She walks into my kitchen like she doesn’t want to breathe the same air as me. Too bad. I already tasted her in the steam.
I’m not just an alien. I’m exiled. Battle-scarred. Smothered in spice and the kind of heat no human woman can survive.
Especially not a pretty little xenophobe with politics in her blood and judgment in her eyes. She thinks I’m soft because I cook. She doesn’t know I used to kill for less than her silence.
Now she’s back. Begging for fire. And when she finds out the truth behind her uncle’s precious zoning bill—the sterilization drones, the death hidden in flavorless laws—it’s already too late.
They’re coming for me. For her. For everyone with scales in their blood.
I can’t save the city without burning it. But I’ll feed her first. Because even though she can’t handle my spice levels…. She begs for seconds every night.
Read on for knife play, food-as-love, alien warrior obsession, forced proximity, and a man who only kneels to plate her revenge. HEA Guaranteed!
