He wasn't like some of his fellow GhostWalkers, who seemed to walk into a room and have half the female population enthralled--and that had nothing to do with their enhancements and everything to do with their good looks, charisma, or both, none of which he had.
No matter what, the living came first.
Malichai knew there wasn't much to see, other than he was combat-hardened. His experience showed in the lines in his face, in the calm he displayed under all conditions and the flat, cold look in his eyes.
Malichai had grown up fierce, using his fists, learning every form of underhanded street-fighting known to man, and he'd learned it was life or death. He'd chosen life.
She was beautiful all riled up. His heart was going a little crazy and all at once he felt very much alive. Maybe this vacation thing wasn't going to be so bad.
He wasn't going to get caught staring at her and reveal that she had the upper hand.
