Gabriela Olivas Silva, Miami, FL

      My ears rang and I could hear Jorik’s voice on the other side of the counter. Then the robber’s.

      The gun went off.

      Then a scream—a terrible scream—cut short by the sound of… I didn’t want to think about what that sound was. My head hurt too much where I’d whacked it on the counter on my way down. I was going to have a bump, but luckily, that seemed to be my only injury. I’d be fine if my heart wasn’t beating so hard I feared it would explode right out of my chest.

      A gun. That asshole had held a gun to my head. He could have… would have…

      “Gabriela?”

      Jorik’s voice interrupted my panic attack, and I tried to sit up without looking like an idiot, which is what I felt like. That robber had been hanging around here, scoping out the joint, for the last two days. I’d known something was up yesterday when he came in early and asked to use the restroom. I should have said no. But he looked like he could use a break. Torn shirt. Ripped jeans. Shoes with a hole in the toe and mismatched laces. His hair had been dirty and unkempt. He looked homeless, which he probably was, and I’d always had a soft spot for broken things.

      Animals, mainly. But I’d made an exception yesterday—and lived to regret it. Animals didn’t lie, or cheat, or say mean things. They just did the best they could. People, on the other hand? People were dangerous.

      Apparently, so were aliens.

      “Gabriela?” His hands were on me before I could get my bearings, lifting me off the dirty floor mats like I weighed no more than a feather.

      Another laughable thought. I giggled, letting him pull me to my feet, then against his chest… which seemed… higher than it should be. I giggled again, knew my nearly hysterical outburst was due to some kind of shock, but I didn’t care. Until I saw the blood. On Jorik. Not a lot, but that jerk had fired a gun at the big alien. Had Jorik been shot? For me?

      “Jorik? Are you all right?” I shoved against him, but I might as well have been pushing at a two-ton brick wall. Sure, I was a big woman. I loved ice cream, and it showed… everywhere. But I couldn’t budge him. “Let me go. You’re hurt.”

      His laugh wasn’t a laugh, really, but a rumble against my ear. “No. You hurt.”

      Blinking away my confusion, I wondered if I was hearing things, or if Jorik—smiling, teasing, charming Jorik—had suddenly lost the ability to speak in complete sentences. Maybe he was bleeding to death. “Jorik, I’m serious. I need to make sure you’re all right.”

      “No. Where live? I take care you.”

      “Where do I live?” I repeated.

      “Yes.” I was cradled in his arms now, his huge, huge hand coming up to press my cheek to his chest when we walked by what I assumed was the robber’s dead body. That was just fine with me. I didn’t want to see what that rending sound had led to.

      “My apartment is only a couple blocks away. I’m fine. Put me down. I can walk.”

      “No.”

      Fine. The truth of the matter was I didn’t much feel like walking anyway. I was still freaked out that I’d had a gun pressed to my temple, an asshole had been stalking me for the last two days, and if Jorik hadn’t come in when he did, I could have been killed. That thought made my heart race again, and I couldn’t breathe, my chest too tight.

      As if he could sense how I felt, Jorik’s free hand stroked the side of my head and face, even as he walked. I felt like a pampered kitten and I didn’t even want to fight. Jorik was big, strong, and sexy as hell. I knew he was a guard at the Bride Processing Center. I’d seen him stationed at the gates on most days when I walked to work. I had done enough research to know he was from a planet called Atlan. He was a beast—whatever that meant. But he didn’t seem like a monster to me. He had black hair and dark skin, like a younger, bigger Dwayne Johnson. The Rock would be a good nickname for Jorik as well. And his eyes? Lord help me, his eyes were textbook bedroom eyes. All sex and teasing and secrets.

      He’d been coming into the shop every day for the last few weeks, and I had begun to hope that it wasn’t for the food.

      But who was I to think such a thing? He was an alien warrior, trusted to guard one of the most important alien facilities on Earth. The processing center here in Miami was the hub for both Interstellar Brides and soldier recruitment for the Coalition Fleet. There were only seven sites in the world, and the aliens who ran them guarded them like they were made of pure gold.

      I’d seen aliens from Prillon Prime, Atlan, and Everis—the ones who looked just like us. I knew there were more planets out there, but it seemed they liked to keep the freakishly huge or freakishly fast warriors on guard duty. I’d watched them, these warriors, Jorik most of all, as they wrestled or played their odd sport games within the walls of the compound. The Everians could move so fast I would lose track of them and reminded me of television vampires. The Prillon warriors were just… odd. Pointed features. Unusually colored skin. Copper. Bronze. Golden. Most of them had shades of gold or orange colored eyes as well. They were seven feet tall and could never pass for human.

      But the Atlans? They looked like superstar football or basketball players. Seven feet or taller. Jorik was ridiculously tall, dark, and a walking temptation. They all looked like sex gods, all sculpted muscle and hungry stares. Jorik, especially, had the stare down. The stare that made me feel beautiful, instead of “plus-sized”. The stare that made me want to strip naked and parade my body around in front of a male as if it were a feast for his senses rather than an embarrassment