Unbound by Kay Danella Page A

me back at any time.” It never changed: he had been helpless against its pull, his essence sucked away despite his struggles.
    Asrial gripped his shoulder. The bite of her fingers drew his attention to her. She met his gaze without wavering, the amber chips in her brown eyes glinting bright, her determination unshaken despite what he had said. “How do we keep you out?”
    He explained what he suspected. It would be easy for her to return him to his prison, but he could not—would not—force himself upon her. He also did not want her in ignorance of his purpose: he would be using her to remain free.

    Asrial smiled, relieved that maintaining Romir’s freedom could be that simple. “So you just need sex?” It was a temporary measure, but it would do for now.
    “Just sex?” he repeated, staring at her with wondering eyes. The display of emotion was more life than she expected to see in him at this point.
    Perhaps a little distraction would be good. His face had been so blank, his body so still, she wanted to make him react, to do something to break through that mask. To see the silver passion that had burned in his eyes when he’d taken her.
    “To keep you out of there.” She played her fingers across his bare chest, thrilling to the broad sweeps of golden muscle. His dark nipple hardened to a tight nub as she circled it, wonderfully responsive to her touch. His chest rose, muscles flexing as she traced them downward. Her fingers snagged on the waistband of the pants once again hanging low on his narrow hips.
    Really, she should have realized long ago that he couldn’t have been an ordinary grounder nor an escaped pleasure bod. His pants were unlike any style she’d seen in the Rim. His body and posture weren’t those of a pleasure bod. And she’d never asked him how he’d come to be on Maj. Maybe she’d turned a blind eye to the indications because that meant getting involved.
    “It’s no problem if it’s sex. That’s easier than extracting a chunk of dazjanite, for example. Or murder.” She stuck her tongue out at him and winked.
    Romir shook his head, pressing his lips together as he fought back amusement. His hair spilled over a shoulder and down his chest, the motion snagging her eye. He’d used his hair on her before, but she’d never taken the time to appreciate it.
    She took a strand, twining it through her fingers, drawn by its unusual length. His hair hung to mid-thigh with not a kink to mar its fall. It marked him as a grounder, and yet there was something alluring about that extravagant curtain of blue black framing such broad shoulders. “Was long hair the fashion for men, in your day?”
    He touched the strand spanning the gap between them, his brows giving a twitch of surprise. “Not for all men, only weavers. By my time, long hair was as much a symbol of our ability as our badges. We grew our hair long because we could.” He shook his head. “Such vanity. It was because of this hair that the Mughelis captured me, instead of killing me outright. If I had cut it, they would not have bothered.” His expression turned distant, his thoughts going where she couldn’t follow.
    Asrial cursed her curiosity for waking yet another unhappy memory. She just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Nine
    The Castel emerged from Jump on the outskirts of the approach lanes, far enough to be safe. The Eskarion Ring flashed steadily in the distance, the interstellar trade’s heart disgorging ship after ship with each scintillating pulse. The enormous structure was the Xerex sector’s gateway to the Inner Worlds, connecting the Rim to the Cyri sector, and the main booster of Xer and Cyrian wealth. Rings gave a corporation virtual control over interstellar trade in the sectors where the Rings were located. The cost of construction was more than any planetary government could justify.
    As they got closer, a galaxy of lights became visible on the far side of the Ring—the inbound traffic headed for the