Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster

scent. Or the way her breath had tasted mingled with his, as if they were one being.
Isabella parked and ran around to the passenger side of the car to open his door. His skin looked pale, his gaze unfocused when he finally opened his eyes to look at her. “Come on, big guy. We have to get you inside.” She held out her arms and tried to lift him out of the car, or at least help. But he was heavy. Shit. Way too heavy. “I can’t lift you.”
“You are female,” he slurred, trying to explain through the fog in his brain that of course she couldn’t lift him. He was twice her size. For some reason the words just wouldn’t come out properly.
“Mmm hmm,” she agreed. “That’s right. I’m a female. Glad you noticed. Now help me out.”
“You are soft, not strong.”
Raising a brow, she tried to figure out if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment. “Come on, L warrior. Get up. Get. Up!” She shouted the last, and he swung his legs out the door and heaved himself up. She stared at the hand he’d had buried between her legs that now gripped the edge of the car’s roof in a white-knuckled hold. He was bleeding, probably dying, and here she was drooling over him like a lovestruck teenager. She snorted in self-disgust as she squeezed behind him to retrieve the coolest looking sword she’d ever seen from the floorboard of the car.
Falden looked around blearily. “You have my sword.”
“Yep. Got it right here.” No way she was leaving that piece of art in the car. She wanted to take a much, much closer look at that beauty. And she had a feeling she would have plenty of time to do just that while Falden slept and healed himself.
Stepping up under his shoulder, she helped guide him even though she couldn’t manage much of his weight. “You sure you don’t want me to take you to a hospital?”
“Yes. If I need assistance, I can contact my Kni—men at any time.”
“Nymen? That’s a new one. You mean the two hotties who took Jessica?”
“They run an average temperature, but yes.”
Seeing an opportunity to gain information, Isabella plowed ahead with questions as she helped him to the elevator. She’d parked his car inside the structure’s parking garage. Hopefully no one would come looking for it as she didn’t have a private garage. What she did have was a studio loft in a very notorious section of town, and a reputation for a fat wallet and a dislike for bullshit. From anyone. As a result, the people she wanted knew where to find her, and the rest of the criminal element in this section of town left her alone to conduct her business.
“How many nymen are there?” And what was that designation? An alien military thing? The Caldorians didn’t use that term, she was sure of it. At least not publicly.
Falden leaned down as the elevator took them to the top floor of the four-story building. “You are asking questions again.” His lips touched her ear, his hot breath reminding her all too much of the orgasms he’d just given her in the car. “I liked it better when you were moaning my name. Perhaps we should try that again instead.”
“Maybe you should just answer me.”
He scoffed. “Pleasuring you would be preferable.”
Well, he wasn’t wrong. He slumped against the wall as she unlocked the heavy metal door to her loft with trembling fingers. Bringing anyone here was a huge risk. Bringing a Caldorian here was downright suicidal. The windows were barred, inside and out, with thick wrought-iron security grills. The metal door was several inches thick, as was the frame surrounding it. The investment in security was the only thing that allowed her to sleep at night.
Glancing up to check that the lens of the security camera still pointed where it should, she swung the door open and immediately placed her palm against the interior scanner to turn off the alarm.
Falden slipped in behind her, swaying on his feet. “This is not your home.”
“No. This is a safe house I own under a shell corporation. No one knows about it. We should be safe here.” She closed and locked the door behind him before reactivating her security system. The outside hallway appeared on a small screen near the door, and she glanced there, out of habit, to make sure no one had followed.
Out there, looking half-starved and cheerful as ever, the young man she’d taken under her wing a couple years ago gave her the all-clear signal and walked out of the camera’s line of sight. Matthew was about twelve. His dad was an alcoholic who never kept a job more than a couple months. His mom was in prison, and the money Isabella gave Matthew every week kept food in his belly without him needing to steal or sell drugs. She’d never allowed him inside her safe house, but he had her cell number and she answered when he called. She’d taken him out to eat, bought school supplies and clothes, spent time, tried to help him see the possibilities for a better future.
It appeared to be working. He’d brought her his last semester’s report card from school and beamed with pride because he’d passed every class.
She’d taken him out for ice cream, and he’d eaten himself sick while she laughed at him.
Baby steps. That’s how one started a new life. Baby steps.
Speaking of, Falden leaned against the wall, trying to clear his head and sound reasonably intelligent. He knew his words weren’t coming out as he intended, and he wanted to respond so that she would know he was a man who listened. Cared.
The room spun crazily as he watched her secure her domicile. “A shell corporation? You collect shells and sell them to others?” The odd, earthly sea creatures did create some very beautiful shell designs, but he’d never known of any human who created