Chosen by the Alien Above Part 3: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance Serial Read Online Free
Author: Nora Lane
deep breath and sipped the remainder of my glass. It wasn’t much, but it had an effect. My thoughts swirled lower, my brain balked at losing control.
I had to get my brain back in charge, steering the ship.
Only one question came to mind.
"Mr. Sinclair, why did you choose me? Surely there were ten thousand others more qualified. Why me?"
The fire in his eyes wavered. The spell on me broke. Okay, it didn’t break. It cracked. Some air got in. Enough for me to catch a breath. That was the important thing.
"With regard to your reporting credentials," he said, "you wouldn't have stood out from the crowd."
And things were going so well.
I dropped my glass on the table. I tossed it roughly enough to get a satisfying spill out of what little was left. It teetered over and should've gone the rest of the way. Instead, it righted itself and and came to a stop. The table underneath the round base shimmered for a moment before it went solid again.
Apparently this gel skin was about as smart as Cosmo. Or dumb. Because it didn't get the nuance of my throw. I wanted the drama of an overturned flute!
I grimaced. This station was trying to control me just as Noah was. I shot him my best snarl.
"Thanks for being honest. So nice."
"I don't think I'm telling you something you didn't already know," he said.
It must've been in one the missing chapters from his how to relate to women handbook.
"This might be news to you, but a girl doesn't want to hear how she's middle of the pack. How nothing about her stands out enough to draw attention."
Maybe he wasn't missing pages or chapters. Maybe he had an ancient edition. One printed in medieval times when it was standard for a man not to give two shits about a woman. If we were going to get anywhere together, professionally I meant, he was going to have to get the update.
"I never said you didn’t stand out, Cora."
"And I never said you could call me Cora, Mr. Sinclair."
"You do stand out."
My temper flared. The thump in my temples had nothing to do with the fading heat between my legs. Gorgeous or not, I wasn't going to sit here and be insulted.
"I do stand out, Mr. Sinclair. And mostly because of this hideous, hot pink unitard you forced me to wear. Did you think that maybe I'd like more than a single choice? You are aware that making a choice implies more than one option?"
He laughed. "It looks hot on you."
"It looks hot because this particular shade is a slap to the eyeball."
"You misunderstand me, Ms. Gabarro. You make it hot. The color is superfluous. Your curves are the cause."
I was going to need a high-speed elevator to keep up with the highs and lows of this conversation.
"You didn't answer my question. A girl likes to have choices."
"Every choice is still yours to make, Ms. Gabarro. I'm surprised you haven't understood that already."
Were we talking about the hideous pink unitard?
"Why does every word you say sound like hot pink in my ears?"
"Why aren’t you asking the right questions?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"What's your favorite color, Ms. Gabarro?"
"Periwinkle. Why?"
"All you had to do was ask Cosmo to change it for you," he said.
"Change it to what? There were no other outfits in the closet."
"Humor me, Ms. Gabarro. You did with dinner and I think you'll agree it turned out wonderfully."
He had a point there.
I looked up at the ceiling, off to the corner, wondering if it mattered where a looked when I spoke. "Cosmo, can I get this in periwinkle?"
"The requested alteration is a nonstandard hue. Referencing the Pantone color palette—," his voice echoed through the room.
Noah rolled his eyes. "Give it your best shot, Cos."
"Yes Noah."
An electrical tingle skittered across my chest like a spider on bare skin. It wrapped around my back. I froze in panic. The suit shimmered and swirled like a moving ink blot test. Light purple wavered and crested over hot pink, washing it away. It spread from my torso and down my arms and legs in
I had to get my brain back in charge, steering the ship.
Only one question came to mind.
"Mr. Sinclair, why did you choose me? Surely there were ten thousand others more qualified. Why me?"
The fire in his eyes wavered. The spell on me broke. Okay, it didn’t break. It cracked. Some air got in. Enough for me to catch a breath. That was the important thing.
"With regard to your reporting credentials," he said, "you wouldn't have stood out from the crowd."
And things were going so well.
I dropped my glass on the table. I tossed it roughly enough to get a satisfying spill out of what little was left. It teetered over and should've gone the rest of the way. Instead, it righted itself and and came to a stop. The table underneath the round base shimmered for a moment before it went solid again.
Apparently this gel skin was about as smart as Cosmo. Or dumb. Because it didn't get the nuance of my throw. I wanted the drama of an overturned flute!
I grimaced. This station was trying to control me just as Noah was. I shot him my best snarl.
"Thanks for being honest. So nice."
"I don't think I'm telling you something you didn't already know," he said.
It must've been in one the missing chapters from his how to relate to women handbook.
"This might be news to you, but a girl doesn't want to hear how she's middle of the pack. How nothing about her stands out enough to draw attention."
Maybe he wasn't missing pages or chapters. Maybe he had an ancient edition. One printed in medieval times when it was standard for a man not to give two shits about a woman. If we were going to get anywhere together, professionally I meant, he was going to have to get the update.
"I never said you didn’t stand out, Cora."
"And I never said you could call me Cora, Mr. Sinclair."
"You do stand out."
My temper flared. The thump in my temples had nothing to do with the fading heat between my legs. Gorgeous or not, I wasn't going to sit here and be insulted.
"I do stand out, Mr. Sinclair. And mostly because of this hideous, hot pink unitard you forced me to wear. Did you think that maybe I'd like more than a single choice? You are aware that making a choice implies more than one option?"
He laughed. "It looks hot on you."
"It looks hot because this particular shade is a slap to the eyeball."
"You misunderstand me, Ms. Gabarro. You make it hot. The color is superfluous. Your curves are the cause."
I was going to need a high-speed elevator to keep up with the highs and lows of this conversation.
"You didn't answer my question. A girl likes to have choices."
"Every choice is still yours to make, Ms. Gabarro. I'm surprised you haven't understood that already."
Were we talking about the hideous pink unitard?
"Why does every word you say sound like hot pink in my ears?"
"Why aren’t you asking the right questions?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"What's your favorite color, Ms. Gabarro?"
"Periwinkle. Why?"
"All you had to do was ask Cosmo to change it for you," he said.
"Change it to what? There were no other outfits in the closet."
"Humor me, Ms. Gabarro. You did with dinner and I think you'll agree it turned out wonderfully."
He had a point there.
I looked up at the ceiling, off to the corner, wondering if it mattered where a looked when I spoke. "Cosmo, can I get this in periwinkle?"
"The requested alteration is a nonstandard hue. Referencing the Pantone color palette—," his voice echoed through the room.
Noah rolled his eyes. "Give it your best shot, Cos."
"Yes Noah."
An electrical tingle skittered across my chest like a spider on bare skin. It wrapped around my back. I froze in panic. The suit shimmered and swirled like a moving ink blot test. Light purple wavered and crested over hot pink, washing it away. It spread from my torso and down my arms and legs in
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