Page 3 of Her Alien Soldier
And instead of being there, defending his homeworld with his fellow soldiers, he was here. He shrugged his shoulders, feeling the nagging pain of his injury. A Redlian shot had gotten lucky, taken him through the chest within a hair’s breadth of his heart. Shredded muscle, shattered bone.
He was of little use in battle until he could move well again. So here he was.
He sat again, resting his back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the entrance to the bar.
And, in the boredom, he found himself imagining Maggie the bartender, stripped bare, begging for him.
Chapter Two
Maggie came around the curve of the corridor, shaking her head at the sight before her. The Altarian sat, glowering at the entrance to the bar, arms crossed over his massive chest. He took up most of the bench by himself and she was struck again by how massive he was.
She tucked the book she’d been reading (she had a fascination with old paper books from Earth, and this one was one of her favorites) under her arm and walked toward him.
“Still here, huh?” she asked quietly, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he leapt to his feet as if he was about to strike out at an enemy. She looked up at him, noticing that his cheeks were an even darker purple than the rest of him, as if he was… blushing? She tilted her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He cleared his throat, glaring at her as he sat down again. “You did not startle me.”
“Sure. Everyone jumps up like they’re under attack when someone speaks to them,” she said wryly.
“When one is used to being under attack, it is second nature,” he muttered. HIs cheeks were still that darker tone, and his gaze was fixed on the door to the bar.
Maggie sat down next to him, and she noticed his shoulders hitch as he drew in a breath. “Are you sure you don’t want to go take a break? I’m on now. I can keep an eye out for your Paraxian.”
He shook his head. “This is not your concern, Maggie the bartender.”
“Wow. You actually said ‘Maggie the bartender’ like it’s my name,” she said, biting her lip, trying her hardest to hold back her laugh as he glowered at her. “I’m not just ‘Maggie the bartender,’ you know. Maybe ‘Maggie the reader,’ or ‘Maggie the terrible singer,’” she offered.
“You could not be any worse than the Tilesian singer that performed a few hours ago,” he said.
Maggie laughed. “I know the one you mean. I was grateful my shift ended before they were scheduled to perform last night.”
The Altarian gave a small shake of his head. “I have suffered actual physical wounds that were less painful.”
She studied him, chuckling softly at his words. He was – aside from the ever-present scowl on his face – actually really attractive. She’d noticed it in passing the day before, of course, but sitting here with him, it was even more evident. The Altarians in general were a beautiful race. Majestic, proud, built as if whatever had created them had said “let’s put every stunning, lust-worthy detail into these people.” And the quiet one sitting there with her, with his deep, rumbling voice and hisdark eyes and deep purple skin, was even more attractive than the other Altarians she’d seen.
Not that she’d seen many. But still.
“They have a way with their voices, that’s for sure,” Maggie finally answered, and she might have, maybe, seen the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. An almost-smile, maybe.
She’d take it.
“Are you working today?” he asked after a couple of quiet moments in which they’d sat, watching people as they passed in the wide corridor.
“I am. I should actually head inside. Are you staying out here?” she asked, standing up and stretching.
There was no way to miss the brief, intense look in his eyes when he looked at her, before quickly looking away. She felt her cheeks heating.
For crying out loud, Benson. You’re 42 years old. Blushing when a hot alien looks at you is teenager shit, she admonished herself.
“For a while…I might go back in and order another ale.”
She smiled. “No Tilesian bands today,” she promised. “A pretty quiet, relaxing lineup of performers, from the schedule I saw yesterday.”
“Blessings upon us,” he responded drily, and she laughed, giving him a wave as she headed across the corridor to the bar’s entrance. When the doors whooshed shut behind her and she was surrounded by the usual babble of voices and the clinking of glasses, she took a deep breath.
The last time she’d felt that awkward and giddy around someone was when she’d met the man who became her first husband. They were in high school, just outside of Detroit.Dimitri Gregoris had sat with her outside the gym after school, talking until the janitors had finally told them to leave. A few years later, they’d gotten married.
And then it had all fallen to shit.
