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ladies’ Doc Martin leather
    loafers with his girl jeans and too-tight t-shirt. No, the hostess just whispered to her assistant that he was very fashionable and cutting-edge trendy.
    She, in her dark peasant skirt and matching tunic, only got semi-interested glances before all eyes turned to the long-haired alien. Not that she was looking for the attention, but for God’s sake! Was she the only one to notice the silver in his skin or that his black eyes were just a little too perfect to be contact lenses?
    No, they glared at her like they were jealous and simpered at him like they could steal his attention.
    “Germany?” the waiter asked, looking less irritated and more intrigued by the second. “He definitely has that European look. Maybe Prague?”
    “Explain this char grilling?” he asked, cutting off Kilana before she could explain.
    “We use charcoal briquettes…”
    “Condensed carbon?” he asked. “Does that not leave carcinogens in the meats?”
    “There have been studies that say both,” the waiter answered honestly. “But it’s a time-honored tradition to burn meat here. Your lady —” He all but sneered the word.
    “— will be fine.”
    “Hmm.” Valan considered.
    “Well, it’s not rocket science,” Kilana muttered, and the waiter’s eyes burned as he glared at her.
    “Miss,” he began, slamming both hands on his nearly non-existent hips, “he is trying to show his love by ensuring that you receive proper nutrition. I wish my boyfriend could have cared half as much.” He pouted. But that pout soon turned into a grin. “Plus he has some most wickedly awesome contacts. I bet he did that for you.”
    “Everything I do is for her pleasure.” Valan spoke earnestly, batting those long eyelashes at their waiter.
    “Oh, he is so darling,” the waiter gushed, shooting Kilana a harsh look. “I couldn’t even get my man to buy me a soda without a lot of grief.”
    Kilana widened her eyes in shock, aghast. When did his lack of understanding about barbeque and aliens become her issue with his relationship problem?
    Besides, she had enough problems of her own. Before she could deliver a well-deserved one-two verbal punch, Valan was once again speaking for her.
    “My lady is gracious in her thanks,” he informed the waiter, pouting a little. “She gives me everything I can ask for with just a little convincing. And I like the way she yields beneath my touch and orgasms almost at command. It is a wonderful thing for the male ego.”
    “Lucky bitch,” the waiter muttered to her, but subsided in his hostile glares. “So you want to order her a medium steak cooked over the open flame instead of the charcoal?”
    “Yes, please.” He smiled. “And a fresh garden salad with extra cucumbers. It is said that cucumbers improve the taste of bodily fluids.”
    “Be still my gay little heart.” The waiter fanned himself with his hand.
    “Your heart races, yes?” Valan asked innocently, and the waiter actually blushed.
    “Yes.”
    “I have a brother who will be very interested in you… But you have a boyfriend.”
    “Is he anything like you?” the waiter asked, almost breathlessly.
    “He is nearly my exact duplicate in appearance.”
    “Twins!” The waiter began to fan himself faster. “The boyfriend is on the way out the door anyway, sweet cheeks.” He grinned. “As a matter of fact, I gave him his walking papers this morning. My relationship with him ended a long time ago.”
    “So you are open to being hunted?”
    “Hunted?” he asked, turning toward Kilana.
    “He means his brother will want to eat you.”
    “Oh, sweet baby Jesus,” the waiter moaned, his eyes rolling up in his head.
    “All of you,” Valan informed him. “His tastes are very similar to mine. He is designed to hunt and to bring pleasure to his prey before consuming them body and soul.”
    The waiter clutched the back of Kilana’s chair, pulling a startled “hey” from her as she steadied