Page 25 of Alien Wants A Wife

“For earlier?” I blink.

“Yes, for when you sided with Lydia and Briar and me.”

“You were abducted,” I remind her. Of course, I sided with her. To do otherwise would have been to condone kidnapping. I have heard of similar cases before, where people have been taken from their home planets, usually by the Hov, to work as slaves in their gladiatorial Arena. It never occurred to me that LOVE GALAXY would be involved in such a practice.

“I did not know—” I begin, but I am so desperate for her to understand that I trip over my words. “I never would have applied— Abducted?—”

“Don’t say the ‘abducted’ word.” John Smith’s voice blares through the room as loud as if he were standing between us.

Harlee jumps, pressing a hand to her chest and looking around wildly. Her gaze settles on the closest camera as John Smith continues speaking, “Flirt. Banter. Laugh. Happy thoughts only,” he demands through the loudspeaker.

A flash of something that might have been anger flits across her face, but then Harlee is brushing her hands down the silk of her dress, smoothing the fabric. “Flirting only,” she agrees, but I could have sworn she had been about to say something else, something not so agreeable.

I glance between her and the camera, hating that this is how we met. Hating that John Smith is tarnishing our first time alone together. Hating that I am desperate enough, selfish enough to want to continue with LOVE GALAXY even after all the horrors that have befallen Harlee and the other two eligible Females.

I open my mouth to tell her of these thoughts, wanting to explain my internal struggle, but she leans forward, resting a hand on one of my knees, and my brain short circuits.

I look down at my leg, staring at her small hand. Against my green scales, her skin looks impossibly pale and impossibly soft.

I swallow, my blood rushing to my cock.

With a gasp, I shove my chair backwards, away from her hand, desperate to hide my growing bulge.

The chair’s feet are nailed to the floor. With a crack, the seam where the chair seat meets the chair back splits, and I tumble backwards. My ass hits the ground with a thud that rocks the entire spaceship, leaving my legs draped over the chair seat.

My heart thumps in my chest. There is no way John Smith will not use the footage of me falling over in the first episode. Everyone in all the known galaxies will see exactly how alone I am. How unpracticed I am at speaking with Females.

“Umm…” Harlee stands, leaning over me. “Are you alright, Roan?”

Her hair swings forward over her shoulders, and she brushes a strand out of her face with a dismissive wave of her hand. Creases line her expressive brow, and she presses her lips tightly together, holding back more words.

“Go on,” I urge her. “I am a mighty Male. I can handle whatever you have to say.”

“I’m…” She covers her mouth with a hand, but a giggle escapes, nonetheless. “I’m not laughing at you,” she assures me, more giggles slipping out from between the gaps of her fingers. “I’m laughingwithyou.”

Her happiness is a beautiful sound. Contagious.

“With me?” Feigning incredulity, I slide my legs off the chair and use my upper arms to push myself into a more upright position.

“Ah-ha,” she agrees, unable to open her mouth without laughing.

Our gazes meet. The corners of her eyes crinkle. Slowly, she removes her hand from her mouth. The corners of her lips are curved upwards, and she is showing me her blunt teeth again.

Akh, so this is what her happiness looks like. I had been wondering.

Then she blinks, breaking the connection.

“Come on. Up you get.” She grasps one of my lower arms, clearly trying to help me. Her strength does little to move me, but I follow her guidance and stand. Remembering too late not to straighten to my full height, my horns scrape against the ceiling.

“Fek!”

“Come here.” She steers me into turning around and sitting on her still-intact chair.

The urge to pull her onto my lap is almost undefeatable, and I glance around the room, seeking inspiration for how I might encourage her to touch me again. I would risk embarrassingmyself a million times if it meant the possibility of her hands on me once more.

“What should I do to get ready for filming?” I ask, examining the array of containers and electronics scattered over the three tables. “Mayhaps you could suggest something?”

“Oh.” She blinks. “Sure.”

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