ROMANCE: MY ALIEN KING: Scifi Alien Invasion Abduction Contemporary Romance (Paranormal Fantasy BBW Alien Contact Anthologies & Collections Book 1) (83 page)

“Yes. So how many children are we talking about?”

“Lots and lots,” He said with a twinkle in his eye.

Her body moved so that she was leaning over him and she gave him a seductive grin. “Then we better get started, huh?”

“I knew you were a perfect match for me.” He laughed before he brought her lips to his own.

THE END

Below deck, the alarm sounded irritably right by Page’s pillow. She reached out and hit the snooze, praying for just five more minutes of sleep. But it was not to be, even though it was just five in the morning. The light in the tiny cabin came on and Lisa instantly slid down from the top bunk. Page tried to turn her head in time, but it was no use. Lisa insisted on sleeping naked, which never bothered Page except first thing every morning when she was presented with a daily, eye-level and in-your-face view of a hairless, exposed vagina or bare buttocks before her bunk mate disappeared into the little shower room. It was not the best way to wake up, regardless of how firm and tanned those buttocks were.

Tooth-brushing and humming noises came from the small head that served their cabin as Page hauled herself out of her bunk. She blinked at herself in the mirror on the door and thought that she looked terrible. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was all tousled and frizzy, her eyes red and puffy, and the proximity of the mirror showed every pore and blemish. She sighed and groped about the room for her Lycra running shorts.

She pulled them on, stood and turned away from the door, a habit developed after the second time Graham had burst in and they’d ended up nipple-to-nipple. The cabin really was that small. She was amazed how he knew it every time she changed but, of course, never knocked. Sure enough, as her nightshirt went up over her head she heard the door open and a “wow-ee” erupt from the doorway. Page wrapped her arms over her uncovered chest and shot Graham an evil—yet playful—look over her shoulder. It was hard to be mad at him; he was just being silly and flirty. The boat’s third deckhand stood there, a shirtless and gorgeous slab of tanned muscles and cheeky smiles with long, wet brown hair framing his sharp, stubbly face.

“Get the fuck out, Graham!” she ordered as he stared at her bare back, eyes searching for a glimpse of side-boob. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words caught in his throat as Lisa stepped out of the head, still naked and completely unashamed. This gave Page the opportunity to grab her sports bra and tug it over her head, covering her breasts.

“Morning, handsome,” sang Lisa as she squeezed her long, toned body past Page. She smiled as she walked up to the open-mouthed Graham, placed a hand on his firm chest, and shoved him out the door, closing it in his face. She turned and giggled at Page as the outside corridor was filled with the sound of complaints and protests.

“Will you put some damn clothes on?” Page insisted, smiling.

“Only if you give me a big kiss first, beautiful!” teased Lisa, playfully caressing her proud and prominent breasts.

“Oh, you bitch,” laughed Page. “Shut up and let’s go, shall we?”

“Just waiting on you!” called Lisa as Page stepped into the head and locked the door behind her. As she brushed her teeth she thought about these past two months crewing the yacht. She wished she could be as outgoing and confident in her body as Lisa, second steward to her third. After all, there was little room for privacy or modesty among the below-deck crew of the
Persephone
, the 161-foot, $20 million luxury motor yacht they all worked charters on. The cramped, claustrophobic crew quarters meant everyone was bound to see your junk or your tits at some point, so why worry?

Plus, every night they were not chartered involved vast amounts of drinking and dancing, as to be expected from a crew of several early twenty-somethings in the Caribbean, as well as a fair share of making out and hooking up. Though the latter was not quite as common as she had thought it would be, seeing as the morning after left neither party with anywhere to escape.

Last night had been one of those nights, involving too much rum and tequila. Fully raised from sleep, her head began to bang. She drank some water and struggled to recall. Graham, she thought, had made out with Fiona, the very professional chief steward, who was still an astonishingly attractive redhead but over a decade older than him and normally a little aloof and austere when she was sober. Towards the end of the night, a number of the younger guys and girls had skinny-dipped off the side of the yacht, but that was par for the course for them.

As for herself, Page remembered flirting a little with a guy in the bar they were at, and then responding when Alex, the shorter but still very sexy ship’s engineer, began to compliment and flirt with her.

Recalling that began to restore her self-confidence. As she applied a little makeup and brushed her hair, her attention was drawn to her cool and beautiful blue eyes, her soft face, full lips and ultra-bright smile. And, thanks to her getting up at five every morning to run for ninety minutes around the boat with Graham and Lisa, no matter what, she could eat and drink what she liked and her twenty-six-year-old body kept its flat stomach, curvy yet firm butt, shapely legs and pert breasts. She was no buff gym-goddess, like Lisa, but she was still a knockout, as Alex had told her last night. She hoped things were not going to be weird between them now. She needed to keep her focus for the tasks she had ahead, the plans she could never tell her crewmates about.

Page, Graham and Lisa returned to their quarters after they ran and showered for the crew breakfast meeting. Around the table with the three junior crew members were Alex; first deckhand Mike, displaying his usual early-morning bad mood; and Azure looking frumpy in her second deckhand uniform. It always amazed Page how Azure could go almost unnoticed on the boat during a charter, but off-duty she could just throw on some heels and a backless dress and transform into a sultry, party-going princess whose acres of cleavage could get all of them through almost any velvet rope. Maybe it was because she was only about five feet tall without heels on, as was the rule onboard ship.

They were all seated quietly when the door opened and in walked Captain Samson, all white hair and bushy beard; David, the newly appointed bosun; Cordon Bleu chef Paul, pristine in his white chef’s jacket and as gay as can be; and Fiona, who carefully and subtly managed to sit as far from Graham as possible. They had just come from their senior crew meeting.

“Morning, everyone.” Captain Samson’s English accent was crisp. “Today’s a work day, and here is our charter.” David handed round sheets of paper that included a headshot and some details printed underneath. The first sheet circled round to Page. It showed a big African-American man with a scar on his left cheek and gold where his upper and lower front teeth should be.

“Jay Money Monarch,” began David. Unaccustomed to public speaking, he cleared his throat before continuing, “—you probably all know, is a million-selling hip-hop artist who loves his bling.” Page passed the sheet round and took the next. This one was of a handsome, Mediterranean-looking chap, early twenties, who seemed unnaturally small, which could have been just the photo. “Giancarlo Montemini,” announced David. “Three times runner-up in the Moto-GP motorcycle racing championship. Yes, he speaks excellent English.”

The third paper was handed to Page. Her breath caught in her throat. “Brett Ratner, our primary charter,” said David.

Finally
, thought Page.

“A billionaire playboy type who does actually take his work seriously,” read David from his notes. Page scoffed to herself but no one noticed, just as no one noticed she held onto the paper and stared at the picture.

Look at him
, she thought,
rich, handsome, arrogant bastard
. Her mind flowed back ten years, almost to the day. She was a popular senior at her Santa Monica high school. She had wealthy friends, a BMW convertible, cute boys chasing her, and she was all set to go to a top college and carve out an amazing career, maybe in fashion. Her father’s yacht-building company afforded her and her mother a privileged life that made others envious.

Times went bad, though, and she never found out until it was too late. People ran out of spare cash and stopped buying yachts. Her dad kept it a secret that he was in trouble right up until her car was seized and towed right out of the student car park. All her friends saw, and she couldn’t even get a ride home.

The house went too and, soon after, so did her mother. Her father never managed to recover. He explained to her that they had lost everything in a hostile takeover by a huge firm. He told her it was called RHC, and that the CEO was Bernard Ratner. Two days later, her father shot himself.

This, at last, was her chance for revenge. Ratner Sr. had died five years ago, leaving his son Brett in charge. She had been forced to go to work instead of college after her father’s suicide so, naturally, she took jobs on yachts. When she heard that Brett had chartered a particular boat, she jumped ship and pestered Captain Samson to let her on his crew. She even pretended to be green and took a lowly position to ensure she got onboard. Then it was just a matter of waiting for Ratner’s charter to come round.

“Miss Stephenson,” called Captain Samson. “Are you still with us?” Page jerked upright in her seat and nodded, finally putting down the paper with Brett’s face on it. “Mr. Ratner is paying for him and his friends to have a good time,” continued the captain. “He always brings his attorney Henry Osborne with him, and they said at reservation that there would also be three to five lady friends joining them.”

“They landed in Aruba yesterday,” piped up Fiona, “and will be boarding at eleven this morning. Stewards, a last look over the guest bedrooms and facilities then into your whites for the charter’s arrival, please.”

Page hopped to it with Lisa and Fiona as David called out instructions to his deckhands. The next three hours flew by as the stewards inspected the opulent master cabin with its huge central bed that gazed out through a panoramic ocean view, the three plush double cabins amidships, and the stern twin room. They ensured the three bars—one on deck, one in the lounge, and one in the formal dining room—were stocked with single malt scotch, good brandy, rum, and Dom Pérignon Champagne, and that the glassware shone. The deckhands scrubbed the decks and the hull and saw that the three wave runners and the speed boat were ready, while the stewards prepared the sundeck and the eight-person Jacuzzi. There was good reason that it cost upwards of $200,000 to charter this boat for a long weekend.

The beautiful Caribbean sun shone down on the
Persephone
as she bobbed gently in her slip. The crew were lined up in their shining, starched white uniforms on the aft deck by order of seniority to greet the guests as they boarded. A black stretch Hummer pulled to a halt by the jetty. Page, standing in the middle of the group, watched 250lbs of dark skin covered muscle and dripping in gold step out of the back. He held out two helping hands. One was daintily taken by a tall thin blonde girl in a light summer dress that plunged to the navel, the other clasped by a dramatically made-up African-American woman with, Page decided, the most amazing boobs and butt she had ever seen, all crammed into the tightest booty shorts and t-shirt. Page noticed Graham staring open-mouthed. Mike noticed as well and kicked him, but Graham was not the only attending male paying close attention. Jay Money let each girl slip an arm through his and escorted them towards the boat.

Next out was the bike racer. He really was quite small, probably only about five-foot-five, but perfectly proportioned. Page supposed that must be an advantage in his line of work, like a horse jockey. Giancarlo helped another slim blonde from the limo. This one was clearly a fashion model, at least six inches taller than him and dressed in a designer label shirt, shorts and sandals with those huge, round dark glasses favored by celebrities everywhere. They too linked arms and headed for the
Persephone
.

Then came Henry, the plump lawyer. He seemed sweet and tried to assist a pretty Latino-looking girl out, only to lose his footing and end up with her steadying him instead. He smiled meekly at her and she seemed unimpressed. She could not have been much more than eighteen.

Lastly, to Page’s surprise, it was another woman that climbed out of the Hummer. She was mid-height with amazing long black hair, dressed in a black jumpsuit open at the top to reveal impressive cleavage. When she took off her sunglasses the full force of her stunning Asian features—Japanese or possibly Korean—hit you with the impression of a woman who gets exactly what she wants, every time. As she stood impatiently by the car, Page could not help but wonder if this might just be the most attractive woman she had ever seen. Of course she was with
him
.

Finally, Brett stepped out into the sun.

Sliding his smartphone into the inside pocket of his linen jacket, Brett smiled his apologies at Anna as she tapped her foot on the wooden dock.

“Business, darling,” he said. “God knows, if I didn’t take care of it, where would that leave us, eh?” He was being arrogant, and he knew he would be made to suffer later. But Anna only gave a quick smile and linked her arm through his. They had been dating three weeks. She was successful in her own right, devastatingly intelligent and beautiful, yet he felt very little for her. He had hoped his physical attraction to her would blossom into something more permanent, but it just did not seem to be going that way. This trip was supposed to be the setting for their first time together, but while certain aspects of the coming night appealed to him he just could not see anything real developing from it, and that saddened him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered to him for what seemed like the twelfth time today.