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CHLOE
Chloe turned and saw the man coming in and for a second, she was too stunned to even react.
He’s beautiful…
A seductive medley of rebellion and tragedy hung around him. He reminded her of the broken hero in a Shakespearean play or a tragic opera.
Then she shook off her over-active imagination and took him in analytically.
The first thing that hit her was his sheer size. He was massive. A Maltaffian, with impressive horns, a mane of jet-black hair, and a ruby-red skin tone.
Chloe had done her homework on other species while she was waiting here. Maltaffian meant that this was his home planet. The climate and daylight cycles would suit him well.
It also meant that they would have to accomplish surrogacy the old-fashioned way.
On Terra, of course, modern-day surrogacy was administered in a clinic, by a doctor.
But a Maltaffian male’s seed would not activate until he felt a connection with a female, and only when he coupled with her would that seed be viable.
Which meant the two of them would not just have to physically couple, they would have to form a bond of intimacy first.
Heat rushed to her face, and she prayed that Maltaffians were not aware of Terran blushing and what it meant.
He arrived beside her, fixing her with a stern expression.
It suddenly occurred to her that he might have a mate at home who had the same fertility troubles she did. Maltaffians formed true mate bonds. The poor woman would be at home in agony over what she must know was happening here.
This explained both his tragic air and his disapproving expression.
Shame washed over her, and she wished she could run away.
It’s not my fault, she told herself. This his only chance, and mine.
“Hey,” he said curtly.
“Hello,” she said, trying and probably failing to keep the sympathy out of her voice. “I’m Chloe.”
She extended her arm, but he merely looked at it without clasping.
If he wanted this to work, he was going to have to be okay with touching more than her arm.
“What’s your name?” she asked, pulling her arm back and folding her hands in her lap the way she would when greeting a shy new student on the first day of school. She gave him an encouraging smile.
He blinked at her.
She waited, ready to give him all the time in the world. She could deal with shyness, that was her bread and butter. And it was worlds better than anger and resentment.
“Jubal,” he said at last, with a little nod.
“Nice to meet you, Jubal,” she told him. “I guess we’ll be getting to know each other this week.”
His eyebrows went up.
She realized he must think it was a double-entendre and was so embarrassed she thought she might melt into a puddle and slide off the stool.
“I-I didn’t mean…”
But before she could try to explain what she did mean, the door to the bar opened and a woman stepped inside.
