pixie. It’s Flkliri rope. Strongest stuff around. It’s not coming off until I say so.”

“This is barbaric treatment.” She tugged and scowled.

“Then file a complaint.” Still on his knees, he grabbed her foot—roughly this time—and jammed a shoe on her foot.

It appeared as if she’d be going out. Tethered to Abrams, the short length of rope stretching between their wrists.

Despite the slack, she kept close to him. If she had to be stuck, then she might as well enjoy the tic jumping by his eye.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he tugged her through the door to the hall.

“Nexus.”

“Which means absolutely nothing. And you know it. What is Nexus?”

“It’s a bar.”

“You’re taking me to a tavern?” She didn’t fake the incredulity.

“Tavern is giving it airs it doesn’t have.”

“It is a place to drink alcohol. Which I thought was banned on most charter vessels from Earth.”

“It is.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” She moved away from him and quickened her stride. “I could use a beverage with a bit of kick.”

“It’s nothing fancy.” Abrams kept pace, his stride longer and thus still more relaxed than hers.

“I am not surprised. I’ve seen some of your ship.” Disdain tinted the words slightly.

“Don’t insult my baby.” He ran his free hand along the bulkhead, and she almost blinked at the softness in his voice and touch.

“You have affection for the vessel.” First his wife and now an inanimate object?

“The Moth is special.” He winked.

Abrams the grump. Winked.

The quiver of pleasure she felt was probably unseemly out in public.

Did he know? He turned from her and knocked at a nondescript door.

A screen on it lit, showing a pair of orbs. “What’s the secret password?” it asked.

“Let me the fuck in or I’ll have maintenance vent the lavatory lines again.”

The door clicked and opened. Sound washed out.

She looked upon a strange place. A large area hollowed out amongst machinery and pallets of goods. Strung with a giant iridescent ball that spun from the high girder ceilings.

A wall with a ladder going up allowed access to platforms welded in place, sporting cushions for those lounging.

Others danced on the metal grate floor. Bodies gyrating. Heads back. Eyes closed. Mouths open.

Free.

As Abrams kept walking, she followed, more confused than ever that he’d brought her here.

This was a place of relaxation and he was anything but when around her.

Was she about to finally meet his wife? The female who managed to snare a male and keep him to herself. Quite the accomplishment. It made Ghwenn green with envy.

The minds around her were open. So very, very open. The emotions hit her in a wave.

Too much. Too quick. She tried to shut herself off. But the noise battered at her.

Lust. Happiness. Depression. Anger.

Everyone had something to express.

She stumbled.

Still moving, Abrams yanked her off balance, and the floor rushed to meet her.

Something halted her crash.

A mind that was closed off. Quiet. She latched onto it, and her hands grasped at the arms lifting her.

Who was this haven in a storm? Her hero.

She glanced up.