Her Alien Savior (3 page)

Thinking of human food brought his human grandmother to his mind. During the First Wave, many take ago, she was brought back and assimilated. She used to pull him aside and confide that he reminded her of her brother—a human. The day she told him this, Finn determined to never let the human side out. Being human was a weakness, not that humans weren’t likable—but they were so damned flawed. So ruled by emotions.

From that day on, Finn strived for a perfected stoicism. And he avoided his grandmother.

He rolled over in his berth, disgusted, appetite gone. Damn it, he never planned to be in the next movement to bring humans. This was the Third Wave. The Second Wave failed, left evidence on Earth that his kind had made it there. Leaving the humans in a panic that they’d be invaded by Martians—he smirked at that thought, Martians, ha. The Asazi had waited decades to return, allowing the furor to die down. To become legends, whispers, conspiracy theories.

Studying the human culture was not optional. The Asazi belonged on Earth, not these humans. One day, the Asazi would reclaim their place on Earth.

He wondered again, what would happen to the women. What would be done to them? Would they live? Would they be kept captive? Would they be released? Or . . .

A small stab—emotional pain, human pain—caught Finn off-guard. He pushed it back. He didn’t need to feel pain for his grandmother—a human. Kal’s words invaded his mind,
it is not bad to have emotions, our kind do.

What did Kal know? He had no human blood in him. He had no human ancestors. Kal’s mother was 100% Asazi. Unlike his own mother, half-human, half-Asazi, who died giving birth to Finn. Her choice, though she was warned not to, or so Finn’s father told him countlessly. During childbirth, if the babies were not removed surgically, the human women died. But she was hardheaded, that half-human mother of his. His father would have a look of sadness on his face when he related this to him, sadness until his Asazi stoicism returned. Then it was replaced with nothingness. As if the sorrow vanished. Or never existed.

Finn’s walk to the pod that would take the team from the carrier to Earth was like a prisoner’s walk to the gallows. Each step was heavy. Why did it feel like he was walking to his own execution? Not that he had any experience with executions or being a prisoner or a lawbreaker. No, not him. Not top-of-his-class Finn. He snorted in disgust, maybe even despair. And now he was here, the seducer of women. Snap out of it. Not that easy. He slipped into his pod and strapped himself in. One of twenty. All of them lined up, ten on each side of the cabin. All converted to human males. And all soldiers. This gave Finn pause, but he didn’t dwell on it for long.

He ran his hand over his human chest under the T-shirt. The sensation was oddly pleasing.

“Prepare to hibernate.” The pilot’s voice came through Finn’s headset, warning them that sedative gases would be released in the individual capsules of those being transported for insertion. “You’ll be unconscious until we are ready to insert you into Earth population.”

Finn wanted to ask if he could put himself back in his native body for the trip because of the energy it took to remain human. He knew better than to ask. He’d already been advised not to by Kal.

And he knew Kal was sitting next to the copilot, he was going with them. He would hear Finn’s request, and Finn would hear about it later. And not in a good way.

Chapter 5

Marissa

Marissa pushed her chair further away from the damned bank officer’s desk, and hoped her heel scuffed the dark mahogany wood. That it would leave a mark, but she didn’t want to look. It so didn’t matter right now, not after what he just told her. She fought to control her anger, but fury won out. “What do you mean, do I have someone to cosign? I’ve been in business for nine years. Why should I need a cosigner? My father had this restaurant for thirty years before he died—”

“Miss Sanchez, times have changed. Have you looked at the numbers in the last few years—”

What she wanted to say was
why don’t you fuck off
. But since he had no qualms about interrupting her, what she interrupted him to say was, “When two of the largest companies in the area relocate to different states, sales go down.” This was her fifth visit. Unproductive. Fifth visit to this cold, impersonal, sterile environment. Why did she ever used to think that it was welcoming here? Things had changed. Funny how when you need your bank, they crap on you, but when they want your business they’re all sugary-sweet.

“Do you have family that can cosign?” The bank’s loan officer was back on that.

“No.” Not really, anyway.

“Then—”

“Look, they’re taking away a big part of my restaurant. Crooked developers.” Yeah, she was pissed. All kinds of pissed. They were threatening her livelihood. The only thing she had left of her father’s dream. No dammit, she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

“This is progress, Miss Sanchez. It’s all in the name of progress.”

“I can’t afford progress.”

“Surely you could get a job as a restaurant manager for one of the chains? One of the local restaurants that aren’t floundering?”

He didn’t get it. At all. This restaurant. Her dad. She fought the tears of anger and helplessness. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Times like this she wished she was the irrational violent type. She’d love to take a Molotov cocktail to the developers’ homes. She didn’t even know who these faceless rich entities were.

”Never mind.” She catapulted out of the chair. She had a restaurant to run and food to prep. And options to come up with.

~*~

Marissa diced the onions, allowing the tears that flowed to be attributed to the pungent smell while the knife she wielded tapped out a machine-gun-rapid tempo on the cutting board. She had to figure something out. Damned developers.

Talk about your rock and a hard place. She wiped tears onto her sleeve, barely pausing with the chopping. As if she were taking her anger out on the onion.
Take that county officials.
She stabbed the cutting board.
Take that developers. Take that stupid bank officer.
The onion was liquefying under the pressure of her knife.

A bell chime signaled a customer—or someone—had come in the front door. A quick glance at the clock showed it was waaaayyy early for business. Well, maybe not way early, but at least fifteen minutes before they were to open. And earlier than she wanted to open. What with this grumpy mood of hers.

From the dining room, Belle’s tinkling giggle was met with a deep timbre. Male. And judging from Belle’s giggle, Marissa would have guessed attractive. Great. Just great.

Belle loved an opportunity to flirt. Not that Marissa blamed her. Sure, it’d be nice to have someone, but Marissa’s luck with men wasn’t all that great.

She should go check on the customer. Whoever it was. It’s your restaurant, girl—
every customer, every time
—her dad’s motto ran through her mind. That meant personalized service. She wondered if he’d still feel that way if he were here and faced losing the restaurant. When all she wanted to do was sink into a hole, or crawl under a rock, anything as long as she could hide from the world and the failure she’d become.

Man up, Marissa, put your big-girl pants on and get out there. She put the knife down and rinsed her cheeks with a splash of cold water, blotting with a paper towel. Marissa tried to plaster a smile on her lips, but her face hurt with the effort. Or maybe that was her heart.

She swung the stainless steel double doors open and stepped into the cool, inviting darkness of
Two West Two’s
dining room. A man was leaning against the door, setting his backpack on a booth seat, talking to Belle.

Wait, did she say man? No, this was a hunk. All muscle, white tee that showed off pecs, dark hair, just long enough to run fingers through and a full set of lips with a ready smile.

Except that when he raised his eyes from Belle’s enraptured countenance, right into Marissa’s eyes, Marissa would have sworn she saw recognition in his eyes. Not a glimmer of recognition—no—more like the kind of recognition a hunter gets in his eyes when he recognizes prey.

Surely she was mistaken. Had to be. Who would come in here seeking her out? Really, what man like that would be in here looking for her? She fought to keep a poker face, to keep from showing her confusion.

She didn’t care for the way his glance made her feel. No. She didn’t care for it one bit. Or, did she? She rocked on the balls of her feet to keep from squirming under his intensity.

The stranger took a step in her direction. Marissa stilled. Now what? What did he want? He wasn’t dressed like a salesman, so probably not a restaurant supplier. He . . . he seemed more like—God, he looked more like the kind of man who would pose on the covers of romance novels.

The image of a bodice-ripper romance came to mind. No, not that kind, Marissa fought back the laugh, because he’d think her crazy for laughing out loud. The kind that he brought to mind was the sexy vampire stories, the ones with those beautiful men on them who make a woman wish she could meet a vampire. Yeah, that’s what he looked like.

And good-looking men were bad news. Bad, bad news. They attracted women. Lots of women. Women who had no qualms about sleeping with a man who was taken. Yeah, well what about the men who did that—way worse, Marissa agreed with herself. Not only did good-looking men do that, they also made you do stupid things. Yeah, no good-looking men for her. Give her an ugly dude on any given day.

He kept on walking closer. Close enough to see the stubble on his chin and the deepest darkest blue of his eyes.

“Marissa Sanchez?”

Marissa fought to keep the defensiveness from her voice. “Who wants to know?” And lost. Defensiveness and outright hostility she couldn’t control had come out.

Her vehemence clearly stunned him. He paused, then, “I’m Finn.”

“And that should mean something to me?” Oh God, why was she in such bitch-mode? Why? Could be because she was losing her restaurant. Her history. Her dad’s dream. It was bad enough she lost Dad. “What can I do for you?” She made an attempt to soften her tone.

The man, Finn, turned back to Belle. Probably wishing he could still be talking to her. And Belle stared at him and defined the whole
batting eyelashes
phrase for Marissa.

And for some reason, for some damned reason that Marissa didn’t want to put her finger on, it pissed her off that he was wishing he could be talking to Belle instead. And it made her wonder why she couldn’t get past the feeling he was looking for her, even though he wasn’t exactly acting like it anymore.

Chapter 6

Finn

Finn took a look back at the nice one. Belle was her name. A plump one with pleasing curves and curly red hair, blue eyes, of Irish descent probably, if he’d studied his Earth history well enough. She stood near the entrance, holding a dark wood wall for support, as if she was going to swoon, giving him a look that said she would follow him . . . anywhere, but probably preferably to a bed. The lighting was dim, the décor simple, sconces casting the dark table tops in a glow. Windows every few feet were half-shaded, keeping the heat and sun out.

He almost wished she were the one he was assigned to get close to. To bring back. Then he looked back at the girl referred to as Marissa in the paperwork. Marissa Sanchez. Target 41.

Not a chance. No, he’d keep this one, number 41, this Marissa. She wouldn’t be easy, that was clear, but there was something about her. Something fierce and passionate that made a reaction churn in his body. Especially in the regions he was cautioned against using with humans. He was confused. These strong sensations. This attraction, he hadn’t felt that before.

Spirited little thing that she was. She had a fire in those eyes, eyes the color of the lakes at home, not the ones on Earth—hers were green, almost iridescent—she was dark-skinned, curvy. Curses. He fought the urge to focus on her body. Being human wasn’t easy. He felt a stirring and worked his mind to rid his body of its impulses.

Were things more difficult for him because he was part human? Was that what made these things happen to his body? Or did all of the ones who were put on Earth go through that when they assumed human form? He’d have to remember to ask the others when they got back. Or should he? He’d probably sound . . . stupid . . . if he admitted to feeling things they didn’t.

He kept his face stoic, something he’d practiced for years and shouldn’t be hard to do, even in a human body, then looked into the little firebrand’s eyes.

Why did she hate him already? Why such animosity to someone she’d never met? He took a guess. “Bad day? It’s still early, I hope it’s not been a bad day.”

She fisted her hands, then unfisted, put them behind her back. “No, just busy.” She’d softened her tone, as if realizing how she sounded.

“Not a problem. I can come back later.” He turned around and made for the door, wondering if she was going to call him back, or if she’d let him walk out. Surely she was curious. He didn’t take long strides, hoping she’d relent—ask him what he wanted, why he was asking for her—that she would do something to stop him from going. He wanted to know more about this angry woman. She brought emotions to the forefront. He almost wanted to feign tripping and getting hurt to give him an excuse to stay, but then he cursed himself. Impetuous emotions. He could always come back. She owned this establishment, it wasn’t as if she was going anywhere. As he passed her, Belle gave him a wink. He’d come back alright. Under the guise of visiting Belle. She’d make things easier. He shot her a look and was rewarded with a flush that creeped from her ample bosom to her cheeks. “I’ll be back later for dessert.”

Marissa. He’d come back for her. It’s business. He told himself. Strictly business. Sure the other side of him scoffed, sure it is. It has nothing to do with those eyes, that hair, that face, that body, that intensity, that anger, that passion. Nothing at all.