Excerpt
He lifted his head slightly and nudged hers back with his cheek, intending
to kiss her forehead. To be tender. To be a friend.
But her lips were there and they looked like strawberries against her green
skin and he knew even as her eyes widened and connected with his that
this was a bad idea. He brought his lips down on top of hers and he
found that he didn’t care. Didn’t care that she was the princess
of a galactic empire. That his best friend was in love with her sister.
That she was green. That they were friends. That he’d promised himself
he wasn’t going to get involved with someone he actually cared about.
Didn’t even care that the taste of her lips against his made him feel like
he was falling off a cliff and into a serious pile of shit.
They both shifted, moving so they were facing, and he brought his
hands up to cradle her face with his left while he wrapped his right around
her waist, hoisting her off her own stool and into his lap.
She had her fingers entwined in his hair and was kissing him
like he was her only source of air.
The tip of her tongue licked against his mouth, and he began to kiss
back, chasing her into her own mouth. He tightened his grip on her,
pressing their chests together, and he fought the urge to shift his hips into
her, to maneuver them onto the top of his bar. They were friends and
they’d had too much to drink and she was upset and this was the
last thing either of them needed.
She grabbed the front of his shirt right above the top button
and jerked downward, ripping the shirt apart and sending buttons
flying. Right, then. He kept a tight grip on her hips so she didn’t fall
off his lap and brought his other hand down to start fumbling with
the knot that held her sheet-toga-ceremonial robe thing closed.
She let go of his shirt and started squirming, pulling the hem up,
refusing to let go of his lips, and he tried his best to help her get the thing
off over her head.
“Wait.” He broke his lips away from hers and wrapped his arms around
her waist, hoisting her up as he stood and dropped her onto the bar, pulling
the material off over her head, trying not to drool because how had he not
realized that she’d been going commando under that sheet?
“Brandt.” She grabbed the sides of his dress shirt and pulled him
close again, pressing their lips together, and
suddenly his sweet little Perri had gotten forceful. “Didn’t you just
tell me I’d been on Earth six months and I needed to go ahead and
have sex already?” “Well.” He wasn’t sure what to say. He’d been with
a lot of women who liked it a lot of different ways. But he’d never been
quite as turned on as he was right this very second with the little woman in
front of him handling him like a rag doll.
“Yes?”
“And that it should be with someone who didn’t freak out
when they found out I was green?”
“Uh-huh?” He studied her, some weird mixture of turned on
and really fucking intimidated.
“That leaves three possibilities. Anderson Fox is not interested in
having sex with a female. Mattias is in love
with my sister. And then there’s you. Ding ding ding, Brandt
Turner, you are a winner. Now take me upstairs and take my earth
virginity already.” “Um…” he muttered once before she managed to press
their lips together again,
and all he could think was, “Sure.
Okay. Best to give the lady what she wants.”
“Now,” she growled.
And to think, he’d thought she was the mild-mannered
alien princess in the lot.
Patricia Eimer is a suburban mom who has days where she feels like she’s barely hanging on. She currently lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her two wonderful kids and a husband that learned the gourmet art of frozen pizzas to give her more time to write. When she’s not writing—or shuttling her children to a hundred different places a day– she can be found trying to cook (and sometimes blowing up hard boiled eggs), reading and arguing with her dogs about plot points. Most days the Beagle wins but the Dalmatian is in close second and her mastiff puppy is making a break for the inside. Patricia meanwhile is a longshot fourth.
When she’s not writing she can be found on Facebook, at her website (www.patriciaeimer.com) or blogging about her attempts at cooking and her complete inability to craft as a contributor to the Suburban Flail Blog (www.suburbanflail.com). She is also a connoseiur of really bad science jokes.
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