Gena Showalter Bundle. Gena Showalter

entire body had turned to stone. “You can get those thoughts out of your head,” she snapped. “For all you know that girl charges a fee to get naked and pummeled.” Which Katie highly doubted, but still!

      Intrigued, Jorlan looked from the girl to Katie, from Katie to the girl, and then back to Katie. “How much do you think she charges?” he asked, continuing to stroke his chin as if he were picturing the scenario and liking it.

      “How much doesn’t matter, you pervert. You have no money, and I’m not giving you any. Besides, I said she might be a hooker, not that she actually is.”

      Instead of sputtering with indignity as she’d hoped, he chuckled. “You sound jealous, katya.”

      “Jealous?” She snorted, doing her best impression of a carefree woman with hundreds of lovers. “I’m not jealous. Jealousy is for those who actually care romantically about the other person. What I feel for you is similar to what I feel for my brothers.”

      Jorlan’s quirky, confident smile faded. His features grew hard and cold, like ice freezing the ocean. “I am not, nor will I ever be, your sibling. And if you think otherwise, ’tis time we finished what we started this morn. You do care for me romantically, and I can prove it in front of all these people. You usually require proof, do you not, katya?”

      Those words were all too true. True enough to make her shiver with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Yet his confidence in her capitulation annoyed her. He acted as if he had only to touch her and she would sink into him. Well, she might have allowed him a few liberties during that moment that she wasn’t thinking about until she was alone, but that wouldn’t happen again anytime soon.

      “You want your usual, doll?” a gruff female voice asked, preventing Katie from tossing Jorlan a stinging retort. She settled for giving him a this-isn’t-finished glare then turned her attention to the waitress. “Yes, thank you. I’ll have my usual.”

      Frances set two glasses of water on the table with a clang. Her black slacks and tailored white blouse hugged her generous curves. Her sherry-colored hair, which had probably come from a bottle, was twisted in a bun atop her head. “What about the big guy? He want a protein shake and an omelet, too?”

      “The big guy can speak for himself,” Jorlan growled.

      Far from being intimidated, Frances rolled her eyes and gave Katie a get-rid-of-this-one look. “So what’ll it be? I’m just dying to hear what you want.” Her droll tone stamped over Jorlan’s stiff shoulders.

      Frowning, he raised the menu and studied the words. A minute passed, then another. Impatient, Francis tapped her shoe. (She wasn’t a favorite with the male patrons. But her boss was female, which was the only reason she still had a job.) “Sometime today, big guy.”

      With a kingly, I-am-too-good-for-this air, he dropped the menu onto the table. “I have decided Katie will choose for me.”

      Katie almost laughed. She did sigh. The man didn’t know how to read her language, but he refused to admit such a weakness aloud. Such an action almost made him seem—dare she think it?—vulnerable.

      “Let’s see…” She grabbed up the menu. Besides Tupperware and turkey sandwiches, what did extra large aliens eat for breakfast? “He’ll have the mushroom omelet with peppers and ham. Two bagels with strawberry cream cheese, an English muffin and three blueberry tarts.”

      Frances looked up from her notepad, wearing an incredulous expression. “Anything else?”

      “Yes. A pecan waffle.”

      Though neither woman spared him a glance, Jorlan said, “Two pecan waffles.”

      “You’re gonna have to roll him out of here. You know that, don’t you?” Just then, a devilish light entered Frances’s hazel eyes. She smiled, crinkling the wrinkles around her eyes, and clasped the menu in one hand. “I got a new one for you, doll. Heard it just this morning.”

      Katie opened her mouth to tell Francis she’d listen to the joke some other time—Lord knew how a chauvinist like Jorlan would react to man bashing—but Frances continued before she could stop her.

      “A young couple was in their honeymoon suite the night of their wedding. As they undressed for bed, the husband, who was a big, burly man—” this was said with a pointed glance to Jorlan “—tossed his pants to his bride, and said, ‘Here, put these on.’ Though the wife was confused by his request, she put them on. The waist was twice the size of her body. ‘I can’t wear your pants,’ she told her husband, ‘they’re too big.’ ‘That’s right,’ the husband said, ‘and don’t you forget it. I’m the man who wears the pants in this family!’”

      Frances took a deep breath and continued. “The wife whipped off her panties and flipped them to her husband. ‘Try these on,’she said. Knowing he needed to pacify her if he hoped to get lucky, the husband did as she demanded. He tried the panties on and found that he could only get the lacy material up as far as his kneecap. He said, ‘Hell, I can’t get into your panties.’ And the wife said, ‘That’s right, and that’s the way it’s gonna be until you change your damn attitude.’”

      Katie choked on her water.

      Jorlan frowned.

      When her air passage cleared, Katie smiled up at Frances. “I’ll have to tell that one to my brothers.”

      “I thought you’d like it.”

      “If you ever need a break from the café,” Katie said, still grinning, “come talk to me. I’m restoring the old house on Gossamer Lane and could use the help. And the entertainment.”

      “Really? Seriously?”

      “Absolutely.” Katie usually hired outside help for renovation and restoration when she purchased a new house. For some reason, she’d been reluctant to hire anyone for the Victorian, wanting instead to do the work herself. But the sheer elation in Frances’s eyes convinced her to stick with her usual method. “You could start anytime.”

      “I might take you up on that.” Frances beamed. Then, with another meaningful glance to Jorlan, she sauntered away, leaving behind the echo of her happy whistle.

      Jorlan’s features darkened with ire. “That woman needs a keeper.”

      “You think every woman needs a keeper,” Katie replied dryly. Her gaze flicked to him, observant and narrowed. “Did you ever consider the possibility that your men-are-superior views are stupid?”

      “Nay.” He answered with absolutely no hesitation.

      “Figures.” She had anticipated such an answer, yet had hoped he would surprise her. “Look, some men are not honorable and often mentally and physically abuse a woman in an attempt to break her will. Is that the kind of keeper you would have for Frances?” Caught up in her speech, Katie leaned into him, even pointed a finger in his chest. “Just because a woman has spirit, does not mean she needs a man to guide her.”

      “Aye, it does.” Jorlan, too, leaned forward. Their noses touched, sending a jolt of awareness through her system. He grabbed her finger and held the appendage captive in the warmth of his hand. “If a woman pushes a man beyond his control, she risks physical injury.”

      “And a guardian would keep her safe?”

      “Aye.”

      Katie let out her breath sharply. “Even from himself?”

      “Aye. Even from himself.” The blue of his eyes clouded with silver and gray. “A warrior trained in the art of battle will save a woman from the very danger she herself creates.”

      The noise of the café faded from her ears as she concentrated on the man before her. “But, Jorlan, with your logic, a woman wouldn’t need a keeper if a warrior simply controlled himself.”

      Jorlan paused, considering her words. When their meal was delivered, Katie’s voice still echoed in his mind. A woman wouldn’t need a keeper