Page 26 of Alien's Luck
“Are you thirsty, my pet?” he asked.
She shook her head from side to side.
“Use your words,” he said.
She scowled up at him. “No, I’m not thirsty,” she said, carefully enunciating each word to the point they felt like daggers.
Adorable.
“I will feed you,” he said, patting the top of her head. He had only known her for two days, but he already noticed that her mood dramatically improved when she had a full stomach.
“I’m not hungry.” She batted away his hand.
He chuckled, but he knew the root of her dissatisfaction. He felt it, too. “You are also impatient, but this is a thing that must be done carefully.”
Carla made a grumbly noise that he interpreted as, “Why yes, you are correct as always, Ari.”
They had stayed overnight at the human -friendly settlement, waiting for the last delivery of their purchases. They traveled the next day, arriving at the Ocean’s Seven Club by evening. Not once had she thanked him.
That was acceptable. He did not want her gratitude. What he wanted was utterly more difficult to formulate.
She broke into his cabin in the middle of the night, held a blade to his throat, and threatened to murder him in any number of creative ways. He should have been appalled. The reasonable thing would have been to hire security to protect himself from the unpredictable female. He found himself unwilling to do so.
She was exceptional. Admirable.
Delectable.
“What are you smiling for?” Carla asked, sounding like she was definitely hungry. “I don’t know why we just don’t hire guys with guns to blow shit up for us. Smash and grab. In and out. Bada bing, bada boom.”
His translation chip must have been malfunctioning, turning her last words into gibberish. He said, “A gun is not the correct tool for this situation.”
“Isn’t it? I really feel like lots of massive guns would help.”
“You will feel differently after a meal. This club has an excellent restaurant.”
“I guess I could eat.”
The restaurant seated them immediately at a table in the center of the busy floor. Ari demanded a more secluded table and would not relent until the server relented.
“You didn’t have to be an ass about it,” Carla muttered.
“It would be suspicious if I weren’t.”
She snorted, then pressed her lips together and scowled, as if remembering that she should not find him amusing and charming. Folding her arms over her chest, she struck a defiant pose.
Ari understood her struggle. He was extraordinarily charming.
“I still don’t understand why. I think Plan Guns-a-blazing would work,” she said.
“One would think so. I’ve employed it successfully before,” he agreed.
“Then why can’t we?—”
A server appeared, delivering drinks and a basket of bread.
“What do you crave, my pet?” Ari asked, holding a menu.
His blood spilled on the ground, judging from the look she tossed him.
