Page 38 of Sublime Target

All of a sudden, she was hit with the need to see him whole, without the lenses and the armor and the distracting pink splatter. She wanted to appraise him the way she would a notable artwork.

Was she objectifying him?

Well, that was wrong.

But she couldn’t deny that her insistence on him getting cleaned up was partly due to the hope that she would get another eyeful of him.

She’d even offered him spare clothing—custom-made in an instant, delivered from a renowned boutique in the city in a matter of minutes.

She’d brought him to the private lounge reserved for senior members of staff. It was a quiet space with comfortable chairs, a beverage bot, and shower and dressing room facilities.

It was a pretty good space to have access to.

Garner might be a bit of a dick sometimes, but he wasn’t a terrible employer. Her working conditions weren’t the worst in this industry, but they could be better, too.

Anyhow, she’d bent the rules a little by allowing Jerik—a freaking alien—into this restricted area.

Actually, she’d broken all the rules.

Yesterday, she wouldn’t have thought of doing such a thing, but after getting to know him a little, it was obvious that he was completely different from how she’d imagined the aliens to be.

He was a lot more refined; a lot more savvy. She could tell he and his people had done this sort of thing a thousand times before—it was scary how well they understood Earth and humans and how things were done around here.

How quickly they adapted.

Not in a million years could she have expected that.

But then again, Jerik probably had experience dealing with all kinds of alien species and civilizations.

And when he’d acceded to her request—I really want to see what you look like—her whole world had fallen apart.

She took a sip of her tea and tried to calm herself, inhaling the delicate fragrance of jasmine.

She waited.

It was all she could do.

Good thing nobody else was around at the moment. The lounge was busiest after lunch and in the evenings, and it wasn’t quite lunchtime yet.

She savored the floral aroma of her tea as she tried to decipher this feeling of lightness in her body, this fluttering in her belly, this warmth.

What was this strange, giddy excitement?

Waiting, waiting…

Until, at last, the door leading to the dressing rooms slid open.

And he walked out.

Clarissa hid behind her teacup, pretending to take another sip as she swallowed deeply.

He’d cleaned up, all right. Mask gone, protective lenses gone, silver alien features and pointed ears on full display.

He wasn’t wearing the human-style clothes she’d procured for him. It was black armor or nothing, evidently. The pink splatter was gone, leaving only the obsidian suit in its place. She couldn’t ignore the menacing gun holstered at his waist, either.

Sleek, sculpted, seamless. The way he moved reminded her of a shark slicing through the water. Everything about him was powerful and purposeful.

And he clearly gave no fucks.

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