Jillian Landay is no queen of an alien planet like her younger sister, Megan, but she has a successful career as an interior designer. Love and relationships? Totally out of the question. She's not about to get burned again.
So how the hell did she end up pregnant for an arrogant alien general?
Jonnar Dorayan may be the sexiest alien warrior alive with his intense, blue-violet stare and a scorching touch that sets her body afire, but he's not her type. Yeah, he's the father of her unborn child. And yeah, he saved her life. Twice. But falling for him? Never gonna happen in this galaxy or the next!
There are two things Jonnar enjoys in life: fighting and… well, it involves a willing woman beneath him. Fatherhood was definitely not one of his life’s goals. And if he had a choice, he certainly wouldn’t have chosen a prickly, stubborn human female as the mother of his child.
Jillian is nothing like what he’s accustomed to, yet her irresistible curves and astounding strength captivate him. He can't fall in love with her. He's no good for her and she's too good for him. But if he ever gets them out of their dangerous situation, he's not sure he'll want to let her go.
The Alien General's Baby is a steamy sci-fi alien romance. It features a handsome, powerful alien general falling in love with and risking his life for his luscious human female and their unborn child.
Sleep drifted away from Jillian, consciousness fading in like light encroaching on darkness.
She kept her eyes closed, content with the lovely woodsy scent softened by lavender surrounding her. A smile curved her lips as she snuggled closer to the firm, warm body pressed against her. His hand was on her forearm, squeezing her closer, a wordless promise he’d keep her safe and protected, especially from legitimate terrors like exploding spaceships.
God, how she missed this. She missed the feeling of just lying in bed with a man—
Jillian flung her eyes open, rearing up onto her knees away from Jonnar as her emotions cycled through shock and mortification before settling on anger.
“You,” was all she could say. She hated the way she became this fumbling, tongue-tied mess whenever she was near him. Christ, she was a business professional! She’d dealt with clients who were far more intimidating, yet she’d handled them all with cool composure.
They were on a narrow cot in a tiny room. Jonnar’s large frame took up three-quarters of the diminutive bed, his muscular thighs grazing Jillian’s knees. She shifted herself in an effort to avoid touching him, but there was nowhere else to go.
Sliding a hand under his head, Jonnar regarded her with amusement shining in his blue-violet eyes.
“Me?” he said, placing his free hand over his heart. “I am Jonnar Dorayan, First General of the Elite Omaron—”
“I meant what are you doing here?”
“I brought you here to rest. You fell unconscious after the launch.”
“You didn’t have to stay.”
“You did not want me to leave.” His amusement dimmed, his gaze sharpening on her. “You clung to me and begged me to stay.”
“I…” His gaze was like the sun, the intensity heating Jillian’s face and increasing her discomfort. She looked away, disgusted that she had sounded so pitiful. She must have been really addled to have done something like that. She’d had problems sleeping on her own after Chris left, but she’d overcome that a long time ago.
Jillian reached for her glasses to fiddle with them. Touching them always seemed to ground her. Their presence on her face represented an armour of sorts. But it seemed her armour had vanished.
“Where are my glasses?”
“Inside there for safe-keeping.” He pointed at a cabinet on the other side of the wall. “No doubt had you found them broken, you would have blamed me for their demise.”
In order for her to reach them, she’d have to crawl over him. She would have to sling her legs over his body where, for a brief moment, they would be in a very intimate position. It didn’t take long for the explicit images to rampage her brain. The thoughts featured them naked and sweaty and breathless from pleasurable exertion.
Jillian exhaled deeply as she beat away the thoughts like a crazy woman wielding a battered broom. Jonnar’s stare had as much weight as a physical touch, sliding all over her. He was the one lying on his back in a totally defenceless position, yet she felt threatened. She hoped he couldn’t read minds. It wasn’t a stretch that this might be possible after all she’d witnessed on Omaron.
“You bet your ass I’d blame you.” She glared at him, an accusatory note in her voice. “I told you to put me to sleep and you didn’t.”
A small frown marred his forehead. “You are being unreasonable. It was too late into the launch sequence for me to halt it.”
“Probably, but I’m pretty sure a part of you didn’t do it to get back at me too.”
His frown deepened. “Are you accusing me of petty vindictiveness?”
Jillian folded her arms. “If the hat fits.”
“I see,” he said, rising up into a sitting position. With the two of them seated on the narrow cot, his face was awfully close to hers. “And does the hat fit when I say your recent change in attitude toward me is a result of what you’d witnessed the night before?”
“That’s ridiculous. I haven’t changed—I don’t have an attitude.” Jillian leaned away and licked her bottom lip nervously, her heart thudding hard at his closeness. “What you were doing with that woman last night is none of my business. I don’t care.”
He leaned closer, bringing that heady wood and lavender scent with him. Despite his words, his voice, low and mellifluous, made her insides contract and quiver with growing desire.
“If this is true, then why are you jealous?”
His eyes had darkened to maroon, the strange colour and the strength of his stare captivating her. He was right, of course. She was jealous. Jealous of the woman. Jealous it wasn’t her who’d been wrapped around his hard, powerful body, submitting to his touch and his kisses.
The first time she’d laid eyes on this alien man, she’d fallen instantaneously in lust with him. A wild, new thing for a woman like her who was accustomed to being in strict control of her life. After the roller coaster ride she’d endured with her marriage and subsequent divorce to Chris, she couldn’t afford to take any chances. She’d gone for safe, practical men—or “snoozers” as her baby sister, Karen, liked to call them.
One look at Jonnar and she knew there was nothing safe or practical about him. They were different people from different worlds. Sure, Megan made it work with Mikaal, but that was because they were perfect for each other. Jillian highly doubted it ever would be the same for her and Jonnar. Yet instead taking heed to what her logical mind had to say, her body felt all the things it shouldn’t feel whenever he was near.
Watching her like that.
His gaze dropping to her lips.
Like he wanted to kiss her.
Which he shouldn’t.
Or maybe he should? Maybe one kiss? Then she could return to Earth satisfied she’d acted on one small urge to mitigate the desperate need to act on a larger, more dangerous one.
No! No. That was still not a good idea.
“I’m not jealous,” said Jillian, the words hollow in the heavy silence between them.
“Good.” He slid off the bed, standing tall, his features indecipherable. “Because I am not a man you should want, Jillian.”
It was like he’d read her thoughts, but the dark bitterness in his voice left her confused and uncomfortable. She frowned, opening her mouth to ask him what he meant, when a loud alarm blared to life.
“What’s going on?” she asked, panic lacing her words. She didn’t like the frown on Jonnar’s face, or the way he spun away and stalked out of the room with hasty purpose. Jillian sprang up from the cot and grabbed her glasses from the cabinet before chasing behind Jonnar. “Wait a minute, who’s flying the ship?”
“I have entered coordinates for Earth. The ship can take us there without my assistance,” he said, returning to his chair in front of his screens. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Take your seat.”
Jillian frowned at his sharp tone but took the order nevertheless. The immediate press of some invisible force held her in place in her seat. She looked over at the Elder. He hadn’t moved, but at least he seemed to be present and no longer a freaky living shell.
Jonnar spoke into one of his screens. Jillian didn’t understand what he said, but there was a hard, authoritative edge to his tone. Silence. He repeated himself a second time, then a third. Silence. He was ordering someone to do something and they were not complying.
The alarm continued to wail, increasing her anxiety. There was never anything good about alarms. Their sole purpose was to alert to a negative situation presently occurring.
“Jonnar, what’s going on? What’s happening?”
“We are being followed too closely. The party refuses to identify themselves and their purpose.”
“And that’s bad, right?” Jillian licked her lips, suddenly wishing for a glass of water. “That sounds concerning.”
Jonnar did not respond, but the crash of something impacting the ship did. Jillian cried out as the ship juddered and made an unpleasant, twisting lurch. The alarm continued louder than ever, now accompanied by the robotic voice from before, no doubt alerting Jonnar that the situation had deteriorated further.
Then one of Jonnar’s screens flickered black before a man’s face came into view. His deep-purple eyes almost looked black, and an unfriendly smile curved his lips as he spoke. Then he laughed, the sound dry and humourless.
Jonnar snarled something at the screen as he leaned forward and took hold of the ship’s controls. Jillian was certain one of the words he’d said was ‘Varrack’. She knew that word, that name. Megan had told her all about him, and from what she’d relayed, he wasn’t to be trusted. As a matter of fact, he shouldn’t even be free. So why was he—if it was, indeed, him—on Jonnar’s screen?
It wasn’t a great time to pepper Jonnar with new questions. Jillian sensed their acceleration and the man’s face disappeared from the screen. She tried her best not to freak out over the pungent scent of something burning filtering around the bridge.
Wide-eyed with terror, Jillian stared out through the viewport at the black, expansive nothingness of space. In the distance, various spots of bright light lessened the claustrophobic sense of being alone in a void. A large, luminescent circle of vermilion with a light yellow centre shone the brightest, and Jonnar sped them toward it.
“What’s that?” Jillian said, unsure if Jonnar could hear her over the loud alarm. What she really wanted to ask was, “Are we going to live?” But she wasn’t ready for the answer be anything but “yes.”
“A wormhole,” said Jonnar.
“It is disintegrating,” added the Elder.
“Oh god,” Jillian whimpered. Disintegrating wormholes? Definitely nothing good about that at all.
Another harsh impact sent the ship spinning violently. Jillian’s glasses flew off her face to somewhere unknown. Squeezing her eyes shut, Jillian blasphemed. A hysterical laugh nearly escaped her as she thought of her feverishly devout Nana rolling in her grave with every ‘holy fucking shit’ that rolled off her lips.
Her fear was about to be made real. Death by exploding spaceship. She hoped her family would have the good sense to put that on her gravestone. At least it would be the sole proof she did something unbelievable in her short life.
Grunting, his entire body visibly tensed, Jonnar righted the ship. Though the burning scent had increased significantly and the alarms and robotic voice chimed with incessant urgency, he pushed them forward. The wormhole loomed large and bright and terrifying in its red-orange colour. What would they find on the other side? Maybe this was the gateway to hell?
They were about to find out.
They careened forward into that bright, shimmering monstrosity. Jillian had never seen anything so gorgeous yet so absolutely terrifying. She doubted she ever would again.
As they breached the centre of the wormhole, time slowed. She felt compressed, every sense intensified at a painful level. Bright pain erupted in Jillian’s head. Her heart slammed in her chest, leaving her breathless with each jolt against her ribcage. She heard every thump in her ears and the alarms overhead, loud and deafening. Heat burned her inside out and the tendrils of her hair flying around her face felt like sandpaper on her skin.
“Hold tight, Jillian,” Jonnar said, his words slow, his voice far away. “Stay with me.”
The compression squeezed harder. Her tears burned her face. She raised her hands and reached for Jonnar. Did he take her hands? Was he holding her?
“Stay with me,” he said, urgent, fearful, his voice so very far away. “Hold on.”
“Please, Jonnar,” she gasped, but what was she begging him for?