Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster

just nerves. Isabella hadn’t thought about that stalker in years. Since then, she’d never gone on an assignment without knowing there was someone else close enough to help if things turned sour.
Glancing from Jessica to the parking lot, the restaurant and back to Jessica again, she whispered, “Remember to stay close. The bar up front, maybe?”
Jessica hissed back under her breath as she stepped in front of Isabella and grabbed the door, slipping into the restaurant ahead of her, “This isn’t my first time backing you up. We’ve gone over this a hundred times. What’s gotten into you?”
Isabella paused outside. To onlookers she appeared to check her outfit and hair one last time. She needn’t have bothered. Even with the disguise, she couldn’t hide the flawless complexion and curvy figure that was a signature of every Serrano woman in her family. Under the auburn wig she had a wealth of ultra-thick, black hair carefully pinned out of the way. Red stiletto heels complemented her form-fitting, stretchy red dress with delicate crisscrossing straps all the way down her back and a plunging scoop neckline. Her breasts were large and firm, and she pulled off the look with ease. The perfect dress for a blind date or a prearranged meeting with a black market buyer. The dress was a deliberate distraction. The more her buyer was looking at her body, the less he would be looking for a product she didn’t have.
Yet. Didn’t have yet.
Her first glimpse of tonight’s “date/buyer” stopped her in her tracks. Surprised was an understatement. He was the biggest Caldorian she’d ever seen. A Caldorian. Shit. What was a Caldorian doing in the black market?
He was huge. Masculine. Primal. Dangerous. She shivered, this time in reaction to the alpha vibes he was putting out. Her nipples hardened beneath the red dress. He was a tall drink of Caldorian YUM. Damn. No one had a right to be that hot.
Not that they weren’t all totally gorgeous, but this guy, code name John Doe, was next level on the heat gauge. No woman on Earth could possibly be immune to what he had to offer. She licked suddenly dry lips as she flushed with heat. No woman except me. I will not be caught in his trap. I’m not here because he’s the hottest man I’ve ever seen, and he makes me want to throw my panties at him. No. I. Am. Not. This is NOT a real blind date, and I will keep my priorities straight!
Just then Jessica whispered urgently, “I can see you from the bar, my friend, and I recognize that look. I saw him on my way over, and he’s next-level hot. Don’t you dare fall for this guy. I mean it, Isabella; he’s everything you put on the list last year after dating Allen. Times ten! Check out his shoes—they’re totally designer and über expensive. Remember the list! Remember why we’re here! He is a bad guy, remember? He’ll be worse than Allen. An alien narcissist with a lot of bad guys for backup and a lot of money. No touching. End of story!”
Isabella gave a subtle nod to let Jessica know she’d heard and understood. And how could she forget about the list? She’d been the one to make it, after all. She’d even titled it “How to Spot a Douchebag.” Her ex, Allen Dumont, had been her inspiration. Tall, lean, and good-looking, he’d pulled her right in. She’d fallen hard. Too late she’d realized that behind the good looks and fancy clothes, nice cars and endless gifts, he’d really only been into one thing: Allen Dumont. His second love was Allen Dumont’s career, then Allen Dumont’s toys. He hadn’t been in love with her; he’d wanted another trophy for the Allen Dumont showcase.
As the hostess escorted Isabella to John Doe’s table in the back of the bar, she mentally girded herself. Be flirtatious. Be subtle. Draw him in. Ask about his work; he’ll think you’re interested. It doesn’t matter if you like him or not. Jessica’s right. Stay focused on the job. Make it look enough like a real date that no one around us gets suspicious. Make the exchange.

Chapter Two
Falden refused to acknowledge any hint of admiration for Isabella Serrano’s bravery as she was escorted to his table. She was fully in disguise, complete with red hair and glasses. Her cheeks flushed as he watched her walk, his eyes feasting on the beckoning sway of her hips.
He already knew she wasn’t aware of her client’s appearance, which was why she’d arranged to meet at this particular table, at this particular time. He—or the person she thought she was meeting, anyway—was supposed to be carrying a single orchid as part of the identification process. Before her look could turn from surprise to suspicion, he lifted the flower from the table, identifying himself as the man she was supposed to meet.
“John?” she asked, only her sultry eyes registering surprise.
Standing, he accepted the hand she extended in the human greeting ritual. He nearly groaned as an unexpected desire slammed into him. This woman, this human called to him. Only his mission kept him from acting on the sudden, deep need to claim her. To make her his. Only duty and two thousand years of strict secrecy kept him from revealing how much she affected him. He could not give in to his baser instincts. He wanted her. Needed to bury himself inside her. He stared, tried not to blink, tried to ensure none of his inner thoughts showed on his face. None of his yearning. And yet, he didn’t want to lie to this beautiful woman about his name, so he said instead, “You may call me John for now.”
Isabella looked up. And up. Even for a Caldorian he was huge. Her heart slammed against her chest. He was a Caldorian, wasn’t he? Late twenties, possibly a little older, with short dark hair and icy blue eyes. The man standing—no, towering—above her was