Monsters Under Mistletoe

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

H e’s here again. I try not to stare at the giant purple alien who’s delivering the stock I ordered for my coffee shop, but it’s hard not to. He’s close to seven feet tall, purple, and has a tail. I mean, I’ve seen some pretty interesting looking aliens in the six months I’ve been on Irith’s Moons, but he’s something special.

And every week, like clockwork, he brings in my stock. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I always make the time to be standing right here, behind the counter, on delivery day.

“I think that spot’s clean enough,” Claire says, watching me with a quirked brow and a knowing grin.

I look down at the cloth in my hand, my cheeks heating. I’ve been wiping the same spot on the counter the entire time the big purple guy has been lugging boxes back and forth. She has a point.

I hired Claire pretty soon after opening, not realizing just how popular coffee would be on an alien space station—the answer being extremely popular—and she’s been indispensable.

“He’s certainly something,” Claire says, leaning against the counter next to me. We both sigh as he hefts the last box into our storeroom, the muscles in his arms bulging.

“Do you think he’s single?” I ask, tucking a strand of my dyed, bright pink hair behind my ear.

Claire shrugs. “A guy like that? I doubt it.”

Unfortunately, I think she’s right.

He’s wearing a black tee shirt that clings to him so well I can see every defined muscle in his chest and arms. His long, pale purple hair is styled in Viking braids, pulling it back off his face, exposing the shaved sides of his head. His braids are decorated with metal beads that click together softly as he moves.

Silver rings adorn his ears, glinting in the shop’s lights, but it’s the leopard-like spots on the side of his head and down his neck that really intrigueme. Are they a tattoo? Or are they a birthmark?

I clear my throat and turn away to the coffee machine, needing to keep my hands busy before I do something stupid like try to touch him.

“You know, you could ask him.”

“Ask him what?” I ask, focusing on frothing the milk in the jug in my hands.

“If he’s single.”

I roll my eyes and finish with the milk, topping up the cup on the counter. I dust the top with chocolate and add a marshmallow.

“You know I’ve tried. I’m useless with men,” I tell her as I survey my handiwork.

I love coffee. But at Christmas I adore hot chocolate.

Even if we have no idea when Christmas is out here at the edge of Taurean space, I’ve decided it’s going to be next week. The entire shop is decorated, and we’ve been playing carols and watching themed movies all week. It’s been great.

Mostly.

It would be better if I had someone to share it with.

“That looks good.”

He appears so silently in front of me I jump in the air with a shriek. “Ahh!”

And—to my utter mortification—my hand catches the edge of the cup and flings the contents at him.

As if in slow motion, I watch the cup fly in an arc to hit him right in the middle of his muscled chest. The same one I was admiring not two minutes earlier. I stand stunned as I watch the milky contents spray over him, the counter, the floor … it’s a mess.

“Cranberry fucksticks!” I cry, slapping a hand over my mouth.

He’s standing there blinking, chocolate drink dripping off his chest, a marshmallow slowly sliding down one bulging pec to land with a soft plop on the floor near his feet.

A strange wheezing noise is coming from Claire, but I ignore her as I grab a handful of cloths and race around the counter.

“I’m so sorry! I am such a klutz sometimes,” I say as I dab at his chest. My god, his muscles are hard. He’s like granite under my fingers as I wipe at the chocolate mess. “It’s a good thing I didn’t make it too hot, otherwise you’d have been scalded. I’m so, so sorry. I’ll have you cleaned up in a minute. Let me just take care of this.”

I’m rambling and I can’t seem to stop, as he still has said nothing. My hands have moved down his chest and I notice his jeans—wait, he’s wearing jeans? —are soaked. You’d never think there would be this much hot chocolate in a cup.

I drop to my knees in front of him and start dabbing at his rather gigantic thighs, trying to soak up the drink.

He makes a choking sound and I look up to see him staring down at me, one huge hand hovering near my face. Heat rolls off him in waves and I’m suddenly very conscious of the growing bulge that’s at eye level.

Oh.

I scramble to my feet, my face so hot I’m sure I look like a tomato.

He holds out his hand, and I realize he’s been holding a small package all this time. It’s covered in drink, what would have been a cheery red ribbon drooping and stained with the drinking chocolate. A half-melted marshmallow slowly slides down the side of the wrapping to land on the floor with a soft plop.

“This is for you,” he says with a smile that has my heart thumping. “Merry Christmas.”

“Oh,” I say, taking the offered present. “Thank you, umm … I don’t even know your name.” I say with a nervous laugh. “Even though you come in here every week.”

“K’Laus.”

He can’t be serious. “Your name is K’Laus. Like Santa Claus?”

He smiles. “That’s right.”

“Oh, um. I’m Holly,” I say and hold out my hand. He looks down at it and then his much larger hand has engulfed mine and he squeezes gently. His skin is so warm. A shiver runs through me at his touch.

“I know. Your name is on my package.”

“Sorry. What?”

He gestures to the box in my hand, and I blink. “For a second there I thought you meant … never mind.”

How red can a woman’s face go? Apparently, I’m on a mission to find out.

“Go on. Open it,” he says, smiling as if he isn’t still completely covered in a sticky, milky mess.

I must stare at him a moment too long as he impatiently pushes the box a little closer to me. I take it from him and open it quickly to reveal the ugliest plant I have ever seen in my life.

It looks like a cross between a cactus and a fern. Two large, prickly looking protrusions rise from a nest of fern-like fronds. It’s extremely phallic, bright purple and the fern bits are a dark red.

I have never seen anything like it in my life.

“Um, thank you?” I say as I take it from the box and put it on the counter.

Claire scurries from behind the counter muttering something about getting a mop, but I don’t miss the way her shoulders are hunched or the wheeze she’s trying to hide. Traitor.

“Um, what is it?”

He tilts his head. “I thought it was common at Christmas time on Earth?”

Oh no. My heart lurches and I realize I can’t disappoint this gorgeous alien. He obviously went to a lot of trouble because plants of any kind in space are incredibly expensive. And I’ve never seen anything like this one. It must have cost him a small fortune.

“Oh yeah, of course. Haha. I’ve just forgotten its name?”

Please don’t call me on my bullshit .

“Mistletoe,” he says, gesturing at the plant that is most definitely not mistletoe. “Don’t you like it?” he asks, his brow furrowing and his smile slowly turning into a frown.

I look up at him, and my chest tightens. It might be ugly as all fuck, but it’s the first present I’ve received since leaving Earth.

“Oh no, I love it!” I exclaim with a smile.

“Good. Now we kiss,” he says, stepping closer.

Sorry, what?