Page 39 of Alien Wants A Wife

Iroll onto my side, am immediately uncomfortable and switch to my back instead, staring up at the dark ceiling. Whichever way I face, it does nothing to ease the weight inside my chest. Chloe’s words are running circles around my brain.Desperate and fake. Desperate and fake.

This must be why Harlee ran from the storeroom and would not look at me after our kiss. I am fallinginstant in love, and I scared Harlee away because my feelings are too strong.

She thinks I am being fake.

She thinks I am lying.

Our kiss… I touch a hand to my lips. I think Ril’os do not kiss. I certainly never saw my parents act this way. But feeling Harlee pressed against me, feeling the softness of her lips and the malleability of her body, it was unlike anything I have ever experienced before. Or imagined. Orcouldhave imagined.

It had sent fire-like desire racing through my blood until I had been all greedy need and desperation?—

Akh.The weight in my chest increases, and I press a hand to my sternum, as though I can rub away some of this uncomfortableness.

Surely desire and desperation were the entire point of the Human kiss. Why kiss someone if desperation is not desired? Unless… mayhaps Harlee has kissed many people many times, and now kisses have lost all their feelings for her. Mayhaps she was being polite, teaching me about a Human tradition. It was Lydia who suggested we go into the storeroom together for kissing, not Harlee.

I cover my face with my upper hands, releasing a long, drawn-out groan.

How will I ever persuade Harlee that a life on Ril II with me will be a good life if I cannot hide my eagerness when in her presence?!

I would change my behavior if I thought I could. I would stamp down on my feelings of panic and worry that I am doing the wrong thing, and I would cut out the lump in my chest that reminds me desperation is not desirable.

My datapadpings, and I sit bolt upright, groping for it in the dark. At my touch, the screen lights up, and I hastily close my inner eyelids. They are translucent, which means I can still see, but they mute the powerful light.

The message is from Killan, and in his usual abrupt fashion he has only written:

Come now.

For someone who can spend hours lecturing Sorin and me on the various aspects of our shared farm and the business economics that go with running a not-for-profit charity, he never applies that same passion to his written messages. Mayhaps I would then have some idea of what is so important that I need to be disturbed in the middle of the night.

Harlee.The thought comes unbidden, and I hurry down the tunnel that connects my cottage with Killan’s larger house. Before I’ve reached the last door, I hear Female voices. I speed up, tripping over my own feet, so when I enter the kitchen it is with less grace than for which I hoped.

Harlee and Lydia are standing near the table, with large bags resting at their feet. Killan is hovering near the kitchen bench, his upper hands clutching cups of water as if he at least remembered some of his manners but not enough to actually hand the water to the Females.

“What is happening? Do we have another task to complete?”If John Smith has hurt them…To keep myself from clenching my hands into fists, I tug the cups from Killan’s hold and set them on the table for anyone who might want a drink to take.

“This is kind of like a task, I guess,” Harlee says, nudging the blue bag with the toe of her shoe. “Mr. Smith says we’re to stay here from now on.”

“Akh. Of course.” I exchange glances with Killan. “You are always welcome.”

“Thanks.” She gives me a small smile, barely lifting the corners of her mouth. “We don’t want to get in your way or be a burden but… yeah,” she finishes with her shoulders sagging.

Again, it is clear they were sent to stay with us against their will. I hate that Harlee is so hesitant to accept our hospitality, but it just makes me even more determined to show her how much I care and how well I can provide for her.

“Never.” I pick up the two bags, holding them in my lower hands. “Right, Killan?”

“I have spare rooms,” Killan grumbles. The angry bastard.

“I have a room,” I say on the spur of the moment. “Harlee should stay with me because…” I struggle to think of a reason that is not purelybecause I want her to.

“It’s been a long day,” Lydia says, saving me from failing to finish my sentence. “Which room is mine?” She points to the closest door leading from the kitchen.

“Here,” Killan gestures for her to follow him downstairs to where the bedrooms are, and she gently tugs her pink bag out of my hand.

When Harlee tries to take her blue bag, I strengthen my hold, saying: “This way.” She does not immediately let go, so we are both tugging on the bag’s handle. I am relentless, and she is forced to follow me or release her hold.

“Roan…” she begins, sounding tired.

“I am not desperate.” The words fall out of my mouth, and I freeze, one hand still clutching her bag, another hand opening the door that leads from Killan’s kitchen to the tunnel connecting our homes.

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