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She pressed her lips together on a wave of exasperation. What difference did her looks make? She wasn’t here to seduce him, or to be seduced by him. Nothing could come of this meeting, nothing serious anyway. It’s not like they were setting the stage for a long-term relationship, an impossibility if ever there was one. Her life was here on Earth. His was on a planet far, far away. ‘Nuff said.

Unsure whether physical contact was appropriate, even a simple handshake, she settled on a polite nod. “It’s an honor to meet you, Ambassador.”

“Aklan,” he corrected in carefully enunciated English, his voice both gentle and gruff. “Shall we sit?”

She glanced at Mike, caught his nod in the affirmative. “Of course. Coffee? Dessert? There may be some cheesecake left.”

“I’ll get it,” Mike said. He prodded the Marines to retreat beyond the nearest table, then strode toward the buffet line.

Sonja slid around the table and took a seat on the opposite side from her previous position. Thank God Missy had chosen a rectangular four-topper set to one side of the room. Imagine having to sit at one of the round six-toppers sitting in the middle of the floor, on display like goldfish in a clear fishbowl. The smaller table lent a cozy air, giving the illusion of privacy, even though they were in public.

Aklan settled across from her and laid the fabric in the seat beside him. His gaze had turned intense again, burning into her as she grasped for a conversation starter. Normally, this sort of thing came easily to her. Small talk with a stranger in a diplomatic setting.

This time, she was all too aware of the circumstances, of the people surrounding them, watching her and the ambassador ( Aklan , she thought) without watching them, of his size and strength and alienness.

Of his horns, for God’s sake. They were huge, the bases at his temples easily as big around as her wrists, and curved backward in a u-shape as they narrowed into sharp tips near the implacable line of his jaw.

Mike’s return saved her. He set a tray laden with two steaming cups of coffee, utensils, sugar and creamer packets, and plates filled with a variety of desserts on the table between them.

“Fifteen minutes,” he said. “I’ll be nearby.”

She heard the promise in his voice and relaxed enough to turn a grateful smile on him. “Thank you.”

He nodded and was gone, clearing the Marine escort in a few determined strides.

Aklan eyed the tray, his expression subtly flexing into one she couldn’t quite read. “Many human rituals lay beyond my knowing. Is it usual for a supervisor to serve his subordinate?”

It was more complicated than that, but how to explain?

“Mike is acting as host,” she said. “For these talks as well as for our meeting. It’s more customary among diplomats for servants or underlings to handle such things, but not abnormal for the host to do so.”

Aklan’s mouth curved into a tight-lipped smile. “We have such customs as well. They are…universal?”

“From species to species?”

“Yes, among many species.”

“You’ve met more than us?” She shook her head, remembered her own hosting duties. “Sorry. Curiosity got the better of me. How do you take your coffee?”

He glanced at the tray again and his upper lip curled into a mild snarl. “I have not yet acquired a taste for it.”

“Have you tried it with cream and sugar yet?”

“Only…without additions.”

“Black,” she confirmed. “Here, allow me.”

She chose a mug, picked through the sugar packets until she found real sugar. No telling what artificial sweeteners would do to him. Or coffee either, for that matter. He’d never entered the cafeteria before, apparently preferring to dine in his quarters on food he’d brought with him. If anyone had asked him about his dietary needs, the information had not made it into her data.

Missy probably knew.

Sonja added the sugar packet, stirred the coffee with a spoon, and pushed it toward him. “One sugar.”

Gingerly, he wrapped his hand around the mug and lifted it to his lips, sipped a small amount, and grimaced. “No, not that. Or not only that.”

“Maybe with cream.” She plucked a cream packet off the tray and dumped it into his coffee, stirred again. “One sugar and one cream.”

He sipped again, glanced at her. “Better.”

“But not as good as home. I understand.”

“If I may?”

“You have questions?”

“Many.” He set the coffee aside and leveled that intense stare on her again. “You are acting as my host now?”

She nodded slowly, ignoring the goosebumps raised by the weight of his gaze. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Then you are not serving me because you are female and I am male.”

“Oh. Gender roles. Of course.” Her palms had dampened, despite her intentions to remain calmly neutral during their conversation. She scrubbed them on her thighs as she searched for an answer. “Sometimes, in some cultures and situations, women do serve men. If I cooked a meal for you, for example, I would serve you. Or at my family’s holiday meals, the women cook and serve.”

“Because this is their duty?”

A grin popped out of her before she could rein it in. “Because the men in our family are terrible cooks. We’re more equitable in the West. Many of the traditional gender roles have softened over time.”

“And in other cultures?”

“Depends on the culture.”

He risked another taste of the coffee, nodded solemnly. “Humans have many cultural groupings.”

“We do. Does your culture?”

“We have clans, but the clans stem from…” He laced his fingers together in front of him, palms toward his chest. “Similar beliefs?”

“Like our states, here in the US.” His expression flexed again, and this time she had no problem reading his curiosity. “One country made up of many smaller political units, each with its own distinct subcultures. We can be very different, but we each share a belief in freedom and the rule of law. Mostly, anyway.”

He paused for a long moment, and she wondered if his English was good enough to grasp her meaning, or if she needed to find another explanation. Before she could ask, he nodded firmly.

“Our two cultures are similar in this way, yes,” he said.

Across the room, Mike stood, catching her eye, and shot her the halfway sign. She waved him off. So far, the conversation had been enjoyable, fun even. Who knew aliens liked cream and sugar in their coffee?

“Have you mated?” Aklan asked.

Her gaze flew back to his, and she struggled to keep her expression neutral at the unexpected question. “Mated?”

“Do you have a male in your life?”

“Oh, you mean a boyfriend or husband. No, not at the moment.” Not in entirely too long, she acknowledged ruefully. “Why?”

“Is this not an appropriate question when one meets a desirable mate?”

When he put it that way…

“I suppose so,” she conceded.

He leaned toward her, holding her gaze with the sudden fire lighting his eyes. “I would prefer that you had no other male in your life, but truthfully, it would not matter.”

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“When a Xeruvian warrior spots his mate, he does not rest until she is his.”

He smiled then, revealing elongated incisors and canines, sharp and white and dangerous.

A thread of desire shuddered through her. That smile was so male, so predatory. A little frightening, yes, but also sensual. Hungry.

“Is that why you wanted to meet me?” she whispered. “Because you think I’m your mate?”

“You are my mate,” he said slowly. “And I will stop at nothing to have you.”

“Oh.”

“Did Mike Nicholson not explain? I wish to court you in the human way, to demonstrate my worthiness as a mate, to earn your trust and respect, and perhaps even your love.”

Her throat closed on a strangled cough, and she sucked in a harsh breath. “You want to date me? How would that even work?”

“How many dates must humans endure before they mate?”

The bluntly spoken question startled a laugh out of her. “It depends on the couple and their culture.”

“What is appropriate for your culture? Tell me and I shall comply.”

She shuddered again. This whole conversation, the way he’d spoke, as if certain she were already his. In his mind, she clearly was, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. No man had ever made his intentions so clear. None had ever even looked at her the way he did, as if she were the only woman on Earth, the only one he could possibly ever want.

His desire felt inevitable, certain, and her own natural resistance seemed like too thin a barrier against his will.

This must be how a fly felt when it became trapped in a spider’s web, with the spider stealthily approaching for the kill.

Only Aklan didn’t want to kill her. He wanted to date and mate her, whatever that meant, and it could mean anything. His wife, his sex slave, his servant, maybe all three. She clenched her hands together under the table, dug her fingernails into her palms, and used the pain to subdue the wild desire burning in her, to hang onto her composure.

Which she’d never lost before, not on any diplomatic mission, not with any foreign dignitary or attaché, not ever .

Less than fifteen minutes in, this gigantic, alien male had rattled her so thoroughly, she wasn’t sure she could weather one more startling question.

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice thankfully steady and calm. “I didn’t realize…” She sucked in a breath and tried again. “I knew you were here for women, but not women like me.”

“Strong, intelligent females? Patient, kind, good? You underestimate your own beauty.”

Not beauty, she thought faintly. Attractiveness . Value?

But she wouldn’t correct him there, lest the conversation wander down a rabbit hole so deep, she couldn’t dig her way out of it.

“We could try another date or two,” she conceded, against her rules and her better judgment, against the instinct urging her to flee while she still could.

Perish the thought.

“So long as it doesn’t interfere with the negotiations,” she said.

A low growl rumbled from his throat. “I have laid out my terms. These diplomats can discuss them without us. What activity is appropriate for a second date?”

“Movie night?” She shook her head, immediately dismissing that intimacy. “No, something simpler. A walk, maybe, or a meal.”

“A walk,” he said firmly. “Or exercise of another sort.”

“Ok. We can do that. Tomorrow morning?”

His head tilted to the side. “Not tonight?”

“These things are usually spaced out a few days apart, sometimes a week or more.”

“I am not sure I like your culture’s dating rules,” he growled. “If you were Xeruvian, you would already be mine.”

She sucked in another breath, and her thighs clenched together reflexively on a fresh spurt of heat. “Really?”

He shoved the tray to one side and leaned over the table, his mouth inches from her ear. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the Marines step forward, their hands resting on the butts of their holstered firearms. She waved them off under the table, then caught her breath at Aklan’s next words.

“If you were Xeruvian, sweet Sonja, you would have fled the moment the mating instinct stirred between us,” he murmured, “and I would have chased you gladly unto the ends of time, chased you until I caught you, chased you until you submitted yourself to me in every way. Ah, the chase, little klika . I shall enjoy chasing you.”

He stood and pushed back from the table, his eyes blazing. “Several of your compatriots wish to challenge me for breaking human rules of propriety. I accept these challenges. We shall meet in one hour at a location of your choosing. Dress appropriately, and after I have satisfied their honor and mine, I shall begin teaching you the intricacies of Ky’Lota. This shall be our second date, if you so desire.”

Desire? Desire ? God in Heaven, his whispered words had scorched her inside and out, and the man hadn’t even touched her. Hadn’t even hinted at touching her before she was ready, if she read his intentions correctly. He was going to play her game, a game so foreign to him, she could barely fathom the differences.

I shall enjoy chasing you.

She shuddered on another wave of desire. If his words alone affected her this much, how could she possibly hold onto her control if he touched her?

No, not if. When .

Mike placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her. She hadn’t even noticed him approaching, and now that he’d broken the thrall Aklan had held her under, she noticed that everyone in the room seemed to be standing except her. Several of the men and a few of the women were directing glares at Aklan’s back.

Not that he noticed.

He turned a cool gaze on Mike and said, in his own language, duly translated by the device on his wrist, “I beg your pardon. It was not my intention to break propriety, given the sensitivities of our current negotiations. I merely wished to convey a private message to Sonja, one intended solely for her. If you would be so kind as to arrange a space for hand-to-hand combat, I would be deeply grateful.” His smiled, baring sharp teeth, and his gaze fell to where Mike’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Nonlethal, naturally. I have no wish to injure anyone present.”

Mike nodded icily. “I’d like to try my hand at taking you down.”

“Of course.”

Aklan bowed to Mike, murmured milady to Sonja, then he turned and walked away at a steady, unhurried pace, the two Marines following.

He’d left the fabric on the table in front of her, had placed it there without her knowing.

Damn.

Mike squeezed her shoulder. “You can stop this at any time.”

“I think it’s too late,” she said slowly, still addled by the desire lingering in her blood. “He’s the most potent man I’ve ever met.”

“Just remember why we’re here.”

“Yes, sir. I will.” Assuming she could keep a clear head.

An image of Aklan catching her popped into her mind, and her nipples pebbled into taut nubs. She forced herself to breathe, pulling her composure over her inner turmoil like a well-fitted mask.

“Debrief?” she said.

“Tomorrow. I’d like to see what he’s capable of in person.”

She swung her head toward him, leaning slightly away so she could meet his eyes. “You wanted to goad him into a fight?”

“No, not that. But we do need to know what we’re up against. An honor duel is not ideal.”

“We could refuse.”

“No. He’s calling the shots here. We’re all well aware of that.”

“I didn’t mean to start an interplanetary diplomatic incident,” she murmured.

“This isn’t on you, Sonja.” He patted her shoulder once. “I think there’s a basketball court or something on one level. A rec room?”

He strode away, breaking up the lingering crowd as he went, while Sonja pondered the meaning of the word mate in Xeruvian culture.