Secondborn (Secondborn #1)(63)

“I would love to, but some Twilight Forest officers have been having a bit of fun with me. They plan to send me out to the front line again this evening. In a few hours, I’ll be knee-deep in mud and blood.”

“Don’t worry about armoring up tonight. I’ll take care of it. I’ll send a hovercar and an escort for you at twenty-two hundred.” His tone brooks no refusal. I nod and sign off.

I have two hours.

Slipping from my capsule, I make my way to Hawthorne’s bunk. I knock gently on the door. It opens almost immediately. I put my finger to my lips and climb down the steps. He follows me. I lead him to the locker room, into an empty shower closet. I lock the door behind us and face him. “I found a way to avoid being sent to the front.”

“How?”

“You’re not going to like it.” His face loses its cautious smile. “I contacted Clifton Salloway. I’m going to meet him.”

Hawthorne closes his eyes and turns away. “When?”

“Tonight. It’s not what you think. I’m going to make him an offer—one that will be profitable to him. It’ll ensure that he’ll do everything in his power to keep us from the battlefield.”

“Explain.”

“Later. I have to get ready to meet his escort. You have to trust me.”

Hawthorne leans against the shower door. “You think your plan is going to work?”

“I do. I’ll be safe tonight anyway.”

“You understand who he is, right?” Hawthorne asks. “He’s an arms dealer. He sells weapons, legally and illegally. Men like him make their own rules. Men like that don’t do favors for free.”

“I’m going to make him seem more legitimate. I still have the St. Sismode name. It’s synonymous with weapons. I’ll use the name they tried to take from me.”

Hawthorne holds me in his arms. “I wish I could protect you.”

“I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t found me today.” My fingertips slip beneath his shirt, inching it up, exploring his ribs. As I lift the shirt over his head, it turns inside out, like my heart. I let it drop on the floor. Hawthorne’s chest is broad and strong.

His hands go to the hem of my shirt, peeling it away over my head, exposing my military-issue bra. Midnight-blue cotton covers my breasts, a light blue string cinching in a crisscross at my back. Hawthorne reaches around me and unties the lace. The string slips from my back. He keeps the ribbon, tucking it inside the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

I arch my brow.

“It has your scent,” he answers in a gruff voice. He leans his face nearer.

I tilt my lips up to meet his mouth. His kiss weakens my knees. He gathers me closer to him, and the warmth of his forearm against the small of my back is seductive. His fingertips move to my shoulder, sliding off the blue strap. He kisses my skin, and I shiver. An ache builds inside me. My hand slips to his back, feeling the play of his muscles beneath his smooth skin. The tips of my breasts rub his chest. An explosion of heat drenches me.

Hawthorne lifts me in his arms and presses my back against the wall. My legs wrap around his narrow waist. I feel the hard length of him against me. My mouth finds his again. He holds my bottom, his strong fingers digging into my flesh, his tongue caressing mine.

“I don’t want your first time to be in a shower closet,” he says.

“What does it matter where,” I whisper, “as long as it’s with you?”

“When I make love to you, Roselle, it’s going to take longer than a few minutes, and we’ll need protection. They’ll kill our baby and you, too, if you get pregnant. I’ll never let that happen.”

Being secondborn is a curse that never ends. “I hate them,” I hiss. “I hate them all.” Hawthorne sets me on my feet. I pick up my shirt and hold it to me. Angry tears threaten.

“Shh . . .” He embraces me again. “Don’t cry. It’s no good hating them. They can’t feel it, and it will only turn you bitter.”

“We need to change things.”

“We need to stay alive, Roselle. We can work around the rules and still be together. Let me show you.”

He takes my shirt and tosses it to the floor by the door. Blue light flashes from the scanner on the wall when he swipes his left hand beneath it. The showerhead turns on. Warm water soaks us both. A smile tugs at my lips. I look up at him. Water runs over his face and drips from his chin. He returns my smile, staring into my eyes. His hands cup my cheeks. His mouth finds mine again, kissing away everything awful about today.

I lean against him. Hawthorne’s hand strokes my wet hair. His steely muscles tense under my fingertips. I discover he’s a bit ticklish when my unhurt palm caresses his side. He chuckles, his lips grinning against mine. I feel his hands go lower, following my spine to the waistband of my pajama pants. His hand slips underneath the fabric—past my sturdy underwear—to my bare skin. He cups my bottom. I almost melt in his arms. My heart flutters wildly as he explores my body. Eternity wouldn’t be long enough to discover the vastness of him, but the seconds tick by. My fingers tangle in his wet hair. The water turns off. Hawthorne reaches over and swipes his moniker again. It turns back on.

“How did you do that?” I ask.

“I’m a higher rank than you. I get a longer shower.”