Mary awoke in a warm bath filled with pink bubbles. Lit candles rimmed the large tub. The mild scent of vanilla entwined with the spice of sandalwood. Sitting up, she looked at the small table within arm’s reach of the tub. On it sat two fizzing glasses of champagne and—dear God—a twenty-piece box of Godiva’s.

“Am I dead?” she whispered.

“No,” said Trent as he hurried into the bathroom. “I’m sorry! I called in an order to Zio’s. You—you mentioned you liked Italian food.”

He looked so anxious. Why? Because he wanted to please her? Whoa.

His gaze ensnared hers. “I washed you thoroughly and cleaned your clothing. I’ve been watching you, Mary. You wouldn’t have drowned.”

She smiled and nodded. She studied her pruny fingers, and then, as calmly as she could, she asked, “What the fuck is going on?”

Trent looked nonplussed. “I conveyed all there is to know. Would you like me to repeat it?”

“No,” she said. Her heart thudded. Freaking man was trying to seduce her. And he was succeeding. Oh, baby! “I got the gist. You … uh, rescued me, I think. Now I’m in a warm bath surrounded by candles and chocolates and champagne.” She stared at the gold chain around his neck, which was attached to a gorgeous green stone that hovered right below his collarbone. It wasn’t like any gem she’d ever seen. But jewelry was not the issue right now. Her heartbeat tripled as her gaze wandered over all the muscles of his arms and chest and thighs and…oh, my God.

“Why are you naked?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“I would hope to please my lady by joining you.”

“I knew it. I’m dead.”

“Mary, you are not in Illania.”

“Ill-whataya?”

“Heaven.” He waved impatiently. “It is of no matter. Great Geru! I grow weary of these Earth mating rituals.”

She blinked at him. “Mating rituals?” Was Trent an escapee of the local asylum, or worse, was he an undiagnosed, albeit gorgeous, lunatic, so no one would know where to look if, say, she disappeared?

He swallowed heavily then dropped to his knees again. His big, tanned hands grasped the edge of the tub, and his eyes searched hers. “This is not my way. If we were on my planet, I would steal you away and I would kill anyone who tried to keep me from claiming you. You are my harataya.”

“Oh. Well that explains everything, doesn’t it?”

He gave her a panty-melting smile of approval. Christ, or this great Geru he spoke of, why did the nut-job man have to be so beautiful and muscled…and oh mama, what a package.

She sat up as much as she could without thrusting her boobs out of the water, but didn’t pull away. As a social worker for a domestic violence shelter, she knew how to de-escalate a situation, but she’d never dealt with this kind of crazy before. She patted his hands and returned his smile. “Would you get my clothes, please? I need to go home.”

Trent’s demeanor changed from worried supplicant to primal conqueror. His roar of frustration shook the walls. He surged to his feet, plucked Mary from the tub as if she weighed no more than a feather and slung her over his massive shoulder. Water sloshed, putting out the candles. Pink bubbles flew everywhere.

In five strides he’d carried her into the bedroom. He dumped her—naked, wet, and shocked—onto the bed. “You are mine, Mary Jeanne Wolmack. I have traveled all the way from Kratania to claim you. I care not for what the Oracle says about wooing an Earth woman. I have tried the simpering ways of Earth males, and they do not work. You have ignored me,” he held up his index and middle fingers like he was giving her a peace sign, and said with even more frustration, “for two weeks.”

Mary gaped at him. He stood next to the bed, hands on hips, a magnificent barbarian warrior assessing his stolen bride. “I…uh…what?”

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his gaze roving her shivering form. “I have dreamed often of touching you, of taking you. I am tired of pleasuring myself and wasting my seed!”

Panic burbled through her, but she had to admit to some serious thrillage, too. Insane or not, this hunk wanted her. Too bad he was bat-shit crazy.

“You are well-built, my harataya. Your breasts are creamy mounds of pure delight, your thighs, pillows of pleasure, and your buttocks—”

Mary held up a hand, completely embarrassed by his assessment of her assets. “I get it. My body. Yummy. Yummy.” She knew what she looked like, and while she was pleasant enough in clothes, naked, her body could stand a few improvements. Her last boyfriend had actually told her she needed to lose weight and tone up. And that’s why he was her last boyfriend. Could Trent really like her just the way she was?

Trent looked chagrinned, and as if he could read her mind, he said, “It is hard not sing the praises of your bountiful gifts. You are very luscious.” Lust darkened his gaze. “When we return to Kratania, you will make me the envy of my brothers. They will beg to worship at your lovely feet.” He leaned over the bed and lifted her foot to his lips. He placed a kiss on her arch, sending shivers right to her very core.

Trent’s gaze found hers. He gave her a warm, seductive smile. “Do you refuse me?”

“Oh, honey.” She rose up on her elbows. God, he was nuts. And it would be really, really wrong to take advantage of his mental state in order to have her way with his muscled bod. Look at that cock. It’s so huge. Lust heated her belly and she fought to keep her thighs from parting for him. Damn, she wanted Trent. “Unless you can prove you’re an alien, we’re done with the naked.” She sat up. “Clothes, please.”

“This is all you require?” His brows rose in surprise. “Then you will agree to be mine? Come back with me to my planet and be my harataya until our day of joining?

“Um, sure.” As long as harataya had nothing to do with hari-kari, because if by chance this hunky man was on the level, she wanted to live. “And those chocolates. You can’t buy a girl the G Collection and not let her have it.”

His lips tugged into a half-smile. “I am glad you like the chocolates. So, if I prove that I am from Kratania and give you the sweets, you will allow me the honor of ghrata?”

“What is ghrata?”

He frowned, as if trying to figure out how to explain the term. “I use my considerable bedroom prowess to please you.”

Holy cow. Her eyes widened at his proclamation. “Humble much?”

He stared at her for a long moment. “I speak only the truth.”

“Okay then.” Poor, sweet, deluded Trent. There was no way in…uh, Illania he was ravishing her. “If you’re really an alien, I would ghrata the night away with you, babe.”

“Then it is a bargain.” He crawled onto the bed and knelt between her legs. “My name is Tek, and I am the crown prince of Kratania. I took a portal to this world because Geru decreed that you are my mate.”

“Your mate?”

He nodded.

“Nope.” She used her foot to push on Trent’s muscled stomach and he fell back, allowing her room to scoot off the bed. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not an alien, much less a prince. You need therapy and a prescription for Thorazine. I appreciate the bath and the candy and the…er, nudeness. But I’m outta here.” She held out her hand. “Clothes, please.”

The disappointment etched on his face almost made her say, “The hell with it. Ravish me.” Almost.

He got off the bed, went to the dresser, and pulled out the top drawer. He handed her a stack of folded clothes. “I made the lord of the land change your locks.” He handed her a key. “Perhaps…we can converse again?”

“Uh-huh,” said Mary, heading back to the bathroom. She closed the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes.

Holy crap.

After leaving Trent, Mary went into her apartment long enough to throw away her ruined heels and slip on a pair of flats. Then she walked the two blocks to Coffee Junkies.

Mary had befriended the co-owners a couple of years ago when the café first opened. Donna Reynolds was a lot like her in the size department—what Donna called “fluffy.” Her naturally curly blonde hair and sea-blue eyes caused a wee bit of envy in Mary. She had straight brown hair and regular brown eyes and lacked the grace Donna displayed. The other owner of the café was Rochie Williams—an energetic black woman who was relentlessly cheerful and unable to sit down for longer than a minute.

“Hey,” said Donna, studying her face, “You need an extra shot of espresso?”

“How about booze? You got any vodka back there?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” She sighed. “Rochie here?”

“Hot yoga. She likes to torture herself.”

“Ugh.”

“Right?” Donna shook her head, smiling. “She just finished Booty Camp. Like she needed a better ass. You can bounce quarters off her heiny.”

Mary laughed as she watched her friend make her favorite drink—mocha with extra whip. She was still trying to process what had happened with Trent. The man thinks he’s an alien. Jay-sus.

“We’ve been slow today,” said Donna. “I’ll make some tea and join you.” She pushed the white coffee cup across the counter. “You look like you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” said Mary. “You’re the best.”

After Donna made her tea and joined Mary at a table near the picture window, Mary let loose. She talked about the car breaking down—and went all the way through to waking up naked in Trent’s bathtub. She skipped the part about him believing he was from another planet and merely went with, “He’s slightly delusional.”

“You think he’s dangerous?”

“I don’t think so.” Mary frowned. “Despite his … er, mental condition, he was a perfect gentlemen.”

“He stripped you naked while you were unconscious. I think you should call the police.”

Mary flinched. She didn’t want to call the cops on Trent. He hadn’t hurt her. He wanted to have sex with her, but didn’t force anything. If he hadn’t blathered on about an imaginary planet and that whole “you’re my mate” thing, she might’ve done the mattress mambo with him.

“You should see this guy,” she said. “He’s like … like, the Rock, Brad Pitt, and Elvis in one package. And he’s got this one little dimple on the left side of his mouth.”

Donna lifted an eyebrow. “Who’s stalking who again?”

“Trust me. You’d drool uncontrollably if you ever saw this guy.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Donna waved her hand as if shooing away anymore Trent talk. “My brother’s a mechanic. I can have him tow your car and see what’s wrong. I’ll get you the friend discount.”

“Don’t I have to be his friend for that?” teased Mary.

Donna grinned. “Okay. I’ll get you the big-sister-says-so discount. That’s a better deal anyway.”

Customers began trickling inside and Donna got busy making drinks. Mary waved goodbye to her friend and slipped away from the café. On the walk home, she couldn’t help but try to analyze the encounter with Trent. Yeah, okay. She should be upset. Probably calling the cops wasn’t a bad idea—but she couldn’t. There was just something about the man that drew her in. He’d been sincere, she was sure of it. Sure, Mary, that’s probably what every murder victim thinks right before getting her head chopped off.

Her heart started to pound as she approached the staircase to her second floor apartment. She looked both ways and then tiptoed to her door. In front of it was a white bag with Zio’s scrawled across it. She didn’t know how Trent had learned she liked Italian food the best, but it was a nice gesture. A note was taped to the bag:

I am sorry I frightened you. I hope to earn your forgiveness. ~Trent.

“She does not want me,” said Tek. He paced around the Oracle’s abode, which was carved inside a Yalla tree. There was barely an inch between his head and the ceiling, not to mention he could be across the circular room in ten strides.

“Ah,” said the Oracle tending the hearth. She sat on an intricately carved bench seemingly unconcerned about his mating problem. “Then you should give up.”

Tek paused, turning to face her. “Give up?” His brow furrowed. “That’s your advice?”

“You did not ask my advice.” She gestured to the bench across from hers. “Sit.”

Only the ancient and venerated Oracle and his parents could get away with ordering him around like a small child. He sat down with a grunt and stared at the leaping flames of the fire. “What am I to do?”

“You could let your parents to choose your bride,” she said. “It is allowed.”

“I would be the first crown prince in seven generations to reject Geru’s mating choice.”

“I remember G’nar the Sour. Both his marriage and his rule did not end well. And neither did his life. It is good that your line is so proficient at breeding. He had four strong sons before he died at his wife’s hands.” She eyed Tek. “He dipped his wick too many times. He didn’t marry his true mate—therefore his heart had no loyalty, no love. What do you feel for Mary?”

“I like her,” said Tek. “She is kind. Her smile lights up the room. She is so beautiful—I want so much to explore those luscious curves. And she smells good. Nothing on Kratania has a scent like hers.” His warrior instincts wanted to conquer now. He sighed. “Are you sure I cannot kidnap her?”

“No, you cannot.” The Oracle chuckled. Then she leaned forward, her gaze kind. “Trust Geru to give you another way to claim your bride.”