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

She discovered when she looked up at him that Gideon was watching her with a strange look on his face. “What?”

He swallowed hard and looked away. “I look forward to reaching the city, as well.”

She studied his face searchingly. “What’s wrong?”

He looked uncomfortable. “We do not have a house,” he said finally. “Gabriel, Jerico, and I have always stayed in the barracks when we are here. There seemed no reason to have more. We will find a house once we return, though, or built to suit ourselves.”

Bronte frowned. Somehow she thought the lack of a house was only part of what had unsettled him. “Where will we live until then?”

He gave her that same strange look, but this time he smiled and moved closer. Lifting a hand, he cupped her cheek. “We will find a place.” He paused. “It seems … strange to think of having a home. I had not thought beyond convincing you to sign with us. I do not think I really believed you would or I would have planned. I do not ordinarily overlook such important details.”

Bronte smiled and moved closer, settling her cheek against his chest. “It wouldn’t have helped if you had planned. We would still have to find a place to live,” she said, turning her head to kiss his chest.

He ran his hands over her back, molding her against his length. For a moment, he merely held her. Finally, he caught her shoulders to steady her and stepped away. “I am not certain that I can manage only affection at the moment,” he said huskily, then seemed to think it over. “I can. My cock can not.”

Bronte chuckled, but his comments stirred desire within her, too—for the second time that day. Undoubtedly, she thought wryly, she was getting much better. After a moment’s hesitancy, where she wavered between the urge to tempt him and the realization that she wasn’t in any shape to be having sex even if she did want it, she returned her attention to scrubbing herself the best she could with her hands and then wet her hair and scrubbed her scalp. When she’d rinsed it out the best she could, Gideon moved around her until he was behind her, urged her to tip her head back and used his fingers to sort the tangles as her hair floated in the water. It was not only surprisingly effective in bringing order to her wild locks, the water made it easier to untangle the snarls.

She was shivering by the time they reached the beach and, as Gideon had said, grateful for the blanket even though it didn’t smell particularly appealing.

“Tomorrow,” Gideon said as they finally settled to eat. “We will leave.”

Chapter Nineteen

Bronte woke to the sound of the men packing the gear that they’d recovered from the crash. Seeing her stir, Gideon separated himself from the others and approached her. She saw he was caring a garment such as they wore and blinked at it sleepily before sending him a questioning glance.

“It is not much, but better, I think, than nothing,” he said gruffly. “We tore the uniform from you to attend your injuries.”

Smiling her thanks, Bronte took it and struggled to get to her feet. She saw his hand clench as he watched her and sent him another questioning glance when she’d finally managed to stand. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?” she asked uncomfortably.

He lifted his brows.

“That I’m … such a mess now.”

He frowned, a flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes.

“That I’m … awkward and scarred.”

“Yes,” he said. “It … disturbs me a great deal that you were hurt. And more that you do not want my help.”

The hurt that had pricked her eased. “You don’t think I’m ugly?”

He sent her a startled look. “No. I think you are beautiful.”

She smiled at him tentatively then, wondering if he was only saying it to make her feel better. But then she realized Gideon didn’t lie. He withheld the truth. He might say only a partial truth, but he’d never lied to her. “It’s not that I don’t want your help, you know,” she said more easily as she focused on trying to figure out how to put the loincloth on. “I just need to do as much as I can for myself.”

He knelt when he saw she was having trouble figuring it out, took the loincloth from her, and put it on her, adjusting it so that it fit snugly around her hips. “I know this … to regain your strength, but also because you are strong willed and want to do things yourself.” He frowned. “It made me feel … necessary when you needed my help, and not so much now.”

When he looked up at her, his gaze snagged on her breasts. He reached to cup one in each hand, massaged them gently and then withdrew his hands. “We need to cover these pretty things, as well,” he said, his eyes gleaming with both amusement and desire. “Else Gabriel and Jerico will be tripping over their feet.”

Bronte lifted her head to look at them when he said that. Both men were glaring at Gideon. “And you would not?” Jerico finally said, irritation evident in his voice.

Gideon slid an easy grin in their direction. “Nay! I am more surefooted than either of you. I would stop to look, and then I would step.”

He frowned as he straightened and looked around. “I think we must sacrifice a piece of the smelly blanket unless either of you wish to donate your loincloth and go about with your cock and balls swinging.”

Bronte chuckled. “That might distract me.”

Gideon, who’d just reached down to snag the blanket, looked up at her and grinned. “In that case, mayhap we will all donate.”

She laughed but shook her head. “I wouldn’t want your pretty things to get sunburned.”

“There is that,” Gabriel agreed, sounding mildly disappointed as he turned away at last and focused on stirring up the fire from the night before to heat food