Page 21 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

FIFTEEN

ARABELLA

Wow. Wooow.

Overnight, I gained ten thousand followers. It didn't stop there. In the past week, I've gained over eighty thousand followers.

Thousands of messages asking where this bed and breakfast is, all thirsty and asking whether the “hot builder” will be there. Holy shit. Gara’s next level looks have catapulted Ellen's new venture into the limelight overnight.

I shove back the crawling feeling it's all going to go wrong. If I stick at it, this time will be different. And I’ve totally hidden Gara in plain sight. Kind of clever, really. Right? Right.

It'll be fine.

I concentrate on following back all the followers. It's only polite. A few are private but one sticks out to me: The Bend Master. I click through the profile of a guy with a hard hat, and scroll reams of photos of big dirt holes.

Oh, shit, it's Fassbender, the family trying to buy Ellen's farm. This must be Fassbender Junior, taking selfies at development sites all over the country like hunting conquests. Yuck. I don't follow him back. Asshole.

I do have to put up another picture to capitalize on the momentum, though.

I flick through the ones I have as I sip coffee in bed.

Gara lifting stones. Gara with his pad. Gara looking at me over the top of the 3D hologram he can make of the barn, giving me a tolerant look.

Gara gazing at the farmhouse with longing in his face.

I remember that moment; I had snuck up on him.

It's nicely framed, morning mist blurring the background nicely. What was he looking for? He’d jumped when I stood next to him. “I thought you were inside. Good morning,” he'd said.

I sit up, the blanket I flung over my legs pooling onto the floor. Could it be he was looking for… me?

No, couldn't be. Maybe he was thinking of, I don't know, alien cheese and staring into space.

I quickly add some blur on Gara’s muscled back to make it look like he's wearing hi viz again.

Each sweep and slope of his body is pure art, and it pains me to hide him under my brush strokes.

I study the original photo for as long as I want with no one the wiser, and I'm still ogling when my phone vibrates, making me jump.

Laura's calling me. I pick up the blanket and pull it over me as I answer, using my nickname for her. “Mmmmorning, Law.”

“Good morning to you, too. How's things?”

“They're, well, pretty cool.”

“Mm. And Ellen's first bed and breakfast guests, are they behaving themselves?”

“First bed and… oh! Oh, yeah, they're pretty cool too.”

“Uh huh.” Laura pauses, fingers drumming on something. “I'm coming over for lunch. Can you let Ellen know when she gets back? ”

How does she know? “Uh… sure. So… Nicole told you?”

“Told me what?”

“That she’s, uh… gone on holiday.”

“Is that a joke? What about the—” She lowers her voice. “Bed and breakfast guests?”

“Ah. Right. So. Nicole didn’t tell you, then.” Oh, fuck. What do I say now?

Laura’s quiet, then sighs. “Where’s Ellen? Really?”

“So, uh, don't panic, but she, uh, she… She kind of went off with Ilia. In another spacesh—another car.”

“What the fuck?” The phone crackles as if Laura’s breathing down it. Like she’ll be breathing down my neck shortly.

I twist my fingers together. “The guys say she'll be okay?—”

“Of course they say that. I'm coming over.”

“Really, it's fine, but sure.” I perk up. “You can see progress on the barn. Ooh, and the new marketing account I set up.”

“Progress? They've kept building?”

“Yeah. You're gonna be impressed, it's really taking shape. Gara's been helping me stay organized and?—”

“I'll see you in half an hour.”

She’s uber pissed. Laura usually quotes Shakespeare for swearwords, then moves to real ones when she’s truly annoyed or shocked. But when she stops swearing? That’s bad. “Really, Law, it's been three days since Ellen left. It's okay.”

“Why didn't you call me? I guess you may have been busy, but this is a pretty big thing to keep to yourself.”

“I called Nicole. For help with the animals. You're busy with the inquiry, I didn't want to add to your plate.” How do I explain this to her? How do I communicate she doesn’t need to drop everything, that I can handle this, with Gara to help? “I've got this, Laura. ”

She hesitates. “You and Nicole have been managing the farm animals too?”

“Just me and the guys,” I say, trying—and failing—not to sound too smug.

“Well… okay. I'll bring lunch.” She hangs up.

Lunch? It can't be lunchtime, the clock on my phone says… oh, fuck, it's half eleven. Half the day is gone already and I haven't checked all the animals yet. How does Ellen do it?

Throwing on a wool sweater, I race outside trying to summon my list of chores. I round the corner to the sheep fields and collide with a wall of muscle.

“Whoa,” Gara’s deep voice bellows, twisting his torso to contain the blockwork in his arms. He drops it all to the ground and grabs my shoulders, pulling me close. “I could have crushed you. What are you running from?”

He glares over my head, looking for a threat, and my cheeks heat, not just from embarrassment.

He is very, very close, and he's not a painting or a picture.

No image could capture the richness of detail in his scales, scalloped along the edges and shivering into auburn, letterbox red and shards of coal black.

They thicken, hardening on his pecs but staying soft and malleable where he presses me to his stomach. His really cut and pebbled stomach, like he ate a bag of rocks all organized in double rows like an egg carton. A sexy egg carton.

Holy shit, am I drooling? I wipe my mouth quickly. “I'm not running from anything.”

“Good.” He takes a step back and I nearly reach out to keep him close.

My gaze drops to the abs I’ve practically squeezed myself against, down to the waistband of his pants.

Are they… tighter than usual? They’re snug on his hips and barely existent, outlining each tree-trunk thigh muscle like he's sprayed them on .

My wool sweater is suddenly way too hot, and I tug at the neck with a gulp.

I swing my eyes up to meet his. “Sorry. I’m… distracted.”

He smirks, but lines pull in the corner of his eyes, dark shadows lurking there.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You seem tired.”

His brows twitch together. “I'm fine.”

“Are you getting enough sleep? I'm not running you ragged, am I?”

One side of his lips swoops up in a smile before he suppresses it. “Not more than usual. I'm… studying your… culture.”

The scales on his chest and shoulders pale, going as pink as wind-chapped cheeks.

Studying? “Oh, yeah, the e-reader. I stay up all night reading sometimes too.”

He flexes his hips slightly as he moves closer, watching my face. I have little impulse control on the best days, but I somehow manage to keep my eyes on his.

He lowers his voice to ask, “Can I assist you?”

“I… Yes. I have all these animals to check on. Can we split the work?”

He blinks slowly, then nods. “Of course.”

We agree which fields we’ll cover and I hare off to check the farmyard animals.

The regular chickens are fine picking through the grass, and the sheep in the barn are all with their lambs and look happy, for sheep.

They kind of stare at me like they know I don't belong here.

Oversized Old Mae follows me up the private road, making bock bock chicken noises along with a rattling hiss. I shudder.

Laura's BMW roars up the track, coming to a skidding halt on the gravel. Old Mae flaps her multicolored wings, as if any vehicle means Ellen might be returning, but her feathers droop when Laura steps out in her sky-high heels .

“Hey babe,” I say with a wave.

Laura smiles, looking around warily. “Where are they?”

I put my thumb over my shoulder. “Gara's helping me feed some animals, and I assume the others are working on the barn.”

“Assume?” Laura's sharp blue eyes focus on me. “Ara, this is an otherworldly threat. You need to know where they are at all times.”

“They're fine, they just build the barn all day apart from a break to go swimming.” They really haven't done anything wrong, and they’ve had plenty of opportunity to. Protectiveness over them wells up inside me. Gara might take everything seriously and is chock full of dark humor, but he’s not up to anything bad.

She massages the top of her nose. “Gara is their acting leader, right? What's he doing?”

“Leading the way fixing the barn. Seriously, Law, he just works, swims, eats and sleeps.” Well, that’s not quite true. “And studies.”

“Studies?” She unsnaps her laptop case from where it was lovingly strapped in the passenger seat.

“Yeah. I gave him my e-reader to read things.”

Laura freezes.

“Look, he’s not downloading instructions on how to take over the Earth,” I say with a sigh.

“No, this is good. Let’s see what he’s reading.”

I sigh and grab my phone. The devices are linked so I can see what my e-reader has downloaded and where he is on each book.

“Drumroll please, I bet it's a short history of time,” I murmur, holding the phone so Laura can see.

“I'm not playing with this, Ara. If he's looking up how to build a bomb, or…” Laura's voice trails off as the phone syncs.

And oh. Shit.

We scroll hundreds of titles. Hundreds. Dating guides. Sex manuals. And alien romance.

“Uh. Well.” I clear my throat. Fuck me, this is exciting. “So he's interested in learning how to eat out humans. Better than eating humans, right?”

Laura shoves my arm gently, high spots of color on her cheeks blazing under her makeup. “Well, I never expected that.”

I chuckle. “He's a fan of Planet of the Pirate Prince; we'll have something to discuss other than the barn project at breakfast now.”

“Has he read them all? Even the extra scenes?” Laura’s jaw drops.

“Sounds like you're a fan too.”

This time Laura makes grabby fingers as if to wrap them around my throat. I dance away and she laughs, then says, “Okay, he's being benign slash ingratiating for now.”

“Benign? This is proactive.” My mind zips onward as always, three horizons ahead of everyone else.

“If he's looking at sex manuals, he must be interested in how humans work and how compatible we are. If we get together, can I expect not only a mind-blowing experience but also pillow talk of my favorite series?” I rub my hands just thinking about it.

Laura laughs.

I look back over my shoulder at the barn. “Of course, the other explanation is that he's inexperienced and needs guidance.”

That would be… sweet. I can't imagine Gara not knowing the answer to everything, and it would cost him a lot to admit that.

Her gaze sharpens. “Be careful, Ara. We know hardly anything about them.”

“No, you don't know anything about them, because you haven't been here.” As soon as I say it, I know what she's going to say next.

My friend’s smile widens as I walk into her well-placed trap. “Then I'll just have to address that and stay here.”

I gape at her brilliance. “You just lawyered me into a corner. Bravo.”

She tosses her straight blonde hair over her shoulder. “It's what I do. Now, show me the barn.”

I give her the grand tour. The triplets stop work when they see her, Dom staring like she's a strange animal who might bite him. I think he'd like it if she did.

Once I’m finished, she turns in place in her red-heeled skyscraper shoes, pursing her lips.

“You like the orangery I added?” I gesture to the beginnings of a low-walled area. “Once it's filled with glass it'll be the perfect breakfast room.”

“Ellen's planning permission doesn't allow for this.” Laura's voice is taut, blunt. “Her planning permission is for the barn to be restored, yes, but in keeping with how it was originally. These additions… the council won't like them.”

Here it is. My stomach sinks. Laura thinks I fucked up again, even explained it all like I didn't know.

I push the feeling aside and fix my smile in place.

“I understand, but we can't have the aliens seen by the planning department.

The council won't know we've changed the designs, will they? They're not psychic.”

“Only one person has to tell them, then you'll have to knock this down.”

“Knock it down! I'd like to see them try,” Arik grumbles. Dom elbows him in the gut to shut him up. “Ow,” Arik says, rubbing his stomach. “Well, it's good construction. It won't knock easily.”

Laura sighs. “The construction isn't the issue. It's the design. ”

She pushes her sunglasses way up onto the top of her head, avoiding my gaze, maybe because I’m a deer in headlights.

She doesn't have to say it: I have really royally fucked up. But it's not my ADHD this time. It's me.