Sure, the Caldorians had come to Earth two years ago to help set up intergalactic trade with Earth, introduced the Intergalactic Council, and continued to provide security for Earth until Earth was able to fend for itself properly. Great. But then Earth was attacked and suddenly everything became even more hush-hush. Something strange was going on there, and the mysteries were mounting.
Trust no one. That had been the one, crystal-clear instruction her client had given her. But now she had information and no way to reach him. She hadn’t been expecting a Caldorian to show up tonight, but perhaps she could turn this into more than a simple exchange. She had to get on that base. Had to find her client. Had to figure out what the hell was going on and if the things she’d learned were true.
God, she hoped they weren’t.
Isabella knew “John Doe” was the best lead she’d had in ages, and she could put up with some douchebag maneuvers if it meant she got the information she needed. That didn’t mean she had to be a pushover. Far from it.
Looking down at the large, warm hand on her thigh that felt deliciously naughty, she ignored the heat spiraling straight to her core, wrapped her perfectly manicured fingers around his wrist, lifted his hand from her person, gave it a nice hard “pat,” which could probably be heard all the way back in the kitchen, then dropped it unceremoniously back in his lap. “Look. Are we going to do this or what? Say the code words or I’m out of here.”
Falden looked at his hand bemusedly, then up at his date. “Did you just slap me?”
Isabella tried to look sweet and innocent, batting her lashes. “Slap you? No, of course not. I thought I saw a bug crawling on your hand, and I just wanted to remove it for you. Didn’t you see it?”
Falden’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly as he combed his stinging hand through his hair in frustration. He was absolutely sure she’d just slapped him. Unfortunately, he couldn’t remember if that was supposed to be a good sign or a bad one, according to the list.
Isabella continued to stare with large, innocent doe eyes until the waiter arrived with two ice waters and two glasses of Scotch, which, had he asked, she would have told him she preferred her Scotch served neat. And really, she hadn’t planned on drinking at all.
As the waiter positioned their drinks, she took the opportunity to look around him, glancing toward her friend, Jessica, who still sat at the bar. Their gazes locked, and Jessica motioned in an odd way with her chin, moving her gaze to the side and behind her “date” to one of the booths. There, seated in plain sight, were two more smoking-hot alien males, dressed identically to him in black pants, designer shoes and tight black mock turtlenecks that stretched across impressively muscled chests.
Jeez. Why did all Caldorians have to come in just one flavor? Super-hot? She’d seen enough aliens on around their base and on the news to know their warriors were sexy as sin. But John—no way that was his real name—was entirely next level sexy. She didn’t do one-night stands, not since her early college days. But this one? Temptation had a new posterchild. Too bad he was such an ass.
The thought forced her to hide a grin behind a small cough. She could just hear her friend, Jessica now, ‘You don’t need him to talk, girlfriend.’
Isabella settled her hand in her lap as the waiter cleared his throat, his gaze anywhere but on her. Shit. This was really going to make her angry. Even the waiter was buying into the man-in-charge bullshit.
Shifting from foot to foot nervously, the waiter asked her male companion, “Are you ready to order? We have a delicious menu. Would you like me to go over the chef’s specials?”
Isabella opened her mouth to say yes, she would love to hear the specials, when an ultra-deep, sexy voice filled the silence. “I’ll have the filet, rare. Nothing on the side. The lady will have the spinach salad with vinaigrette dressing. Earth women watch their weight.”
The waiter glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with her, clearly apprehensive if the hands twisting around and around one another at his waist were any indication.
Why argue? This wasn’t a real date. She smiled through clenched teeth at the waiter, her head churning with anger, not so much for him but for the man sitting next to her. She really wanted to brain him with her purse. “The salad will be fine. Right next to the blackened salmon.”
“Very good.” The waiter took the menus that neither had opened and scurried away like the hounds of hell were after him. Isabella lifted her glass of Scotch whiskey in silent salute and took a sip before looking at her “date” again.
And God, did she look. He was too perfect to be real. At least on the outside. Usually big men sacrificed speed for strength. If she had to guess, she would say he was an exception. Everything about him screamed predator. Dangerous. Powerful. A true alpha male. He oozed confidence. Authority. She’d never known icy blue could burn so hot, but the heat in his eyes set her on fire. Every feminine cell in her body was screaming that she needed to have hot, sweaty sex with him. Lots of it. Needed him to fill her again and again. Mark her. Make her his. But her brain screamed just as loudly against it. She couldn’t get around the asshole factor. Which was high.
He watched her with an intensity that made her nervous. “Thank you, Isabella, for agreeing to go out with me.”
That was it. He obviously didn’t know the code words. He knew her real name. So who the hell was he and how had he known she would be here? “My pleasure, truly.” She didn’t even choke on the lie.
“And I thank you for your punctuality. I do not tolerate tardiness,” he added, completely ignoring her name correction.
Well, well, well. Asshole was back.
“I also insist on paying for our purchases this evening, as I asked you to meet with me.”
Paying for our purchases? Purchases she was not allowed to choose for herself? Really generous, this one. Honestly, he sounded like he was reading from a script. A really bad one.
And he was wrong. Dead wrong. She was the one who had set up this meeting, and not with him.
So what had happened to her real contact? And who was this guy?
Curiosity spinning out of control, she settled in to find out what she could. They were in public, he was sexy, and he was obviously after something. Maybe this was the lead she needed, a clue sitting across from her smelling like a sex god. She’d done worse for a story. And she’d do whatever it took to find her missing friend.
At least she wouldn’t have to pay for the stupid salad. She hated salad. As she’d insisted since she was a child, much to her mother’s disappointment, she was not a rabbit.
He seemed perturbed by her lack of response. “I am being very generous.”
She nearly choked on her next two words. “Of course, John. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She knew that wasn’t his real name, but she had nothing else to call him.
“Of course you do.” Falden’s expression was impossible to read, leaving her at a complete loss as to what to say. What a weirdo.
Tapping her shoe on the hardwood floor, she took a sip of water, swallowed the fire from the liquor still burning its way down her throat to her stomach, and forced as natural a smile as she could manage onto her face. Her decision was made. She needed to turn this anonymous “drop” into something more.
She wanted him to take her back to the base with him. This could be her only chance to find out what had happened to Sevron. She needed to change her tactics. Draw him in. Make him like her. Want her. Images of him naked, touching her, filling her, raced through her mind before she could stop them. He’d ordered her drink. Her food. Would he be the type to order her around in bed? Take command of her body? He was so big. Strong. He could spread her open and work on her for hours. A frisson of heat uncoiled deep inside her. “Tell me about yourself. What do you do on the base?”
Falden watched Isabella take another drink of water, his eyes glued to her lower lip as it clung slightly to the glass before she set it down. His imagination went into overdrive thinking about what her mouth,
her hands, her body would feel like as he took her. He wanted to kiss her. Touch her soft skin. Pound his hard shaft deep into her core again and again until she was begging for the release only he could give her. He wanted to hear her scream his name as he pushed her over the edge of control. Planted his hot seed deep in her belly. She was so much smaller than he was. He would have to make sure she was ready for someone of his massive size. Prepare her with his hands. His mouth. Without conscious thought he mirrored her actions, lifting the glass he’d been holding and taking a long, slow drink before answering her question. “Work.”
Isabella nodded as if his response didn’t make her want to throw something at him. His expression was unreadable. Only his eyes burned with inner fire. What was he thinking? He still hadn’t said the correct phrase. Was he toying with her, making her think the deal was still on while all along figuring out where to hide her body after he killed her? What was wrong with her, fantasizing about this guy? So he was hot. So he looked like he could make her every erotic fantasy come true. She only had to think of her ex to remember just how deceiving looks could be. She needed to stay focused. He was not making her job any easier with one syllable responses. Man of many words. Work. Ha. A real poet, this one. Sheesh.
Lifting her hand, she signaled the waiter with her empty glass that she’d like another. This was going to be a long, long night if he didn’t start talking. Hopefully he’d open up soon. She was a reporter. She knew how to get people talking, even the stubborn ones. And he’d obviously crashed her party for a reason.
She set her shoulders with renewed determination. She would get him to relax and open up while remaining emotionally detached herself, even if it killed her. Which it might.
Falden glanced down at the floor, at her tapping foot. “Those are very high heels.”
“Four-inch stilettos, as a matter of fact, and they perfectly match my dress.” They were her favorite—and sexiest—pair of shoes. Stretching out her leg to give him a better view, she turned her foot from side to side. He’d obviously dressed to show off his muscles. Flaunt his sex appeal. Two could play this game. Smiling flirtatiously, she continued, “I love the way they sparkle. Do you like them?”
Falden cleared his throat. Did he like them? Hell yes, he liked them. The strappy heels made him itch to touch her. He wanted to explore every curve, kiss every delectable inch of her. But how to respond? According to the Nice Guy’s Guide to the Hookup, if a man was too nice, he would crash and burn. Never get the female. If he were on Lumeria or even Caldor, he would know exactly what to do. He would flirt. Play. Tease. Entice her into touching him first. Make his interest in her clear. He would pay close attention to everything she said. Protect her. Prove his worthiness.
On this planet? She’d already slapped him, and he didn’t even know if that was a good thing or a bad one. He was beginning to like this Nice Guy’s Guide to the Hookup less and less. She seemed more angry than interested, but he couldn’t afford to deviate from the plan for his own personal interests. He was on a mission. He needed her to trust him. Tell him what he needed to know. This wasn’t about her. Wasn’t about his need to claim her. Make her his forever. He had to keep that in mind. He’d committed himself to this path, even if it set his teeth on edge. Looking deeply into her eyes, he pushed ahead, murmuring, “Yes. They make you appear as if you are eager to be taken by a male.”
Isabella’s nostrils flared. Her heart hammered in her chest. Unadulterated rage and humiliation burned through her. Did he just call her out for wearing fuck-me heels? Her foot froze mid-twirl. “I believe any man who sees them should fear that I will remove one and stab him in the eye with the pointy end.” Investigation temporarily forgotten, she couldn’t swallow another insult. “Here. I don’t think you got a very good look at them. Let me show you.” Reaching under the table, she pulled off one of the heels, shoved it toward him and accidentally knocked his ice water right into his lap.
“I see.” Falden growled, brushing bits of ice from his pants. Every muscle tensed. His mission was failing. He could feel it. Isabella was not responding appropriately to the guide. He was losing control of the situation, which he could not afford to do.
He took a sip of the alcoholic beverage he’d ordered, as dictated by the ridiculous dating guide, coughed at the unfamiliar burn, then pulled at the mock collar of his shirt. He needed to up his game. Try again. Isabella was beautiful, even with the red wig. Perhaps she was so used to this approach that he needed to use more of the items on the list. Surely she would respond to one of them. She was a female, native to Earth. He would keep trying. Move on to phase two. A mix of insult and compliment. The guide said this phase was tricky and required practice, but he hadn’t liked the list to begin with and refused to use it any more than was strictly necessary. Hopefully he would catch on quickly. He was running out of time. He could feel it. “Your skirt is very short. I find your legs to be very appealing.”
“Excuse me?” Isabella glared. Was he calling her out on her skirt, too, or complimenting her legs? She’d never been so angry on a first date. Not that it was a real date. If this jackass was trying to get information out of her, or earn her trust, he was going about it all wrong. Not only did she not want to talk to him, she wanted to slap him so hard his cheek would burn red for a week.
Looking down at his wet pants, Falden jolted, remembering that part of the list included pointing out his pricey clothing. Make his wealth more obvious. “This clothing is not comfortable. I should not have worn this. I should have worn my arm many.”
Isabella sat back, darkly amused. Maybe this guy was just an idiot in general. But why was he here? “Arm many? Is that Caldorian for waterproof?”
His gaze was deadly serious as he raised his blue eyes to her sparkling brown. She was happy. He was making progress. “Arm many are much finer clothes. The best money can buy. Have you not heard of such a famous human clothing expert?””
Isabella’s brief flash of humor vanished. She stewed. The man had no sense of humor. None. Worse, his words were meant to draw her attention to his wealth, yet his body language was not that of a man obsessed with his appearance or status. What the hell was up with this guy? “Do you mean Armani?”
“Yes. That is what I said.”
The waiter arrived with an extra glass of water along with the whiskey and placed them on the table, removed empty glasses and discreetly handed Falden an extra napkin, presumably to take care of his wet trousers. She considered slamming the amber liquid down her throat as she had the first, but sipped instead. She needed her wits about her. She doubted she’d even finish the second. Something was not right about this guy. Her bullshit radar was screaming at high alert. Arm many? Really? And he was sporting a watch that would cost her two years’ salary, but it looked brand-new, like he’d just taken it out of the box. Literally. Not a scratch, a smudge, nothing.
She squinted, looking closer. Was the thin protective plastic still covering the face of the watch? Had he forgotten to remove it, or was he so completely uninterested in the human device that he simply hadn’t realized it was there? Why had he bothered with a human watch, even an expensive Rolex, when he probably had some kind of alien gadget that was far superior to anything Earth had to offer? The other aliens she’d met in the past few weeks while she was infiltrating their black market hadn’t cared anything about wearing human clothes or accessories. What game was he playing? She sat back in her chair. What. The. Hell?
Falden enjoyed celebratory drinking as much as the next man, but never when he was on a mission. The silence lengthened as Isabella occasionally sipped at her drink. He scowled with real concern as raised the second glass of Scotch to her full lips. He was worried about the effects of such a strong alcohol on a female of her stature. He was much bigger than she. Stronger. He could easily crush her. Hurt her. He would never do such a thing, but she couldn’t know that. This small female was furious one moment, amused the next, then brooding. He was fascinated. And worried. Deviatin
g from the Hookup guide to share his genuine fear for her, he leaned in and murmured, “Should you be consuming a mind-altering beverage around a male you do not know or trust?”
She scoffed. Was he going to insult her, then pretend concern for her? “Critiquing my drinking habits now, are we? Besides, you ordered it, remember? Afraid you might have to carry me out of here?”
He sat up straighter and took her hand, his tone serious. “Of course I will make sure you arrive home safely. You should not travel alone after drinking. It is not safe. You are learning to trust me. I will protect you,” he vowed, realizing he meant every word. Whatever she’d gotten herself involved in, he would find a way to keep her safe. “I have a human transport vehicle parked in the back.” Falden paused, his brows furrowed in concentration. “An impressive transportation vehicle of a sort that you should like. I’m told it is considered very fast, for humans.”
Isabella’s eyebrows rose a notch higher with every word out of his mouth. She was equal parts shaken and incredulous. His eyes said he was being straight with her. He was worried about her and wanted to protect her? She melted just a little. But then, who was he kidding? What girl hadn’t heard that kind of cheesy line before? Was this guy actually trying to impress her with a car he knew nothing about? Was it even his? She didn’t know how to respond, so she went for a question. “You mean a hot rod? A sports car?”
“Of course. That is what I said.” This time he took a sip of Scotch and managed not to choke, although his face did turn an interesting shade of pink.
Isabella absently twirled a piece of hair around her finger, thinking hard. So he ordered Scotch but didn’t drink it, wore expensive clothes made for humans instead of Caldorians, drove a type of car he probably knew nothing about, and thought insulting her was going to win him points? This made zero sense. “What color is it?”
“You said you would be wearing a red dress for our… ‘date’ this evening,” he said, pausing, “so I chose a red one.”
Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster (Lumerian Knights Book 3) Page 3
