Chapter One

"Shit!" Cathy lunged, reaching out to catch her flying phone. It bounced off her fingertips, connected with the toe of her work boot and shattered against the only freakin' rock on an otherwise grass–covered path.

"Great, just great." She set her toolkit down, bent over and picked up the pieces. "Another phone bites the dust." Cathy stuffed the parts into her pants pocket.

"Don't say anything." She craned her neck to glare up at the shiny, silver, nine–foot–tall model of a UFO. "As you're certainly not one to judge, ruining any chances I ever had of making Moonbeam my hometown."

"Why?" she continued her one–sided conversation. "Because you're clearly as non–operational as my phone now is, that's why. I also doubt the dead tree rings are a result of alien landings, so once I prove the o–rings are either naturally occurring or a hoax and I file my sure–to–be–newsworthy report with the Ministry of Natural Resources, your friendly Moonbeamers won't be so friendly toward me." She sighed.

"And I'll be run out of yet another small town." Her shoulders slumped. "Sometimes I feel like I'm the alien."

An uncomfortable silence stretched. She was alone. Officer Danielle, her contact, hadn't yet arrived and it was too early in the day for tourists. It was only her and Moonbeam's most famous landmark.

"I meant no offense with the fake comment." Cathy patted the side of the flying saucer. A high–pitched ringing sound reverberated inside the fiberglass shell and a screw dropped from the panel.

"And I didn't do that." Half expecting the whole alien craft to come tumbling down around her, she stepped away from the spacecraft and glanced furtively to her left and to her right. No humans or aliens were nearby. She expelled the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, looked around her once more and bent to pick the screw up.

It had rolled next to a cheerful yellow dandelion poking defiantly through the cracked concrete base. "I also didn't break the base. It was here when I arrived. When people accuse me, and for some reason they always do, I expect you to vouch for me." She shook a finger in mock warning at the weed.

"The herbaceous plant has not yet mastered human speech," a deep voice observed.

"Eh?" Cathy straightened quickly, cracking her head on the underbelly of the spaceship. Instead of stars, like normal people would see after a concussive smack, Cathy conjured up a hot man with eyes that could rival the Northern Lights for their brilliance. The iridescent blues and greens pulled her in, making her step toward the stranger for a better look.

Unable to focus on anything but him, she tripped over the cracked concrete and fell, tumbling headfirst into his arms, her momentum propelling him backward. They landed with a thump on the ground, his big body cushioning her fall.

The stranger gulped a big mouthful of the crisp, northern air, his flannel–covered chest heaving against her cheek, and he matter–of–factly flipped her over in his lap. Cathy raised her chin. Their gazes met and held.

"Whoa," she whispered, wincing at the pain ricocheting inside her skull. He was good–looking, his chiseled tanned face topped with disheveled black hair and dominated by those unnatural ever–changing eyes.

While Cathy stared into his irises, transfixed by the swirl of green and blue, the stranger ran his hands over her body. He examined her thoroughly, brushing the back of her aching head and dulling her pain before he trailed his fingertips along her neck and across her shoulders, the soothing heat radiating from his palms sending sparks of awareness shooting across her skin.

He skimmed his fingertips over her breasts, his caress tightening her nipples into taut, aching peaks. "Whoa," she repeated. Warmth flooded her cheeks as he cupped her ass, squeezing her flesh. Moisture seeped from her pussy, her arousal flavoring the morning breeze.

Cathy knew she should stop him, but her flimsy reservations melted under the stranger's magical, healing touch. She stretched out her legs, allowing him to slide his palms along her thighs, his fingers roaming dangerously close to the source of her heat.

"I have fixed your damage, my Catherine." The man's accent was thick and foreign, his bone–jarring rumble causing her toes to curl in her steel–toed work boots.

"Thank you." Cathy sat across his legs, fitting against him as though she belonged there, cradled in his arms, and she breathed in deeply, inhaling his scent. He smelled like freshly cut grass and rich, dark earth, the aromas pulling at her already battered control. "How do you know my name?"

"This is a small town, druzka." His perfect lips quirked upward. "Everyone knows your name." His big arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed her back into the solidity of his body and the long, thick ridge in his faded blue jeans.

She shifted, rubbing her leg against the denim, and the ridge began to vibrate. Oh my God. Stifling a moan, Cathy squeezed her thighs together. "Your phone is ringing."

His forehead furrowed with thought lines. "I have not acquired a phone. Is it a requirement for human courtship?"

The ridge continued to pulsate, massaging her leg. Cathy looked into his unusual eyes. "Then what is—"

Firm, hungry lips covered hers before she could finish her question and all her interest in the answer evaporated.

Hot damn.

The man kissed as intensely as he touched, his surge toward her forceful and demanding, driving her head back. He didn't allow her escape, holding her face in his large palms, securing her, his tongue probing at the seam of her mouth.

Cathy resisted his passionate assault for two long heartbeats before she released a wonder–filled sigh of submission, opening up to him.