Release date: October 17. Soon! Reserve your copy now from these booksellers:
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Kord is the book 5 of the Dakonian series, but it IS a standalone read.
She’s a successful Texas restauranteur, but he’s hungry for more than what she’s cooking.
Barb Quintain seems to have it together. She owns the hottest restaurant in town, lives in a fabulous luxury apartment, and has a personality as big as the state of Texas. But outward confidence conceals old wounds as big as Texas, too. She hides behind success, fearing someone will discover what she’s really like—a fake, a fraud, all broth and no beans.
Then, one evening, he walks into her restaurant—the hottest, sexiest man she’s ever seen. Kord. An alien from Dakon who’s so out of her league, she could never deserve him.
Kord doesn’t understand why none of his Intergalactic Dating Agency matches have panned out until he happens into Barbie Q’s Restaurant and meets the proprietress. His twitching horns immediately signal she’s his Fated mate. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem to recognize that. The only thing he can do is get her to hire him so he can convince her they’re meant to be together.
Just as Kord’s patience wins her over, and Barb begins to envision herself as his mate, a family crisis sends her running in her rhinestone boots. Will confronting her past destroy their future?
An excerpt from KORD
In this scene, Barbie Q’s is short staffed, so owner Barb Quintain is helping out by waiting tables
I swung back around to the kitchen, snagged two baskets of bread then zinged by the bar and grabbed the dark ale. I deposited one basket on table five and then shot over to the Dakonian’s table.
Which was…vacant. Pit stop, most likely. I set the beer and bread down and spun around. There he was. It took a moment for the situation to register. “What are you doing?” I gasped.
He was loading used plates into the bin on the cart. A customer was busing tables. “No, no, no—you can’t do that.” I rushed over and yanked a dirty plate out of his hand.
“People need a place to eat,” he said.
I craned my neck. He had to be at least seven feet tall—with shoulders half as wide. He was built like an NFL player suited up with pads—except he wasn’t wearing any. Just a little ole buckskin shirt and leggings molding every muscle of his hard body.
“You’re a customer, not an employee,” I said. “Please leave this and take your seat. I brought you an ale and some Texas toast. Your meal will be out shortly.”
“Your sign in the window said you needed help. Servers and drivers.”
“Someone to drive a bus. Yes?”
I blinked. “Oh! You mean the bus person. That’s not a driver; it’s someone to help clear tables.”
“What I’m doing now. You do need help.”
“But not from you.”
“Why not from me? Am I not doing it correctly?”
“You’re a customer!” The restaurant had gone quiet, and people were staring at us. Heat crept up the back of my neck. In my consternation, I’d lost my Texas accent. I sounded like every other native Southern Californian.
“He can bus my table anytime,” a woman snickered.
“Please return to your seat,” I said in a low voice.
He straightened. “I would like to apply for the job as bus person. Did I say that right?”
“So I got the job?” He grinned from ear to ear, a white, wide smile that could melt a girl’s panties right off.
Heat of a different sort spread from my neck to my chest and lower. “I meant you said it right.”
“Oh.” He looked so crestfallen, I felt like I’d kicked a puppy.
“You don’t want to work here,” I argued. “The hours are crappy. The pay sucks.” I didn’t usually dissuade people from working for me, especially when I needed help, but I couldn’t hire him because…because…well, I just couldn’t. He’d be too, too…close. I tucked my hair behind my ears and then untucked it. Retucked it and dropped my hands.
“I don’t mind about the hours, and I have no use for money. I need something to do, and I would like to help,” he said.
“Oh for goodness’ sake. Hire him!” someone shouted.
“Hire him! Hire him! Hire him!” customers chanted over the country music.
What the hell? I could have a riot on my hands. I did need more busboys. But I didn’t know anything about him. Not even his name. Did he have a work visa?
“Hire him! Hire him!”