by Lea Kirk
“I figured I’d walk by to see.” Meryl accepted the now-full mug. “And there you were, fully dressed and sitting on your porch. If he was here, you wouldn’t be dressed…or on the porch, if you know what I mean.”
A snort escaped Robyn. Yeah, she knew all right. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Sorry that you’re disappointed, and probably don’t realize it.” Meryl’s grin was full of innuendo. “So, you ready to talk?”
Robyn blew out a short breath. “By the time I hung up with you and got back to the door, he was gone.”
Except for that feather. There was something about it. It had called to her from her vanity last night as she’d tossed and turned in bed. She’d finally caved in and got up to get it after forty-five minutes. It was weird how the combination of the downy soft piece of fluff on her pillow, and the scent of nutmeg was all it took to zonk her out.
And the dreams she’d had…oh, boy. Or, “whoa” boy. Her gaze was drawn to the buzz of a hummingbird flitting around the feeder at the end of the porch. She’d never had such sexually charged dreams, even back in the days when she believed Kevin was her one-and-only.
“Was he from the Silverstar Agency?”
Robyn blinked away the lovely wisps of her dreams and refocused on her friend. “Actually, yes. You were right, Nixy had texted me. Unfortunately, it was during a barrage of Kevin texts that I was ignoring, so I missed it.”
“That bastard. You’d think that, after five years, he’d get the hint.” Meryl took another sip from her mug. “He is thicker than most.”
A snicker escaped Robyn. She couldn’t disagree with that observation.
“Anyhoo,” Meryl continued. “What are you going to do about your angel?”
The chime of the timer on her phone going off filled the space with its happy tune. The hummingbird gave an alarmed chirp and darted away. “I’m going to get breakfast out of the oven.”
“Not what I meant, but I’m too hungry to argue.” Meryl trailed her into the house like a shadow.
Minutes later, the cinnamon rolls were cooling on a rack and more coffee was brewing. Robyn set two forks and napkins on the breakfast bar, then leaned back against the sink as Meryl retrieved a couple of plates. Being in the same neighborhood of small 1930s craftsman bungalows, and in houses with the same floorplan, had its advantages.
The plates clinked together as Meryl set them on the bar. “You going to answer my question?”
“Well, I texted Nixy Vogel last night to explain the situation, and asked how to fix it.” She gave her shoulders a shrug. “I guess she’ll text back once she gets into the office.”
“Probably….” Meryl’s gaze met hers, then her friend seemed to look past her. “Ohh.”
“Oh, what?”
“It looks like someone got that text.”
“What?” She turned to look out the kitchen window, and her gaze locked onto the massive male figure striding up her front path. It was him…Kyzel Raptorclaw. “Ohh.”
His tan skin held the lovely warmth of golden honey. And, oh my, the silver in his variegated wing feathers practically glowed in the morning sun. Was it possible for him to seem even larger and more ridiculously magnificent in the morning light than he had on her porch last evening—even though his man-nipples were now covered with a drapey, sky-blue shirt thingy?
The answer was, yes. Yes, it was.
“He even has flowers,” Meryl breathed out. “Yellow tulips, your favorite.”
Robyn glanced at the bright bouquet held to his chest in one large hand. How had he known those were her favorite?
Because you included that in your application, you dolt.
A sudden flurry of motion drew her attention back to Meryl. Her friend had sprung into action as if poked by a cattle prod.
Robyn frowned. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving.” Meryl tore a paper towel from the roll and wrapped it around two cinnamon rolls.
“But, why?”
Her friend’s expression turned incredulous. “Honey, do you see what’s walking onto your porch right now?”
Well, yeah, she kinda had. The entire neighbor probably had, too.
“That’s all yours, and you don’t need me around to interfere.” Meryl winked. “Call me later. Have fun.”
Then she was gone, the back door closing with a sharp snick before Robyn could think up another protest.
Kyzel drew his wings in close to his back and stepped onto the small front porch. Today would be different than last night. This time, when Robyn opened her door, she would find him “presentable.” He smoothed his free hand over his omlek. According to Ms. Vogel’s early morning text, wearing a torso covering would make him less intimidating than his standard flying leathers. Apparently, Earthling males did not make a habit of showing up shirtless for their first meeting with a female. The Bezchian style shirt covered his chest and back, yet allowed his wings free range of motion.
The flowers—two-lips, per Robyn’s bio—were in Robyn Martin Donahue’s favorite color, yellow. He frowned at the bouquet. How odd that, despite their name, they looked nothing like one lip, let alone two. More like dainty cups. But these were supposedly her flower of preference, and he was determined to make a better impression this morning.
A delicious scent that smelled like the sacred spice cinbin wafted through the open doorway. He gave his wings a shake, lifted his hand, rapped his knuckles against the doorframe three times in quick succession, then took a small step back.
“Be right there.” Her voice, like a melody, drifted to him from inside the house.
The quick slap-slap of her footsteps approached the door, and then, she was there. Her bright blue gaze met his, and her smile was welcoming. “Hi.”
“Hello, Robyn Martin Donahue. I am Kyzel Raptorclaw. The Silverstar Agency matched us.”
“I know, now.” She pushed her silver-blonde hair back over one ear. “I read your bio. You can just call me Robyn. I’m really sorry about slamming the door in your face last night. I didn’t realize who you were.”
“It is understandable. I have since discovered that it is proper for me to contact you instead of coming over unannounced.” He extended his arm, presenting her with the tulips. “And to bring a ‘courting gift.’”
“Oh, my favorite.” A faint pink color dusted her cheeks as she accepted his gift.
The brush of her fingers against his sent the heat of a thousand suns through his veins and into his crotch. He stifled his gasp even as she took in a sharp breath. Had she felt it too?
He cleared his throat and managed to give her a teasing grin like nothing had happened. “I, uh, know. I, also, read your bio.”
Her laugh folded around him as she brought the flowers to her breasts. “Thank you. Would you like to come in?”
“I would.” He eyed the doorway. “Most of Earth’s doorways are not built with Bezchians in mind, however, I have been working on a technique.” He shifted his shoulders, drew his wings together, then pulled them against his back. “If you would step back, please.”
“Sure.” She retreated inside several steps.
This had all the wingmarks of an awkward situation, but he was committed now. He turned his body sideways and hugged one side of the door frame. One wing and leg in first, duck his head, twist, and…in.
“Bravo.” Robyn laughed again, a delightful sound he would never tire of hearing. “I wasn’t sure how you were going to do that, but it worked.”
He folded his wings as close to his back as possible. “I will try not to knock anything over.”
“I trust you.” She moved to stand next to the tall counter between the front room and what was clearly her food preparation area. “Are you hungry?”
He inhaled deeply through his nose; the aroma of cinbin was much stronger here. “I have not eaten yet this morning. What is this delicious scent?”
“My aunt’s cinnamon rolls. Old family recipe
.” She rounded the end of the counter, waving her hand in the direction of the four backless perches. “Pick any stool you want while I fix you a plate.”
“Cinnamon. Is that what I smell?” He slid onto one of the middle perches…stools…to give his wings room to relax. “It smells similar to a spice on my planet called cinbin.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” She turned on the faucet and water flowed into a white vase. “Cooking with cinnamon reminds me of Christmas. I love it.”
“You cook with this spice?”
“Yeah.” She placed the two-lips in the vase and set them on the counter. “And I’d be happy to try your cinbin in a recipe if you’d like…. Aaaand the expression on your face tells me I’m saying something wrong.”
He opened and closed his mouth, then rubbed his hand over his face. “Please forgive me. On Bezchi, cinbin is a sacred spice used only by the Firewing clan during re…during a certain ritual. The thought of cooking with it seems…unusual.”
“Ah. I can see why. Sorry if I was insulting in any way.” The way she leaned against the other side of the counter, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, was endearing.
“Not at all. I am sure there are many new things we will be learning as we get to know each other.” Like why he could still smell her vanilla scent over the cinnamon?
Her smile brightened and she gathered up the two plates sitting on the counter. “I’d like that a lot. So—” She scooped up a fist-sized roll, glistening gooey reddish-brown threads dripping under the spatula. “—it’s pronounced Bez-chee then, right?”
“That is correct.”
“Good.” The roll slid onto the plate and she placed it in front of him. “I was nervous that I might pronounce it wrong.”
“I appreciate your attentiveness. Thank you.” He could not seem to focus anywhere else except on her.
Everything about her appealed to him, right down to the way she sucked the sticky concoction off her thumb as she came back around the end of the counter.
She slid onto the stool next to his and smiled up at him. “Bon appetit.”
His translator chip made a fizzle sound, then spat out, “Well hunger.”
He frowned. “I do not understand.”
“What, bon appetit? It’s French for enjoy your food.”
“Ah.” He tapped his finger against his temple where the implant rested just under his skin. “My translator is programed for English only. Maybe I should expand to include other languages.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe Spanish too, but otherwise don’t worry. I don’t mind helping out when you’re stumped.” She turned her attention to her roll. “So. Besides most of the doors being too small, and English being a complicated mishmash of other languages, what do you think of Earth so far?”
He waited until she raised her beautiful blue gaze back to his, then smiled. She stopped chewing her food. “Earth is quite arresting.”
Chapter 7
Rol tucked his wings in and peered around the end of the hedge between Kyzel’s match’s nest and her neighbor’s. His friend seemed elated as he closed the distance between the sidewalk and the front door, the yellow flowers in hand. Who had ever heard of giving dying flora to win a female’s attention? It would not work, of course. Even the Earthling in question would see the gesture as ridiculous.
At least, that was what part of him hoped—that Kyzel would see the folly of his actions and they could return home, where they belonged. Observe the traditions their people had adhered to for thousands of sun migrations. In other words, be normal and not anger the elders of the Firewing clan. Or any of the other clans.
Yet, Kyzel would take failure hard. His friend’s heartache would also be his. It was a predicament, to be sure.
A furtive movement at the corner of the house drew his attention. What was this? Another human female, sneaking around from the back of the nest? He narrowed his eyes at the interloper. Could she be a threat to his monarch?
The female pressed her slim, long-limbed body against the side of house and tilted her head to one side, clearly listening to the verbal interchange between Kyzel and the female on the porch. The morning sun brought out the rich, velvety brown of her skin, and her curly hair glowed gold. A low growl rumbled in his throat, and his fingers twitched as if eager to touch her.
Rol gave himself a mental shake. This response was wholly unacceptable. Even though the Earth woman did not appear to be armed, it was best to keep his thoughts clear and focused, just in case. Fyad was somewhere nearby, watching out for their monarch, but the royal guard might not be close enough to stop the female if she charged up onto the porch and attempted to inflict harm.
On the other wing, if she was not intent upon causing havoc, she would most likely circumvent the hedge to pass into the neighboring yard without being seen.
He quirked one corner of his mouth up. Either way, he would be there to intercept her.
Meryl clutched the paper towel-wrapped cinnamon rolls to her chest and peeked around the corner of Robyn’s house. Drat, the hot off-worlder hadn’t gone inside yet…no, wait, he was trying to fit through the doorway without leaving his wings on the porch.
She swallowed down the rising snicker of amusement. Silverstar had given Robyn one helluva gift to get through her front door.
Wonder if he has a brother?
Didn’t she wish? She huffed a tiny laugh. The coast was clear now, and it was time to head home. She pulled out her phone as she squeezed between Robyn’s rhododendron bush and the neighbor’s eight-foot hedge. A text from her goddaughter and one from an email advertiser. Nothing from Silverstar. Bummer.
Maybe they were working on something better for her in the date-a-hot-off-worlder department. She shoved the phone into the back pocket of her white denim shorts, and her nose twitched at the intrusion of a new scent. Had Robyn added a dash of allspice to her Aunt Eva’s rolls this time— “Oomph.”
She stumbled backward a step. What the hell had she run into? A tree? She raised her gaze up, and up some more.
Not a tree…a man…off-worlder…. Tall, but not quite as tall as Robyn’s new guy. Maybe six and a half feet, give or take. And, wonder of wonders, he also had wings. Mottled brown streaked with white. Must be another Bezchian, with the most striking eye colors. One gray and one blue. Goddamn, that was sexier than sin.
Well, sexier than sin if he weren’t glowering down at her like he might eat her up. And didn’t that sound like fun?
“What are you doing?” The deep, gravely timbre of his voice sent a shiver from the top of her head all the way down to the ends of her toe—and everywhere in between.
All she could do was stare at up at him and pray he’d speak again, because she would flat out orgasm if he did.
Wait…he wanted to know what she was doing? She had more reason to be here than he did. This was her best friend’s house.
“Going home.” Her voice sounded pithy even to her. “What are you doing?”
He screwed up his face in an affronted manner. “I am Kyzel’s adv…friend.”
“You mean the big guy with wings that just went into my best friend’s house?”
“Yes.”
Well, not a brother per se, but close enough. Things were looking up.
She extended her free hand. “I’m Meryl Faulkner.”
He stared at her hand like it was a worm. Or more like how she’d stare at a worm. Unless hawks liked worms. She’d never really paid attention before. Could be they thought quite highly of worms.
He jutted his chin in the direction of her appendage. “What is this you are doing with your hand?”
“Offering to shake hands with you.” Duh.
“But, why?” He shook his head, his confusion evident.
Aw, Meryl, cut the guy a little slack. “It’s a way of greeting another person around here.”
His frown deepened. “Show me.”
“Please.”
“What?”<
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Someone hadn’t been paying attention when the Earth etiquette manual was handed out. “It’s polite to say please when you ask someone to do something for you.”
“I see.” He stuck out his left hand. “Show me, please.”
“Not that hand.” It was like teaching a child. “The other hand.”
He switched hands. The expectation that she’d follow through showed in his stance.
She slid her palm against his and wrapped her fingers around his hand. Sort of. His hand was nearly twice as large as hers, though, as a tall woman, her hands weren’t puny. And, sweet Jesus, what was happening to her? It was like a hot coal was trapped between their palms, sending an invisible flame up her arm.
She released his hand almost as fast as he released hers. That was the weirdest sensation, but at least it was fading as fast as it had started.
She moved her hand behind her back and flexed it a few times. “Well, yeah. That’s a handshake.”
“It was….” He cleared his throat. “Interesting.”
You could say that again.
“Meeting you is fortuitous, Meryl Faulkner.” His tone was suddenly brusque, as though about to make a business deal.
“Oh? How so?”
“I am concerned for my friend, as I am sure you are concerned for yours.”
“Well, of course. Robyn is like a sister to me.”
He smiled. Not a big one, but the corners of his mouth were definitely going up. “Then you will agree that this relationship is likely not in their best interests.”
Wait, what? Was this guy for real? “No, actually, I don’t agree.”
“Why not?”
Meryl propped her hands on her hips. “Did Kevin send you?”
“What is a Kevin?”
“Robyn’s asshole ex. He’s always trying to sabotage her dates. And you—” She gave him a poke in the chest. “—keep your nose out of her business or I’ll give you reason to regret it.”
“You will?” He said it like he was about to outright laugh in her face.