Operation: Marauder

Chapter 17

"You're getting mud everywhere," she muttered irately under her breath as she tossed her clothes to the floor. "Asshole." She could say the same thing about him. "You're smearing blood all over the place."

But he took a bullet for you. He's bleeding because of you. He had gotten shot because he was too busy making out with her, which she could tell he regretted. It had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, caught up in adrenaline and tight spaces. Never to happen again. Which was a shame because it had been hot. No one had ever kissed her like that before. Like the only girl he could ever want. Even with a planet, his home, full of women of his species.

Groaning, she leaned back in the tiny metal shower stall and let the cold water sink into her bones. She needed to stop thinking about that kiss. They were stuck on this ship for the next two days. The last thing she wanted was to be the one who made things awkward. Once they got back to the base, she would go back to pretending she wasn't a prisoner in her brother's room.

Or would she? She knew their secret now. What would become of her? Would they throw her in a real prison for knowing or make her sign a non-disclosure contract?

She didn't want to think about any of those things, what life awaited for her when she returned.

She stepped out of the shower, only to realise her clothes were covered in mud. Just when she had begrudgingly decided to step out with the towel wrapped around her to ask Rowan to borrow some clothes, she noticed a bin in the corner with the sign "laundry" over it. Glad she'll at least get clean clothes eventually, she tossed her clothes in the bin. When she shut the lid, the bin shook and gurgled. A minute later, it opened and her clothes were freshly cleaned and dried.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

"God, I love technology." Someone needed to invent this on her planet already. Humming in bliss, she slipped into her warm clothes and snuggled into her jacket. . . which she remembered wasn't hers. It was property of the outrageously gorgeous alien on the other side of this door, possibly captain of this ship, who apparently had some business on Earth with her brother.

Doing her best to tidy up her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom--and dropped her towel.

Rowan was leaning back on a chair, while trying--and failing--to attend to his wound. He was shirtless, his skin seeming to adopt a golden hue under the harsh white light and, given what he had told her about the stronger his people were, the more attractive they were, she wasn't surprised to see he was totally shredded.

It was the markings angling down from his shoulders to his sternum in a V shape that made her drop the towel. They reminded her of cheetah print, except the spots were square. If her eyes didn't deceive her, short hairs dusted the black markings. It was the only hair on his body aside from his head. If she had any doubt about him being an alien before, it was squashed now.

He was too busy growling at his wound to notice her staring, so she quickly regained her composure and approached him. "Do you need a hand?"

That wound wasn't pretty and she was sure bending to patch it up wasn't helping.

"I'm fine."

But she was already taking the disinfected swabs away from him and slapping his attempts to stop her. However, once she won, she could only stare. She knew nothing about Arthonian anatomy. Clearly, because his blood was a deep, deep blue, and that so far had been the most surprising thing she had seen.  "Um, is there anything I should know? Like, will your blood burn me or anything?"

He gave her a dry glare. "Give me the antiseptic."

"No. I want to help. I. . . This is my fault. Let me fix it. Please." Pretending he wasn't an alien, that he was just a regular, sexy man, she started cleaning up the wound. His whole body tensed. He held his hands behind his head, eyes squeezed shut, taking deep, steady breaths. She didn't like that he wouldn't look at her. "I'm sorry," she murmured.