Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (english readers TXT) 📗

at us … or perhaps both. But I suppose it is worth a try. You get them for her. If she does not begin to scream and cry, then Gabriel and I will try to find something else in the hold that she might like.”

“Why should I do it?” Jerico demanded indignantly.

“Because it was your idea,” Gideon reminded him reasonably. “And you were the one who took the books.”

“You were the one who told me to get the books!”

Gideon shrugged. “That is beside the point. You got them.”

Gabriel let out an irritated huff. “I will get them. It is my rest period anyway, and she is already convinced I am a soulless bastard. She can not hold me in less esteem than she does already.”

Gideon and Jerico turned to watch with interest when Gabriel returned from the hold with a container filled with books and headed toward the cabin. He was frowning when he left the room again a few minutes later.

“I did not hear a scream,” Jerico observed. “That is a good sign.”

“She is sleeping under the bunk,” Gabriel announced.

A vague look of discomfort skittered across Gideon’s features. It occurred to him belatedly that mayhap it had not been the wisest course to point out the obvious to her. But he thought she could not have failed to notice that they desired her and he had thought it might be best for her to begin to adjust to the idea that they had no intention of depriving themselves of the opportunity of bedding her. “I believe there may be a trust issue.”

Chapter Six

“We were told to bring anything you might need to work.”

Bronte glanced up from the books she had been studying and saw that Gabriel was watching her with a mixture of wariness and defensiveness. The expression disappeared as she met his gaze, wiped clean as if it had never been there at all.

He looked refreshed, she thought with annoyance as she allowed her gaze to flicker over him where he sat on the edge of the bunk. She, on the other hand, had not slept well at all. He had dragged her from beneath the bunk, where she had retreated in hope of enjoying her solitude when she’d grown too tired to maintain enough anxiety to keep her awake, and settled her on the mattress, and then climbed in beside her as if he’d been invited.

She wasn’t certain if it was just that they didn’t seem to grasp subtle snubs; if they were grimly determined not to allow her even to get away with passive resistance; or if it was because she had helped herself to the only blanket. He hadn’t made any attempt to take advantage of her vulnerable state, though, and she hadn’t known what to make of his behavior when she’d woken with him sleeping beside her as if he belonged there.

“I don’t suppose it occurred to any of you to drop by my apartment and clean that out, as well?” she asked mildly.

He looked disconcerted and then angry/defensive again. “The mission was to extract a doctor and the things he would need to do his job.”

“My father, I know,” she said, releasing an audible sigh that was equal parts frustration and resignation as she returned her gaze to the books.

He had ‘angry’ eyebrows, she thought distractedly as she stared at the volumes without really seeing them. Straight, thick, and black, when he lowered that thunderous line over his eerily pale eyes it made him look infinitely dangerous and sent an involuntary shiver along her spine. Oddly enough, those same two black slashes were very disarming when he drew them together to form an upside down v above the bridge of his nose anytime he was disconcerted, giving him a vulnerable look that made her chest tighten uncomfortably.

It also had the undesirable effect of evoking the impulse to smooth that ‘worried puppy’ look from his face.

It was a seriously dangerous, and potent, combination of polar opposites to find in one man, who also happened to be more handsome than he had any right to be and was built like an anti-missile tank besides. How stupid was it to find that expression so charming and disarming when it was attached to a giant of a man that could go through a steel door like it was made out of paper?

“Thank you,” she said finally as he pushed himself off the bunk and headed toward the facilities.

He came to a halt, swiveling to look at her with a mixture of surprise and hopefulness. “You are welcome,” he said finally, hesitantly, his voice gruff, as if he wasn’t sure whether she actually meant it or was being sarcastic.

She smiled at him when she saw his black brows twitch upwards above the bridge of his nose, because she couldn’t seem to help herself. He stiffened, looked for a handful of heartbeats as if he was battling the urge to move closer and finally continued on his way.

Bronte let her breath out in a rush, not realizing until he’d disappeared that she’d been holding her breath, braced for assault.

The books were welcome. She’d felt a twinge of resentment when she recognized them and realized they’d been filched from her office, but then it had dawned on her that she was probably several light-years from her office already and unlikely ever to see anything that had been left behind again. And she realized it was comforting to have familiar things around her, even though it also made her feel a pang of homesickness.

Besides, the books gave her something to occupy herself with other than the dark, unnerving thoughts that had been her constant companion since they’d snatched her away from the life she’d had. She’d read most of them already, but there were a few that she’d been meaning to get around to reading and hadn’t been able to find the time. Those on the list of ‘to be read’ were primarily novels she’d bought purely for entertainment. They