Her Alien Savior (11 page)

Her stomach rumbled.
Okay, okay, I get the hint.
Grabbing a pair of jeans and a top, she slipped into them. A puff of powder on her face, a touch of lip gloss, a couple of strokes of blush. That should do it.

Shit. Her hair. She shook it out, finger-styled it. Mentally proclaimed,
What the hell.
And went with it, switching lights off and heading back to the kitchen to make sure the man, that sexy hunk of a man called Finn, wasn’t burning anything down.

Finn. Why did she do what she did with him? Why was she going to breakfast with him? Why was she doing anything with him? Why wasn’t she doing something productive?
Marissa, relax, jeez, for once stop and smell the—what was the saying?—wildflowers, something.

The kitchen was immaculate, the towels rinsed and laid out across the backs of the stools to air dry. Finn leaned against the counter, arms folded across his chest, looking more like a Roman gladiator than . . . a talent scout.

Talent scout. She definitely needed to explore that. If he was truly a headhunter for restaurants and hospitality-oriented corporations, she may have her next lead for a job.

“That was quick.” His eyes took in her appearance, and suddenly Marissa felt like she was back in junior high, not quite measuring up to the pretty popular girls. Oh, she knew she wasn’t a double-bagger, but she wasn’t like the cheerleaders.
You didn’t put out like they did either.
Damned voice, never let up, did it. So what if she wasn’t a skanky slut in high school. So what if the first guy she kissed said she sucked at it. So what? Surely she’d improved since then? She touched her lips self-consciously. Hoping that she—

Quit thinking like that. Quit it now. “Yes. I didn’t want to leave you waiting.” Now she second-guessed her clothing. Maybe she should have dressed like someone who was looking for a job, someone who could manage a restaurant.
As if you managed that one? Your numbers were going downhill.
That’s because of the circumstances. She had to stop this now. This doubt thing was killing her. “So where is your car?”

“I took a cab.”

She looked outside the window. “Where’s mine?” Wow. She must have been wasted. Thank goodness she didn’t drive. But did she drive to
Hush
?

“It’s in front of
Two West Two
.”

Of course it was, she should have remembered. That was where she left it before she stormed out, after that phone call. “Perfect, that’s not a long walk from here. Truth be told, I shouldn’t even drive to work every day, and yet . . .” She didn’t have a reason for driving instead of walking. Well yes, she did. She carried enough stuff back and forth, including her purse, that it was more convenient. Not to mention that she didn’t usually allow for enough time in the morning for walking. Plus, she walked all day in the restaurant. And visited a gym. Yeah, she got plenty of exercise.
God what is this, beat-up-on-myself day? Justify-everything-I-do day? Get off this track, Marissa Sanchez. Like right now.
She squared her shoulders. Time to go have fun. Time to be a different Marissa.

Chapter 24

Finn

She looked stunning, even after the effects the alcohol had to have had on her. “I know a breakfast spot down the road.”

He couldn’t risk a team coming for her. And if she was near the area . . . “No. Can we go . . . further?”

She cast him a sideways glance from behind the steering wheel. “Like where?”

“I’m not from this area, isn’t there somewhere scenic you can take me?”

“Scenic? In Houston?” Her brow furrowed, as if that wasn’t likely. “Well, how about we go have breakfast in The Woodlands? There should be something nice up there. And it’s a nice part of town.”

“Do you not know of the eateries and scenic areas in Houston?”

“Yeah, I guess, but you see, I work in a restaurant. And, actually I work a lot of hours. So it’s not like I go anywhere or do much.” She shrugged. “But anyway, The Woodlands sounds good.”

“How far is it from here?”

“About forty-five to an hour.”

That should give them some distance from anyone hunting him. Or her. He reached into his pocket, took out the phone and turned it on. It signaled an email. From yesterday evening.

Kal. Worried about Finn. Wondering if his food supply was holding out. Warning him that things could happen if he ran out of Asazi food.

He’d been out for quite a while now, backpack at the restaurant, and had consumed more than a few human meals. And now he was going to have another one. And there were no adverse effects. Except that thing in the hotel room, with the woman on the television, and short time ago, with Marissa. Except he didn’t consider that to be adverse. Not adverse at all. It was pleasurable.

But he wasn’t going to tell Kal that or about the food he’d been eating, and not eating.

He did wonder if human food was why his body reacted the way it did to the television. And to Marissa. Mostly to Marissa now. It felt like the whole time he’d been around her he’d had this buzzing in his veins, this throbbing in his loins. And he hadn’t been able to get rid of it.

A thought struck him. “What direction is this Woodland place from here?”

She laughed, as if he’d said something funny. “
The
Woodlands. There are some people who get irate if you skimp on the THE. It’s north from here. And east.”

That wasn’t quite good. The Asazi were set up north, but west. He’d think they’d be better off going the opposite direction. “So what’s south of here?”

“Galveston?” Her tone was perplexed.

“And past Galveston?”

Another laugh. He liked the way she laughed, though he remembered that not far beneath there was this angry, passionate, little hellion.

“Water. The Gulf Coast. Nothing, pretty much. Unless you can walk on water.”

“No one can walk on water.” He was confused by her statement.

“Never mind. But yes, just Galveston.”

“Can we go there instead?”

“I’ll make a U-turn. Hey, by the way, you left your backpack in my restaurant you know. Is there anything important in it?”

Kal would think so. “No. Nothing I can’t live without.” This seemed to be truer than he’d been told. If his team went there, they’d know he had been in her restaurant. They would know he wasn’t eating Asazi food. They’d know he was eating human food. And whatever consequences they thought happened, they’d presume had.

They may start to put some things together, though he doubted they could put it all together. Like why he was with her and where they were going and why it was so damned important to him to save her.

Hell’s curses, he couldn’t figure that out himself. One thing he knew. He couldn’t take her back to her home or restaurant. And he didn’t know the why of that either.

Chapter 25

Marissa

She should get her head checked. What kind of foolishness was this? Going anywhere with a stranger, in a car, a guy that size would have no problem taking care of her. No problem at all.
Sometimes I’m so stupid.

But there was something about him. Something about his eyes, the set of his jaw. And it wasn’t about the hot-factor, though heavens above, the man was some kind of hot. She took a sideways glance at his bicep, that chest. He’d have no problem containing her, if he meant her harm. But she trusted him. He had this . . . this thing about him, like he’d been hurt. He reminded her of a wounded wolf.

Two West Two
was closed, and she really didn’t have much to do. No social life. No business to worry about, since it wasn’t going to be around much longer, was it. And he was hot.

Hot men get you in trouble.

Yeah, yeah, she didn’t care about that right now. Plus, he’s a headhunter. He could get her a job, or an interview at the very least. And if he really meant her any harm, he’d have probably done that to her last night.

She felt heat rising to her cheeks at the thought of him being here, about last night, how she came to be in different clothes. And most of all, at the stuff they’d done this morning. She didn’t even want to go there right now.

The drive to Galveston usually seemed long, but with Finn next to her, it seemed to fly by. He wasn’t overly talkative, so she turned on her playlist to keep from plaguing him with all the questions brewing in her head.

Almost an hour into the drive, after passing countless of reed-covered brackish water, a bridge or two, and a strip club, way more taco stands on the side of the road than there should be, she couldn’t stand it anymore, she had to talk, to ask, to find out about him.

“”Where are you from?” That seemed like a safe start.

A frown creased his forehead, but not for long. “Another country.”

Keeping one hand on the wheel, she turned his way for as long as she could afford to keep her eyes off the road. Which was pretty long, considering that Houston to Galveston is a fairly straight shot on a boring stretch of highway. “That’s not really an answer. Is it classified? What country?” She let a smile slip to ease the sharpness of her tone, but the feeling that he was hedging irritated her.

“Austria.” His head was turned away, but she could see no emotion on the reflection of his face in the tinted window of her Honda.

“You don’t have an accent.” And he didn’t. No accent at all. Not anything from any of the American regions, and not foreign-sounding either.

“I attended English-speaking private schools.”

His sticking to the facts and lack of elaboration was discouraging. Keep asking or quit? Marissa traced the wheel with a fingertip. This wasn’t looking like it would be a very eventful day. At this rate she was hesitant to ask about the headhunter thing.

“What about you? Where’s your family from?”

Oh, now he was asking about her, when he wasn’t willing to tell her jack about himself. Maybe he’d be more forthcoming if she opened up.

“Born and raised here.” They crossed the final bridge into Galveston. “This is it. Galveston.”

“I thought it would be bigger.”

“No. It may have had a chance a hundred years ago, before a hurricane. Then things changed and it didn’t become the hub it could have.”

She turned into a Starbucks parking lot. How about coffee and breakfast? We can enjoy it on the beach.”

“I’ll buy.” He got out the car.

Two coffees and an assortment of breakfast items to go, and they were on their way to the beach.

She drove the next few minutes to the seawall, pulled into a parking place. “Let’s do this.”

“Do what?” He had a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s an expression. Means, um—” Words escaped her. She’d never had to define things like this. “It just means let’s go.”

He opened the door, grabbed the food bags and coffee carrier. “Let’s do this.” His face lit up with a smile.

That’s when it hit her. She hadn’t seen that smile, that genuine grin in him as long as she’d known him.
Which isn’t all that long.
Don’t remind me.

She grabbed a couple of old towels from the back of her car and followed him down the stairs to the water. It was still early, most of the church-going families that would certainly later fill the sandy area weren’t there yet. “It’s going to get crowded. And hot.” She warned him.

“We don’t have to stay long. We can go hang out elsewhere if you like. But I’d like to finish our conversation from earlier.”

Which part, she wondered. She’d rather finish the one where he answered some questions about himself, not have her answering questions.

“And I don’t just mean the stuff I asked.”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to let you get away with that.”

Twelve steps down the concrete stairs that led from the seawall to the sand and thirty feet of beachfront brown sand later she was spreading the towels on the sand while he laid out the breakfast items.

She was surprised at the amount of food. “I think we have enough for lunch here, too. Maybe even dinner.”

“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I ordered one of everything.”

A warmth built within at his thoughtfulness.
Are you sure that’s not hormones and lust at his hotness?
Could be a little bit of that, she had to admit.

He sat on the towel and pulled his shirt over his head, wide expanse of chest, no hair, tattoo of a winged—was that a woman?—on the arms that belonged on a body builder. She fought to keep from staring, turned her attention to a morning bun that wasn’t one-tenth as appealing as his body.

“About you—” she started.

“I thought we could start with you.” He sunk his teeth into a slice of banana bread with the ferocity of a large cat taking a prey, and a visual of his mouth sinking on her, between her legs this morning flashed through her mind.

“About a job . . .” She diverted away.

A weird look crossed his face.

“Sure. But don’t you have a job? Don’t you own that restaurant?”

“Not exactly.” That question opened a floodgate. Before she knew it she was filling him in on developers, an asshole banker, and a deadline she found out about yesterday. Then she revved up even more and started talking about her father. Before she knew it, hours later, the food half-eaten, and the coffees half-drank as well as lukewarm, since nothing gets
cold
in the afternoon temperatures on the Gulf Coast, she was drained—talked out and drained. She hadn’t realized that sharing—blurting—that much out would have been so tiring.

Sometime during their talk which was mostly her monologue, as it turned out—sometime during that time Finn bought an umbrella from a man who was renting them out. Actually bought it, paying for its permanent use outright. He even told the guy he’d throw an extra twenty in if he brought them some bottled waters, and oh, the guy could keep the umbrella if they left the beach while he was still around. The guy shook his head about some people having more money than sense, said they could have just done a day rental and went off on a hunt for waters.