Page 2 of Her Alien Soldier (Asterion Station #1)

M aggie came around the curve of the corridor, shaking her head at the sight before her. The Altarian sat, glowering at the entrance to the bar, arms crossed over his massive chest. He took up most of the bench by himself and she was struck again by how massive he was.

She tucked the book she’d been reading (she had a fascination with old paper books from Earth, and this one was one of her favorites) under her arm and walked toward him.

“Still here, huh?” she asked quietly, and nearly jumped out of her skin when he leapt to his feet as if he was about to strike out at an enemy.

She looked up at him, noticing that his cheeks were an even darker purple than the rest of him, as if he was…

blushing? She tilted her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. ”

He cleared his throat, glaring at her as he sat down again. “You did not startle me.”

“Sure. Everyone jumps up like they’re under attack when someone speaks to them,” she said wryly.

“When one is used to being under attack, it is second nature,” he muttered. HIs cheeks were still that darker tone, and his gaze was fixed on the door to the bar.

Maggie sat down next to him, and she noticed his shoulders hitch as he drew in a breath. “Are you sure you don’t want to go take a break? I’m on now. I can keep an eye out for your Paraxian.”

He shook his head. “This is not your concern, Maggie the bartender.”

“Wow. You actually said ‘Maggie the bartender’ like it’s my name,” she said, biting her lip, trying her hardest to hold back her laugh as he glowered at her. “I’m not just ‘Maggie the bartender,’ you know. Maybe ‘Maggie the reader,’ or ‘Maggie the terrible singer,’” she offered.

“You could not be any worse than the Tilesian singer that performed a few hours ago,” he said.

Maggie laughed. “I know the one you mean. I was grateful my shift ended before they were scheduled to perform last night.”

The Altarian gave a small shake of his head. “I have suffered actual physical wounds that were less painful.”

She studied him, chuckling softly at his words.

He was – aside from the ever-present scowl on his face – actually really attractive.

She’d noticed it in passing the day before, of course, but sitting here with him, it was even more evident.

The Altarians in general were a beautiful race.

Majestic, proud, built as if whatever had created them had said “let’s put every stunning, lust-worthy detail into these people.

” And the quiet one sitting there with her, with his deep, rumbling voice and his dark eyes and deep purple skin, was even more attractive than the other Altarians she’d seen.

Not that she’d seen many. But still.

“They have a way with their voices, that’s for sure,” Maggie finally answered, and she might have, maybe, seen the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. An almost-smile, maybe.

She’d take it.

“Are you working today?” he asked after a couple of quiet moments in which they’d sat, watching people as they passed in the wide corridor.

“I am. I should actually head inside. Are you staying out here?” she asked, standing up and stretching.

There was no way to miss the brief, intense look in his eyes when he looked at her, before quickly looking away. She felt her cheeks heating.

For crying out loud, Benson. You’re 42 years old. Blushing when a hot alien looks at you is teenager shit, she admonished herself.

“For a while…I might go back in and order another ale.”

She smiled. “No Tilesian bands today,” she promised. “A pretty quiet, relaxing lineup of performers, from the schedule I saw yesterday.”

“Blessings upon us,” he responded drily, and she laughed, giving him a wave as she headed across the corridor to the bar’s entrance. When the doors whooshed shut behind her and she was surrounded by the usual babble of voices and the clinking of glasses, she took a deep breath.

The last time she’d felt that awkward and giddy around someone was when she’d met the man who became her first husband.

They were in high school, just outside of Detroit.

Dimitri Gregoris had sat with her outside the gym after school, talking until the janitors had finally told them to leave.

A few years later, they’d gotten married.

And then it had all fallen to shit.

This was like those early, happy days, but had her heart pounding in a way she didn’t even think it was still capable of.

She strode behind the bar, greeting Julia, who was another of the human bartenders, a California girl who’d joined the military to see the stars, and then retired on Asterion Station to spend the rest of her time doing whatever the hell she wanted.

Maggie adored her, and they hugged in greeting. Julia filled her in on anything that needed to be replenished, any guests to keep an eye on, general bar gossip, and then looked at her curiously.

“You look chipper. Chipper-er,” she corrected, “since you’re a goddamn sunbeam every day of your life.”

Maggie laughed. “I’m talking to you, I got a new shipment of paper books, and there are no Tilesian bands performing today. Perfect day.”

Julia shook her head, laughing. “You’re adorable. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

“Drinking wine and watching classic Earth shows with my best friend? Nothing could keep me away,” Maggie promised. She glanced toward the door then, just in time to see the Altarian striding through. His gaze found her immediately, and their eyes met.

There was that heat rising to her cheeks again. And throughout the rest of her body.

She tore her gaze away from him and looked at Julia, who was studying her in amusement.

“Oh. That’s why you’re chipper,” she said with a laugh, and Maggie hushed her, noticing the Altarian walking toward the bar out of the corner of her eye.

In all fairness to herself, he was impossible to miss. It wasn’t like she was watching him, exactly. Because that would be weird.

“I’ve only talked to him twice. He’s waiting here for a Paraxian,” Maggie said quietly.

“I saw the note you left in the system,” Julia said with a nod, openly studying him before turning to Maggie. “Okay. I have a spa appointment. We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” she said with a grin.

“Nothing to talk about,” Maggie said, hugging her friend.

“I think we both know you’re full of shit,” Julia said warmly. “I’ve known you over 15 years and I’ve never seen you look like that,” she murmured in her ear.

“Hush. Bye,” Maggie said, gently shoving her away and laughing. Julia waved, glanced at the Altarian again, then wandered out, waving at a few other people as she went.

Maggie took a deep breath and turned to the big guy, who was in the same spot at the bar he’d inhabited the day before. “Ale?” she asked him.

“Please,” he said with a short nod. She went back to the cooler, came back, poured the ale, and slid it over to him, then used her reader to accept the credits he’d designated for the bar, and her tip.

Generous tipper, she mused. She’d noticed the same thing the day before.

He took a gulp of his ale, scanning the bar, just as watchful as he’d been the day before, before his gaze landed on her.

“Do you have a name? It’s weird to keep thinking of you as The Altarian.”

“Xarek,” he said, watching her. “Do you keep thinking of me, Maggie the bartender?” he asked in a low tone. A little extra rumble when he said her name. Although she might have been imagining that.

“I just meant… um. Having a name to go with the face,” she said with a nod, willing herself not to start blushing.

“Of course,” he said, and now she swore the corner of his mouth was definitely tilting up, just a little.

The big, gorgeous, grumpy bastard was teasing her.

“I’ll start calling you ‘Xarek the waiting,’” she joked, and he gave a small shake of his head.

“A title I will wear badly. I am not good at this,” he muttered, scanning the bar patrons again.

“It must be pretty important. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone wait here for such long stretches.”

He took a drink of his ale and set the mug down on the bar. “It is. And I was the natural choice when we were deciding who to send,” he said with a shrug. He seemed to tense up for a moment, and then relaxed.

“Can I ask what’s so important? And why you were the natural choice?

” She glanced at a server waiting for their drinks, and she held her hand up.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, then quickly got to work mixing and pouring drinks.

The orders had piled up a little, and she could have kicked herself.

She never did that. Got so distracted by talking to someone she forgot to do her actual job.

She wrapped up the orders that were waiting and handed them over to the servers, apologizing to each for the wait. To a one, they waved her off and some even laughed. “No one’s dying. It’s fine,” one of the Cendilax waiters said, chuckling as he walked away.

She double-checked to make sure no more orders had come in, poured another beer and shot for the Tilesian businessman near the other end of the bar, then made her way back to Xarek.

Xarek. She liked it. His name suited him. Strong, abrupt.

He was watching her, she realized, and her stomach did a weird little flip-flop as she stood in front of him. “So?” she asked.

“Second question first: I was the choice because I am injured and unable to fulfill my duties.”

She looked him over, and when he realized what she was looking for, he gestured irritably to a spot on his chest, just above his heart. “Here. I am mostly recovered, but not enough to be of use.”

“Of use how?”

“You know my people are at war, yes?” he murmured, and she thought, then slowly nodded.

“I think I’ve heard something to that effect, yeah. Things that aren’t happening in this quadrant don’t get brought up much around here,” she added apologetically.