Page 4 of Snowed in with the Alien Pilot

The scent of expensive scotch wafted from him, and her internal threat assessment kicked into high gear. McGaran’s wandering hands were legendary, and she’d already mentallynoted three incidents of him ‘accidentally’ brushing against female staff tonight she planned to report.

Before she could tell him where to get off—after all, Murphyhadtold her to explore non-physical solutions—a tall figure stepped into her field of vision.

“I believe the General promised this dance to me.” The Latharian warrior executed a precise bow, his formal leather armor creaking with the movement, and offered her his hand. Like all his race, his features looked like they’d been carved from marble by a master sculptor, all high cheekbones and intense golden-green eyes.

McGaran’s face flushed, but even three sheets to the wind, he retained enough sense not to challenge a warrior who topped him by a foot and a half. He grumbled and stumble-retreated with poor grace, leaving Evelyn to assess her unexpected alien savior.

“I don’t recall making any such promise,” she said, her tone ringing with the same authority she used with her students at the academy, but she accepted his offered hand. Murphy had ordered her to play nice, so play nice she would.

“I observed your discomfort.” The big Latharian guided her onto the dance floor with a fluid grace that belied his imposing size. “I am K’raan, second sub-commander of the Diplomatic Halls. Your reputation precedes you, General Allen. Your combat record is... impressive.”

His hand settled at her waist as they moved to the music. Despite his warrior’s build, he moved with grace and control, adjusting his stride to accommodate her shorter height.

“That was... considerate of you,” she acknowledged, holding her body in a firm dance hold and keeping some distance between them.

“It was entirely self-serving, I assure you.” His golden eyes held an intensity that set off warning bells in her mind. “I’vewanted to speak with you since learning of your dogfight maneuvers during your Titan-4 conflict. Few pilots could have executed such precision under those conditions.”

“That was classified information, sub-commander.” Her spine stiffened slightly, though her steps didn’t falter. It would take more than a charming smile to overset her.Unless it was Rhade’s.She ignored the thought and concentrated on K’Raan.

“Knowledge is power, General.” His hand slid lower on her back, his touch hardening in a way that made alarm bells roll through her. “Just as I know you graduated top of your class at the Air Force Academy, led three successful combat wings,” his voice dropped to a purr that reminded her uncomfortably of Rhade, “that you’ve never taken a mate despite numerous suitors.”

“My personal life isn’t open to discussion. Nor is it relevant to diplomatic relations.” She maintained her professional tone even as she calculated the fastest way to break his hold without causing an incident.

“Everything about you is relevant.” His grip tightened. “Your strength, your command presence, your beauty – they make you an ideal match for a warrior of status. Perhaps we could discuss this further over dinner? Somewhere more... private?”

The presumption in his tone matched the expression that had shifted from polite interest to something more intense. Like Rhade, he appeared to take her acceptance of a dance as agreement to something far more intimate.

Combat instincts gave her at least seven ways to drop him to the floor, but she didn’t, Murphy’s warning ringing in her ears. What would it look like if a human general decked a latharian diplomat?

“I’m afraid my schedule is quite full,” she said, disengaging from his hold with a practiced twist that looked natural butwould have broken his fingers if he’d tried to maintain his grip. “Thank you for the dance, Commander.”

She didn’t wait for his response, making her way through the crowd with efficient grace that brought her to the terrace doors in record time. The cool night air was a blessing after the stuffiness of the ballroom, and she moved to the stone railing. Bracing her hands against it as she took a deep breath and pushed down the urge to punch the next guy who got handsy with her. Human or alien.

Murphy’s earlier comment about Admiral Chen made her lips quirk. Chen had grabbed a young waitress’s bottom during last spring’s military ball, and her right hook had introduced his face to the punch bowl. The resulting splash had ruined three dress uniforms and created a situation that had taken weeks to smooth over diplomatically.

Worth. Every. Second.

The sound of the ball continued behind her, muted by the glass doors. Out here, she could see the city's lights spreading out below the embassy’s hillside location. The view helped settle her nerves, though she knew she couldn’t hide here forever. Murphy needed her inside, playing her part in this complicated diplomatic dance.

Five more minutes, she decided. Five minutes to enjoy the peace, to let the cool air soothe her irritation. Then she’d go back inside and do her duty. But she’d be damned if she was dancing with anyone else tonight, Latharian or human.

A burst of laughter from inside grew louder, and she turned as the doors opened to reveal K’raan’s tall, heavily muscled form. His face was in shadow but she sensed the hard grin as he looked at her.

“I knew you couldn’t resist my charms,” he said, stepping through the door and stalking toward her. “What pitiful human female could?”

4

Ice washed through her veins as he backed her up against the terrace railing. Her fingers gripped the cool metal behind her. He’d blocked her escape and he outweighed her by more than she wanted to think about, but, unlike he seemed to think, she wasn’t entirely helpless.

“You ran from me,” he growled, towering over her. His eyes glinted in the shadows. She felt like prey. “That ends now.”

She kept her breathing steady and her spine ramrod straight. No violence, she reminded herself as she fought the urge to punch him in the throat—Murphy’s orders.

“Commander, step back.” She ordered, her voice an icy whip in the air. “This is entirely inappropriate?—”

The rest of her words disappeared as he surged forward, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was brutal and possessive, catching her by surprise.

His teeth scraped against her lips, and bile rose in her throat. His taste was wrong—metallic and alien, like licking a battery. She shoved at his chest as hard as she could, but it was like trying to move a steel bulkhead.

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