Beauty and the Beast: Interstellar Brides® Program: The Beasts - 3

  Beauty and the Beast

  Interstellar Brides® Program: The Beasts - 3

  Grace Goodwin

  Beauty and the Beast

  Copyright © 2021 by Grace Goodwin

  Interstellar Brides® is a registered trademark

  of KSA Publishing Consultants Inc.

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electrical, digital or mechanical including but not limited to photocopying, recording, scanning or by any type of data storage and retrieval system without express, written permission from the author.

  Published by KSA Publishers

  Goodwin, Grace

  Cover design copyright 2021 by Grace Goodwin

  Images/Photo Credit: Deposit Photos: mppriv, alexannabuts

  Publisher’s Note:

  This book was written for an adult audience. The book may contain explicit sexual content. Sexual activities included in this book are strictly fantasies intended for adults and any activities or risks taken by fictional characters within the story are neither endorsed nor encouraged by the author or publisher.

  Contents

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  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  A special THANK YOU to my readers...

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  interstellarbridesprogram.com

  1

  Quinn McCaffrey, 9 News Headquarters

  “I heard he’s almost eight feet tall.” Ellen used her soft brush to dab a last bit of powder onto my nose and cheeks, but her gaze kept slipping to a poster propped against the mirror on the makeup station next to us.

  “They’re all eight feet tall,” I said. And muscled. And too damn gorgeous.

  And aliens. I had to try harder to remember that. We weren’t talking about guys from the beach or even a team of hockey players. This group wasn’t even human.

  “I like this one.” Susan pointed to the Atlan warlord standing on the far right of the poster. She had to have taken it off the wall two floors below us. They were setting up to film the Bachelor Beast television show down there, or at least trying to, for the third time. This high-rise housed many TV productions, but the hot reality show was the only one we’d ever been interested in. The first season, Wulf had been the bachelor. He’d found his mate, but not among the contestants. She’d been an on-set makeup artist, and that was perhaps why Ellen and Susan both had that wistful look on their faces when they stared at the group of hotties.

  The second bachelor, Braun, had found his mate in one of the hotel maids. They hadn’t even started recording the show before he’d whisked her back to space. From the grumblings within the building, the producers weren’t thrilled about how things were going. It was one thing to have a human guy not connect with a woman, but these Atlans had beasts in them that knew exactly what they wanted. When they found it. Which they had, although not in the way the show wanted.

  Although Wulf and Olivia had gotten ridiculous ratings and we’d talked about their relationship—if that was what it was even called—day after day. It had been, hands down, H.O.T.

  “He’s got that dark, dark hair,” Susan continued, staring at the poster with dreamy eyes. “Do you see that smile? I swear my panties would catch fire if he looked at me like that.”

  “That poster come from downstairs?” I sat in the makeup chair as I tried to study the latest weather data printouts, doing my best to ignore the chatter between the two hair and makeup experts—and the glorious poster filled with not one but five very attractive alien warlords. Because of the first two show’s issues, the producers decided—after two failed attempts to control the alien Atlans after their arrival on Earth—that their beasts were called beasts for a reason.

  One look at the female they wanted and it was game over. Or TV show over, since the filming had to stop. Again. And again. Apparently these beasts didn’t believe in negotiation once they’d chosen a mate. It had been one look and done for both Wulf and Braun.

  Sigh. Lucky ladies, as long as the attraction was mutual. It had been for Olivia and Angela. But if not? Well, that was a can of worms I didn’t feel like thinking about right now.

  The television producers had grown wiser. This time around, they had five Atlans on lockdown in this very building. No more hotels for them. They weren’t even being allowed off the set until the show actually started. I’d heard the show’s insurance company, as well as their advertisers, were threatening to pull the plug if they didn’t produce an on-screen romance this time around. The key word was on-screen.

  It hadn’t been announced which of the five would be the latest bachelor beast, but between them, one had to work out.

  “Well, they left this stunning piece of art in the hallway, didn’t they?” Susan had just finished with the anchorman’s hair and makeup. He never chatted, never lingered, and left as quickly as he came in. He was a nice guy but wasn’t up for girl talk. It wasn’t like we could gab like this with him around. Susan cleaned up her station as she spoke. “If they didn’t want someone to have it, they shouldn’t have left it out like that.”

  I bit back a smile because I really couldn’t argue. I was enjoying the poster much more while here in hair and makeup than I would if the poster were still two floors down.

  “Those aliens are nice to look at,” Ellen agreed, staring dreamily.

  Susan sighed like a middle-school girl with a crush, which was twice as funny because she had to be in her sixth decade and had been married for four of them. “Hell, honey, if I didn’t have my husband waiting at home for me, I’d go down there right now and find out if I could stir one of those beasts into a mating fever all by myself.”

  “Well, I’m single, so maybe I’ll get a little lost after work.” Ellen giggled as she put the final touches on my makeup. I couldn’t help but smile. If I hadn’t sworn off all men—human or alien made no difference to me if they had a penis—I might have thought about doing the same. Because she wasn’t wrong. The particular Atlan she’d picked from the poster with the dark, dark hair was named Bahre, and there was just something about him that made my entire body ache. Which was a very unwelcome development. I had left Chicago—and the national news scene—behind for a reason. That reason had not changed in the year I’d been in Florida. I frowned at the thought. Males of any species were not an option at the moment. No, thank you.

  I’d worked for the station—and with Ellen—since I joined the local news team, and she knew what I liked. I always took this time while she worked on my face and hair to go over the weather data one more time. I hated to fumble on camera, especiall
y since my part of the broadcast was live. The talk about the latest bachelor beast had me thinking about the hot Atlan—yup, Bahre—I’d seen in the lobby earlier instead of the cold front that had stalled out south of the city. And by cold front, I meant in the seventies.

  My previous station had been in Chicago, where the weather was constantly changing, so the consistent temps of south Florida weren’t all that complicated. It seemed that in Florida it was either eighty and sunny or raining like the clouds wanted to drown us.

  I glanced up and looked at Ellen in the mirror. She had sassy purple streaks in her blonde hair that matched her personality. I was trying to imagine her with one of the oversize Atlans.

  Nope. Couldn’t do it.

  But me with that huge, scarred beast? The one I’d gotten an actual look at earlier as I’d come in to work? God. My breasts grew heavy, and I knew my brand-new pink lace panties would be soaked. He hadn’t seen me, of course, since he’d been swarmed with fans and security—not that an alien that large needed someone to protect him. Ellen misunderstood my stare completely. Thank goodness.

  “What?” she asked me with a grin. “You want to come downstairs with me later? You’re single, too, young lady. And gorgeous.”

  “No, thank you.” I’d seen Bahre in the flesh and nearly tripped on the stairs. I preferred to take them instead of the elevator because I liked the way my calves looked in high heels, and that five-story trek every day was about as excited as I got about exercise. Today the small glass window looking out into the lobby had saved me from making an idiot of myself over that alien sex god. I was not going anywhere near him again or I’d look the fool.

  “Come on, Quinn,” Ellen prodded, using a large brush to go over my face one last time. “There’s five gorgeous Atlans. Don’t tell me one of them doesn’t melt your butter.”

  Her southern sayings matched her thick Georgia accent. I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Bahre?”

  Ellen and Susan nodded together like bobbleheads on a dashboard.

  “So it’s Bahre, is it?” Susan raised her brows and gave me that motherly I-know-what-you’re-thinking look.

  “Bahre, huh?” Ellen asked, then shrugged. “Okay. You can have Bahre, and I’ll take one of the others.”

  As if we were going to divvy up the hot aliens like selecting golf partners.

  I opened my mouth to protest, because this was just silly talk, but she proceeded to shut me up by coming over with the gloss brush in hand and painting another coat over my lips. “Oh no you don’t. You’re coming with me to ogle. We’ve got our passes to get in the building. We owe it to women everywhere to go down there and drool. And don’t give me any of that I-can’t-mess-up-my-hair talk, either,” Ellen added. “Everyone gets mussed and sweaty during sexy times, even the ‘ice and snow queen, Quinn McCaffrey.’”

  I pursed my lips that she’d just shellacked and glared. The unflattering nickname had come from my time in Chicago. Not because I did the weather spot for the national news station, but because a few years ago an ex-boyfriend had made our breakup and poor performance in bed—solely due to his selfishness and lack of skill—very public. Very, very public. The arrogant actor, Jeff Randall, had actually dubbed me the ‘ice and snow queen’ in a live promotional interview at the very television station where I worked. He had about as much class as the business end of a donkey.

  And then he’d had the nerve to demand I marry him. Said I was his property. As. If. Been there, done that. Gotten the horrible T-shirt. I walked away, but he followed me.

  Was still following me, despite the restraining order.

  Susan and Ellen were staring, so I cleared my throat and tried to remember what the heck we’d been talking about. “What?”

  “You heard me. If your hair gets one strand out of place, it’s a national emergency.”

  “I am not that particular about my hair.”

  Both women rolled their eyes.

  I huffed. “So I don’t like it when my hair is messed up. I mean, I’m just trying to protect all your hard work,” I added, laying the sweetness on a little thick. Ellen did manage to make me look great every single day on the job, no matter how tired I was. I appreciated her talent. The fact was, I did like to look as good as possible. Hair. Makeup. Shoes. They were my armor against the world. The better I looked, the more confident I felt.

  Ellen laughed, not buying it. “Good try, girlfriend.”

  “Besides, you said ogle. We’re not going down there to have sex with any of them,” I countered. “And I’m appalled you think I’m so high maintenance that I wouldn’t like a wild romp.”

  “You are high maintenance, but you’re no virgin,” Susan said, eyeing me up and down.

  I wondered if all their primping made me look more like a man-eater than a meteorologist just doing her job on local TV.

  I huffed. It didn’t matter. I was off the market. No men. No lovers. No. Sex. I did not need that kind of trouble in my life. My vibrator didn’t try to control me. I controlled it.

  They were both still watching me, so I rolled my eyes. “No virgin here. I like sex as much as any other woman.”

  “You are so going with me, Quinn. This is happening.” Ellen clapped with remarkable glee considering the topic was my sex life. My nonexistent sex life. There had been one in the past, but it hadn’t been worthy of any kind of news report, that was for sure. I could see now that when Don and I had been dating, I’d needed to stand in front of a green screen and give him a map to my clit. The only guy I’d dated since hadn’t been much better. So much worse, actually. He’d been obsessed. Crazy. Take-him-to-court-and-get-a-restraining-order dangerous. Jeff Randall was a legit stalker. I sure knew how to pick them, I mentally grumbled. No thanks.

  “Like the weather, I’m in a little bit of a dry spell,” I admitted.

  “Honey, you’re the Sahara Desert.” Susan’s quiet murmur had me biting my lip.

  “Well, a stalker can certainly put a woman off dating.”

  Both women didn’t have a response to that because they knew I was right. Guys were either insecure assholes who hadn’t been able to handle the meteoric rise of my career, or a stalker. The latter had been too much, and I’d chosen to quit my job and move halfway across the country to get the hell away from him.

  “Well, we aren’t talking about Earth men. We’re talking about Bahre. I mean, he’s in a league of his own,” Ellen said, redirecting the talk back to the hot alien.

  “He’s out of this world!” Susan added, and I couldn’t help but laugh with them at her stupid pun.

  “If that guy wants in my pants, I’ll take them off for him,” Ellen admitted.

  Yeah, I probably would, too. The Atlans who’d been sent for the show were admittedly handsome. Rugged. Huge. Strong. Serious. Intense.

  “If I wasn’t married…” Susan said, shaking her head as if it was a shame she was in love with her high school sweetheart.

  A set intern stuck his head in the room. “Ten minutes!”

  His prompt had me glancing at the clock on the wall. The evening news had already started, but my weather segment was halfway through the program.

  Ellen spritzed a little more spray on my hair, then tugged off the cape from around my neck.

  I did a final check in the mirror to make sure everything looked as it should. Of course I looked better than good. Ellen was very good at her job. A fact I adored and had brought up to our manager when they’d asked my opinion during her review. She’d gotten a raise, and I’d made a good friend happy. She set a hand on my shoulder, leaned down, and looked at me in the mirror.

  “Come on, admit it. Just between us girls. A scarred bad boy like Bahre? You’re fixin’ to climb that tall drink of water.”

  I rolled my eyes. Again. I stood and turned to face them. In my sky-high heels, I felt empowered and ready for my segment. “Ever notice you pull out all the southern metaphors when you get excited about something?”

  She crossed her ar
ms over her chest and tapped her toe. Waited.

  I tossed up my arms, the papers in my hand flapping. “Fine! He’s… incredible. I thought Wulf and Braun were hot, but you’re right, those battle scars make Bahre look dangerous, but the kind of guy who’d beat the shit out of anyone who might hurt you. Manly, although he’s not a man. He’s—”

  “An alien,” both women said at the same time.

  “Exactly.” I went to the door, pulled it open, but glanced at them over my shoulder. “And yes, my panties would probably burst into flames if I ever met him in person. Not the best thing for live TV.”

  Susan laughed. “I’d pay to see that, so I’m thinking you're wrong.”

  I laughed, too. I couldn’t help it. “Both of you are troublemakers.”

  “You can say that again.” Ellen agreed with me, but she was grinning and not the least bit repentant. “I’ll see you after work. You are going down there with me. There are five of them. I need a wingman.”

  “No way.”

  She winked and I knew I was in trouble. She was only a couple years younger than me, and I did not want her going down there alone. Too dangerous. She would do it. She was single and funny and cute, and she deserved to find happiness, even if it was with an alien.

  I couldn’t say no.

  “I’ll give you five minutes and we’re out of there,” I offered. “I mean it. Five.”

  She clapped with glee. I took off, cutting through the labyrinth of back hallways to the main stage to wait in the wings for my cue. All thoughts of a hot alien had to be pushed away. It was showtime.