by Cara Bristol
She’s a successful Texas restauranteur, but he’s hungry for more than what she’s cooking.
Barb Quintain seems to have it together. She owns the hottest restaurant in town, lives in a fabulous luxury apartment, and has a personality as big as the state of Texas. But outward confidence conceals old wounds as big as Texas, too. She hides behind success, fearing someone will discover what she’s really like—a fake, a fraud, all broth and no beans.
Then, one evening, he walks into her restaurant—the hottest, sexiest man she’s ever seen. Kord. An alien from Dakon who’s so out of her league, she could never deserve him.
Kord doesn’t understand why none of his Intergalactic Dating Agency matches have panned out until he happens into Barbie Q’s Restaurant and meets the proprietress. His twitching horns immediately signal she’s his Fated mate. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to recognize that. The only thing he can do is get her to hire him so he can convince her they’re meant to be together.
Just as Kord’s patience wins her over, and Barb begins to envision herself as his mate, a family crisis sends her running in her rhinestone boots. Will confronting her past destroy their future?
Kord: Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides #5
Copyright © October 2019 by Cara Bristol
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
eISBN : 978-1-947203-12-9
Editor: Kate Richards
Copy Editor: Nanette Sipe
Cover Artist: Croco Designs
Formatting by Wizards in Publishing
Published in the United States of America
Cara Bristol
http://www.carabristol.com
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Braxx: Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides #6
KORD
Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides 5
Intergalactic Dating Agency
Cara Bristol
Chapter One
Kord
The squeal pierced my ears and I flinched. Why had I let Braxx talk me into this? I never should have left Dakon and come to Earth.
“Look! Aren’t they beautiful?” Felicia?—Filomena—Felony—what was her name?—released her grip on my biceps to gawk at the shiny merchandise in the store window. I flexed my arm and inched away.
“Those earrings are gorgeous,” she crooned then stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. “Kord! You’re not looking.”
I glanced at the display of golden and silvery jewelry sparkling with colorful rocks. Necklaces, bracelets, rings, ear adornments. “Which ones?”
She pointed to some clear faceted stones attached to silvery chains. “They would look amazing on me, don’t you agree?” She sidled up to me and slipped her arm through mine. I tried not to recoil. Filomena’s scent, some sort of heavy perfume, hadn’t smelled so bad at the beginning of our date, but it had become as overpowering as her personality.
“The ones you’re wearing look just as nice.” I couldn’t discern much of a difference between what she had on and the set in the window.
“Are you kidding?” She flicked at the silver piercing her lobes. “These are sterling. Those are diamonds set in platinum. They’re not the same at all.”
I shrugged. “Are you ready for dinner?”
Her mouth thinned into an angry line, but then she fluttered her lashes as if a bug had flown into her eye. “Whenever you are. Where are you taking me?”
“I got a recommendation to an eatery that is supposed to be excellent. It’s up the street and around the corner.”
“So far?” She glanced at her footwear, which pitched her forward on needle heels attached to a flimsy sole, tethered in place by thin leather strips. Oddly, the inappropriate footwear further accentuated her bosom already displayed by her skintight tunic. “Why did we let the Uber go so soon then?”
“Because you wished to look in the store windows.”
“I didn’t know we’d have to hike a frickin’ mile.”
I laughed. On my planet, we measured distance in triptas, the span covered in an hour of steady walking. The restaurant was only a fraction of a tripta, far less than a mile. I was used to walking, but I’d learned humans preferred to travel by wheeled cars that zoomed over the land or to fly in winged sky vehicles. “Maybe you should remove your boots,” I suggested. I had a hunch her footwear hobbled her mobility.
“I can’t go barefoot on a city street!”
“Well, then, we’ll go slowly.”
She wet her lips and smiled at me again before clasping my arm tight against her bosom.
I’d had such high hopes. The Intergalactic Dating Agency boasted a stellar reputation for finding mates. Other men at the IDA barracks where I resided had hit it off with their very first matches. Felicia was my eleventh, and I was getting discouraged. Not only had I not found a Fated mate, none of the females I’d met had come close to being suitable. I didn’t know what the problem was, but there had been a similarity between them I couldn’t quite define. They hadn’t looked or sounded the same. They employed themselves in different capacities—Felony being a spokesmodel for a car dealership—but the females kind of blended together for some reason.
“So, what inspired you to join the Intergalactic Dating Agency?” I tried to start a conversation to pass the time faster.
“I wanted to meet a quality man—like you,” she said in a throaty voice.
“What is a quality man?” I asked, a little curious now.
“A successful man of means who is going places.”
“That’s what you requested on your profile?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. I specifically asked for a Dakonian. What are you looking for?”
“A female with whom I can have kits,” I replied, relieved she didn’t ask what my profile said. I didn’t know. My brother Braxx had filled it out. He’d secretly applied to the IDA for both of us, revealing what he’d done after we’d been accepted. I’d been angry at first, but after reading the testimonials of men who’d found mates through the agency, I forgave him. We had little chance of acquiring a female on our planet, so coming to Earth had started to seem like a good idea.
Not anymore.
“Kits?” Felicity wrinkled her nose. “I’m allergic to cats.”
“Kit is the Dakonian word for child.”
She giggled. “Oh! Okay, then.” She tightened her grip on my bice
ps. Long, dagger-like red artificial nails dug into my arm through my kel tunic.
Fake.
Suddenly, it hit me. The lack of genuineness was the trait shared by the females I’d been matched with. I had a hunch they didn’t speak the truth, that the person revealed wasn’t the person they were. Their interest in me seemed less than sincere.
Braxx and I should have specified we desired real females. But how could we have known we should do that?
“Is your house on Dakon very big?” Felicia asked.
“I lived in the biggest cave in our tribe.” Since my father was tribal chief, he and my mother received the privilege of the largest dwelling. My brother and I had resided with them—as was typical of unmated offspring.
She giggled and slapped my arm. “Cave! You’re such a jokester.”
“I speak the truth,” I said. “We live in either caves or in stone huts. Some live in small shelters provided by your Earth government, but most of us prefer our original dwellings.”
Her hand fell off my arm, and her jaw dropped. “B-but I thought you were rich. All Dakonians are. What about all your money?”
“I don’t have any money.” We had no use for currency. Dakon operated on a barter system.
“You don’t own loads of illuvian ore?”
I shrugged. “Own it?” Nobody owned the ore. It belonged to everyone. “Not really, no.”
“You’re saying you’re dirt poor?”
“More like dirt rich,” I joked. Rocks were there for the taking. Not that anyone did. With the exception of constructing stone huts, what could we do with a bunch of rocks? However, while valueless to us, the energy-rich ore could power Earth vehicles and spaceships, light cities, and heat homes. In coming to this planet, I had exchanged a few tons of rock for monetary credits. Technically, I did have a small amount of money—but only about a billion dollars.
“Anyway, we’ve arrived at the eating place,” I announced. In her useless footwear, Fineena could hardly walk, and it had seemed to take forever to get here, but it had been worth the wait. I sniffed the air, and my stomach rumbled. The delicious aroma of cooking meat caused my mouth to water and a wave of homesickness to wash over me.
“You brought me to a barbecue joint?” Filipa screeched.
“The men in the barracks recommended Barbie Q’s. My fellow Dakonians said the beef brisket compared to roasted kel.”
“This place is a dive! They’re even short-staffed, so the service will suck.” She gestured at the window.
HELP WANTED – SERVERS AND BUS PEOPLE – INQUIRE WITHIN. I silently sounded out the words as I read. I had enrolled in a Terran language course. An implant allowed me to speak and understand many tongues, but reading had to be learned, which was fine, because the twice weekly classes helped fill time. On Dakon, I had worked, crafting bows and arrows for my tribe, but here on Earth, in between disappointing dates, I had nothing to do.
“Oh. My. God. He even moves his lips when he reads,” Finola muttered with a toss of her head. “Listen, Kord, I’m sorry, but this isn’t going to work out between us. It’s not you, it’s me. I don’t feel the chemistry. It would be best if we cut our losses and went our separate ways. I don’t think we’re suited for one another. I hope we can still be friends?”
“You’re ending our date?” It sounded too good to be true. Could the ordeal be over?
“For both our sakes—yes.” She tapped into her phone, calling up an Uber. “I’ll see myself home.”
“All right.” Yes!
“You’re not going to ask me to stay?” Her voice rose.
“As you’ve pointed out, we’re not attracted to one another.”
“What do you mean you’re not attracted to me? You know what? I lied. It’s not me. It is you. You’re an ass. Any man ought to be thrilled to date me.” She glowered, her gaze hard and dismissive.
A vehicle with the Uber placard pulled up to the curb. She hobbled faster than I’d seen her do all evening and dove in. She slammed the door, and the car zoomed away.
Letting my nose lead, I followed the delicious aroma into the restaurant. This had been one of my better dates.
Chapter Two
Barb
I hustled to the corner table. I was fortunate the guy hadn’t left in a huff. He’d been seated a while ago, and I hadn’t been able to get to him. “Sorry for the delay.” I flashed an apologetic smile while assessing the crowd. We were backing up. Impatience increasing, customers waited to be seated. We had empty tables, but they hadn’t been bused yet. “A couple of employees quit, and we’re a little short-staffed. What can I get you?” I poised my pencil over my notepad. Normally I’d be able to remember the orders, but, in my frazzled state, I left nothing to chance.
“I’ve heard your beef brisket is very good.” His deep voice was as smooth as the chocolate cream pie on the menu, but his foreign-sounding accent caught my attention.
My head shot up, and I gave him my full scrutiny for the first time. Hello, Mr. Hotness. He had skin like oiled bronze, full kissable lips, glossy near-black hair sweeping back from a broad forehead, and…horns? The guy had horns, smallish leathery nubs, and, when my gaze met his, they started to swell and throb.
An alien. A Dakonian to be precise. I recognized his species, er, race, because one of my good friends, Moxie Maguire, had met and married one and gone to live on his home planet. Her alien husband was attractive, but this guy was People Magazine Sexiest Man Alive gorgeous.
Why couldn’t the Intergalactic Dating Agency pair me up with somebody like this? Instead, you know what I got? A bucket of slime. I kid you not. An agency employee delivered my date to me in a galvanized metal pail. Next, I got fixed up with a Zurelian who kept trying to bite me until I maced him. The lack of quality matches was getting discouraging. A guy like Mr. Dakonian Hotness was out of my league, but couldn’t the IDA have gotten a little closer to my requirements?
“It’s all…uh…excellent, but yes, we’re…kind of known for our brisket.” My notepad slipped from my fingers, and I scooped it up. It wasn’t like me to be tongue-tied or clumsy. I could fake it with the best of them. I could talk to anyone. Even sexy someones. Damn, he’s hot.
“I’ll have the brisket, then,” he said.
Over the conversational din, breaking glass sounded from the kitchen. “Son of a fudge-maker!” I hoped the crash came from a tray of dirty dishes and not meals to be delivered. We were behind enough. “Sorry!” I grimaced. “One brisket coming up. Anything to drink?”
“An ale?”
“Blond or dark?”
“Dark.”
Like his eyes. “Got it.”
After giving his drink order to the bartender, I hightailed it to the kitchen. Raul, one of the busboys, and Dixie, my best server, were cleaning up shattered plates, dirty dishes, and pulled pork, while Slade, the cook, barked orders to an assistant. “Cheese on a cracker!” I swore. “What the hell happened?” I glowered at my staff as I tapped Horned and Handsome’s order into the computer, which shot it over to Slade.
“Sorry. We sort of collided,” Dixie said.
“Well, go apologize to whoever’s food that was and give them a dessert on the house. Bring ’em a free appetizer while they wait also. And, Raul—I need you to get your butt out there and clear some tables pronto.”
One server was on her honeymoon, and another had called in sick, leaving the waitstaff a little thin—so I’d jumped in to help. The other girls and I could handle the tables—provided they got cleared. We couldn’t handle the extra customers and clear tables. The biggest staffing problem was caused by the loss of two busboys, leaving one part-timer and Raul, my least-motivated employee. Not a self-starter, that one.
The attrition couldn’t have come at a worse time—right after Barbie Q’s had received a glowing review on Feats of Eats, an online foody site. We’d been slammed for weeks, but, as problems went, it was a good kind to have.
“Barb, your order for table five is up!” Slade sho
ved two plates across the counter, one with half a chicken and another with a half rack of ribs, both loaded with sides, fries, coleslaw, corn on the cob, and baked beans. I grabbed the plates and scooted through swinging doors.
“Here you go.” I placed the barbecue in front of the couple at table five. “Can I get you anything else?”
“More Texas toast?” the woman asked.
I fashioned a forefinger and thumb into a pistol and fired. “Got it.” I swung back around to the kitchen, snagged two baskets of bread then zinged by the bar and grabbed the dark ale. I deposited one basket on table five and then shot over to the Dakonian’s table.
Which was…vacant. Pit stop, most likely. I set the beer and bread down and spun around. There he was. It took a moment for the situation to register. “What are you doing?” I gasped.
He was loading used plates into the bin on the cart. A customer was busing tables. “No, no, no—you can’t do that.” I rushed over and yanked a dirty plate out of his hand.
“People need a place to eat,” he said.
I craned my neck. He had to be at least seven feet tall—with shoulders half as wide. He was built like an NFL player suited up with pads—except he wasn’t wearing any. Just a little ole buckskin shirt and leggings molding every muscle of his hard body.
“You’re a customer, not an employee,” I said. “Please leave this and take your seat. I brought you an ale and some Texas toast. Your meal will be out shortly.”
“Your sign in the window said you needed help. Servers and drivers.”
“Drivers?”
“Someone to drive a bus. Yes?”
I blinked. “Oh! You mean the bus person. That’s not a driver; it’s someone to help clear tables.”
“What I’m doing now. You do need help.”
“But not from you.”
“Why not from me? Am I not doing it correctly?”
“You’re a customer!” The restaurant had gone quiet, and people were staring at us. Heat crept up the back of my neck. In my consternation, I’d lost my Texas accent. I sounded like every other native Southern Californian.
