Page 15 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

What is mine. The possessive declaration should alarm me. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my belly, makes me want to lean into his touch rather than pull away.

“I’m not yours,” I say, but there’s no conviction in the words.

His eyes darken, the crystalline markings on his face pulsing with deeper color. “Are you not?” he asks softly. “Then why does your heart race when I touch you? Why do you lean toward me rather than away?”

Because he’s right. I am leaning toward him, drawn by his warmth, his strength, the way he makes me feel protected rather than trapped.

“This is complicated,” I whisper.

“Yes,” he agrees. “It is.”

But he doesn’t move away. If anything, he steps closer, until there’s barely a breath of space between us. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls with controlled breathing.

“I should leave,” I say, but I don’t move. “As soon as my ship is fixed, I should go. This isn’t my fight.”

“Should,” he repeats, his voice a low rumble. “But will you?”

The question hangs in the air between us.

I know the smart answer—yes, I should leave, get back to my simple life of delivering packages and avoiding complications.

But looking up into his alien eyes, feeling the way his presence seems to surround me like a shield, I realize I don’t want to give him the smart answer.

“I don’t know,” I admit honestly.

Something that might be satisfaction flickers across his features. “Then we proceed as allies,” he says, his hand falling away from my face. “Partners in discovering the truth.”

“Partners,” I repeat, testing the word. “That’s not exactly how I’d describe our relationship so far.”

“No,” he agrees, and there’s something almost like amusement in his tone. “It has been... unconventional from the beginning.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “That’s one word for it.”

He reaches for the beacon, his movements careful and deliberate. “Your ship will be properly repaired,” he says, becoming more businesslike. “The damage was extensive, but my engineers are skilled. When you choose to leave, it will be your choice, not necessity.”

“And until then?”

“Until then, we hunt those who would use you against me.” His eyes meet mine again, and there’s something fierce in them now. “They made a mistake when they involved you, Suki Vega. They will learn the cost of that error.”

The way he says my name, the protective fury in his voice, the promise of retribution—it should scare me. Instead, it makes me feel powerful, valued, protected in a way I’ve never experienced.

“I want to help,” I say, surprising myself with the conviction in my voice. “Really help, not just be protected while you handle everything.”

“You are a courier,” he points out. “Not a warrior.”

“No, but I’m resourceful. I know how to think outside the box, how to get into places I shouldn’t be.” I gesture to the beacon. “Plus, I’m the one who delivered this thing. I might be able to trace where it came from.”

He considers this, his expression thoughtful. “You would place yourself in danger. For me. For Zater Reach.”

“For you,” I correct, the words slipping out before I can stop them. “I’d do it for you.”

The admission settles between us like a gravity well, pulling us closer together. I can see the moment he processes what I’ve said, the way his breathing changes, the deepening color of his crystalline markings.

“Suki,” he says, and my name on his lips sounds like a prayer.

“I know it’s crazy,” I rush on. “I know we barely know each other, and I’m human and you’re... you. But whatever this is between us, I don’t want to lose it. Not to politics or war or whoever’s trying to use me.”

He reaches for me again, both hands framing my face this time. His touch is gentle but sure, and I can feel the slight tremor in his fingers that betrays his control.

“You would stay,” he says, not quite a question. “Despite the danger. Despite the complications.”

“I would try,” I say honestly. “If you want me to.”

“Want,” he repeats, the word rough with emotion. “You ask if I want you to stay, when you have become the most significant disruption to my carefully ordered existence in three cycles.”

“Is that bad?”

“It is terrifying,” he admits. “And... necessary. You have become necessary, little courier.”

The endearment makes me melt a little inside. “So we’re doing this? Whatever this is?”

“We are forming an alliance,” he says formally, but there’s heat in his eyes that suggests it’s much more than that. “You will help me discover who orchestrated this attack on Zater Reach. And I will ensure they pay for what they have done to you.”

“Partners,” I say, extending my hand.

He looks down at my outstretched palm, then back up at my face. “Partners,” he agrees, enveloping my hand in both of his.

The moment our skin touches, something electric passes between us.

His hands are warm, almost burning, the crystalline markings on his forearms pulsing with rapid rhythm that seems to match my own racing heartbeat.

I can feel the careful control in his grip, the way he holds back his strength to avoid hurting me.

“Your terms?” he asks, his voice rough.

“Same as before,” I say, trying to ignore the way his touch is making it hard to think clearly. “When this is over, I want my ship properly repaired. And I want to know what we’re dealing with—no more secrets, no more protection through ignorance.”

“Agreed.” His thumbs brush across my knuckles, and I have to suppress a shiver. “My terms?”

“You have terms now?”

“You will not take unnecessary risks,” he says firmly. “You will not place yourself in danger without consulting me first. And you will remember that whatever you have become to me, I will not allow you to be harmed.”

The possessive edge to his voice sends heat racing through me. “What have I become to you?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. “I do not yet have words for it,” he says finally. “But I know I would level cities to keep you safe.”

The declaration should be alarming. Instead, it makes me feel more cherished than I’ve ever felt in my life.

“I can live with those terms,” I manage.

“Then we have an accord, Suki Vega,” he says, lifting our joined hands to his lips. The kiss he presses to my knuckles is soft, reverent, and it sends electricity shooting up my arm.

“An accord,” I echo, my voice breathless.

He releases my hands slowly, reluctantly. “We begin immediately. The beacon must be analyzed, its origins traced. And we must discover who had the resources to orchestrate such a complex operation.”

“Where do we start?”

His expression turns grim as he picks up the beacon again. “We spring the trap,” he says. “But on our terms.”

And despite everything—the danger, the deception, the fact that I’m way out of my depth here—I find myself smiling. Not the practiced, professional smile I use with clients, but something sharper. Something real.

“Now you’re speaking my language.”

The way he looks at me then, with something like pride and possessiveness and heat all tangled together, makes me think that maybe being used as a pawn was worth it after all.

If it led me to him.