Trapped: A SciFi Convict Romance (The Condemned Book 1) (11 page)

Blinking slowly, she considered him for a long moment, those
grass green eyes slicing right through his darkness. Then she surprised him.
She leaned forward and kissed the skin right over his heart. Just like she’d
done before. “There
is
honor on
Dragath25. And selflessness, too. Thank you,
Caine
.
For everything.”

The place where she’d kissed him burned as if he’d been
seared. His heart slamming against his ribs as if he’d run a mile.

Suddenly, there was no more ability to hold back. He sank
deep inside, watching her beautiful, knowing eyes shut as pleasure gripped her
and she moved easily with his fierce pace. As if they were made for one
another.

She really did think he was one of the good guys—and damn
him, but he wanted to be that for her. Even if it was too late. Even if what
had happened with his wife had made that impossible.

But somehow, when he was deep inside his fighter girl like
this, her legs wrapped around his waist, her full breasts rubbing against his
chest, he didn’t care how stupid it was. He wanted to be her everything. He
wanted to be her hero forever.

Which, like it or not, meant letting her go.

The realization sliced straight through his chest like a
rusty blade. One of these days soon, there’d be no more touches. No more palms
laced together, her slender fingers anchoring him, soothing him. No more soft
silk beneath his fingertips or breathy moans in his ear or watching her eyes
light up with awe when he showed her a new location of plants and trees.

It would all come to an end just like he’d always known it
would.

Because even with his fighter girl’s impressive spirit, she’d
never survive long on Dragath25. Not with 225’s pack on her trail. Today had
driven that home.

“Everything okay?” Her concerned tone slapped him back to the
present.

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped moving.

 
“Sure, fighter girl.”
He lifted her higher, shifting the angle so his palm could slide down her belly
to play with her clit. “Everything is just the way it should be.”

He wasn’t one of the good guys, and he couldn’t keep her
forever, but he could do something right with what he had left of his life. He
could do whatever it took to get her safely back on that rescue shuttle and
able to save the precious Earth she was so keen to protect. He could, when the
time came, let her go—and deal with whatever 225 threw his way.

But not a minute before he had to.

Because, yes, he was a selfish bastard. But also because he
knew deep in his bones he was her best chance of staying alive until the rescue
crew arrived.

He hadn’t been able to save his wife, but he would safeguard
Bella.

And watching her come apart, her skin flushed, her tits
jiggling up and down as she rode him hard, well,…in the meantime that was a
hell of a consolation prize. One he’d be replaying over and over when she was
back where she belonged and he was alone again.

Chapter Eleven

Bella’s shoulder hit the ground first, her teeth vibrating
inside her skull.

Exhausted, sweaty, her muscles screaming, she
flopped
onto her back and surveyed the rust-colored cave
ceiling overhead. It was as austere as the rest of
Caine’s
home.

She’d had little chance to look around when they’d arrived in
near darkness late last night, her body exhausted from the trek and the day’s
events, her eyes barely able to stay open.

But from what she could tell in the light of day, she hadn’t
missed much. Beyond the weapon arena she was currently lying in, there was a
kitchen area with a fire pit and stocks of food and water and a separate area
with a bed. A surprisingly comfy bed she wished she was still in.

Supposedly, there was a warm spring in one of the back
caverns, but she hadn’t seen any evidence of it yet.
Caine
had been too intent on getting going with her training. While she might not be
accountable for every waking movement as she had been under Council protocol,
her current situation suddenly didn’t feel too different.

Truth be told, the
Caine
who faced
her now appeared almost as rigid. Much like his home. Everything in his place
was neat and orderly and very utilitarian. There was nothing that didn’t serve
a purpose. Nothing that suggested frivolity or fun. Nothing that indicated what
the hell he’d been doing for the last eight years besides trying to survive.

“I really thought I had you that time.” It wasn’t true, but
if she said it often enough, maybe he’d believe she was actually improving and
let her take a break. She hadn’t realized he’d be quite this intense about her
training.

“Again.” Without warning,
Caine
grabbed her wrist and lifted her to her feet, his scowl firmly in place. She’d
thought yesterday had brought them closer, but apparently, that had been a one-day
scenario, at least on his part. Because whatever tenderness he’d shown after
yesterday’s attack was nowhere to be found today. In its place was a guarded
reserve she didn’t welcome or understand.

Unless they were having sex. Then she sensed the same
desperation he’d shown when they first met. In fact, when she’d woken up early
this morning, he’d fucked her like he might never again. Then he’d done it
three more times. Her legs were still rubbery.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself not to jump to
conclusions. After all, he’d been on his own a long time. They had limited time
to train. He was used to a hard way of life. Not to mention it might take some
time for him to grow accustomed to having someone else under foot all the time.

The list of justifications went on and on. Plus, it was no
small thing that he was pushing her so she could defend herself against
monsters like the one she’d encountered yesterday—and she wanted that, too.
Wanted to be able to defend against anything that might come her way.
Especially since she hadn’t given up on saving the approaching Council rescue
shuttle and finding a way to return to Earth.

“Remember to watch your left. You’re dropping it every time.”
He bent into a crouch, the flickering light from the glow torches on the walls
dancing off the carved muscles of his stomach highlighting every mouthwatering
shift and flex. His sexy happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of a
pair of faded
camo
pants that sat low on his hips.
Honestly, the man was temptation itself.

She didn’t know if the shift from the loincloth was a laundry
issue or a sign he was embracing more of the man he’d once been, but she was
taking it as a good omen.

He’d given her a new faded t-shirt to wear as well. It was as
roomy as the last, but free of dust and dirt and hung to her knees—which was
good since she still had no underwear. Outside, wind and dust battered at the
thick cave walls, as loud as a shuttle engine.

The dust storm, which had started early this morning, had
made it impossible for them to head out to warn her crew about 225 and the
trackers. A situation that had worried her until
Caine
pointed out 225’s men were trapped as well.

Her breath left her in a rush as her feet swept out from
under her.

Caine
had come at her while she was
lost in thought. She braced herself for a jarring landing. But like last time,
he caught her at the last minute, slowing her decent so she landed with one
tenth the force. Still, her shoulder smarted.

“You’re not paying attention,” he barked. “You need to stay
on guard. Alert. Any distraction can get you killed.”

Still on her back, she looked up to find him glowering down
at her, his arms crossed over his wide chest. Even with that frown, he was
beautiful. His chiseled cheekbones and square jaw pure masculinity. His bronzed
skin covered in ropey muscle after muscle. The crisscross of scars across his
body proved him every inch the warrior. Still, there was no give in him at all.
In his body. In his demeanor. In his approach.

Her determination to be optimistic wavered. Could he already
regret bringing her to his home?

Maybe that wouldn’t have bothered her if she still thought of
him as only a short-term necessity to endure. But her feelings had been
shifting, little by little—perhaps even from the moment he’d first touched her
with that look of awe—and after yesterday, they’d solidified. Her desire to
please him increasingly prompted by far more than the instinct to survive and
the deal they’d made.

He might be a Dragath25 criminal; he might have done awful
things in his past, but that wasn’t who he was with her.

All her life, she’d been around people—crowded into tight
spaces to optimize scarce resources and space—but even so, she’d been alone.
Isolated by her responsibilities and her ambition. Sure, she’d dated a few men
here and there and indulged in some quick, perfunctory sex when her needs
became too great, but none of those affairs had ever lasted beyond a few weeks.
None had ever been worth risking her position and allowing herself to get
close.

But
Caine
was different. She’d
had
to depend on him or die, and in the
process, she was pretty certain she’d opened herself up to him as she never had
to anyone else. It made her feel ripped wide open and…vulnerable…. maybe,
embarrassingly enough, even a little insecure.

He mattered to her. She wanted to matter to him as well.

Which made his aloofness this morning all the more troubling.

Pushing onto her elbows, she studied him, searching for any
clues to what he was thinking. “Let’s take a break. Maybe talk? I know so
little—”

“No breaks.”

She was flying through the air to land on her feet in the
next instant.

“Stop doing that.” She shook off his hold. “I can get up
myself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But can you stay up?”

“This time you’re going down, smart ass.” Irritated, she went
into her own crouch, murmuring to herself. “Left hand by the face. Weight on
balls of the feet. Grab his wrist, turn, use his momentum….”

Then he was coming at her and there was no more time to
think. Just act.

Her shoulder met the ground again. “That’s it.” She rolled to
sit, her elbow propped on her knees. Yes, she wanted to learn to defend herself,
but she needed time to clear her head. “You’ve pummeled me enough for the
morning. I need a rest.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You think 225’s men are going to
go easy on you?” He stalked forward until their bare feet were touching. “I
can’t be around every minute.” His voice was rough with tension. His features
taut. “Come on, Gwen, at least make a god damn effort.”

Her ears twitched, every nerve going on alert. “Gwen? Who’s
Gwen?”

His expression blanked. “Don’t worry about it.” He flowed
back into his offensive stance as if nothing had happened. “Let’s get back to
it, fighter girl. Keep your weight evenly distributed. You can do this.”

She didn’t move.

For some stupid reason, she’d never considered he might have
a woman in his life. Someone he missed. Someone he thought of every time he was
fucking her.

 
“My name is Bella. Not
fighter girl.” It was suddenly important that he call her that. That she hear
her
name on his lips.

“What?”

“I’d like you to call me Bella.”

His lips flat-lined. “You think it makes a difference what I
call you?”

“You should at least know the name of the woman you’re
currently fucking.”

He stretched to his full, intimidating height, tense silence
filling the room; ominous, heavy.

Her heart skittered inside her chest, all her silly,
happily-ever-after imaginings crumbling to dust.

“You know what, Bella?” he said at last, her name sounding
almost like a curse. “You were right before. We could both use a break.”

From training? Or the deal? She was too afraid to ask for
fear she wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, she watched in silence as he
stalked to the kitchen area and grabbed a cup of water. And even though she
could see his Adam’s apple sliding up and down as he drank deep, even though
she could see the sexy curve of his lip as he held the cup to his mouth, he
could have been a solar system away with the length of the distance he’d put
between them.

Chapter Twelve

“What are you working on?” Tired of the impasse that had kept
them in separate corners of the cave for the last hour, Bella crossed to where
Caine
was hunched over a mish-mash collection of colorful,
frayed wires and beat up circuits. It must have taken years to accumulate it
all.

“Not much.” He didn’t look up.

“Is that the start of an engine for some kind of space ship?”

He snorted.

Yes, that’s what she’d thought, but a girl could hope. “What
is it then?”

“Just a heap of trash now.”

“And when it’s done?”

There was a long pause. The pounding of the storm debris
against the cave walls only made the quiet inside more acute.

“Fine.” She turned away, her voice tight and sharp. “We don’t
have to talk at all. Silence is good, too.”

A hand wrapped around her ankle, checking her in place.

“I’ve had eight years of silence, Bella.” This time her name
held no anger. “I don’t need anymore.”

Guilt settled low in her stomach. She might have been on her
own her whole life, but
Caine
had been truly alone.
No siblings to offer a smile or a hug. No colleagues with which to discuss the
latest theories. No bunkmates to commiserate with over a late night of
smuggled-in banned drinks.

What right did she have to begrudge him memories of people
from his past? Or take his reserve personally? Maybe she would never matter to
him like he did to her, but they could still co-exist. She swallowed past the
lump in her throat and pretended her chest didn’t hurt.

“Okay.” She plopped down on the floor beside him, her own
form of olive branch. “Can I help?” She gestured toward his project.

“Sure.” He handed her a couple unattached wires. “See if you
can peel away the burnt coating. It’s no good anymore, but the wire beneath
could still be useful.”

She got to work. Sitting side by side, working in tandem,
was…relaxing. Peaceful. Washing away the last of the tension between them. At
his urging, she told him about her childhood, her brother and sister, and her
work. Though he didn’t say much, she did manage to learn he’d grown up on one
of the rare working farms still in existence twenty years ago and that he’d
traveled to a heck of a lot more places on Earth than she’d ever been.

It was nice simply being together. Learning his habits. The
way his brow drew down when he was concentrating. The way he rubbed at the scar
on his right thumb when he was listening to her stories, a faint smile on his
gorgeous face.

A while later, she got up to get some water.
Caine
kept working away. His project still resembling
nothing she could identify.

“Are you sure that’s not a space ship engine that can fly us
out of here?”

He took the water she proffered, his throat muscles moving up
and down as he took a long drink. “Still dreaming of us both getting out of
here, fighter
gi
—ah, Bella?”

“Of course. The good guys always win in the end,” she joked,
appreciative he’d made an effort to use her name.

“Good guys, huh?” He looked hard at the jumble of wires.
“What if I told you when it’s done it will be something similar to the
equipment used by 225’s pack to override your shuttle’s computers?”

“The thing that caused us to crash?” She suddenly didn’t even
like looking at the contraption. It felt ominous. And deadly.

He ran his hand over one of the wires. “Exactly.”

“Why would you make something like that?” Her voice came out
shriller than intended, memories of the crash making her throat go tight.

His fingers stilled. “Why do you think?”

“I don’t know, but I’m certain it’s not for the same purpose
used by 225. You’re not a killer.”

“I’m not?” The deliberate way he placed his work onto the
ground and unfolded to stand above her proved they’d waded back into dangerous
territory. “I killed that tracker.”

“That was different.”

“Was it? A life gets taken all the same.”

She stood, trying to lessen the space between them. “If you
hadn’t killed those men, they would have killed us. You were acting in
self-defense.”

“I haven’t always.” His admission was a harsh whisper. “You
say I’m some kind of good guy, but these hands that have been all over you?
That have been deep inside your pussy and worked you good? These hands you’re
thinking can easily tag along when you fly away from Dragath25? These are
killer hands, fighter girl.” He held them out in front of him, curling them
into fists, making the web of milky white scars stand out all the more against
his bronze skin. “There’s no washing that away. Or pretending otherwise. No
matter what.”

“People can change,” she said a little desperately, not sure
how they’d ended up here. Or why he kept deliberately trying to push her away.
“People can make mistakes and then fix them and move on.”

He took a step closer, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
“What if I don’t think I made a mistake? What if I’d do the same thing that put
me here over and over again?”

She took a step back, the certainty in his voice, in his
guilt, in his conviction that he wasn’t worth saving, raising her own doubts.
“I don’t….” She honestly wasn’t sure how to respond, but there was one thing
she did know for sure. “Whatever happened in the past, you can't use that
device to bring down another shuttle. That would make you a monster.”

His hands fisted by his side. “I’m going for some air.” He
stalked toward the door.

“But there’s a dust storm. You can’t go out in that.”

“It’s settling now.”

She couldn’t let this drop. She couldn’t let him dodge this
issue because she feared his disapproval or worse. “I won’t let you use this
thing on another shuttle like mine.”

He paused with his hand on the door handle, his back still to
her. “People can change, huh?”

“Yes.” Relief whispered through her. Maybe she’d reached him
after all.

“You sure you believe that, fighter girl?” He looked over his
shoulder, his jaw tight. “Because I never said I built that device intending to
bring down a shuttle.”

She opened her mouth to respond. Nothing came out.

“That kind of stuff is for sadists like 225 and his pack,” he
continued. “I might be a killer and a criminal, but I’m not like them. I
planned on using my jammer to seize control of one of the unmanned droids that
dump trash twice a year. More recently though, I was trying to get it to jam a
device similar to itself so we could stop 225, save your precious search and
rescue team, and get you the hell off Dragath25.”

He shut the door firmly behind him.

It didn’t escape her notice he’d only mentioned her departure.

Or that the first time the tables were turned and he’d needed
her to be his hero—to believe in him no matter what—she’d failed.