In these snippets from my sci fi rom, Alien Contact for Kid Sisters, terrorists have attacked a royal ball. Quinn Lebatarde, a con man wearing Captain Charleyjohn’s Royal Guardian uniform, had led Marianne Harmon, the queen’s sister, deep into a tunnel where she’ll be safe.
The next morning, Quinn inspects Marianne’s shoes.
Shaking his head, he stuck a finger through a hole in the bottom. “No wonder you’re groaning. The kid has good walking shoes, but yours are garbage.”
He reached into a pants pocket and pulled out a wad of American money. Peeling off a dozen ten- and twenty-dollar bills, he smoothed them, and inserted them into a shoe. Dissatisfied, he pulled them back out, tore off some corners, and slipped them back in. He repeated the procedure a couple of times and nodded in satisfaction. With more bills, he did the same thing to the other shoe.
“I can’t believe you tore up money to fix my shoes. An American would never have done that.” As she slipped the shoes on, she watched Charleyjohn, trying unsuccessfully to reconcile his arrogance with this irresistible chivalry.
She took a few steps. “The bills help, but my feet still hurt.”
“I’ll rub them for you, eh? I’m pretty good with my hands.”
“I couldn’t let you do that.”
“Loco Merkin,” he muttered. “You want me to help you out or not?”
He had long fingers, like a pianist. Marianne looked from them to her swollen feet, and then at Elfy. The girl still slept, and her feet still hurt. “Well…I guess so.”
Suddenly shy, she sat near Quinn with a leg extended toward him. Kneeling, he placed her foot on his thigh. The contact felt almost as intimate as sleeping in his arms.
No, intimate wasn’t the right word. Sensual.
Quinn was good with his hands. He rubbed from ankle to little toe, moving along the tendons. After repeating this several times, he rolled each of her toes between her fingers, reminding her of piggies going to market. Only for a moment, though, because awareness whispered over her flesh wherever he touched.
Cupping her foot with both hands, he started at the ankle and kneaded down both the sides and bottom of her foot, with special attention to her arch. More whispers. But it was only her foot, for heaven’s sake. Since when did she have a foot fetish?
Next, Quinn gripped her foot as he pushed up past her ankle. He repeated the motion several times, moving higher each time.
“Ahem,” Marianne said. When he didn’t remove his hands—maybe clearing one’s throat didn’t mean the same thing to Kwadrans?—she said, “My calf isn’t sore.”
Alien Contact for Kid Sisters
Fleeing murderous rebels, the queen’s sister finds a hero to save her.
Or is he kidnapping her, instead?
Marianne is sick of being just the kid sister of the famous queen of Kwadra Island. Although she daydreams about being a warrior, when rebels bomb the royal ball she’s shunted to one of the many tunnels that honeycomb Kwadra, where she awaits a captain of the valiant Royal Guardians.
Quinn, a scam artist fleeing the police, dons the uniform of a Royal Guardian killed by a tunnel collapse. When Marianne mistakes him for her bodyguard, Quinn can’t decide whether to save the feisty maiden, fall in love with her—or kidnap her. With bloodthirsty rebels pursuing them and a treasure map in his pocket, what will he choose?