Atlas appeared amused at her question. But on second thought, the mask slipped ever so slightly. Was he trying to fool her?

“I don’t think you are,” she said softly.

Atlas watched her, laughter gone as she rounded the table. He wasn’t frowning, and he wasn’t barking orders. It was like their time in the bush, alone. And now they were alone again. . . .

The air thrummed between them. At least it did for Romy. Could he feel it too? Could attraction be only one-sided?

“Do you need help, Atlas?” She would help him if he needed it. She could take a break from scanning and reading for a couple of days.

Grey eyes flashed at her approach and a low hum escaped his lips. But he didn’t say a word.

Romy didn’t quite know what to do once she rounded the table. Instinctively, she laid her hand on his, which was resting palm up on his desk. His warm fingers curled around hers.

His hand was nearly double the size of her own, though he was only a head taller when standing. She met his eyes, hoping he wasn’t seeing a young girl when he looked at her.

“I mean it, Atlas. Are you okay?”

He leaned forwards, the chair tilting with the shift of his weight. She barely knew anything about him, other than he was an excellent crocodile hunter. But his fingers curled about hers and for the first time since she woke on Earth, dangling in her harness, Romy felt secure.

Atlas studied her face. His grey eyes were soft for a change. “Yes, Rosemary. I’m okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Romy knew he wasn’t telling the truth, but it seemed important to him that she believe the lie.

Something bothered her.

“Would you tell me if something was wrong?”

He untangled their entwined fingers, and lifted his hand to her face. Romy tilted her head into the fingers that grazed her jaw.

She peeked up at him through veiled lashes.

He didn’t shift his eyes. “Your skin is so soft.”

He hadn’t answered her question. But she took in his slouched shoulders and let it go.

Romy bent forwards and gave Atlas a whisper of a kiss on his cheek. His unshaven skin scratched at her lips. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

What she really wanted to do was press her lips against his mouth. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. But Romy wasn’t quite brave enough. His cheek seemed safe for now.

Turning away from his sharp intake of breath, she made for the door.

“You should get some rest,” she ordered.

A quiet chuckle reached her ears. “I promise to rest, if you promise not to make any more children cry.”

Romy didn’t believe that dignified an answer and she left the room.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Knot 27 cheered as Deimos took wobbling steps.