Her Alien Savior (4 page)

~*~

Finn left the cool, dark air-conditioned dining room of
Two West Two
and entered the already sweltering heat of Houston in July. Now what was up with that woman? Why the hostility? He couldn’t fail this mission, his cousin, his people. Cursed humans. He wouldn’t allow himself to fail something as simple as appropriating a human. He, who was trained in Elite Measures, in the most difficult of military missions, would fail because of one ornery, pissed off woman. He loved that word. Pissed off. His people needed a word as good as that one. How well that word fit sometimes.

The electronic cell phone Kal provided him with chimed an alarm. Time to eat a meal. Curses. Double, no triple curses. Damn his idiocy. He was so caught up with the women—don’t lie to yourself, you were caught up with
THAT
woman. Truth be told, he was so caught up in Marissa he forgot to pick up the backpack with his food. It was still in her restaurant. He didn’t want to go back. Not now. Not like this. Did he? No. No way. But he had to eat. He had to sustain his body with food. Asazi food, Kal’s words resonated in his mind. Curses.

But Finn was quarter-human. Surely he could survive on human food. Of course he could. His grandmother had made many meals for him. Countless meals and nothing had happened. Why would this be any different?

Surely he would be all right. Yes, certainly he would.

The electronic cell phone dinged a signal that he had communications. His brother and the engineers had managed to secure a website that couldn’t be traced or discovered to allow all of the Asazi on Earth to be able to communicate with Kal and the ship that was harbored in Northern America, not too far from where they’d inserted Finn. It was easy to say
not too far
when a vehicle traveled at the speed the Asazi ship did.

He had an email. Brief and without a message that could compromise the mission.

Finn,

Tracking shows you are in place. All good? Need anything?

Kal

Damnation. Could Kal possibly know that he didn’t have his food with him? Could he? Should he tell the truth? Confess? Would they send him more food? Or would they yank him from the assignment and label him incompetent?

At this moment he felt incompetent. No. There was no way he would confess to this. In truth, he would deny it. If it ever came up.

Finn hit
Reply
and tapped a message in response.

All fine.

He didn’t bother signing it, or addressing it to his cousin for that matter.

Okay, not so fine, but he wasn’t about to tell Kal about this spitfire, this woman, this Marissa. And he would NEVER tell him about the food. Ever. No. there was no way he would let anyone know.

He used his electronic smartphone to find the phone number for the restaurant she owned, wondering why it was called
Two West Two
. He needed to get on her good side. How could he ever get her to the ship if he didn’t? He had six days to get them all to the ship they departed for home. Six days. Four women. No, three women and this spitfire. He hoped the other women would be easier to manage.

The image of her face came to mind. The set of her jaw. The hard determination in her eyes. Six days.

He pressed the
Call
button next to the restaurant’s phone number on the telephone’s screen.

As it started to ring he realized, he didn’t have a plan. Curses! No plan, no thought of what to say. Should he mention the backpack? It would provide a good reason to return immediately. But was that what he really wanted? The damned thing stopped ringing. Someone had answered the phone.

Damn his impetuous nature. Damn his human blood.

Chapter 7

Marissa

“What a douche.” Marissa couldn’t help the phrase after she heard his comment to Belle. Here he was, asking for her, checking her out, and making a pass at Belle. Douche, for sure. Completely disinterested in interaction or conversation, she spun around, going back to her onions, tears, and thoughts. Except she wasn’t that lucky. Belle followed her, the door swinging in and out on its hinges, in and out again after Belle released it.

“He’s hot. Like wow. Hot. Have you ever—”

“No.” Marissa interrupted, trying to keep her tone even, but her foul mood was worsening after that encounter. She shouldn’t take it out on Belle. “He’s probably a cheater, just like every other . . .”

Marissa didn’t feel the need to finish her sentence. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The whole time she was griping, Belle was gushing. Normally Belle would stop to tell her that not all men would be like her ex. That some men were good. But not today. Today she was too busy gushing.

Gushing about how hot this new guy was. Gushing about his pecs, his ass, his eyes, his arms, his face—everything. Marissa fought the impulse to tell her to stifle it.

In the dining room, the phone rang.

And again.

And again.

It didn’t look like Belle was going to answer it.

Marissa wiped her hands on the towel, ran to the living room and picked up the cordless phone. “
Two West Two
.”

“Miss Sanchez?”

Him. His voice. Finn. She recognized his voice.

She coughed. Then she couldn’t stop. What the hell? What was wrong with her? And why was he calling her? She croaked out a “Yes?”

“I just wanted to apologize for upsetting you this morning. Not my intent, at all.”

Why would he call her right up to apologize? Why not simply tell her when he came back to get dessert, as he told Belle he was going to do?

Maybe he didn’t want Belle to know he was talking to her? Player. Cheater. Douche. Marissa dismissed him from her mind. “You’re fine.” Okay not the thing she meant to say, not the way it could be interpreted. “What I meant was, it’s fine. No problem.”

There was silence on the phone. He either wasn’t speaking, or he’d hung up, or they’d been disconnected.

Either way,
she shrugged, and hung up the phone.

Marissa tripped over a backpack on the floor in front of the counter. Picking it up, she dropped it behind the counter, next to the cash register and headed back to the kitchen.

“I kind of like him.” Belle was droning on—still, as if Marissa hadn’t just left the room.

As if the ass hadn’t just called Marissa and tried to talk to her. As if he didn’t just try to sweet-talk her.

As if.

Marissa fought to keep the bitterness she felt at his duplicity from showing. She forced a smile to her face. “I couldn’t tell.” Marissa tried to widen the smile, to make it reach her eyes, to keep from snapping what she wanted to say, which was something along the lines of
I’m losing my restaurant. I’m losing everything. And you’re drooling over some . . . guy . . . a douche of a guy, actually. Really?

Okay, she needed an attitude adjustment. She really did. It wasn’t Belle’s fault. It really wasn’t that guy’s fault either. And Marissa seemed to be affected by him as much as Belle. Okay maybe not as much, but a whole lot more than she wanted to be. She shoved the onions in the reach-in, threw the cutting board in the sink, and made her way to the dining room.

If he showed up to have dessert with Belle, she’d buy his dessert and let Belle sit down and visit with him. They could call it a date. She’d surprise Belle with that nice gesture when he came. Ugh. She tried to quell the spark of jealousy.

If.
The voice of doubt said.
If he shows, because you know that men don’t follow through.
But Dad did, she argued with that voice. The one that said everything she never wanted to hear. She hated that voice.

Chapter 8

Finn

She hung up on him. She did. It shouldn’t matter. But yet . . .

Hunger roared in Finn’s stomach, demanding satisfaction. He ignored it and went back to the hotel room, where at least the temperature would be tolerable compared to the Houston heat and humidity.

He stripped his human clothing and lay on the cool bedspread, allowing his Asazi form to return. He closed his eyes, but the images of the dark-haired, green-eyed spitfire wouldn’t go away.

Reaching for the remote, Finn turned on the television and tried to immerse himself in the interests of humans.

He could not. The programming held little of interest, and Marissa would not stop plaguing his mind. He had time to kill before returning to
Two West Two.

Spying the files, he tossed the remote on the bed and flipped the top one open and found himself looking at that same green-eyed vision’s driver’s license photo. Marissa Secilia Sanchez. Target 41. Suddenly, knowing what would happen to the women mattered. He never paid attention to rumors or whispers, especially ones that didn’t concern or involve him, but he’d heard stories. Stories about what happened to human women in the First Wave. His grandmother was the exception. They didn’t count on his Asazi grandfather falling for a human. Curses, his grandfather hadn’t even counted on that. That changed a few things, taking her out of isolation that the human women of the First Wave were put into. Bringing her to live with the Asazi, to assimilate. She did a good job, but no other human woman was allowed to do that. She wouldn’t have been either, except Finn’s grandfather was a top-ranking general in the army. They weren’t about to tell him no.

Finn heard that things were different now, that Asazi technology had improved. That the dangers and methodology had changed.
Live female humans are no longer needed. There is no reason to accommodate transporting them.

What in the curses’ name did that mean? If not live, then—

A brief image of Marissa—pale, eyes clouded over in death—crossed his mind.

He didn’t want to think of that. He looked at the cell phone, wanting to call Kal, to ask for details. He punched the headboard, trying to jar the visual away.

He fought the urge to call Kal, his Asazi sensibilities battling with his human urges. His military training fighting his emotions. He couldn’t call Kal. That would create complications, draw attention to his human qualities, his qualifications to remain objective. These types of assessments of him would derail his military career. They’d lose respect for him and held be lost behind a desk, forever. No assignments, no missions, no excitement, no promotions. Just a dull, dreary, cubicle-centered life.

Then what were his options? He paced the room, picking up the remote again, flipping channels mindlessly.

His image in the mirror caught his eye, actually catching him off-guard. Not because he was in his Asazi form, but because his usual shimmering green hue was replaced with orange undertones. Green represented calm. These orange undertones were becoming more pronounced with every second.

Orange. The color of anger. A color, and an emotion that rarely made its appearance on Finn. He’d always worked hard to control emotions. And he succeeded. He prided himself on that success.

Evidently he didn’t succeed this time. He didn’t want to see his angry orange Asazi color. He’d sooner take on his human form. He muttered a curse, controlled his pulse, manipulating it, beginning the conversion to human once more. His wings folded, receded. His skin became a ruddy, human color once more.

He flicked the remote. One channel. The next channel. Another one. And another one. And another.

Loud moans stopped his rapid procession through the channels. A woman was on the screen, one with long dark hair, nude, sitting astride a man, rocking herself on his body. Her head thrown back, hands cupping, caressing her breasts.

A strange sensation, an unfamiliar one, not unpleasant, tugged at Finn’s groin area. A glance confirmed what he had yet to experience in his human body. An erection had affected his member to a throb, standing at bursting attention. He wrapped a hand around his thickness and was rewarded with a jolt of pleasure.

On the screen the woman dismounted, pushing herself off the man, revealing his own thick swollen member, glistening with her juices. She leaned over him, the screen closed in on her face as she lowered her lips and took him in his mouth. A moan erupted from the man.

Finn stroked his erection to the same rhythm the woman on the screen lowered and raised her head, seemingly swallowing the man’s erection in its entirety. A shudder coursed through Finn’s body and a drop of liquid seeped out from the slit on his pulsing mushroom-shaped head.

The screen panned away from her face, circled around her body, momentarily focusing on breasts that swayed with every motion as she bobbed her head and swallowed the man’s thickness.

Then the view changed, completing a trip around her body, finally closing in on her sex. Mesmerized, Finn stared at her swollen, dripping center. He stopped stroking. Transfixed. As if sensing his need to see more, she spread her legs, revealing a dark pink, reddish interior that pulsed and flexed, as if playing a peek-a-boo game he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

He didn’t notice when he resumed stroking his shaft, fingers firmly wrapped around that swollen part of his body. But he was very aware now that he was doing it, and the faster his hand moved, the shallower his breathing became.

The effect was natural, yet foreign. Asazi didn’t practice these base human interactions or actions even though they had the same body parts.

With the Asazi, offspring were designed and planted in order to create better beings. Whereas humans left these things to chance and emotions labeled as lust or love. And look where that got humans. Nowhere as far as the Asazi were concerned.

A part of his brain forced his hand to still, but he couldn’t contain it for long. He started again. He couldn’t refrain from the strokes that brought the intense pleasure.

Had it not been for human emotions, be they lust or love, his Asazi grandfather would not have claimed his human grandmother or created his half-human mother.