Caid: Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides #3 (Intergalactic Dating Agency)

by Cara Bristol

  My feet still hurt from those damn shoes, and sneaking away would be easier without them, so I grabbed my heels but didn’t put them on. In a revealing demonstration of how pathetic I was, I clutched his designer-labeled shirt to my face and inhaled. Panther cologne, man, and an exotic spice like nothing else on Earth, blended into an intoxicating, irresistible scent. Maybe the champagne hadn’t gone to my head—maybe Caid had. Something about him had messed with my good sense and willpower from the beginning. Maybe he exuded alien pheromones that wreaked havoc with my body chemistry and hormones.

  Perhaps I wasn’t weak and pathetic, but a victim of biology.

  I started to drop his shirt when I noticed a wad in the pocket. Cocktail napkins? I glanced at the bed. He was still asleep. I shouldn’t be doing this. I am now officially snooping. I told my conscience to shut the fuck up and pulled out a cocktail napkin. In the darkness, I could make out the hotel logo and some handwriting. He had another bunch stuffed into his jacket pocket, too. I went to the window where a dim light dribbled in through a gap in the blinds.

  Evie. (323) 555-4578.

  Obviously, a woman from last night’s mixer. But, which one? I didn’t recall an Evie, but it was probably a nickname. I only knew the women’s given names and surnames.

  Caid had a whole slew of names and numbers.

  Let’s get together. Aria.

  Call me. XOXO. Kaylie. She’d marked her napkin with a red lipstick kiss.

  Harper. Mila. Iliana. Sofia…

  I shoved the napkins into the pocket where I’d found them and dropped his shirt and jacket on the floor. He’d been on the verge of telling me his choice last night, when, in my drunken, besotted, horny state, I’d stopped him because I couldn’t handle the answer. I still couldn’t. It would crush me, but the inevitable couldn’t be delayed much longer. I would have to contact him later and find out. The mixer had been a success. Yay. My job was safe. I wiped away a tear.

  Clutching my shoes, I tiptoed across the floor. In the dim, unfamiliar room, my hip banged into the corner of the dresser. “Ow!” I cried.

  “Jessie?” Caid’s sleepy voice called.

  Run! Panic seized me. If he caught me, I’d have to face my humiliating behavior—and get the answer to the question.

  I fled through the closest door and found myself in the large, marble-tiled master bath. No, no. no. Feeling like a cornered animal, I reversed, but as I spun around, I dropped a shoe. Not even pausing to pick it up, I sprinted back into the bedroom. The next door turned out to be a closet. Damnit! I couldn’t get out!

  Bare-chested, hair tousled, horns twitching, Caid was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. “Jessie? What are you doing?”

  I couldn’t face him. Not now. Maybe not ever. Any necessary communication would be done via phone, video app off. No more post-date one-on-one evaluation sessions. Of course, after he selected a woman, there wouldn’t be any reason to meet with him at all.

  I dashed through the only other exit and emerged in a hallway. A rosy glow at the far end seemed to indicate the main room might be that way.

  It was. The blinds to his private balcony were open, letting in the morning sun. Despite my panic, I noted rich hardwood floors and a gigantic leather sectional sofa big enough for a seven-foot alien to sprawl out and watch the TV spanning almost an entire wall. The arched front door was huge—and secured by electronic locks, requiring a password to open.

  I tugged on the knob in vain.

  Password. Password. What would he use? Caid had arrived from a primitive planet caught in an ice age where the people lived in caves and stone huts. He didn’t realize the importance of security. Maybe…I punched in his first name.

  Click! The bolt slid back.

  I yanked on the handle.

  Strong hands grabbed me around the waist. “Jessie, wait.”

  I whipped around. A sheet wrapped toga-style around his lower half, Caid planted one palm next to my ear and moved closer in, trapping me between the wall and his hot bod exuding his irresistible exotic man scent.

  My heart fluttered with panic, but the rest of my body threatened to melt like chocolate in the sun. Damn his pheromones.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” His voice rumbled, wreaking havoc with my good intentions.

  I tried to wet my lips, but my mouth was dry. And furry. I had a feeling my breath smelled bad, too. I averted my face to avoid breathing on him, and because rational thinking came easier when I wasn’t gazing into those dark, sexy bedroom eyes. I focused on his shoulder. His broad, smooth, muscled, naked shoulder. “To…work,” I croaked. Good answer! I cleared my throat. “Work,” I said more strongly.

  “This early? The sun is hardly up.”

  “I need to stop at my apartment first, to uh, shower and change.” Not an excuse. I couldn’t report to the office in the rumpled dress I’d worn the night before.

  This was my first walk of shame, and I wasn’t sure it qualified as one, seeing how nothing had happened. But it felt like it had: guilt, embarrassment, regrets, and a contradictory satisfaction seesawed like we’d boinked all night long. He had a pocketful of phone numbers, but I’d been the one he’d brought home, who’d awakened in his bed. Me—frizzy-haired freckle-faced, forgettable Jessie Hancock. How do you like that, you advanced-degreed beauty-contest-winning skinny skanks?

  But unless sleeping counted, my smugness was misplaced. I’d been wasted, and he’d taken pity on me. Nothing had happened.

  Which one of those women will he choose? I’d been pressuring him to pick a date, and then when he said he was ready, I’d brushed him off. I still didn’t want to know. Once I found out, I would be forced to act on the information and update his records to matched. There would be no more reason for him to call me angel, or babe, or sweet cheeks. No opportunity for him to call me anything because we’d never see each other again.

  “Why didn’t you drive me to my house?” I said. It would have been so much easier if I’d awakened with a hangover in my own bed.

  “Because you fell asleep in the vehicle before I could ask you where you lived.”

  “Oh. Sorry,” I muttered. “I had too much to drink.”

  “A little.” He grinned. His hair went every which way, scruff darkened his jaw, and he was wrapped in a sheet like I’d tumbled him and had had my wicked way with him. I wish. Oh, how I wish we’d had sex. It would be like ripping my heart out when I handed him over to another woman, but I’d have had the one experience, would have one memory to keep me warm.

  I stood there, staring at him, inhaling his scent. He’d never looked or smelled sexier.

  As for me? Well, it wasn’t pretty. And by it, I meant me. I didn’t have to guess at how awful I looked because I’d gotten a horrified eyeful when I’d run into the bathroom by mistake. I couldn’t do anything right. I’d even botched my walk of shame.

  Caid straightened and removed his hand from the door to hitch the sheet snugger around his waist. I put the opportunity to good use and scooted away from him.

  Get on with it, Jessie. Just do it. Ask him.

  I’d spent months getting him to this point, and now I balked, because it would break my already-aching heart. I’d fallen in love with him.

  Ask him, and you can begin to get over him. Do it. I cleared my throat. “I need to ask you…about the mixer last night…about the women. Which one you’ve chosen.”

  “If I choose one of the females from the mixer, then what happens?” His eyes narrowed in calculation.

  “Then you’ll be listed as matched.”

  “No more dates with other women?”

  “No more dates—unless it doesn’t work out. If that happens, the agency will find you somebody else.” And I’d get to repeat this entire ordeal. Please let it work. Please let him like her.

  Please let him hate her.

  He cocked his head. “Does anybody ever meet somebody who isn’t an agency match?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What happens t
hen?”

  “They stay in the system, but they’re marked as inactive, and the computer program stops selecting matches.”

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  I blinked. “What did you say?”

  “Kiss me. Isn’t that what you call mouth-meshing?”

  “I can’t do that.” My heart thudded. My knees wobbled. My stomach tumbled.

  “Because it’s against the rules?”

  “Yes.”

  He folded his strong, muscular arms. “Your planet has too many rules. Kiss me, and I’ll tell you my answer.”

  “Are you crazy? I can’t kiss you.” My body swayed in his direction.

  “Then you’ll never know.”

  “That’s blackmail.” Seductive, tempting, torturous blackmail. Like threatening a dieter with a cupcake. I ached to kiss him. Would it really hurt? What would be the harm? He’d go on and meet his match, we’d never see each other, and I’d have one stolen kiss to remember him by. Not as good as a stolen night of steamy sex, but it was better than nothing.

  Horns throbbing, Caid surveyed me with those dark, brown eyes, his expression serious, almost intense.

  “My mouth is icky,” I said, clinging to my willpower with every last ounce of strength I possessed. I knew for a fact my tongue had grown fur. “I need to clean my teeth, and I don’t have a—”

  “I have extra teeth cleaners.”

  All righty, then. I’d run out of excuses to avoid what I craved anyway. “One kiss?”

  “One kiss,” he said solemnly.

  I followed him back through the bedroom and into his bathroom. Most people had sonic tooth cleaners these days, but Caid produced an old-fashioned manual toothbrush, still in its plastic case, the wrapper old and yellowed. Another antique store find? I vaguely recalled him telling me about a paper book. He handed me a tube of paste, which four out of five dental hygienists promised would whiten teeth and freshen breath. I certainly needed the latter.

  “Could I have some privacy, please?” I asked. Watching me foam at the mouth and spit into the sink might cast a pall over our first kiss.

  “I’ll, uh, clean my teeth in the other bathing chamber.” He squeezed some toothpaste onto a blue brush and left.

  You’re going to regret this. Conscience and common sense held a quick summit meeting and reached an accord.

  Too bad for them, they served in an advisory capacity and didn’t get to vote. I tore the wrapper off the toothbrush and squeezed out a generous amount of paste. After scrubbing my teeth, I spat and rinsed and then repeated the process for assurance. I huffed into my cupped hand. Minty fresh.

  Teeth were easy. The rest of me? I glared at my reflection then scrubbed my face with a washcloth and Caid’s soap to remove the mascara smears and make myself look less like a road kill raccoon. Not so lucky there.

  Using his hairbrush, I attempted to tame my hair with his comb. No glory there, either, although I did detangle it. I visited the toilet, and, doing him a favor, lowered the lid. He was alien, how would he know the proper seat position? Then, stalling for time, I snooped a little, checking out his other toiletries.

  He shaved with an electric razor. Those would become obsolete soon, as more and more appliances converted to illuvian energy supplied by the ore Earth got from Dakon. Clean-shaven, bearded, scruffy—Caid would look good no matter how much hair grew on his face.

  He had a small collection of colognes and aftershaves. Panther, Warrior, Lady Killer, and, ha ha, Alien. Clever marketing. I uncapped the Panther and sniffed. It instantly reminded me of him. I would never smell it and not think of him. The scent that drove me to distraction…and a little wild. I had to be crazy to kiss him.

  “Jessie?” Caid called from outside.

  “I’m coming!” I capped the cologne, gave another huff and sniff into my palm, collected the shoe I’d dropped earlier, and opened the bathroom door.

  “You were taking a long time. I started to worry.” He’d put on some pants, but no shirt, leaving his bronzed, muscled torso tantalizingly bare. His chest and abs were hairless except for the trail disappearing under the waistband of hip-hugging faded blue jeans. If he modeled for ad campaigns for those colognes of his, he’d re-energize the male-fragrance market. I don’t know if men would buy them, but women sure as hell would. Here, honey, why don’t you slap on a little Panther? Rawr!

  “Afraid I’d changed my mind?” I asked.

  “No, that you might be ill. You did imbibe a lot of alcohol last night.”

  “I’m all right.” I assumed a minty-fresh smile. “Where do you want to do this?”

  Had we kissed spontaneously, it wouldn’t have been a big deal—well, no, it still would have been a major deal—but the situation had become awkward after I’d taken the time to clean my teeth and snoop through his bathroom.

  “What’s wrong with here?” He flashed one of his signature dimpled grins.

  In his bedroom? With the rumpled bed right there? He’d balled up the top sheet he’d wrapped himself in and had thrown it onto the mattress where it lay in a wadded lump. In the bathroom, the towel I’d found had been flung over the rack as if he’d tossed it in the general direction of the bar and got lucky and hooked it. He wasn’t a very neat person, although there had been no whiskers in the sink—and holy crap, I was nervous now.

  “Nothing. Here is fine.” My stomach fluttered.

  “Let me have that.”

  “Have what?”

  “Your footwear.” He tugged on the shoe I’d forgotten I gripped in my hand.

  “Oh.” I surrendered it, and he dropped it onto the floor. Nope, he wasn’t a very neat person, tossing things aside: shoes, towels, clothing…women. I’d kiss him and then I’d be one of the dates he’d never given his full attention to, used and as easily discarded as a wadded-up bed sheet.

  He cupped my nape, and I flinched, not expecting him to touch me yet. He smoothed his thumb over my cheekbone then slowly combed his fingers through my hair. “So soft,” he said.

  His dark eyes smoldered as they met mine, and then his gaze drifted downward. My nerves danced with desire and anxiety. What if he disliked how I kissed? What if I accidentally smashed his nose? Would this be a peck or a French kiss or something in between? Did I turn my head right or left? Suddenly, I couldn’t remember how to do this.

  Caid moved in closer, forcing me to tilt my head to look at him. It was as if I’d just become aware I had arms and didn’t know what to do with my hands. I waved them erratically before settling them onto his bare, smooth shoulders. Body heat seared my palms. Did he always run this hot?

  He ducked his head, I closed my eyes, and his breath wafted over me.

  Caid brushed my mouth in a warm, velvety caress, his spicy alien scent flooding my senses. A whimper of pleasure escaped my throat, and Caid gave a little laugh, breath wafting over my face then he pulled my body hard against his and deepened the contact.

  His tongue touched my lips. I opened my mouth, and there was no going back. I hadn’t forgotten how to kiss—I reveled in it, threw myself into it, body and soul. I clung to him, with arms and hope, wrapping around him, drowning in him, surrendering with complete abandonment. Our tongues explored, met, and danced, separated to explore again then rejoined. His mouth slid over mine with a sensuousness that rocked me to the core.

  My body lit up with a white-hot need only he could satisfy.

  This was why I had tiptoed around him, had avoided him, had tried to prevent this, because how did one recover from this? How could I let him go after this?

  He growled, and I damn near wet my panties with desire. His broad, large hands cupped my bottom and drew me tighter against him, so close I could feel his stone-hard erection. I clutched at his shoulders, digging the pads of my fingers into solid muscle.

  We’d agreed on one kiss, but it led to a devastating series, each one chipping a bigger chunk out of my failing willpower, until nothing remained but a deep, aching yearning for endless caresses and one finite ques
tion. Why had I fought so hard against getting close to him?

  He’d flirted with me, insisting I was his mate—why not call his bluff? See where it led? Maybe—probably, no, undoubtedly—I’d get my heart broken, but until it happened, oh what a ride I’d have. Memories to last a lifetime, of falling in love with the handsomest, sexiest, hottest man in the galaxy. That never happened to girls like me. Why the fuck was I passing it up? For a job?

  Caid released me, and I felt a bump like descending the stairs and missing a step. His scent and taste filled my senses, and the pressure and sensation of his mouth, though waning, was still imprinted on me. I touched my burning lips and stared at him, my heart on my sleeve.

  Screw the dating agency and my job. I want him. I love him. I’ll take what I can get.

  “Evie,” he said. “I choose Evie.”

  Chapter Six

  Caid

  “Female troubles?” asked Aton, the drink preparer at the Stellar Dust Bin, a tavern frequented by extraterrestrials.

  I lifted my head from my tankard of ale. “How did you guess?”

  “That’s generally the case when a man looks as glum as you,” he said sympathetically.

  Aton and I were both Dakonian. We’d gotten off to a rough start when I’d arrived on Earth and the Intergalactic Dating Agency had designated his mate as my date. I hadn’t yet encountered or bonded with Jessie, and when I showed up at the hut of Aton’s female, he and I had almost come to blows. He’d been angry—rightfully so—that I would dare to approach his mate, but I never would have intruded if I’d known she’d been claimed. He and I had worked out our differences, and then I met Jessie, and my real problems began.

  How did one convince a female she was your Fated mate when she refused to acknowledge the truth? Kissing her hadn’t worked, and my plan to arouse her jealousy had backfired.

  “Jessie won’t answer my calls now. When I showed up at her place of work, she had security eject me from the hut.”

  Air whistled through Aton’s teeth. “Did they Taser you?”

  “No…what’s that?”

  “You don’t want to know.” He shook his head. “Jessie still hasn’t accepted you, huh? It’s been a long time.”