Page 5 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
I can’t speak at first.
I stare at the woman in the projection, and the image seems to move even though it’s frozen. Her eyes are looking straightahead, neutral. But to me, it’s like she sees me. Like she'salwaysseen me.
“Who is she?” I ask. My voice doesn’t sound right. Too low. Too rough. It’s gravel caught in a whirlwind.
Molly straightens just a little. She knows she’s got something now. Doesn’t knowwhatexactly, but she can feel it.
“Yara Greenfield,” she says. “Heir to the CY8 megacorp. Her father died recently, left her controlling shares. The company’s drowning in debt. She’s trying to save it.”
I barely register the words. I’m stuck on her name. Herface. That pull. The jalshagar bond snaps into place with terrifying finality. It’s not affection. It’s not affection. It’spossession.
“What’s her connection to you?” I ask, stepping back to the desk.
“She hired me,” Molly says. “Two days ago. Wants a match. Someone... elite. Exciting. Capable of protecting her in a cutthroat galaxy but who won’t dominate her in boardrooms.”
I let out a sound. Could be a laugh. Might be a growl. “And you thought of me?”
“I didn’t,” she says. “Yet. But you saw her picture. I’d say that’s a match made in hell.”
Hell. No. This is something older. Wilder. Scarier.
I want her.
Not just her body—though that, too, with a heat I haven’t felt in years—buther. Her voice. Her scent. Her blood in my mouth and her heartbeat under my palm and the feel of her hips in my hands when I pull her toward me like gravity itself’s given up trying to compete.
I take a slow breath. It doesn’t help.
“She doesn’t know you exist,” Molly says. “Yet.”
I smile, all teeth. “Then we fix that.”
“You’ll do it?” she says, cautious hope laced with disbelief.
I don’t answer right away.
Instead, I step closer to the holo, staring at Yara like it’s going to answer every question I’ve ever had. Her profile flicks through details—height, weight, family history. I don’t care. None of that matters. I’ve seen enough. Felt enough.
This isn’t acontract. It’s aclaim.
I look at Molly.
“I’ll do it.”
She exhales, just once. “You’ll pose as the match?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Iamthe match.”
“That’s… okay. That’s good.” She starts typing again, but her hands tremble.
“And you’ll set it up,” I say. “No red tape. No screening. Just the date. Fast.”
“I can make it happen.”
I give her a warning glance. “Youwillmake it happen.”
She nods. “Right. Of course.”
I stare at the picture again. A thousand thoughts rush through my head, none of them civilized. I imagine her eyes when she sees me. The way her breath will catch. The way her pupils will dilate. The way her scent will spike with interest and something closer to surrender.
