Caid: Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides #3 (Intergalactic Dating Agency) Read online

  Then she stood before me, bosom heaving, but unharmed. “I’m glad you’re here. I was afraid you might not show up.”

  “Of course, I’m here, doll,” I said, using one of the suggested endearments from my study guide. Since she wore uncomfortable-looking footwear and seemed a little breathless, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to try a recommended icebreaker. “Are your legs tired? Because you can sit on my face and rest.”

  Her jaw dropped, and color flooded her face, not just pink, but red. For a moment, I thought she considered throwing her drink in my face—or slapping me. “That is so inappropriate. What is wrong with you?” She gasped.

  That wasn’t the reaction I’d been hoping for. “What did I say?”

  Hungry-eyed females fidgeted at their tables. “It will be a moment longer, ladies,” Jessie called. “I must speak to Caid alone for a sec.”

  She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hall. “Don’t you dare say anything like that to anybody tonight, do you hear me? These women were willing to give you a second chance, and you’d better not screw it up,” she hissed. “My job is on the line because of you, but if you don’t treat those women with the respect and courtesy they deserve, I’ll call this whole thing off, and I’ll quit right now. Do you understand?”

  “What do you mean your job is on the line?” That sounded ominous.

  “It means, I have ten days left to find you an acceptable woman or I’m fired.”

  “You won’t be at the Intergalactic Dating Agency anymore?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then I how would I see you?”

  “You won’t.”

  This was terrible. How could I convince her of our Fated attachment if I couldn’t see her? On Dakon, couples bonded as life partners when the male asked the female to be his mate, and she agreed. I needed more time with Jessie because she wasn’t ready to say yes. “So I have to date one of those females in there?” I’d rather stab myself in the eye.

  “Yes.” She gulped the entire contents of her glass and scowled at me.

  “B-but you’re my mate.”

  “Stop saying that!” She stomped her foot. “Listen to me. I. Am. Not. Your. Mate. You’re not genuinely interested in me. I’m just the first woman you got to know when you came here.”

  While she was the first female I’d spent any time with, upon meeting her, I’d immediately recognized her as my Fated mate, so I didn’t need to date any others. Joy had swelled my chest as hot need burned through my veins, causing my horns and loins to throb. An urge to protect her, coddle her, claim her, had pulsed in my blood. I couldn’t imagine a clearer sign the Fates had chosen her for me.

  Earth people seemed completely unaware of the presence, let alone the power, of the Fates, but ignorance didn’t alter their influence. I had assumed if I spent time with Jessie, she would come to recognize our bond. So I agreed to as many matches as I could get, because afterward Jessie and I would discuss them. Those were the dates I looked forward to.

  Sometimes, I thought I was making progress, and Jessie was softening toward me. I’d catch her looking at me with longing and desire, but then her face would shutter, and she’d be right back to pairing me off with somebody.

  I saw no reason to date those females—not when I already had Jessie. I desired only her. It didn’t matter she hadn’t yet accepted she was my mate, I had no feelings for the others. But I couldn’t let her lose her job—I’d never see her again.

  I couldn’t imagine waking every day with the knowledge I’d never gaze upon her pretty, dotted face, her orange hair, or her startling, beautiful blue eyes. On my planet, everyone had dark hair, eyes, and skin. To see such diversity of coloring among Earth people had come as a shock. And although blue eyes weren’t rare here, I hadn’t gotten used to seeing them.

  Jessie amazed me. Her skin was so pale you could see the faint lines of purple veins. Her musical voice was soft and sweet, even in anger, like now. I still wasn’t sure what I had said to annoy her. Why would the study guide recommend certain words if they made a female angry? Maybe I hadn’t said them correctly. My pronunciation could be off.

  “Now, listen up, because this is the way it’s going to be.” Jessie jabbed my chest with her finger. “You’re going to march in there”—she pointed at the conference room—“and you’re going to talk to every single woman at the mixer.

  “You’re going to be nice”—jab—“you’re going to keep your stupid pickup lines to yourself”—jab—“you’re going to address the women by their names and not sweetie or honey pie or angel face”—jab—“and at the end of the evening, you’re going to pick one!” She poked me extra hard.

  I grabbed her hand and held it against my heart. With my thumb, I caressed her palm. A fleeting emotion flickered in her expression before she banked it, and her defiant gaze met mine.

  “Do you really want that?” I asked quietly.

  Until I’d met Jessie, I used to believe when the Fates finally led me to my female, love would come naturally. For me, it had, but contrarily, I’d been challenged at every turn. It had been said nothing worth having came easy. Jessie had proven the saying to be true.

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

  Staring into her eyes, I brushed my mouth against her hand. Her pupils dilated in a flash of longing before she yanked away, made a fist with the hand I’d kissed, and pressed her lips together.

  Then it hit me—she didn’t want me to pick a female. She didn’t want that at all.

  Suddenly I had a plan for wooing her.

  Employing another technique recommended by my study guide, I swatted her ample buttocks. “All right, sweet cheeks!”

  Chapter Three

  Jessie

  “Okay, ladies! At the end of tonight’s function, Caid will choose one of you for a personal, romantic date, so remember the three simple mixer rules. One: have fun! Fun is mandatory! Two: mingle, mingle, mingle. Keep circulating. Caid wants to get to know as many of you as he can. And three: limit yourself to two cocktails. That’s the maximum. Everyone should have a good time, but not too good of a time.”

  Clustered in groups of three around tall tables, the twelve women tittered, but the alcohol limit wasn’t a joke. I wished to prevent someone from getting sloppy drunk and doing something she’d regret, and the last thing I needed was for alcohol to loosen Caid’s tongue. The words that came out of that man’s mouth!

  I raised my empty champagne glass in a toast. “Is everyone ready?”

  “Ready!” the women shouted and lifted their glasses.

  “Then, as we say in Dakonian, obah!”

  “Obah!” Caid shouted with more enthusiasm than I would have expected. He shot for the nearest group of women, and, with a wide grin, turned on the dimpled charm. Thank goodness. Maybe I’d gotten through to him. I don’t know what I’d done or said that had worked, but I was grateful for it.

  I sallied over to the bar and handed my glass to the bartender with short, spiked purple hair. “Hit me.”

  She refilled the flute with champagne, and I sipped it, watching Caid toe the line and do what he was supposed to. He smiled and chatted, and the women ate it up, giggling, preening, and flirting like he was the galaxy’s gift to womankind. What did women see in him? Okay, he was muscled, horned, and more handsome than any man had a right to be; his smile could light up an entire city; and his deep, rumbling sexy voice could curl a woman’s toes. When he focused those dark, alien eyes on you, the earth stopped moving.

  But he was also a smarmy, insincere, Casanova jackass. The former did not mitigate the latter. I mean, if you were into shallow, Caid was okay.

  I’d expected to have a monster of a time convincing his former dates to come to the mixer, but surprisingly, nearly all of them had agreed. Despite his bullshit, his charisma attracted women like moths to the light. Made me wish I had a bug zapper.

  I took a drink of my sparkling wine and crunched a few bar peanuts. I’d been stressing over the mixe
r, wondering if the women would show, if Caid would behave himself, so I’d only picked at my lunch, and skipped dinner altogether to rush to the hotel after work to oversee the setup.

  “He’s pretty hot,” the bartender said as she wiped the counter with a white terry cloth rag. Her black tank top showed off full sleeve tattoos and muscular biceps. “Those horns! Oh, baby! What is he?” Lines feathered out from her eyes and bracketed her mouth. She had to be in her mid-forties—a decade and a half older than Caid, yet, she, too, itched for him, if her comments and the appreciative gleam in her eyes served as an indication.

  “Dakonian.”

  “Do they all have horns?”

  “Yes. It’s one of the features of their species.”

  “Are the horns window dressing, or are they reactive, responsive?”

  “You mean like an erogenous zone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have no idea.” Were they? I’d noticed Caid’s horns swell and pulse on occasion, but I had no idea what that signified. Maybe they acted like barometers and reacted to air pressure or something.

  “Might be fun to find out.” She grinned.

  Feminine laughter pealed. One woman, Iliana, touched his forearm and leaned into him. He gazed at her and winked. A pediatric surgeon, Iliana spoke five languages fluently, and she was tall, slender, and exotically beautiful with almond-shaped eyes, mocha skin, and shiny black hair falling to her waist in a wave. She probably hadn’t had a bad hair day in her life. Her IDA membership highlighted the desperate state of relationships on Earth. If an accomplished, gorgeous woman like her had to resort to joining a dating service to meet a marriage-minded guy, then what chance did I have to meet my Prince Charming?

  With single women outnumbering available men, guys didn’t have to commit to long-term relationships. Even serial monogamy had become the exception rather than the rule. More common were “drive-bys:” men who popped in to see their “girlfriend” for a quickie when they got horny, and then left immediately after.

  Caid glanced in my direction then bent his head and whispered something to Iliana. I hoped he wasn’t subjecting her to one of his cheesy pickup lines. Did he inflict them on every woman—or just me? Iliana’s delighted laughter trilled.

  Just me, I guess.

  I downed my champagne, kept the glass, slipped off the barstool, and sauntered over to his table. “Sorry, ladies. I hate to break up the gathering, but I need to get Caid circulating. He’ll come back around later.”

  The women glowered. If glares were daggers, I’d be bloodied, which increased my pleasure in dragging him away.

  “How am I doing?” he asked.

  “Good,” I said, my chest tight. Better than I had expected. I clutched my empty champagne glass.

  Balancing a tray with fresh drinks, a cocktail waitress approached. “Can I get you something?” she asked Caid. Her tone, and the way she batted her false eyelashes, suggested she might be offering more than an alcoholic beverage.

  “I’d like an ale,” he said.

  “Will beer do?”

  “Perfect.” He smiled, and she practically swooned. It’s a wonder she didn’t drop the tray.

  She handed him a mug, and, with a lingering glance, turned to leave.

  I cleared my throat. “Excuse me?”

  “Yeah?” She peered over her shoulder.

  I waved my empty flute.

  “Oh, sorry.” She smiled at Caid and replaced my empty with a fresh one.

  I had to put up with the IDA selections fawning over him, but I damn sure wouldn’t abide competition from the cocktail waitress—or the bartender, for that matter. Competition? No competition. What I meant was, I had to match him with a client from the agency. It wouldn’t look good if clients resorted to finding their own dates because, if they could do that, what did they need the agency for? If Caid hooked up with someone from the outside, it wouldn’t count toward my quota. I took a big gulp of champagne and swallowed. “Sorry. No date for you. You’re not in the program,” I muttered as the cocktail waitress sashayed away.

  “What did you say?” Caid asked.

  “Nothing. Come on. You need to join the next set.” I’d separated the groups, spreading them around the medium-sized conference room to give them some privacy and allow more intimate conversation. Judging from the way the women jealously eyed each other, it had been a wise move on my part.

  If I didn’t hand him over to the next clowder soon, I could have a catfight on my hands. As we approached, they fidgeted and primped, freshening their lip gloss, and smoothing their hair. They hadn’t come here to talk to each other—they’d come for Caid. The man of the hour. More accurately, man of the quarter hour; each table received Caid for a fifteen-minute interval. He’d make two rounds, visiting each table twice.

  Before we reached the next group, Caid caught my elbow. His cologne wafted around me. What was it he’d called it? Oh yeah. Panther. The scent that drove women wild. I inhaled. Maybe he’d learned how to apply it because it didn’t seem nearly as obnoxious this evening.

  “How does it feel?” he asked in a throaty growl.

  “How does what feel?”

  “To be the best-looking girl in the room?”

  “You’re making fun of me, now?” I gaped at him. I thought I was used to his cheesy lines, but this one hurt, hooking and digging into my insecurities like a barb. All the women here hit a ten on the gorgeous scale, whereas I barely rated average on the best day, and I didn’t have too many of those. I was a short, overweight, frizzy-haired carrot top. When I blushed—which I did at the slightest emotional blip—my own face clashed with my hair.

  “No! I would never do that.” He looked horrified.

  “Then why would you say such a thing to me?”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Champagne sloshed in my glass as I jerked my arm away. Just get through tonight. I needed him to pick a woman, and then he’d be matched in the system, and I wouldn’t have to deal with him again, wouldn’t be subjected to his flirting and flattery. My chest constricted.

  “You’re beautiful.” His horns twitched.

  I practically shoved him to the next table. Like someone had flipped on the Christmas lights, the women brightened. “Here he is, ladies. A little late, but worth waiting for.” I almost choked on my words. He was a jerk. A player. An alien Lothario. Why did women like him?

  Why did I? I tipped my glass for a gulp.

  Why did my heart shatter at the realization if tonight’s event succeeded, I’d be rid of him and wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore? My job would be safe; I ought to be elated. He’d been like a pebble in my shoe. A burr under my saddle. An itch I couldn’t scratch.

  “Hello…Caid,” the women purred. On their original dates, he’d all but stood them up, appearing only briefly to say he wouldn’t be continuing with the date. Yet, they’d forgiven him. I should be thrilled. I needed the women and Caid to click so I could save my job, but their ready absolution irked me. Why couldn’t they be a little less nice? At least make him work for forgiveness. Force him to grovel.

  I lifted the glass to my lips, but it was empty.

  Caid aimed a megawatt dimpled smile at each woman. “Hello, Joella…Margo…and Kaylie.” He remembered their names? The name tags they wore were for me so I could tell who was who. Few aliens, and none of the Dakonian’s I’d met, could read English. Translator implants enabled extraterrestrials to speak and understand Terran languages, but not read them. Caid conducted himself like I’d ordered him to, but he never called me by name. No, I was honey, babe, sweet cheeks. My face heated in remembrance of how he’d slapped my ass.

  The man had no boundaries. If he wasn’t a horned alien Adonis, he’d never get away with half the crap he pulled. So, why did I let him?

  I smiled. Hopefully, it didn’t look like a grimace. “I’ll let you chat and get acquainted.” Like you should have done the first time around. We could have avoided the need for a mixer if the stupid Dakon
ian had acted like any normal man would have and had accepted what was offered to him. Offered? These women had presented themselves on a silver platter with an engraved invitation! “But, I’m going to set a timer. When it dings, Caid will need to move on to the next group.”

  “Aw…” Kaylie pouted.

  “Sorry,” I said, not the least bit regretful. “I have to be fair and give everyone equal time. Have fun. Excuse me, please.” As I spun around to return to the bar, the suddenness of the turn caused my head to swim. Dizzy, I swayed on my feet.

  “Are you all right?” Caid gripped my elbow.

  “I’m fine.” I waved him off. “Please.”

  He looked uncertain, but he returned to the table.

  I picked my way to the bar. Unused to high heels, my feet were killing me, but without the added height, I’d feel like a munchkin. Because Caid stood over seven feet tall, the computer had chosen statuesque women. It was stupid to think adding a few inches could make a difference in how I looked or in my confidence; hobbling was so not sexy.

  I focused on walking a straight line. Caid was like a large, powerful horse, the women were gazelles, and I was…a hedgehog. Small, round, and right now, prickly. And maybe the tiniest bit tipsy.

  I got to the bar, plunked my empty glass down harder than I intended, and grabbed my phone, setting the timer app for fifteen minutes. To mess with Caid, I could set it for like sixty seconds and force him to rush from table to table in a game of musical chairs. However, as much as I would relish him dancing to my tune, it would be self-defeating. Not only would Caid not appreciate it, the women would hate me. I had to get him matched. Then I could keep my job, forget him, and get on with my life. My wonderful life.

  At Caid’s table, feminine laughter rang out, followed by his rich, throaty rumble. Squeezed into a pair of heels I would ditch the moment this hell ended, my toes curled in response to his voice. Kaylie lightly slapped his arm then let her hand linger. Caid peered down at her and grinned. Would it be Kaylie? Would she be the one he would choose? Previously, I would have put my money on Iliana. But, it could be any of them. The Intergalactic Dating Agency computer program had picked them because of their mathematical suitability, and apparently their perfectly symmetrical facial features.