Romance: Bonded to the Alien Prince: (Scifi Alien BBW Romance) (Alien Invasion Space Opera Romance)

by Ruby Scott

  Bonded to the Alien Prince

  An Alien Abduction Romance

  By: Ruby Scott

  Table of Contents

  Bonded to the Alien Prince

  BONUS BOOKS:

  Taken by the Bear

  Chosen by Two Bears

  Bride for Two Bears

  Claimed by the Cowboy Bear

  Craved by the Alien Lord

  Stepbrother’s Secret

  Billionaire’s Secret

  Secret Baby with my College Professor

  Trey: My Boyfriend’s Dad

  Forbidden Billionaire

  Forbidden Military Hero

  Forbidden Outlaw

  Forbidden Badass

  Riding the Alpha Cowboy

  Desired by Two Alphas

  His Russian Darling

  Her Montana Outlaw

  The Unwanted Bride

  The Bride’s Divided Heart

  EXCLUSIVE BONUS BOOK by Kristen Chase!

  Bonded to the Alien Prince

  Jennifer looked nervously at her watch, unable to keep her brown eyes still as she waited for the taxi to start moving again. They’d been stopped in traffic for four minutes and counting, and they needed to get moving in the next two if they wanted to be early. Ten more minutes delay in their schedule, and they would certainly be late. Horns sounded around the car continuously, filling the air with a dissonant symphony of engines and electronic beeps. Anxiety curled in her stomach, and she took a deep breath; her chest swelled so that the buttons on her blue blouse threatened to pop, and she saw the driver’s gaze dart to the window of cleavage her bra offered before returning his eyes back to the road. Jen Parker was used to being gawked at---she was what some of the more tactless men who courted her called “a real woman”; wide hips, a large, round backside, and a generous helping of bosom to balance it out. She ignored the driver since his glances were harmless, but she wondered briefly if the cut of her blouse was too low for meeting her husband for the first time.

  Fiancé, she reminded herself internally, but it was too late; her mind stumbled over the word husband and her heart was hammering in her ribcage. All week she’d been like this: cool as a cucumber one moment, drenched in adrenaline the next. For the last two months, Jen had allowed herself to be wooed by an— admittedly—breathtakingly handsome and wildly generous stranger, until she’d finally agreed to marry him and fly three thousand miles across the country to be his wife. No matter how many saccharine emails, thoughtful gifts and tasteful evening gowns he sent her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all someone’s idea of a sick joke. Maybe one of her old college classmates finally found their opportunity for revenge, or maybe this was part of some elaborate scheme for a prank show on television. Jen even considered the possibility that she was dreaming. After the plane ride, she thought she would be able to break free from the feeling of unreality, but she still hadn’t managed to shake it.

  Finally, the car began to move through traffic, and it was like someone hit the play button on a paused video; the car jerked forward, resisting the motion before its engine propelled the taxi a few inches forward into space. After a moment, they were moving at a good clip, and Jen could see the freeway exit they were meant to take.

  “You okay?”

  Jen jumped as the driver’s low voice broke through her daze. She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily before answering, trying to ground herself in the backseat of the car. “Fine, thank you.” She tried to smile and was sure that it was stiff and awkward; still, the driver turned his eyes forward again and nodded. Jen looked at herself in the slim rearview mirror, thankful her smooth tanned skin didn’t pale under pressure. She wanted to look as cool and collected as possible, especially since Oliver would apparently be her regular driver. Owen had said personal assistant in his emails, but Jen assumed that he wouldn’t be driving now if this were meant to be her car. She remembered their last phone conversation, which had been both far too short and entirely too nerve-wracking. Hearing Owen's honeyed, sonorous tones sent a violent shiver down her spine no matter how often she heard it; she thought it would be even worse in person.

  “Why do I need a driver?” she’s asked him.

  “You don’t need one,” Owen admitted. “But if you’re going to be running your own business, the less you have to think about, the better. I know that personally, I like using my commute for practical reasons, but you might want to use it just to relax. Sometimes you have less time than you think to breathe.”

  And with that worrisome pronouncement, Jen had considered the argument closed. She hated driving anyway, and the truth was, she actually loved feeling like she was being served; when her friends used to drive her to and from appointments before she had a car while living in Virginia, she would insist on sprawling in the back seat---much to their chagrin. But now, it just felt wrong; she didn’t know this man and hadn’t done anything for him to merit being given such splendor. She felt like a gold digger.

  “A gold digger?” Violet, her best friend, had snorted at her when she tried bringing it up. “Jennifer, you are marrying a man who is looking for a special kind of trophy wife. You are that special kind of trophy wife.”

  “I’m still a trophy wife!” Jen said, indignant.

  “Did you miss the word ‘special’?” Violet tugged on her crimson braid, feigning annoyance. “He stipulated that he wanted someone upwardly mobile and kind-hearted.” She smiled as she laid gentle stressed on the key words. “You’re the warmest, most determined person I know. You’re going to do good with the money and power. I know it.”

  Despite her friend’s assurance, Jen couldn’t calm her nerves. The closer they got to her new home, the more jittery she became; as they pulled onto a tree-lined lane with huge houses situated in yards more spacious than any she’d ever seen in California so far, her hands began to tremble. Calm down, she scolded herself internally; remember, he said he wouldn’t pressure you into anything you weren’t comfortable with. The driver pulled the car up a long brick driveway leading to a three-story manor painted a shocking powder pink hue. Many of the windows were trimmed in light purple, and the front door was a soft green, almost mint. The yard was covered with ostentatious topiary bushes and a large marble fountain at the foot of the driveway, complete with an enormous cupid spurting water from its bow. She couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but Jen could hear Chopin’s Etude no. 3 Opus 10 floating over the grounds and through the tinted windows of the town car.

  Oliver chuckled as his eyes flickered over Jen’s stunned expression. “ Mr. James likes his pastels,” he said by way of explanation. “And no one said that a rich man had to have good taste.”

  Jen laughed, startled by Oliver’s candor. He winked and shot her a disarming smile from the driver’s seat as he put the car in park and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’ll grab your bags for you.”

  “I can get my bags,” Jen said quickly.

  Oliver flushed and suddenly looked apologetic. “I meant no offense, Miss,” he said as she pulled one of her trunks from the backseat of the car.

  What? She frowned, puzzled by his reaction for a moment; then her expression smoothed out, and she gave him a genuine laugh for only the second time during their two hours of knowing each other. “I think you misunderstood me. All I’ve really brought with me is sewing equipment and some accessories; all of my other items were shipped on their own. I just…insist on never being separated from my kit.”

  Oliver’s pudgy
face had returned to its normal shade, and his smile showed his relief. “Oh, phew! I was afraid I’d come off condescending.”

  “I know a jerk when I see one,” Jen said, arching one eyebrow playfully; she felt more relaxed now that she was out of traffic and facing Oliver, whose gaze didn’t seem to be roving now. “I think you might be trouble, but I don’t think you’re a jerk.”

  Oliver laughed appreciatively, holding his considerable gut as he chuckled; Jen realized at that moment that he hadn’t been completely comfortable with her, either. He wiped his eyes as he spoke again. “It’s been a long time since anybody thought I was going to be trouble.” Then he turned and walked up the short walkway with her toward the sprawling Edwardian-style manor, pausing briefly to let her get caught up.

  “So, you superstitious?” he asked conversationally.

  Jen was still staring at the house’s paint job with a mixture of uncertainty and awe, so she didn’t register that she’d been asked a question until nearly ten seconds had passed. He must be talking about my refusal to be separated from my sewing kit. “What? Oh! No, just sentimental.”

  Oliver nodded as though he understood perfectly. Jen had warmed to him enough to feel comfortable assuming that he did, instead of believing he was simply humoring her. It occurred to her that she was about as comfortable with Oliver in person after only two hours as she was over the phone and via webcam with Owen after two deceptively short months. It seemed to her that they had chemistry, and he really did seem taken with her—but would that persist when he finally saw what she was like? She’d resisted the pull of serious long-term relationships—and then marriage—for so long that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to cohabitate with another person, especially one that was so clearly interested in her despite his distinct lack of pressuring. Unbidden, images of past lovers and their reasons for leaving sprang to mind.

  There was Andrew, who was intimidated by her string of lucrative internships at apparel design studios all over the East coast. He left after claiming she made him want to do better— then later admitted that her wild success made him feel worse. There was Eric, who didn’t like how submissive she was in bed, and whose insistence on dominance made her so uncomfortable that they stopped having sex halfway into the relationship. Most painfully was Jacob, who didn’t like his odds at unseating the field of clothing design as her brightest passion and sole life’s purpose—it was roughly zero, as long as he was unwilling to postpone a grand wedding and luxurious honeymoon while she pursued her time-exhaustive dreams. Jacob— with his short brown curls, deep green eyes, and swimmer’s body—had been especially hard to shake; his insatiable lust had made her feel consumed in a way she never thought she could enjoy, but he wanted to rule more than just her carnal desires. Jen shivered, remembering the earth-rending feeling during the weeks and months after she finally ended their two-year relationship; it scared her that he wanted her to belong him, in the most traditional sense, because she’d never wanted any of the fuss or frills a legal union often came with. Do you really expect Mr. Moneybags to be different? a voice in her head whispered suddenly.

  “Miss Parker?”

  Jen jumped, and she was startled to find that after Oliver pulled the door open for her, she’d paused with one foot in mid-air, hovering over the threshold. The door opened onto a gleaming hall with green and white tile that shone like polished pearls. She could smell the organic wax the staff must use to keep these floors pristine each day. Jen had never paid anyone to clean her house for her—but she’d also never been with anyone for money before. Was she really prepared to do this?

  “Is something wrong?”

  There’s no turning back. The pages have been turned. Hell, the whole book’s closed, and this is a brand new one.

  She put her foot down and hurried into the hall. “Uh…sorry, no. Just had a little moment.”

  Oliver smiled, and it was kind and understanding. “I understand. You’ll be having a lot of those.”

  He turned and strolled down the hall before Jen could ask what he meant; surely he just meant that it would take some time for her to adjust to the house, but his tone somehow implied something more. He took her around the corner, down a hall with identical tiling and spotless cream walls. The second hall opened into a handsome study, almost out of a magazine for wealthy lawyers or tenured university professors, with a lush green carpeting, supple leather armchairs, two huge desks, and four walls lined from floor to vaulted ceiling with books.

  “Mister James asked me to request you wait here,” Oliver explained in response to her puzzled look.

  “He doesn’t want me to get settled?”

  Oliver smiled. “He does, but he needs to speak with your first. And…” he looked over his shoulder, his face suddenly tense and guarded. “I have to warn you. It’s going to be a lot to discuss, but he’s told me lots about you, and I really think you should consider what he says before you make any rash decisions. “

  Jen felt her heartbeat speed up, and she narrowed her eyes at the man. “What? What are you talking about?”

  But he was already walking away. “I expect I’ll see you soon, Miss Parker.” He hesitated for a split second before continuing down the hall, closing the door of the enormous study behind him and leaving her alone in the luxurious, unfamiliar room.

  The music was still issuing quietly from somewhere around her—it sounded like it was coming from every direction, in fact, but that couldn’t be correct. Jen finally lifted her head to take a look at the ceiling and saw that there were speakers embedded in it, and in some of the tall bookcases.

  Fancy, she thought as she paced around the room, her heeled boots sinking into the thick green carpet as she eyed some of the titles. Old medical textbooks, texts on physics, the Egyptian Empires, math, and linguistics populated one shelf, and two whole walls seemed to be dedicated to fiction. Jen saw The Mote In God’s Eye and Stranger in a Strange Land alongside Speaker of the Dead and The Sirens of Titan. Cloud Atlas, Vurt and Brave New World boasted multiple copies on one part of the shelf. He’d mentioned he was a reader, but she hadn’t expected to see so many of her favorites stocked. She pulled a book down from the shelf and walked over to one of the armchairs, folding her curvy legs beneath her as she opened to the first page. If he’s making me wait, I might as well get comfortable and entertain myself.

  As soon as Jen got a few pages in, a gentle vibrating motion distracted her from her reading. Her shoulder-length curls were vibrating as well, and she looked around in panic as she wondered if she was meant to die in California in a massive earthquake before her new life even begun. She contemplated diving under the heavy oak desk to her right, but the vibrating was so subtle that it was hardly detectable at all after a moment; this isn’t an earthquake, she thought, confused. Jen looked around the room, noticing the fine treble of the ornate desk lamp emitting a bar of yellowish light. Was a large truck, passing, perhaps—or a fleet of them? Only one way to find out.

  She stood up carefully, closing the book and placing it on the chair as she walked over to one of the windows of the room, which were covered by plush red curtains tied together by a thick golden rope. They were heavy and soft, crinkling like crushed velvet under her fingers. As Jen gripped them, a scent came wafting out of the material—lavender and vanilla, with a hint of something sharper.

  “Talk about ostentatious,” she muttered under her breath as her fingers gracefully untied the knot bunching the curtains together. Her nimble fingers made quick work of the fat knot, and a moment later, she was slowly spreading the fabric apart to let in the light from outside.

  At first, Jen thought she was looking at some sort of wallpaper, and then at some sort of digital screen. Instead of the gaudy yard and the shining sun, she was looking at a stretch of inky blackness interrupted only by twinkling pinpoints of light in pink, blue, and white hues. After a second, she saw that the twinkles were moving around the black space, zipping by the window as though they were sailing past them.
What the hell is this? Why is it dark? Have I been drugged? And are those…No. They can’t be.

  Her heart thudding in her chest, Jen turned on her heel and hurried to the door, seizing the handle with both hands and pulling the way she remembered seeing Oliver do. It didn’t budge, not even when she leaned back with the full force of her weight and jerked her body back like a man being hung. When the door still didn’t move, she let out a panicked yelped and spun around—only to have her breath frozen in her throat.

  A huge wheat-orange planet was looming ever larger in the window, and as they passed it, Jen could clearly see a large, burnt sienna spot swirling on its face. Its body was striped in greyish whites and tawny, and it resemble a great marble, especially as it sank out of sight and shrank smaller and smaller in a distance. The huge planet receded, but stayed visible for far longer than any of the other stars. She was looking at Jupiter.

  I’m in space.

  She collapsed to the floor suddenly, and she was grateful for the extra cushioning on her backside. Panic was washing over her, turning her blood into ice as her heart tried frantically to push her cold blood through her veins. I can’t be seeing this; I’m hallucinating. I really am being drugged. It’s the only option.

  Footsteps came down the hall behind the door, and Jen was so scared and bewildered that she couldn’t even move to see who was going to open the door. She heard the lock slide open, followed by the twist of the door handle, and then the door closed again. She drew a deep breath, let it out, then drew another, and finally tried speaking.

  “Oliver?”

  A man’s voice laughed, and the sound rolled over her skin like a gentle massage. “Not who I wanted you to expect first…but I am happy you seem to have warmed to your driver.”

  Jen scrambled to her feet and spun around to finally face Owen James, the six-and-a-half foot owner of the traveling manor she was standing in. He was a little more tan than he looked when she last chatted with him on webcam, but everything else was the same: soft, wavy brown hair that fell just around his ears; incredibly broad shoulders and a barrel chest Jen only saw on modern strongmen and in cartoons; long legs sprouting from slim hips, the whole package clad in dark slacks and a true-blue button down that brought out the cobalt blue of his eyes. He was smiling, and it had the same disarming quality as Oliver; she wondered if, somehow, they were related. Then a heat passed briefly over his gaze—a look that, however brief and unfamiliar, made her shiver down to her bones.