Release Day! KORD: Dakonian Alien Mail Order Brides is live #IntergalacticDatingAgency

She’s a successful restauranteur, but he’s hungry for more than what she’s cookin’

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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

Barb is up in her office, which overlooks the restaurant floor. In this scene, she’s spying on the new busboy keeping tabs on business…

You’d think we’d advertised a free all-you-can-eat-ladies-night special. Barbie Q’s had gotten an uptick in business after the glowing review in Feats of Eats, but nothing like this. The way the crowds packed into the restaurant was pure insanity. I hoped the fire marshal didn’t drop in for an inspection because I had a feeling we’d exceeded our maximum occupancy.

Women were here for beef but not the barbecued kind.

From my office lair, I surveyed the floor. Every single table was occupied. Ninety-five percent of the customers were women, their microminis and sequined tube tops more appropriate for clubbing than chowing down on finger-licking barbecue. From having checked, I knew a line wound around the block. Earlier in the week, we’d had to implement a strict hour-and-a-half seating limit because customers were refusing to relinquish their tables until closing. All for a glimpse of the new busboy.

Tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped, muscular Kord with buns of steel and rolling abs of rock-hard…

“Business is up 200 percent,” said Holly, my assistant manager.

Bursts of light flashed as customers took photos while he cleared away dirty dishes. He’d gone viral, trending on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube. He had his own hashtags: #Kord and #hotalienbusboy. Not that I kept track or anything.

“He’s killing me.”


“Hiring him was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”

“You’re kidding, right? Hiring him was the best thing you’ve ever done. You couldn’t buy publicity like this.”

“I didn’t need publicity like this. The restaurant was doing fine.”

“Well, now it’s doing phenomenal. Barbie Q’s is the hottest eatery in town.”

“But they’re not here for the food.”

“So what? Hang on and ride the wave to the bank.”

“We can’t accommodate them all! Did you see the line? It’s around the block. We’ve had to turn people away.”

“Which makes them want to come here more. People crave what they can’t have.”

Like Kord. He was the man I couldn’t have.

“I should fire him.” Maybe then I could put my obsession to bed. Or take my obsession to bed—stop! Don’t. Even. Go. There.

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